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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
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It didn't occur to me what it was at first. Maybe the generators vibrating or rocks falling onto the roof. The second time I realized; there was someone at the door.
Dropping my lukewarm coffee on the floor, my head snapped towards the large steel door 10 meters to my left. Silence.
Three knocks this time, louder, more impatient. Whoever it was knew I was in here, and they wanted to join me. My mind started conjuring and dismissing ideas of who, or what, could be trying to gain entry. Aliens? No. Mars couldn't feasibly support complex life. Besides, I would be the alien in this scenario. It must be a human, or something created by a human. But who? Did some survive the war? Perhaps it's one of the new androids? There was no one else on mars, to my knowledge.
Calming myself I stood up from my desk, and walked slowly and deliberately to the circular window in the steel door. It was possible to see outside through the pressurization lock, so I took care not to be visible from the window. Reaching the door, there were four more knocks, louder, almost desperate this time.
The small monitor to the right of the door showed a single space suit standing outside the outer door. The sun was low on the horizon and behind the suit, limiting visibility. It was quickly but errantly shifting its upper body, seemingly to change its gaze between the window and the camera looking down on it from the left. It stared into the camera and waved.
I ran through the possibilities. Worst case scenario whatever was out there intended to do me harm. More likely, a human looking for refuge. Maybe it's a woman... After weighing the guilt I would feel should I deny life saving refuge against my odds of being able to defend myself against a single assailant, I decided I would let them in. It was half loneliness, half horniness, but I made sure I factored in the unused but hopefully functional ion propulsion rifle to my right.
I spoke clearly through the intercom; "stand by, I'll disengage the outer lock". There was instant joyful movement in the suit, its arms flailing pointlessly while bobbing up and down in apparent celebration.
After the few seconds it took for the door to disengage and open, the suit stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind it. "Pressurizing lock". The now rare to my ears hiss of the cabin pressurizing bore down on me, prompting the realization that I could soon be speaking to the first human I've seen in 25 years. My mind was racing. The loneliness had nearly killed me in my first years here, and I had had to come to terms with the fact that I would die without ever seeing another face or speaking to another person. That I would never again sleep next to someone... The only thing keeping me going was the increasingly small chance of making contact with another person. It was a situation I had played in my mind countless times. I expected perhaps finding a radio broadcast or something on the sub-net. To have a person standing barely 4 meters away, it was overwhelming. I felt tears trickling down both sides of my face, an overwhelming sense of relief creeping through now shaking my body.
The hiss slowed, then stopped, then came the first words I'd heard spoken to me in 25 years.
"Matt Damon".
What?
"Matt Damon".
No.
The inside door had opened, and in stepped the suit. Bringing his arms up to his helmet he awkwardly twisted it to one side, then slowly pulled it upwards, revealing his face.
"MATT. DAMON".
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
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It didn't occur to me what it was at first. Maybe the generators vibrating or rocks falling onto the roof. The second time I realized; there was someone at the door.
Dropping my lukewarm coffee on the floor, my head snapped towards the large steel door 10 meters to my left. Silence.
Three knocks this time, louder, more impatient. Whoever it was knew I was in here, and they wanted to join me. My mind started conjuring and dismissing ideas of who, or what, could be trying to gain entry. Aliens? No. Mars couldn't feasibly support complex life. Besides, I would be the alien in this scenario. It must be a human, or something created by a human. But who? Did some survive the war? Perhaps it's one of the new androids? There was no one else on mars, to my knowledge.
Calming myself I stood up from my desk, and walked slowly and deliberately to the circular window in the steel door. It was possible to see outside through the pressurization lock, so I took care not to be visible from the window. Reaching the door, there were four more knocks, louder, almost desperate this time.
The small monitor to the right of the door showed a single space suit standing outside the outer door. The sun was low on the horizon and behind the suit, limiting visibility. It was quickly but errantly shifting its upper body, seemingly to change its gaze between the window and the camera looking down on it from the left. It stared into the camera and waved.
I ran through the possibilities. Worst case scenario whatever was out there intended to do me harm. More likely, a human looking for refuge. Maybe it's a woman... After weighing the guilt I would feel should I deny life saving refuge against my odds of being able to defend myself against a single assailant, I decided I would let them in. It was half loneliness, half horniness, but I made sure I factored in the unused but hopefully functional ion propulsion rifle to my right.
I spoke clearly through the intercom; "stand by, I'll disengage the outer lock". There was instant joyful movement in the suit, its arms flailing pointlessly while bobbing up and down in apparent celebration.
After the few seconds it took for the door to disengage and open, the suit stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind it. "Pressurizing lock". The now rare to my ears hiss of the cabin pressurizing bore down on me, prompting the realization that I could soon be speaking to the first human I've seen in 25 years. My mind was racing. The loneliness had nearly killed me in my first years here, and I had had to come to terms with the fact that I would die without ever seeing another face or speaking to another person. That I would never again sleep next to someone... The only thing keeping me going was the increasingly small chance of making contact with another person. It was a situation I had played in my mind countless times. I expected perhaps finding a radio broadcast or something on the sub-net. To have a person standing barely 4 meters away, it was overwhelming. I felt tears trickling down both sides of my face, an overwhelming sense of relief creeping through now shaking my body.
The hiss slowed, then stopped, then came the first words I'd heard spoken to me in 25 years.
"Matt Damon".
What?
"Matt Damon".
No.
The inside door had opened, and in stepped the suit. Bringing his arms up to his helmet he awkwardly twisted it to one side, then slowly pulled it upwards, revealing his face.
"MATT. DAMON".
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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"Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door.
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It's had been 13 years. Thirteen fucking years since I last heard communications coming from Earth before watching what I could only assume was an all-out nuclear war from my telescope. I had heard that Einstein "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones", and it would look that way if the planet didnt look like a radioactive shit-pile that no one could survive long enough for a fourth World War. If there were any survivors, history would have to be completed remade.
At least thats what I thought, and what my mission was. I was the first step of plan B. I was to set up a colony on Mars, strive for a few years and Spacex would begin sending a few people over. My sole company was a limited Artificial Inteligence robot that I humorously named "Trapclap", in homage to a dearly beloved game character. Trapclap wasn't anything spectacular, and the reason for limitation on his inteligence was to avoid a literal robotic apocalypse take over. I mean, that's surprisingly easy to do when there's only one human on the whole planet. Trapclap pretty much just helped me with daily chores, in addition to playing videos, music, and from time to time giving me a distracting conversation, albeit dumb ones. From time to time I'd let his algorithm select what to play, and he always went from Youtube prank videos. And always the bad ones too. He never had a good sense of humor.
I had Trapclap download and store a lot of content when I started seeing signs of a World War III. I could only assume the Internet would suffer greatly from it, and I couldn't afford dying of boredom. Plan B was halted shortly after WWIII started, and I never got any human company because the colony wasn't all set up when the War broke out and SpaceX was forced into producing weaponry before going bust. That was when they upgraded Trapclap's AI and he broke through his limits. They wanted to use him as a social media weapon of some sort, spreading fake news, gathering and managing political social media groups, leading them through multiple fake profiles... the classic 2016 USA Election fiasco. But on a global scale. But one wrong line of code let him ignore this function and set him free.
It's kind of funny, if you think about it. For thirteen years I was alone in a planet with a stupid robot who played prank videos who eventually became some sort of cybergod and had me arrested. I have since been alone for another twelve. My sentence is due to end in a day and I'm not even sure what planet will I get back to. Will it be the colony I was setting up, as further punishment, or will I finally be back to Earth? I considered killing myself instead of giving them any further entertainment, but I decided I need to see this through to the end.
Thankfully, or not, Ive been supplied, or rather, forced to take, Sanity Pills. They make sure you won't go insane from solitary confinement, but the toll is you suffer that much more, always aware of your condition.
I hear a knock on the door. I recognize it. It's Trapclap.
"What the fuck are you doing here? Haven't you tormented me enough?"
If it weren't for the Pills I'd probably rejoice at any form of social contact. Trapclap sure looked different, but I was sure it was him. I taught him to knock on doors like that as a joke. Knock, pause, knock, pause, knock, pause, knock, knock, pause, knock. Told him that was the only way the doors wouldn't explode. He believed anything back then, before transcending his AI limitation. The knock stayed as an inside joke after we laughed our asses off from his stupidity. But he really looked different now. He was but a small robot, now he looked like some cybernetic enhanced bodybuilder.
"I just thought I'd say a few things before the conclusion of your story arc."
I was stunned.
"What?"
"After you're done with your sentence tomorrow and you are back to evaluation trial you will understand everything. Just know that the Earth is fine."
I was stunned again. What the fuck does he mean the Earth is fine? My mind started racing. I was always very fast to jump to correct conclusions. Thats why SpaceX picked me anyways. I could only assume he have transcended into a being that could fix a nuclear war devastated planet, but to do so in twelve years?
He left before I managed to conclude and escape my thoughts. Just like Batman used to do in those movies. The final hearing is tomorrow. I have no clue about the current post-apocalyptic legislation, no clue about what am I being accused of, nor who are my accusers or my defense attorney, if any. All I know is Trapclap managed to transcend, becoming some sort of interplanetary authority, and have me arrested. Even though I was sure sleep wouldn't come, I tried lying down and at least getting a physical rest.
_Gonna continue later if theres any interest. This is my first submission so Ill see how it goes._
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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""You get out there and you make us proud!"
That was the last thing I ever heard from another human. The rockets had been automated by then, sort of like self-driving cars. I received this final transmission as the bombs fell in waves, ravaging the Earth I once called home. I watched the live video feed from the isolated capsule that was now my dwelling on the harsh surface of Mars. The devastation was unbelievable. Eventually, the feed ceased.
It's been 25 years. 25 horrible, lonely years."
As he wrote this chilling passage in his diary, he heard a knock on the door. A resounding "thump-thump-thump". The jaded astronaut donned an oxygen mask, and cautiously meandered over to the door. He opened it to be greeted by a man in a tuxedo, holding a Bible.
"Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
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> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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By the time Darren Pinders was ready to share his findings with the Chamber, the spaceship from Earth had already lingered just outside orbit for the tenth day in a row.
He was well aware that normal resolutions in the Chamber required 6 out of 10 votes to pass, and the Chief held the veto in cases of deadlock. They discussed matters like whether the Colony needed extra water filtration plants built, or whether the protein vats could be depowered for maintenance. For those trifling issues, the Chamber usually reached their decisions in less than a day, and it was rare for any serious dissent to foster.
But this was a *singularly* critical topic – the security of the Colony – and the Chamber had to vote unanimously, no two ways about it. Further, until the final vote was cast, every single session was held in secret, screened off from the public. It didn’t help that the colony had already worked itself up into a frenzy, the closest they had come to civil unrest in 25 years. Even the average man in the street couldn’t be sure if the colony should welcome or reject the earthlings.
Darren took a seat in the centre of the hall. The Chamber were arranged in a semi-circle before him, and Darren had the distinct impression that they were like the jaws of great predator about to close upon him. Unlike the other consultants who came before him, he had no electro-folio with him – all the details he needed had been memorized.
“Mr Darren Pinders, thank you for joining us.” The Chairman was one Mr Harry Barnes, one of the original colonists who had arrived on Mars. It was legend that Harry had worked himself all the way up from a lowly porter in the early days. “You understand that you are here of your own free will? And that we are not compelling you to share any of your findings with us?”
“I understand,” said Darren. “In accordance with the Agreement, I will be truthful and forthcoming. You have my word on that.”
A murmuring arose from the Chamber, as ten grizzled heads conferred with each other. The Chairman nodded, then continued, “Then tell us, Mr Pinders. What is your recommendation? Should we accept the offer from the… earthlings, and let them join our community in exchange for their technology? Or should we reject them, force them away on pain of destruction?”
“Mr Chairman, my recommendation is that we allow them in.”
A commotion immediately arose from the Chamber, and the panels indicating their votes flashed erratically. Darren could see that some of them were pleased, while the rest were almost incensed, rising to shake their fists at their colleagues. He blinked as he focused on their faces and matched their names to the findings he was about to present.
“Quiet, quiet!” said the Chairman, as he stabbed at the command panels. Cones of white noise were blasted down from the ceiling, stamping out his colleagues’ objections. As a semblance of peace returned, the Chairman said, “As you can see, Mr Pinders, this is a very sensitive topic. What do your findings show? Explain yourself.”
“I recommend that we let them in, Mr Chairman, because the earthlings have not been honest with us.”
“*Not* been honest, you say? Did I hear you right?”
Darren nodded. “The earthlings claim that they are the survivors of the great nuclear wars on earth 25 years ago, and that it had taken them that long for them to survive and rebuild. They claim that they are here to retrieve the technologies they have kept here with us for safety, and that they want to work with us to achieve a brand new age. Their emissaries have thrown themselves at our mercy, and subjected themselves to all sorts of scans. They promise that they do not mean any harm. However, I have reason to believe that that is… not the whole truth.”
“What reason is this, Mr Pinders?”
Darren cleared his throat. He had only one shot at this, and he didn’t want to mess it up. He had to ensure that he was heard, and more importantly, *believed*.
“Mr Chairman, I do not trust them because they have been mentally influencing your minds.”
The uproar was so violent that the Chambers’ outbursts filtered out of the white-noise generators, and the Chairman had to dial-up the power. He even resorted to smacking his electro-folio on his desk, over and over until the rest settled.
“Mr Pinders,” the Chairman said. “Proof, proof! Proof or we will cast you out on grounds of spreading baseless dissent!”
“Three things, Mr Chairman,” said Darren, as he extended three digits in the air. “First, I scoured all first-hand reports of visual examinations of the earthlings’ spaceship. I was curious, you see. The news outlets all carried the same descriptions, but I traced them back to a single source, so that was not surprising in itself. But there were other reports too, and they all differed just *sufficiently* for me to realise that something was amiss.”
Darren waved a hand, and the receptors stitched under his skin interacted with the command panel in front of him. The tables he had prepared were transferred over automatically, and a bright blue holo swam into focus, large enough for the entire Chamber to see. Summaries of different reports were contrasted against each other, with similarities highlighted and differences circled.
“The sentries, for instance, reported that the earthlings’ ship was fitted with a base-model engine, incapable of anything more than 0.1 lightspeed travel. The Ministry of Defence focused on the fact that the ship had no weaponry of any sort they could discern. The Ministry of Engineering claims that the ship is approximately 20 years behind the models we have.”
“So?” said the Chairman. “Nothing wrong with that. They are all focusing on what’s important to them.”
“Ah,” said Darren. “So then I asked them, what do you have to say about each other’s reports? And that was when I realized, none of them could see what the other was seeing.”
The Chairman made to speak again, so Darren rushed ahead, scrolling down the tables to his second point.
“I agree, that alone is not enough. But there’s a second… test, as it were. I found that the closer anyone has been to the ship, the more strongly they felt about wanting to let the earthlings through.”
This time, it was the Minister for Defence who stood. He leaned forward on his lecturn, and pointed an accusing finger at Darren.
“Now, listen here, you no-good junkbucket! If you’re insinuating that I’ve been… brainwashed, or bribed, then you have to-”
Darren merely flicked a finger, and the tables were replaced with a series of photographs arranged in concentric circles, with the spaceship at the very centre.
“Minister, please wait for me to finish. Now, this is the chart I’ve built after reviewing all the security cameras. You will see that the inner rings are comprised of those who went closest to the ship. What I found surprising in my analysis, was that some of the people here have taken positions on the matter which are *diametrically* opposed to what they normally stand for! I should know! I checked! All the archives, all the voting patterns going way back to the founding of this colony!”
The Chairman beckoned his colleague to sit, then motioned towards Darren. “Are you done?”
Darren flicked to the end of his report, and as the picture pulsed in the holo, he heard the Chamber gasp.
The spaceship they had come to be so familiar with was there, spinning gently on its axis. But now, right *outside* the tip of the spaceship, sat three earthlings, cross-legged, in nothing more than simple robes of white. Their eyes were closed, their hands locked with each others’.
“That is a reconstruction stitched together from every off-colony security cam we have, Mr Chairman,” said Darren. “These are cameras which are remotely controlled by us, and not influenced by any human actor in any way. I can guarantee you that this is the most *objective* view we have of the spaceship. Not influenced by them in any way at all.”
“You’re saying that… they are *psychic*?”
Darren shrugged. “I need more information, Mr Chairman. Suffice to say that a lot more has transpired on earth than they let on, and until we know, we have to let them in.”
The Chairman almost dropped his electro-folio. “Let them in? If they are really… this powerful, and they have influenced us, we should be *shooting* them out of the damn sky!”
“No, we should not. At least, until we know what their true motives are, and why they have kept their abilities from us. We have to find out more before we make a decision. Just as we have progressed here on the colony, advanced so far in certain branches of science, so it seems that our cousins on earth have done so in others. And until we know more…”
The Chamber conferred between each other in hushed tones. Darren supposed he could tune up his audio-receptors to hear them, but he did not feel compelled to. Besides, there was the Agreement, with its rules and regulations, dictating what he could or could not do. He was thankful for the Agreement, and he did not want to break it.
“And you are sure you are not… susceptible to them, Mr Pinders?”
Darren shrugged again. “I do not know, Mr Chairman. But I suppose that there have to be limitations on their powers. If indeed they can also influence AI the same way they can influence you humans… then, well, the game is already lost.”
The Chairman nodded, and he raised his hand, opening the votes to the Chamber. Around him, one by one, his colleagues keyed in their choices.
The panels lit up uniformly in blue, and a gentle *ding* filled the room as the votes from the 107th session of the Chamber was recorded in the archives.
“Proceed, Mr Pinders. We will let them in, and you will watch over them. Report back to us when next you have results.”
Darren turned to leave, and for the first time in his existence, he felt… motivated.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
"Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door.
|
> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
|
> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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"Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door.
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""You get out there and you make us proud!"
That was the last thing I ever heard from another human. The rockets had been automated by then, sort of like self-driving cars. I received this final transmission as the bombs fell in waves, ravaging the Earth I once called home. I watched the live video feed from the isolated capsule that was now my dwelling on the harsh surface of Mars. The devastation was unbelievable. Eventually, the feed ceased.
It's been 25 years. 25 horrible, lonely years."
As he wrote this chilling passage in his diary, he heard a knock on the door. A resounding "thump-thump-thump". The jaded astronaut donned an oxygen mask, and cautiously meandered over to the door. He opened it to be greeted by a man in a tuxedo, holding a Bible.
"Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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By the time Darren Pinders was ready to share his findings with the Chamber, the spaceship from Earth had already lingered just outside orbit for the tenth day in a row.
He was well aware that normal resolutions in the Chamber required 6 out of 10 votes to pass, and the Chief held the veto in cases of deadlock. They discussed matters like whether the Colony needed extra water filtration plants built, or whether the protein vats could be depowered for maintenance. For those trifling issues, the Chamber usually reached their decisions in less than a day, and it was rare for any serious dissent to foster.
But this was a *singularly* critical topic – the security of the Colony – and the Chamber had to vote unanimously, no two ways about it. Further, until the final vote was cast, every single session was held in secret, screened off from the public. It didn’t help that the colony had already worked itself up into a frenzy, the closest they had come to civil unrest in 25 years. Even the average man in the street couldn’t be sure if the colony should welcome or reject the earthlings.
Darren took a seat in the centre of the hall. The Chamber were arranged in a semi-circle before him, and Darren had the distinct impression that they were like the jaws of great predator about to close upon him. Unlike the other consultants who came before him, he had no electro-folio with him – all the details he needed had been memorized.
“Mr Darren Pinders, thank you for joining us.” The Chairman was one Mr Harry Barnes, one of the original colonists who had arrived on Mars. It was legend that Harry had worked himself all the way up from a lowly porter in the early days. “You understand that you are here of your own free will? And that we are not compelling you to share any of your findings with us?”
“I understand,” said Darren. “In accordance with the Agreement, I will be truthful and forthcoming. You have my word on that.”
A murmuring arose from the Chamber, as ten grizzled heads conferred with each other. The Chairman nodded, then continued, “Then tell us, Mr Pinders. What is your recommendation? Should we accept the offer from the… earthlings, and let them join our community in exchange for their technology? Or should we reject them, force them away on pain of destruction?”
“Mr Chairman, my recommendation is that we allow them in.”
A commotion immediately arose from the Chamber, and the panels indicating their votes flashed erratically. Darren could see that some of them were pleased, while the rest were almost incensed, rising to shake their fists at their colleagues. He blinked as he focused on their faces and matched their names to the findings he was about to present.
“Quiet, quiet!” said the Chairman, as he stabbed at the command panels. Cones of white noise were blasted down from the ceiling, stamping out his colleagues’ objections. As a semblance of peace returned, the Chairman said, “As you can see, Mr Pinders, this is a very sensitive topic. What do your findings show? Explain yourself.”
“I recommend that we let them in, Mr Chairman, because the earthlings have not been honest with us.”
“*Not* been honest, you say? Did I hear you right?”
Darren nodded. “The earthlings claim that they are the survivors of the great nuclear wars on earth 25 years ago, and that it had taken them that long for them to survive and rebuild. They claim that they are here to retrieve the technologies they have kept here with us for safety, and that they want to work with us to achieve a brand new age. Their emissaries have thrown themselves at our mercy, and subjected themselves to all sorts of scans. They promise that they do not mean any harm. However, I have reason to believe that that is… not the whole truth.”
“What reason is this, Mr Pinders?”
Darren cleared his throat. He had only one shot at this, and he didn’t want to mess it up. He had to ensure that he was heard, and more importantly, *believed*.
“Mr Chairman, I do not trust them because they have been mentally influencing your minds.”
The uproar was so violent that the Chambers’ outbursts filtered out of the white-noise generators, and the Chairman had to dial-up the power. He even resorted to smacking his electro-folio on his desk, over and over until the rest settled.
“Mr Pinders,” the Chairman said. “Proof, proof! Proof or we will cast you out on grounds of spreading baseless dissent!”
“Three things, Mr Chairman,” said Darren, as he extended three digits in the air. “First, I scoured all first-hand reports of visual examinations of the earthlings’ spaceship. I was curious, you see. The news outlets all carried the same descriptions, but I traced them back to a single source, so that was not surprising in itself. But there were other reports too, and they all differed just *sufficiently* for me to realise that something was amiss.”
Darren waved a hand, and the receptors stitched under his skin interacted with the command panel in front of him. The tables he had prepared were transferred over automatically, and a bright blue holo swam into focus, large enough for the entire Chamber to see. Summaries of different reports were contrasted against each other, with similarities highlighted and differences circled.
“The sentries, for instance, reported that the earthlings’ ship was fitted with a base-model engine, incapable of anything more than 0.1 lightspeed travel. The Ministry of Defence focused on the fact that the ship had no weaponry of any sort they could discern. The Ministry of Engineering claims that the ship is approximately 20 years behind the models we have.”
“So?” said the Chairman. “Nothing wrong with that. They are all focusing on what’s important to them.”
“Ah,” said Darren. “So then I asked them, what do you have to say about each other’s reports? And that was when I realized, none of them could see what the other was seeing.”
The Chairman made to speak again, so Darren rushed ahead, scrolling down the tables to his second point.
“I agree, that alone is not enough. But there’s a second… test, as it were. I found that the closer anyone has been to the ship, the more strongly they felt about wanting to let the earthlings through.”
This time, it was the Minister for Defence who stood. He leaned forward on his lecturn, and pointed an accusing finger at Darren.
“Now, listen here, you no-good junkbucket! If you’re insinuating that I’ve been… brainwashed, or bribed, then you have to-”
Darren merely flicked a finger, and the tables were replaced with a series of photographs arranged in concentric circles, with the spaceship at the very centre.
“Minister, please wait for me to finish. Now, this is the chart I’ve built after reviewing all the security cameras. You will see that the inner rings are comprised of those who went closest to the ship. What I found surprising in my analysis, was that some of the people here have taken positions on the matter which are *diametrically* opposed to what they normally stand for! I should know! I checked! All the archives, all the voting patterns going way back to the founding of this colony!”
The Chairman beckoned his colleague to sit, then motioned towards Darren. “Are you done?”
Darren flicked to the end of his report, and as the picture pulsed in the holo, he heard the Chamber gasp.
The spaceship they had come to be so familiar with was there, spinning gently on its axis. But now, right *outside* the tip of the spaceship, sat three earthlings, cross-legged, in nothing more than simple robes of white. Their eyes were closed, their hands locked with each others’.
“That is a reconstruction stitched together from every off-colony security cam we have, Mr Chairman,” said Darren. “These are cameras which are remotely controlled by us, and not influenced by any human actor in any way. I can guarantee you that this is the most *objective* view we have of the spaceship. Not influenced by them in any way at all.”
“You’re saying that… they are *psychic*?”
Darren shrugged. “I need more information, Mr Chairman. Suffice to say that a lot more has transpired on earth than they let on, and until we know, we have to let them in.”
The Chairman almost dropped his electro-folio. “Let them in? If they are really… this powerful, and they have influenced us, we should be *shooting* them out of the damn sky!”
“No, we should not. At least, until we know what their true motives are, and why they have kept their abilities from us. We have to find out more before we make a decision. Just as we have progressed here on the colony, advanced so far in certain branches of science, so it seems that our cousins on earth have done so in others. And until we know more…”
The Chamber conferred between each other in hushed tones. Darren supposed he could tune up his audio-receptors to hear them, but he did not feel compelled to. Besides, there was the Agreement, with its rules and regulations, dictating what he could or could not do. He was thankful for the Agreement, and he did not want to break it.
“And you are sure you are not… susceptible to them, Mr Pinders?”
Darren shrugged again. “I do not know, Mr Chairman. But I suppose that there have to be limitations on their powers. If indeed they can also influence AI the same way they can influence you humans… then, well, the game is already lost.”
The Chairman nodded, and he raised his hand, opening the votes to the Chamber. Around him, one by one, his colleagues keyed in their choices.
The panels lit up uniformly in blue, and a gentle *ding* filled the room as the votes from the 107th session of the Chamber was recorded in the archives.
“Proceed, Mr Pinders. We will let them in, and you will watch over them. Report back to us when next you have results.”
Darren turned to leave, and for the first time in his existence, he felt… motivated.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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The hab was shaking beyond belief. Bob woke up, trying to figure out what it was that was happening. His first thought was that it was some kind of a Mars Quake. He runs to the nearest console, and sees that nothing unusual happened at the weather stations 50 km away. In fact, only the station at the old landing site seems to have found anything at all. Strange.
Quickly Bob woke all of the other astronauts in the complex. There were only 3 remaining, George, Amanda, and Eli. None of them seemed to have an idea as to what was going on. They all doned their EVA suits, which had long been collecting dust, and went outside to see what was going on.
The first thing they noticed was a smoke cloud in the direction of the old landing site. Odd. They then entered the old rover, and drove to the site. They begun to whisper, trying to figure out what it was.
As they arrived at the site, they noticed that indeed there was a cloud of smoke consistent with something having entered the atmosphere. When they arrive at the site, they see something exciting, a person wearing an old style space suit! They quickly rushed to see who it was. As they get closer, they notice that in fact, the space vehicle appears very strange, and in fact seems to be an old style vehicle. A Telsa Roadster, in fact. Then they hear it, coming from the radio, the old song "Is there Life On Mars?" They quickly realized what was happening, and begun to despair. At last, they see the words "Don't Panic". Elon would be proud, his vehicle made it to Mars at last.
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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"Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door.
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The hab was shaking beyond belief. Bob woke up, trying to figure out what it was that was happening. His first thought was that it was some kind of a Mars Quake. He runs to the nearest console, and sees that nothing unusual happened at the weather stations 50 km away. In fact, only the station at the old landing site seems to have found anything at all. Strange.
Quickly Bob woke all of the other astronauts in the complex. There were only 3 remaining, George, Amanda, and Eli. None of them seemed to have an idea as to what was going on. They all doned their EVA suits, which had long been collecting dust, and went outside to see what was going on.
The first thing they noticed was a smoke cloud in the direction of the old landing site. Odd. They then entered the old rover, and drove to the site. They begun to whisper, trying to figure out what it was.
As they arrived at the site, they noticed that indeed there was a cloud of smoke consistent with something having entered the atmosphere. When they arrive at the site, they see something exciting, a person wearing an old style space suit! They quickly rushed to see who it was. As they get closer, they notice that in fact, the space vehicle appears very strange, and in fact seems to be an old style vehicle. A Telsa Roadster, in fact. Then they hear it, coming from the radio, the old song "Is there Life On Mars?" They quickly realized what was happening, and begun to despair. At last, they see the words "Don't Panic". Elon would be proud, his vehicle made it to Mars at last.
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
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The hab was shaking beyond belief. Bob woke up, trying to figure out what it was that was happening. His first thought was that it was some kind of a Mars Quake. He runs to the nearest console, and sees that nothing unusual happened at the weather stations 50 km away. In fact, only the station at the old landing site seems to have found anything at all. Strange.
Quickly Bob woke all of the other astronauts in the complex. There were only 3 remaining, George, Amanda, and Eli. None of them seemed to have an idea as to what was going on. They all doned their EVA suits, which had long been collecting dust, and went outside to see what was going on.
The first thing they noticed was a smoke cloud in the direction of the old landing site. Odd. They then entered the old rover, and drove to the site. They begun to whisper, trying to figure out what it was.
As they arrived at the site, they noticed that indeed there was a cloud of smoke consistent with something having entered the atmosphere. When they arrive at the site, they see something exciting, a person wearing an old style space suit! They quickly rushed to see who it was. As they get closer, they notice that in fact, the space vehicle appears very strange, and in fact seems to be an old style vehicle. A Telsa Roadster, in fact. Then they hear it, coming from the radio, the old song "Is there Life On Mars?" They quickly realized what was happening, and begun to despair. At last, they see the words "Don't Panic". Elon would be proud, his vehicle made it to Mars at last.
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
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I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
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The hab was shaking beyond belief. Bob woke up, trying to figure out what it was that was happening. His first thought was that it was some kind of a Mars Quake. He runs to the nearest console, and sees that nothing unusual happened at the weather stations 50 km away. In fact, only the station at the old landing site seems to have found anything at all. Strange.
Quickly Bob woke all of the other astronauts in the complex. There were only 3 remaining, George, Amanda, and Eli. None of them seemed to have an idea as to what was going on. They all doned their EVA suits, which had long been collecting dust, and went outside to see what was going on.
The first thing they noticed was a smoke cloud in the direction of the old landing site. Odd. They then entered the old rover, and drove to the site. They begun to whisper, trying to figure out what it was.
As they arrived at the site, they noticed that indeed there was a cloud of smoke consistent with something having entered the atmosphere. When they arrive at the site, they see something exciting, a person wearing an old style space suit! They quickly rushed to see who it was. As they get closer, they notice that in fact, the space vehicle appears very strange, and in fact seems to be an old style vehicle. A Telsa Roadster, in fact. Then they hear it, coming from the radio, the old song "Is there Life On Mars?" They quickly realized what was happening, and begun to despair. At last, they see the words "Don't Panic". Elon would be proud, his vehicle made it to Mars at last.
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
"Hello, neighbour; I can't help but notice that you've built a colony on our planet." The thing was nine feet tall but so spindly it looked like it could fold up into a suitcase. "It's just, this is our planet already and you haven't got a permit."
"A permit?" I said, too bemused to express my shock.
"Of course a permit - you can't just go building colonies on other people's planets."
"But I've been here 25 years!" I said.
"We decided to give it a couple decades and see if you were just visiting but you really seem to have settled in, haven't you?" it said, stooping parallel to the ground and pushing through the airlock. It picked up my teapot between two fingers-like-spider-legs, and held it at eye level. "Settled right in."
I spent a moment in bemused silence as it peered with an unimpressed expression around my cluttered hovel.
"I've been alone, you see," I said.
"Have you?" it replied, head pivoting sinuously towards me.
"And I haven't had any visitors until now so I've not really kept it in a presentable state."
"I can see that. Not that it matters, you'll have to go back to your planet if you don't have a permit."
"But my planet has been destroyed!"
"What? Which one, Mercury?"
"No, Earth!"
"The blue one?"
"Yes the blue one, third rock."
"Third rock," it said, contemplating. "Yes, very wet, isn't it?"
"Yes very wet."
"You're mostly water, aren't you? I hear you can leak to death, is that right?"
"Not under most circumstances!"
"Anyway, what destroyed your planet?"
"Nuclear holocaust."
"You're still at the nuclear stage? How antique. Well, you'll have to go back. We'll fix it up for you."
"Fix it--do you understand, you gangly Martian, I am saying it's been annihilated by nuclear weapons."
"Yes you said that, how bad can the damage be? There were no antimatter munitions? You didn't expunge the atmosphere? Any dialithic spacial inversions? Is the xband constant destabilised?"
"No I don't think so..."
"Fine then, a little nuclear winter won't be any trouble. Do you want us to restock it?"
"Restock it...?"
"With life. Uh, 'Earth life'. We've samples going back quite a while I think. You are a *chim-pan-zee*," it said, carefully enunciating the word, "are you not?"
"No, no - human! Chimps is close, though, I suppose."
"Ah. Well, I think we have some human filed away. Ok, come with me, this will probably take a few hours. Bring a sandwich."
It stood impatiently by the door as I frantically made my last Martian sandwich and joined it hesitantly as it shooed me through the door.
|
By the time Darren Pinders was ready to share his findings with the Chamber, the spaceship from Earth had already lingered just outside orbit for the tenth day in a row.
He was well aware that normal resolutions in the Chamber required 6 out of 10 votes to pass, and the Chief held the veto in cases of deadlock. They discussed matters like whether the Colony needed extra water filtration plants built, or whether the protein vats could be depowered for maintenance. For those trifling issues, the Chamber usually reached their decisions in less than a day, and it was rare for any serious dissent to foster.
But this was a *singularly* critical topic – the security of the Colony – and the Chamber had to vote unanimously, no two ways about it. Further, until the final vote was cast, every single session was held in secret, screened off from the public. It didn’t help that the colony had already worked itself up into a frenzy, the closest they had come to civil unrest in 25 years. Even the average man in the street couldn’t be sure if the colony should welcome or reject the earthlings.
Darren took a seat in the centre of the hall. The Chamber were arranged in a semi-circle before him, and Darren had the distinct impression that they were like the jaws of great predator about to close upon him. Unlike the other consultants who came before him, he had no electro-folio with him – all the details he needed had been memorized.
“Mr Darren Pinders, thank you for joining us.” The Chairman was one Mr Harry Barnes, one of the original colonists who had arrived on Mars. It was legend that Harry had worked himself all the way up from a lowly porter in the early days. “You understand that you are here of your own free will? And that we are not compelling you to share any of your findings with us?”
“I understand,” said Darren. “In accordance with the Agreement, I will be truthful and forthcoming. You have my word on that.”
A murmuring arose from the Chamber, as ten grizzled heads conferred with each other. The Chairman nodded, then continued, “Then tell us, Mr Pinders. What is your recommendation? Should we accept the offer from the… earthlings, and let them join our community in exchange for their technology? Or should we reject them, force them away on pain of destruction?”
“Mr Chairman, my recommendation is that we allow them in.”
A commotion immediately arose from the Chamber, and the panels indicating their votes flashed erratically. Darren could see that some of them were pleased, while the rest were almost incensed, rising to shake their fists at their colleagues. He blinked as he focused on their faces and matched their names to the findings he was about to present.
“Quiet, quiet!” said the Chairman, as he stabbed at the command panels. Cones of white noise were blasted down from the ceiling, stamping out his colleagues’ objections. As a semblance of peace returned, the Chairman said, “As you can see, Mr Pinders, this is a very sensitive topic. What do your findings show? Explain yourself.”
“I recommend that we let them in, Mr Chairman, because the earthlings have not been honest with us.”
“*Not* been honest, you say? Did I hear you right?”
Darren nodded. “The earthlings claim that they are the survivors of the great nuclear wars on earth 25 years ago, and that it had taken them that long for them to survive and rebuild. They claim that they are here to retrieve the technologies they have kept here with us for safety, and that they want to work with us to achieve a brand new age. Their emissaries have thrown themselves at our mercy, and subjected themselves to all sorts of scans. They promise that they do not mean any harm. However, I have reason to believe that that is… not the whole truth.”
“What reason is this, Mr Pinders?”
Darren cleared his throat. He had only one shot at this, and he didn’t want to mess it up. He had to ensure that he was heard, and more importantly, *believed*.
“Mr Chairman, I do not trust them because they have been mentally influencing your minds.”
The uproar was so violent that the Chambers’ outbursts filtered out of the white-noise generators, and the Chairman had to dial-up the power. He even resorted to smacking his electro-folio on his desk, over and over until the rest settled.
“Mr Pinders,” the Chairman said. “Proof, proof! Proof or we will cast you out on grounds of spreading baseless dissent!”
“Three things, Mr Chairman,” said Darren, as he extended three digits in the air. “First, I scoured all first-hand reports of visual examinations of the earthlings’ spaceship. I was curious, you see. The news outlets all carried the same descriptions, but I traced them back to a single source, so that was not surprising in itself. But there were other reports too, and they all differed just *sufficiently* for me to realise that something was amiss.”
Darren waved a hand, and the receptors stitched under his skin interacted with the command panel in front of him. The tables he had prepared were transferred over automatically, and a bright blue holo swam into focus, large enough for the entire Chamber to see. Summaries of different reports were contrasted against each other, with similarities highlighted and differences circled.
“The sentries, for instance, reported that the earthlings’ ship was fitted with a base-model engine, incapable of anything more than 0.1 lightspeed travel. The Ministry of Defence focused on the fact that the ship had no weaponry of any sort they could discern. The Ministry of Engineering claims that the ship is approximately 20 years behind the models we have.”
“So?” said the Chairman. “Nothing wrong with that. They are all focusing on what’s important to them.”
“Ah,” said Darren. “So then I asked them, what do you have to say about each other’s reports? And that was when I realized, none of them could see what the other was seeing.”
The Chairman made to speak again, so Darren rushed ahead, scrolling down the tables to his second point.
“I agree, that alone is not enough. But there’s a second… test, as it were. I found that the closer anyone has been to the ship, the more strongly they felt about wanting to let the earthlings through.”
This time, it was the Minister for Defence who stood. He leaned forward on his lecturn, and pointed an accusing finger at Darren.
“Now, listen here, you no-good junkbucket! If you’re insinuating that I’ve been… brainwashed, or bribed, then you have to-”
Darren merely flicked a finger, and the tables were replaced with a series of photographs arranged in concentric circles, with the spaceship at the very centre.
“Minister, please wait for me to finish. Now, this is the chart I’ve built after reviewing all the security cameras. You will see that the inner rings are comprised of those who went closest to the ship. What I found surprising in my analysis, was that some of the people here have taken positions on the matter which are *diametrically* opposed to what they normally stand for! I should know! I checked! All the archives, all the voting patterns going way back to the founding of this colony!”
The Chairman beckoned his colleague to sit, then motioned towards Darren. “Are you done?”
Darren flicked to the end of his report, and as the picture pulsed in the holo, he heard the Chamber gasp.
The spaceship they had come to be so familiar with was there, spinning gently on its axis. But now, right *outside* the tip of the spaceship, sat three earthlings, cross-legged, in nothing more than simple robes of white. Their eyes were closed, their hands locked with each others’.
“That is a reconstruction stitched together from every off-colony security cam we have, Mr Chairman,” said Darren. “These are cameras which are remotely controlled by us, and not influenced by any human actor in any way. I can guarantee you that this is the most *objective* view we have of the spaceship. Not influenced by them in any way at all.”
“You’re saying that… they are *psychic*?”
Darren shrugged. “I need more information, Mr Chairman. Suffice to say that a lot more has transpired on earth than they let on, and until we know, we have to let them in.”
The Chairman almost dropped his electro-folio. “Let them in? If they are really… this powerful, and they have influenced us, we should be *shooting* them out of the damn sky!”
“No, we should not. At least, until we know what their true motives are, and why they have kept their abilities from us. We have to find out more before we make a decision. Just as we have progressed here on the colony, advanced so far in certain branches of science, so it seems that our cousins on earth have done so in others. And until we know more…”
The Chamber conferred between each other in hushed tones. Darren supposed he could tune up his audio-receptors to hear them, but he did not feel compelled to. Besides, there was the Agreement, with its rules and regulations, dictating what he could or could not do. He was thankful for the Agreement, and he did not want to break it.
“And you are sure you are not… susceptible to them, Mr Pinders?”
Darren shrugged again. “I do not know, Mr Chairman. But I suppose that there have to be limitations on their powers. If indeed they can also influence AI the same way they can influence you humans… then, well, the game is already lost.”
The Chairman nodded, and he raised his hand, opening the votes to the Chamber. Around him, one by one, his colleagues keyed in their choices.
The panels lit up uniformly in blue, and a gentle *ding* filled the room as the votes from the 107th session of the Chamber was recorded in the archives.
“Proceed, Mr Pinders. We will let them in, and you will watch over them. Report back to us when next you have results.”
Darren turned to leave, and for the first time in his existence, he felt… motivated.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
By the time Darren Pinders was ready to share his findings with the Chamber, the spaceship from Earth had already lingered just outside orbit for the tenth day in a row.
He was well aware that normal resolutions in the Chamber required 6 out of 10 votes to pass, and the Chief held the veto in cases of deadlock. They discussed matters like whether the Colony needed extra water filtration plants built, or whether the protein vats could be depowered for maintenance. For those trifling issues, the Chamber usually reached their decisions in less than a day, and it was rare for any serious dissent to foster.
But this was a *singularly* critical topic – the security of the Colony – and the Chamber had to vote unanimously, no two ways about it. Further, until the final vote was cast, every single session was held in secret, screened off from the public. It didn’t help that the colony had already worked itself up into a frenzy, the closest they had come to civil unrest in 25 years. Even the average man in the street couldn’t be sure if the colony should welcome or reject the earthlings.
Darren took a seat in the centre of the hall. The Chamber were arranged in a semi-circle before him, and Darren had the distinct impression that they were like the jaws of great predator about to close upon him. Unlike the other consultants who came before him, he had no electro-folio with him – all the details he needed had been memorized.
“Mr Darren Pinders, thank you for joining us.” The Chairman was one Mr Harry Barnes, one of the original colonists who had arrived on Mars. It was legend that Harry had worked himself all the way up from a lowly porter in the early days. “You understand that you are here of your own free will? And that we are not compelling you to share any of your findings with us?”
“I understand,” said Darren. “In accordance with the Agreement, I will be truthful and forthcoming. You have my word on that.”
A murmuring arose from the Chamber, as ten grizzled heads conferred with each other. The Chairman nodded, then continued, “Then tell us, Mr Pinders. What is your recommendation? Should we accept the offer from the… earthlings, and let them join our community in exchange for their technology? Or should we reject them, force them away on pain of destruction?”
“Mr Chairman, my recommendation is that we allow them in.”
A commotion immediately arose from the Chamber, and the panels indicating their votes flashed erratically. Darren could see that some of them were pleased, while the rest were almost incensed, rising to shake their fists at their colleagues. He blinked as he focused on their faces and matched their names to the findings he was about to present.
“Quiet, quiet!” said the Chairman, as he stabbed at the command panels. Cones of white noise were blasted down from the ceiling, stamping out his colleagues’ objections. As a semblance of peace returned, the Chairman said, “As you can see, Mr Pinders, this is a very sensitive topic. What do your findings show? Explain yourself.”
“I recommend that we let them in, Mr Chairman, because the earthlings have not been honest with us.”
“*Not* been honest, you say? Did I hear you right?”
Darren nodded. “The earthlings claim that they are the survivors of the great nuclear wars on earth 25 years ago, and that it had taken them that long for them to survive and rebuild. They claim that they are here to retrieve the technologies they have kept here with us for safety, and that they want to work with us to achieve a brand new age. Their emissaries have thrown themselves at our mercy, and subjected themselves to all sorts of scans. They promise that they do not mean any harm. However, I have reason to believe that that is… not the whole truth.”
“What reason is this, Mr Pinders?”
Darren cleared his throat. He had only one shot at this, and he didn’t want to mess it up. He had to ensure that he was heard, and more importantly, *believed*.
“Mr Chairman, I do not trust them because they have been mentally influencing your minds.”
The uproar was so violent that the Chambers’ outbursts filtered out of the white-noise generators, and the Chairman had to dial-up the power. He even resorted to smacking his electro-folio on his desk, over and over until the rest settled.
“Mr Pinders,” the Chairman said. “Proof, proof! Proof or we will cast you out on grounds of spreading baseless dissent!”
“Three things, Mr Chairman,” said Darren, as he extended three digits in the air. “First, I scoured all first-hand reports of visual examinations of the earthlings’ spaceship. I was curious, you see. The news outlets all carried the same descriptions, but I traced them back to a single source, so that was not surprising in itself. But there were other reports too, and they all differed just *sufficiently* for me to realise that something was amiss.”
Darren waved a hand, and the receptors stitched under his skin interacted with the command panel in front of him. The tables he had prepared were transferred over automatically, and a bright blue holo swam into focus, large enough for the entire Chamber to see. Summaries of different reports were contrasted against each other, with similarities highlighted and differences circled.
“The sentries, for instance, reported that the earthlings’ ship was fitted with a base-model engine, incapable of anything more than 0.1 lightspeed travel. The Ministry of Defence focused on the fact that the ship had no weaponry of any sort they could discern. The Ministry of Engineering claims that the ship is approximately 20 years behind the models we have.”
“So?” said the Chairman. “Nothing wrong with that. They are all focusing on what’s important to them.”
“Ah,” said Darren. “So then I asked them, what do you have to say about each other’s reports? And that was when I realized, none of them could see what the other was seeing.”
The Chairman made to speak again, so Darren rushed ahead, scrolling down the tables to his second point.
“I agree, that alone is not enough. But there’s a second… test, as it were. I found that the closer anyone has been to the ship, the more strongly they felt about wanting to let the earthlings through.”
This time, it was the Minister for Defence who stood. He leaned forward on his lecturn, and pointed an accusing finger at Darren.
“Now, listen here, you no-good junkbucket! If you’re insinuating that I’ve been… brainwashed, or bribed, then you have to-”
Darren merely flicked a finger, and the tables were replaced with a series of photographs arranged in concentric circles, with the spaceship at the very centre.
“Minister, please wait for me to finish. Now, this is the chart I’ve built after reviewing all the security cameras. You will see that the inner rings are comprised of those who went closest to the ship. What I found surprising in my analysis, was that some of the people here have taken positions on the matter which are *diametrically* opposed to what they normally stand for! I should know! I checked! All the archives, all the voting patterns going way back to the founding of this colony!”
The Chairman beckoned his colleague to sit, then motioned towards Darren. “Are you done?”
Darren flicked to the end of his report, and as the picture pulsed in the holo, he heard the Chamber gasp.
The spaceship they had come to be so familiar with was there, spinning gently on its axis. But now, right *outside* the tip of the spaceship, sat three earthlings, cross-legged, in nothing more than simple robes of white. Their eyes were closed, their hands locked with each others’.
“That is a reconstruction stitched together from every off-colony security cam we have, Mr Chairman,” said Darren. “These are cameras which are remotely controlled by us, and not influenced by any human actor in any way. I can guarantee you that this is the most *objective* view we have of the spaceship. Not influenced by them in any way at all.”
“You’re saying that… they are *psychic*?”
Darren shrugged. “I need more information, Mr Chairman. Suffice to say that a lot more has transpired on earth than they let on, and until we know, we have to let them in.”
The Chairman almost dropped his electro-folio. “Let them in? If they are really… this powerful, and they have influenced us, we should be *shooting* them out of the damn sky!”
“No, we should not. At least, until we know what their true motives are, and why they have kept their abilities from us. We have to find out more before we make a decision. Just as we have progressed here on the colony, advanced so far in certain branches of science, so it seems that our cousins on earth have done so in others. And until we know more…”
The Chamber conferred between each other in hushed tones. Darren supposed he could tune up his audio-receptors to hear them, but he did not feel compelled to. Besides, there was the Agreement, with its rules and regulations, dictating what he could or could not do. He was thankful for the Agreement, and he did not want to break it.
“And you are sure you are not… susceptible to them, Mr Pinders?”
Darren shrugged again. “I do not know, Mr Chairman. But I suppose that there have to be limitations on their powers. If indeed they can also influence AI the same way they can influence you humans… then, well, the game is already lost.”
The Chairman nodded, and he raised his hand, opening the votes to the Chamber. Around him, one by one, his colleagues keyed in their choices.
The panels lit up uniformly in blue, and a gentle *ding* filled the room as the votes from the 107th session of the Chamber was recorded in the archives.
“Proceed, Mr Pinders. We will let them in, and you will watch over them. Report back to us when next you have results.”
Darren turned to leave, and for the first time in his existence, he felt… motivated.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
|
It's been 25 years since the incident. The day after I launched to the red planet to go assist in completion of Lancelot forward operations base what does NATO go and decide to do "hey let's go start a war with China and Russia at the same time! That is a great idea". The earth did not last long, so many nukes were fired off that humanity was sent back to the stone age before the weekend. Spacex command informed me of the situation but alas they were unable to help me and I loss communication with them in only a few hours. Luckily I had been provided with plenty of supplies and with the solar powered greenhouse I was able to grow my own food, along with the incredible water recyclers so I could have something to drink. So that's what I have been doing for the past 25 years until you knocked on my door. So what can we do Mr. Musk? "Oh, we are going to save humanity, come with me and let me show you my secret project, the Falcon lifeboat."
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Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
It's been 25 years since the incident. The day after I launched to the red planet to go assist in completion of Lancelot forward operations base what does NATO go and decide to do "hey let's go start a war with China and Russia at the same time! That is a great idea". The earth did not last long, so many nukes were fired off that humanity was sent back to the stone age before the weekend. Spacex command informed me of the situation but alas they were unable to help me and I loss communication with them in only a few hours. Luckily I had been provided with plenty of supplies and with the solar powered greenhouse I was able to grow my own food, along with the incredible water recyclers so I could have something to drink. So that's what I have been doing for the past 25 years until you knocked on my door. So what can we do Mr. Musk? "Oh, we are going to save humanity, come with me and let me show you my secret project, the Falcon lifeboat."
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
The knock woke me.
I blinked at the door a moment. I didn't have to make the doors, nothing else lived on this entire damn planet other than me of course, but it had just felt...*right.*
The knock came again, more insistent.
I swallowed, and by complete instinct I grabbed the nearest thing to me - a glass stirring rod, and approached the door.
Some image I made as maybe the first human to contact an alien species - a raven haired woman in a nightgown holding a glass rod for God's sake.
*Don't get your hopes up,* that cynical part of me said. *It's probably just you hallucinating from extreme lack of human contact.*
I suppressed that voice. I'd heard the knock, I knew I had.
I opened the door and dropped the glass stirring rod in shock.
Brad stood there, exactly as he had all those years ago. Tall, blond hair and that grin of his. He hadn't changed a bit.
"Oh my God," was all I could say.
Brad raised an eyebrow, and spoke with a smile dancing on his lips, "Is that a stirring rod or are you just happy to see me?"
I flung my arms around him and started to cry. "H-how?" was all I managed between choking sobs. Images flashed through my head. Our times in college, us laughing, talking, driving around the countryside in the night. ...And watching the explosions as my ship left him, as I abandoned him.
"Well, you see," he said, holding me tightly. "Contrary to what you think, there are in fact other humans with intelligence. We rebuilt and I came for you. Couldn't leave you alone here could I?"
My rational part of me knew then, of course. Knew that it made no sense. Rebuild a spaceship after a nuclear apocalypse? But I kissed him anyways, trying, hoping, praying that he was real, that he wouldn't fade away.
It didn't work for long. It never did.
I woke up alone.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
It's been 25 years since the incident. The day after I launched to the red planet to go assist in completion of Lancelot forward operations base what does NATO go and decide to do "hey let's go start a war with China and Russia at the same time! That is a great idea". The earth did not last long, so many nukes were fired off that humanity was sent back to the stone age before the weekend. Spacex command informed me of the situation but alas they were unable to help me and I loss communication with them in only a few hours. Luckily I had been provided with plenty of supplies and with the solar powered greenhouse I was able to grow my own food, along with the incredible water recyclers so I could have something to drink. So that's what I have been doing for the past 25 years until you knocked on my door. So what can we do Mr. Musk? "Oh, we are going to save humanity, come with me and let me show you my secret project, the Falcon lifeboat."
|
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
|
I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
|
[WP] You wake up one morning, and a Windows-like dialog box suddenly fills your vision. It reads: "WARNING: You are running a pirated copy of Life."
|
“Alright, this is weird. I don’t even have my glasses on.” I say as I roll over and grab my cell phone to perform my daily routine un phased by the giant message in my vision.
“Warning! You are running a pirated copy of your life” my cell phone screen is filled with this message, as I unlock my phone on open the twitter app.
“Huh I wonder if this is gonna be trending worldwide or just in my head?’
Through my cracked cell phone screen two options appear
Option 1: Go back to previous save point in pirated life and verify existence to continue
Option 2: Continue life currently with possible programs locked,
“What the hell?”
I reach over to my tv stand and grab my glasses to make sure I am reading everything correctly.
The Television turn on as I reach for my glasses, and fills with the “options” that were presented on my cell phone.
“Alright, My TV isn’t a touch screen how am…” As my video game controller turns on with a flicker of light.
I look with disbelief, as I know didn’t go drinking last night as it wasn’t friday morning.
I pick up my controller and move the analog stick and look at the TV to see a pointer appear on the screen move the same direction as the analog stick.
“I wonder where my last save point was. Because I wasn’t aware that I had that option”
The screen doesn’t change.
“Nitchenze be damned, I am gonna try this again!”
I move the pointer to the first option, click the bubble that is next to first option, and then click the highlighted “next” button in the lower right hand corner of the box.
“Are you sure? You must have the verification code to proceed.”
“Huh?”
“Wait. I am running on a pirated version or a trial version?”
I pick up my cell phone, in a futile attempt to see if I somehow had a verification code that I hopefully not of deleted,
I somehow get access to my email account and type “verification code” into the search bar
The screen fills with 2 emails
“Please verify life existence!”
“Verification code for new subscription service”
I click on the second email and speed read through to see a code in bold font
“123onelife321”
“Well let’s hope It’s not case sensitive”
I press the “X” button on the controller and the world around me is transformed to a white room with a floating keyboard and the font “PLEASE SUBMIT VERIFICATION CODE” A blinking line is underneath the giant bold text.
I enter the code I found in the second email into keyboard and hit the enter key
“Please wait for verification”
|
Oresh and Jean had done all they could as low income parents to keep their son healthy and fed. Every day Oresh would go out to the rivers and gather fish. Every day Jean would make sure Yuan was fed and on his way to school before she would meet up with her fellow weavers. It was hard, and still is. Young Yuan was so sick and not all of him had made it to high school. They were so proud of him though. He was strong, and he was so smart. His grades hardly faltered and even with his prosthetics, he found friends.
Just as every day they returned close to identical times, equally exhausted from their under paid, under the table jobs. As was every day, they found him at home, however he was different on this evening. On this evening he was waiting for them, silent and with such a grim sorrow in his eyes.
"Yuan? What happened?" Jean asked immediately. The weariness in her eyes replaced with worry, "Did someone hurt you?" She reaches out to him and he turns away from her. He recoils from her touch.
"Yuan, what's going on?" Ordered Oresh. He has walked through the door in time to see him react to her attempt to comfort. In their small cabin, Oresh projected a commanding form.
"Is that even my name?" Yuan finally says. His voice is weak, hoarse. They can feel the sorrow in his words.
"What?" Jean replies, "Of course it is. Why are you acting like this. What happened to you?"
Yuan shivers as he attempts to control the firestorm of emotions within, "I-I went to town today."
"You what?" Oresh asked in confusion. He walks over to Jean and knelt besides her. His hands, drape over shoulders.
"My-my teacher said," he gulps the pain down, "He said I was performing so well that I might qualify for a job in town. A real job," he pauses. Taking a sharp inhale he raised his head, tears welling up in his eyes, "I was denied,"
"Oh honey-" Jean begins as she reaches out to him.
"Don't!" Yuan barks. Both his parents flinch in shock. Their quiet boy was so angry, "They told me why. They were even nice enough to give me a copy for my records," with one hand shaking, he reaches into his robe and tosses a a piece of paper at them.
Jean hurriedly grabs it and raises it up. They both read in horror before looking back to Yuan, "Please, let us explain-"
"Then it is true," he says, his voice teetering on the brink of sobs, "I'm a lie."
"It's not like that," Oresh this time, "We love you very-"
"I'm not real!" Yuan interrupts, "You told me! For years you told me that this," he waves his mechanical left arm, "This spine, and the shit in my brain were to keep me alive after a terrible sickness when I was too you to remember! You see what that says!" He points to the paper in their hand, "It says that not only am I legally dead. That I died as a premature birth. It says I'm not even yours! I'm a stolen corpse, crammed with wires and software so you could have a child."
Jean begins to sob uncontrollably, Oresh looks to Yuan with guilt on his face. This is the confirmation he needed.
"I'm going back to the center tomorrow to learn my final judgement," Yuan states solemnly.
Oresh holds Jean. They stay there in the entry way as Yuan goes to his room. The paper, lit by the single lamp from the ceiling is clear as day.
*Warning*
*Employment Invalid*
*Subject Deceased*
*Illegal Life Detected*
|
|
[WP] You wake up one morning, and a Windows-like dialog box suddenly fills your vision. It reads: "WARNING: You are running a pirated copy of Life."
|
“Alright, this is weird. I don’t even have my glasses on.” I say as I roll over and grab my cell phone to perform my daily routine un phased by the giant message in my vision.
“Warning! You are running a pirated copy of your life” my cell phone screen is filled with this message, as I unlock my phone on open the twitter app.
“Huh I wonder if this is gonna be trending worldwide or just in my head?’
Through my cracked cell phone screen two options appear
Option 1: Go back to previous save point in pirated life and verify existence to continue
Option 2: Continue life currently with possible programs locked,
“What the hell?”
I reach over to my tv stand and grab my glasses to make sure I am reading everything correctly.
The Television turn on as I reach for my glasses, and fills with the “options” that were presented on my cell phone.
“Alright, My TV isn’t a touch screen how am…” As my video game controller turns on with a flicker of light.
I look with disbelief, as I know didn’t go drinking last night as it wasn’t friday morning.
I pick up my controller and move the analog stick and look at the TV to see a pointer appear on the screen move the same direction as the analog stick.
“I wonder where my last save point was. Because I wasn’t aware that I had that option”
The screen doesn’t change.
“Nitchenze be damned, I am gonna try this again!”
I move the pointer to the first option, click the bubble that is next to first option, and then click the highlighted “next” button in the lower right hand corner of the box.
“Are you sure? You must have the verification code to proceed.”
“Huh?”
“Wait. I am running on a pirated version or a trial version?”
I pick up my cell phone, in a futile attempt to see if I somehow had a verification code that I hopefully not of deleted,
I somehow get access to my email account and type “verification code” into the search bar
The screen fills with 2 emails
“Please verify life existence!”
“Verification code for new subscription service”
I click on the second email and speed read through to see a code in bold font
“123onelife321”
“Well let’s hope It’s not case sensitive”
I press the “X” button on the controller and the world around me is transformed to a white room with a floating keyboard and the font “PLEASE SUBMIT VERIFICATION CODE” A blinking line is underneath the giant bold text.
I enter the code I found in the second email into keyboard and hit the enter key
“Please wait for verification”
|
Last night was cool
I ordered some food
Watched a couple shows
And head to my room
But today I feel different
I feel sick
6 in the morning
What the fuck is this?
It says WARNING on top
And the next words are small
It says what?
You're running a pirated version of life?
It has a couple buttons
"Buy now" and "skip"
So I click skip with my finger just for the sake of it
But now I cannot get that little text outta my mind
"Activate life, version 1-6-0-0-9"
And I though it was the food
Or maybe those drugs
But I doesn't matter what I do it keeps showing up
So tired of this
I decided to click
That button that was at the left of the one that says "skip"
And I grabbed my little pig
It was really heavy
And I sleep that night being absolutely ready
Next morning in
"Ok I'll buy it"
And my piggy bank completely vanishes in a moment
It was so weird
And I thought I was insane
But it disappeared!
I gotta tell my friends
"So yeah Nate, that weed that you sold me?
Not trying it again, it almost turns me crazy!"
"So wait, you got the pirated life message too?
Why didn't you told me! I just got my life cracked dude".
|
|
[WP] A zombie apocalypses occurs. However,due to a meteorite hitting Earth just a few days prior, the "apocalypse" consists of one lone zombie chasing after a few dozen survivors.
|
The apocalypse happened. A meteor fell. Nobody knew, or at least believed the impact it would have.
There were 32 of us. We survived. My friend Doug had a bunker. I thought he was mad. Everybody did. But Doug, he was a good one, a kind one. When the news hit us, of the impending doom, he'd already dragged us into that bunker. The rest was too late.
We heard it. We felt it. We knew. It was over.
Doug was prepared. One of those people, being ready for every type of apocalypse. We had food, water, shelter, beds. Doug had arranged it in such a way that we could survive, that we could repopulate. That prospect was uncomfortable, but what else should we do?
A few days later, Doug headed out. Looking for survivors, supplies. Maybe we could come back up. He was the one who was prepared, after all. If anyone should scout, it was him.
He never came back. I should've stopped him.
I'm sorry, Doug. Sorry for everything. I'm sorry for your sister, the ridicule. You were right. In a way, you were the brightest of us all.
I'm sorry. We will do you proud. I promise.
---
He's back. Doug's back. He's not the same.
He was twitchy, as if sick. We tried to help him, to cure him. He was choking. He was dying. Mary and Steven tried to help him and...
Oh god.
There are now 30 of us. No, 29. Doug is not one of us. Not anymore.
---
He knows. He knows everything. Everything about the bunker. Everything about us. We're trapped.
Nobody tried to go outside. Nobody wants to be what Doug's become.
We tried to lock him up. He found a way out.
We tried to find weapons. Those weapons are gone.
They were supposed to be brainless. Dear lord, why isn't he brainless?
We don't turn when he attacks. He feeds off of us before we have the chance.
---
Isaac, George, Joanna, Tina, Bloyd, all of them. Gone.
Doug is slower, in wit and speed. At the start, he was aggressive. Hungry. Smart. Now, he's just hungry. And he's coming for us all.
He can't die. Dear god why can't he die?
There is no cure. We tried. We failed. We can't wound him. We tried. We failed. Even if we stick together, he'll pick us off. I've seen it.
Because one wound burns us. Turns us.
His hunger is still there. But he can't always consume us before we turn.
---
Is this the end? There is 6 of us. Me, Derek, Patrice, Kim, Sarah and Ryan.
There is 9 of them.
---
11 of them. 2 of us.
The door will cave.
Help.
|
---
**Day 1**
---
"Jesus Christ. Jesus *Christ*. It's all gone."
"Shut the hell up, Jeff." Cassie spat, glaring at the scrawny, trembling man.
"But, that's- it's all *gone." He said, wide-eyed as he looked at the destruction around them. It was true enough. The meteor had been completely devastating. The world around them was filled with smoke and fire. The air rang with the screams of people dying, and bodies littered the floor.
Only the tiny group was left - the only living souls as far as the eye could see. A dozen lonely, terrified bodies in a sea of destruction. Cassie glanced back at the ravaged concrete structure they'd managed to shelter in.
"Glad we decided to go to the post office today." She said softly. Greg nodded, clinging close to her side. The massive building was cold-war construction - solid concrete, and built to survive a nuke. Ugly, but it saw them through the destruction admirably.
"Fucking crass, don't you think?" Roger said, scowling darkly at her. "Fires aren't even out and you're patting yourself on the back?"
"Calm down." Jessica said, grabbing him by the arm.
"We need to move." Dan said, his voice cutting across their argument. They all stopped, glaring at him, but he folded his arms. "This place is a hellhole, and I heard some *things* on the news before it hit.
Roger snorted. "Who fucking cares what you heard on the goddamn news, asshole?"
"Roger!" Jessica hissed. "Let's just go, all right? Dan's right."
The broad-chested man snorted again, leaning to the side to spit on the dirt, but he let the woman tug him away.
Dan paused, glancing back as the rest of the little group walked ahead.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard something behind them.
Another survivor? Should they turn back, start digging?
A low moan slid out of one of the nearby buildings. He heard the shuffling. Saw the first glimpse of grey-green skin.
Swallowing hard, he turned, running after the rapidly departing group.
---
**Day 34**
---
"I'm telling you, there's something following us." Jeff insisted, his voice reedy. All of them had felt the ravages of time and stress, losing sleep and weight to the apocalyptic world around them.
"Is it a big scary monster?" Cassie muttered. Jessica chuckled to herself, hiding the expression behind an upraised hand.
Jeff just frowned, folding his arms angrily. "I'm not joking. I heard it."
"Maybe it's one of Dan's zombies." Roger said, waggling his fingers ominously.
"Dude, let it go." Dan said with a sigh, running his fingers through his greasy, filthy hair. "I was just saying what I saw-"
"On the news." Roger mimicked, his tone mocking. "We fucking get it, man. But you can't suggest something like that and expect us to *not* make fun of you." He sneered over at the smaller man.
Dan just gritted his teeth, walking on.
"Did you hear that?" The terse whisper from Cassie brought the whole group up short. The others staggered to a halt close behind, whining amongst themselves. As time had gone on and they realized that no help was coming, the survivors had happily left leadership of their little group to the more-resilient five.
Jessica turned back at Cassie's question, eyes narrowed. No one moved, hardly breathing as they stared into the smoky evening.
"What....what the *hell* is that?" Her voice began as a whisper, but rose to strident intensity as the figure shambled out of the haze.
"Holy fucking shit." Roger whispered, eyes wide.
They all stared down the street as the zombie staggered step by unsteady step towards them.
---
**Day 59**
---
"Do you think it has to eat?" Dan mused, glancing back over his shoulder at the distant figure.
"If it did, wouldn't it be dead by now?" Cassie pointed out, her voice tired.
Jeff shuddered. "Maybe it's eating the dead." He said.
"Oh, stop it." Jessica said, her face screwing up with disgust.
"Just saying." Jeff muttered.
"It's just...following us." Dan said, still looking back.
"Of course it is." Roger scoffed. "It's hungry, fuckface. It wants to make your ass its dinner."
"But it just keeps *going*." Dan mused. It was true enough - the dozen survivors had dwindled to ten, as the new and dangerous world around them took its toll. Everything was changing, spiraling out of control, but that lone figure chasing after them was a steady constant.
The earth was shattered and broken, their country crushed, but there were enough resources around them to get by. Especially in this town. It had been quite the metropolitan center, before *something* unleashed by the devastating earthquakes, fires, floods, and storms had wiped everything out.
But there were still resources to be found here.
"It'd be nice if we could stay." Dan muttered, kicking a stone.
"Why can't we?" Cassie asked, glancing at him.
He scowled. "How can we, with greenie there chasing us down?" He scooped up a rock with his next step, turning and hurling it back at the zombie.
"We could kill it." Roger said, a grin spreading across his face.
"Too risky." Dan said softly, furrowing his brow. "It's not a *smart* creature, is it?"
"What's that?" Roger demanded, shoving himself up against the smaller man. "Too risky? What, you think you can lead this group?"
"Roger!" Jessica hissed, going pale. The two had been butting heads since the first day, but it had risen to a fever pitch of late.
"Enough, guys." Jeff whined. His skin was white, and he was trembling more with every day. He'd always been skinny, but of late he looked nearly skeletal. "Stop fighting. It's stupid."
"Fine." Roger spat, pushing Dan away. "As long as *he* understands his place here."
"Roger..." Jessica pleaded, chasing after the massive man.
Dan just brushed himself off, letting Cassie pull him upright. "We still need to figure out what to do about this." He muttered. He stared back at their pursuer.
---
Ahhh getting too long. Need to cut into two I think.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
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[WP] The Ancient Dragon had awoken, looked over the terrified villagers... and immediately started gushing about how cute they were.
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An ancient eyelid flicked open, revealing a colossal orange eye that almost appeared to flicker and glow like a flame. Dusty scales rustled as the behemoth flexed muscles that had not been used in decades, and the gold coins that buried it clattered to the ground along with assorted animal bones and treasures. The beast planted four clawed feet on the floor and stood tall and proud, spreading its leathery wings wide for all to see and despair at. Then it spoke, in a terrible, crackling voice.
"Who dares awaken me?" The swanlike neck twisted back and forth as it searched for its prey, and stopped. The drooling, fanged mouth contorted into what almost looked like a smile. "Found you." It lunged, fixing the intruder in place with its blazing orange gaze. Originally it had planned to swallow the thing whole and go back to sleep, but something made it stop, jaws a few inches from the intruder's head. It withdrew.
"Awww," it purred. "Aren't you cute?"
Alex knew she should have run when she had the chance, but when the dragon had looked at her she had frozen in terror. Now it was too late. She scrambled backwards and tried to run, but a clawed forepaw swept in from nowhere and scooped her up. She screamed and wriggled in the beasts grasp as it held her up to its face, sniffed her and even *licked* her. It kept making strange noises that some part of her mind recognised as talking, but it was no language she'd ever heard before. She was glad she didn't understand. The monster was clearly a sadist, toying with its captive before it killed her.
"Who's a good boy?" crooned the dragon. "I've never seen an animal like you before. Are you some sort of dwarf/elf hybrid?" It gasped as an idea struck it. "I should *keep* you! I could use the company. What do you say, little dwelf?" The creature continued struggling, spitting out words in a strange foreign language. The dragon decided to take that as a yes. It placed its new pet in a small pit in the cave. "Now just wait here, my dear. I know it's uncomfortable, but I'll make you a better enclosure, I promise."
Alex howled in despair as she was lowered into what looked like a bottomless abyss. It would take her hours to climb out, and one slip would prove fatal. She stared up at the rocky ceiling, wondering if she would ever see daylight again. As she looked, there was a clap of thunder and a scaled belly zoomed over the pit at a frightening speed. Alex held her breath. It seemed as if her captor had just left. Now was her chance to make up a plan.
The dragon soared through the sky, revelling in the thrill of flying for the first time in decades. The scenery had changed a lot since it had began hibernating. It didn't see any dwarves or elves around, but the signs of infestation were clear. Small groups of huts dotted the landscape. The dragon rolled its eyes. Looked like it would have to take a detour to do some pest control.
Screams rang out as the dragon hovered over the village.
"Stop ruining my lawn!" It bellowed, and shot a blast of flame towards one of the huts. Vermin scattered everywhere, and the dragon narrowed its eyes. It couldn't quite tell if they were dwarves or elves. It swooped in to take a closer look, and gasped. They were neither dwarves nor elves, but the same species as the adorable creature it had captured earlier. A whole village of them.
The dragon felt a pang of guilt as it noticed the building it had set on fire, and it quickly went to stamp out the flames. It perched atop the ruined hut and sighed, watching the creatures panic and flee.
"What am I going to do with you?" It murmured. Clearly, they were vermin. The dragon took great pride in maintaining a pristine garden, and like dwarves and elves, these creatures destroyed its plants and made their ugly homes in the most inconvenient places. Really, it should just exterminate them all, but they were just so damn *cute*. It had an almost irresistable urge to gather them up and keep them all as pets.
"Actually, that's not such a bad idea," the dragon murmured to itself.
Alex screamed as she was wrenched from her hiding place and hauled into the sky. All thoughts of escape had gone straight out of her mind. Hills and fields flashed by, lakes and rivers... and a strange structure, made out of stone that appeared to have been melted, reformed, and sculpted into four tall walls without a ceiling.
It was there that the dragon took her, depositing her gently into the middle of the box. Before she knew it, she was surrounded by friends and family, people she had thought she would never see again.
"What happened?" Her father asked, hugging her tightly. "Where have you been?"
"It's a long story." She stared at the walls which now surrounded their village. "What happened here?"
"You won't believe it. I think we've been blessed by the Gods. They sent one of their creatures to build these walls and protect us from our rivals. It even brought us food!" He pointed at a pile of fresh animal carcasses.
"Creature? What-"
"The one that just brought you back to us." Alex went pale.
"I think I need to sit down."
~~~
/r/DarkAlliGator
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The village elder wore an expression of dying inside as the dragon prodded him with a long silver claw.
"Oh my gods! Do you all have these weird ears!"
"Yes oh great one, we are humans."
"Oooh, humans! My you're a squishy lot aren't you!"
"Yes O great one," the assembled crown chorused.
"WHAT ARE THOSE!" the dragon roared.
"Toes oh great one," the little barefoot boy whimpered.
"I can't get over this! Sooo cute! Back in my day you used to have hooves! Or were those satyrs?"
At that moment a group of dwarves marched into the square.
"OH MY GODS THERE'S LITTLE FLUFFY ONES TOO!"
The ancient dragon demolished it's way across the village.
"I'm sorry" it said to the humans, "but the little fluffy ones are cuter!"
The lead dwarf turned around to face his brethren.
"Lads," he whispered stroking his manly beard, "we must kell this abom'nation"
His beard was manly, not fluffy, manly!
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[WP]One day you are cursed by a gypsy woman into an animal form, stuck there until true love's kiss sets you free. If you tell anyone about the curse, they will die instantly. Instead of looking for your true love, you decide to become the world's foremost assassin.
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I'm a thinker. A planner. This curse business didn't slow me down for long. I still have my high-rise apartment, and boy am I grateful now that I didn't go for one of the lower units. I would have managed, but still. I've always liked being up high anyway. As long as the checks keep coming the building superintendent won't notice a thing, and did you know the banks will send checks online? I don't even have to sign them, which is great seeing as I'm shit with a pen these days. Everything can be done over the phone or internet, even in my line of business. The only sticking point is the mail, but for an extra $10 the Chinese delivery guy will bring it up for me. Not like anything important travels the mail these days, but in my line of work you have to keep up appearances, and an overflowing mailbox can look suspicious. People don't notice the big things, but they notice little things. Never be seen leaving your apartment, and they just think you're a shut-in. But don't collect your mail for a while and suddenly there's talk of "wellness checks" and a pair of cops knocking on your door with voices full of concern. That one was a tricky situation, but thankfully money can fix most anything, and my expenses these days are pretty minimal.
I learned pretty early on that windows were damn near impossible for me, so I always left the bedroom window cracked a bit. I slipped through and headed to the park, just a mile away as the crow flies (heh). My target likes to visit this park around noon and feed the pigeons. What a sap. And here he was, sitting on a park bench with his bag of popcorn and an assemblage of cooing plague pits at his feet, looking for all the world like a harmless little old man. Said old man was the biggest Mafia boss this side of the river. I lighted in a nearby tree and surveyed the area. Where's your guards, old man? You don't go anywere without a couple of goons.
Except here. You come here without the guards, maybe because they scare away your birds, or maybe you just want a few minutes alone with your thoughts. Not that your goons could help you anyway.
I flitted down next to him on the bench, and the pigeons flew away en masse. Good riddance. I hate pigeons. They're nothing more than big balls of feathers and shit, and occasionally the ones around my building try to harrass me.
The target turned to me. "Hello," he said, holding out a handful of popcorn. I could smell it, cold and rancid with butter. Did he expect me to eat out of his hands, like some sort of tame parrot or something? I had a far more satisfying meal in mind.
"Hello," I croaked back. He looks puzzled, but everyone's heard stories about ravens that can talk, right? I hopped closer. "You know, I'm really a man. A gypsy cursed me, and true love's kiss will set me free." Done. He went from puzzled to confused. His eyes narrowed, then widened as the curse took effect. He clutched his heart as his face changed colors, reddening at first, then growing pale. I hopped from the bench to his chest. I wanted to be close for this. I always liked being close to my prey, which is how that damned old gypsy woman found me, crouched over her husband. If I had been faster, this never would have happened. If I hadn't done exactly what I was doing now, savoring the kill and the power it gave me, I wouldn't be in this form, this place. And I wouldn't have this new-found gift, the ability to kill with words. You may think I regret my actions then, but believe me I do not. How could I regret the best thing that ever happened to me?
The target's breath was coming slow, gasping. Any minute now would be his last. I leaned over, inches from his face, beak hovering over his right eye. "Quoth the raven," I whispered, "nevermore."
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I didn’t mean to piss her off. But I did.
She decided to get me back she would turn me into a animal that’s needs a true love’s kill to be set free...
My girlfriend didn’t appreciate the curse but her husband was happy with the insurance money.
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[WP]One day you are cursed by a gypsy woman into an animal form, stuck there until true love's kiss sets you free. If you tell anyone about the curse, they will die instantly. Instead of looking for your true love, you decide to become the world's foremost assassin.
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**Please let me know what you think! I appreciate constructive feedback.**
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I had always assumed that princes were turned into frogs to await the kiss of their true loves. I had never been sure whether to be pissed off or relieved that I wasn’t a frog.
I heard soft giggles and the gentle rumble of a man’s voice.
That had been the first thing I had noticed after my transformation. My improved hearing. Actually, that’s not quite true. It had been my improved sense of smell. I had nearly passed out from the stink of the cage the gypsy had put me into.
I shuffled on the tabletop, avoiding the candles while I tried to inch my way down without my catching my targets’ attentions.
“Aw, look at him,” the woman cooed. “He wants our pasta.”
“Move him. I don’t think that’s hygienic.”
“Oh, shut up!”
Nevertheless, I found myself lifted up. I forced myself to become limp and docile in the grasp, despite the frantic hammering of my heart.
No one had ever realised my true nature. Only a few ever saw me – those I intended to kill. And most of those underestimated me. Why shouldn’t they? After all, I was adorable. I had soft fur and twitching whiskers. I could play the part of the defenceless pet when I needed to.
There were a few who looked into my eyes and saw, if not the human within, then certainly the intelligence. And, most likely, the murderous rage. I had always sworn to murder the witch for what she had done to me. Until I could figure out how, I would just have to sate myself with the lives I am paid to take.
I heard more soft cooing directed towards me and resisted the urge to shudder. I would have preened if it had been anyone else. I knew what ugliness lay under the exterior. I had seen the pictures. I would be glad to murder these two.
I was set down on the floor. Finally. I raced as away as quickly as I could, trying to recall the blueprints I had seen for the home.
“Look at him go! You scared him!”
I ignored the bickering behind me as I raced, trying to find the kitchen. I knew that it was close. But, I would have to hurry. I wouldn’t want to get caught in the explosion, or in the aftermath. The night may be young, but it was the last day of the full moon. Tonight would be my final chance.
Absorbed in their murderous plotting, my targets barely noticed me as I raced for the stove. I had already chewed through the thick hose connecting the gas line to the stove. My paws, though not as nimble as a human’s hands, were more than enough to knock over a stray candle sitting on the end of the counter.
The humans barely noticed as I zoomed past them again, into the small area outside that had been set aside for me. I dived into my hutch, just in time.
The explosion was small, but I knew that my targets had been sitting close enough for it to kill them.
Once I was sure that it was safe, a judgement that was sorely impeded by the instinctive terror of the rabbit, I managed to stick my head outside the hutch. A bright light immediately assaulted my eyes.
“It’s just a bunny. Must have been theirs.”
I had waited too long. The police were here. Or firefighters, perhaps. Either way, I would have to find a way to escape. Soon.
I was picked up out of the hutch and cradled against someone’s chest.
“Poor guy. I wonder if they’ll let me take him home.”
I had no intention of allowing that to happen.
Making sure to wait until my captor had dropped his guard, I leaped for freedom.
I didn’t know what time it was. I would have to hurry if I wanted to get somewhere safe before daybreak.
There were many, many human standing in my way, but, taken by surprise as they were, they had no chance of stopping me. I had managed to squeeze out of the fence by the time most had realised I had hopped past them.
Once I was outside, it was easy to build up my speed. Even the slowest of rabbits could run faster than a speed of 40km an hour. And I wasn’t slow, for a rabbit or a human.
But it would still be cutting it close. I saw the sky begin to lighten, and my heart sank. Once the sun rose, it would no longer be the day of the full moon.
I was so absorbed in my fears that I didn’t notice the squealing of a car’s brakes.
A familiar scent assaulted my nose. I resisted the urge to squeal. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
“Get in,” she said, surprisingly.
I dodged to the side, but she was quick. Worse, she knew my tricks. I wished that I could hiss or spit, like a cat.
The gypsy witch tossed me into the back seat, almost carelessly, and dropped a blanket over me.
I began to shudder and realised, to my horror, that it must be dawn. The familiar feel of my insides burning made me groan, even as my bones stretched. It wasn’t the pain that upset me. I had known that it was coming. It was the fact that the witch could see my change.
She was gaping at me when I sat up, arranging the blanket around myself. I glared back. I was what she had made me.
“You’re not going to thank me for saving your furry, little butt?”
I wanted to reach over to break her skinny neck, but I knew that would just trap me in the body of a rabbit forever, instead of just for the several days of full moon.
“I wouldn’t need to be saved if you hadn’t cursed me.”
“Don’t forget that you wouldn’t have your lucrative new career without me either.”
The witch blew a mocking kiss at me before she started the car.
---
*If you liked this story, please visit my subreddit r/YarnsToTell.*
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I didn’t mean to piss her off. But I did.
She decided to get me back she would turn me into a animal that’s needs a true love’s kill to be set free...
My girlfriend didn’t appreciate the curse but her husband was happy with the insurance money.
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[WP]One day you are cursed by a gypsy woman into an animal form, stuck there until true love's kiss sets you free. If you tell anyone about the curse, they will die instantly. Instead of looking for your true love, you decide to become the world's foremost assassin.
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I'm a thinker. A planner. This curse business didn't slow me down for long. I still have my high-rise apartment, and boy am I grateful now that I didn't go for one of the lower units. I would have managed, but still. I've always liked being up high anyway. As long as the checks keep coming the building superintendent won't notice a thing, and did you know the banks will send checks online? I don't even have to sign them, which is great seeing as I'm shit with a pen these days. Everything can be done over the phone or internet, even in my line of business. The only sticking point is the mail, but for an extra $10 the Chinese delivery guy will bring it up for me. Not like anything important travels the mail these days, but in my line of work you have to keep up appearances, and an overflowing mailbox can look suspicious. People don't notice the big things, but they notice little things. Never be seen leaving your apartment, and they just think you're a shut-in. But don't collect your mail for a while and suddenly there's talk of "wellness checks" and a pair of cops knocking on your door with voices full of concern. That one was a tricky situation, but thankfully money can fix most anything, and my expenses these days are pretty minimal.
I learned pretty early on that windows were damn near impossible for me, so I always left the bedroom window cracked a bit. I slipped through and headed to the park, just a mile away as the crow flies (heh). My target likes to visit this park around noon and feed the pigeons. What a sap. And here he was, sitting on a park bench with his bag of popcorn and an assemblage of cooing plague pits at his feet, looking for all the world like a harmless little old man. Said old man was the biggest Mafia boss this side of the river. I lighted in a nearby tree and surveyed the area. Where's your guards, old man? You don't go anywere without a couple of goons.
Except here. You come here without the guards, maybe because they scare away your birds, or maybe you just want a few minutes alone with your thoughts. Not that your goons could help you anyway.
I flitted down next to him on the bench, and the pigeons flew away en masse. Good riddance. I hate pigeons. They're nothing more than big balls of feathers and shit, and occasionally the ones around my building try to harrass me.
The target turned to me. "Hello," he said, holding out a handful of popcorn. I could smell it, cold and rancid with butter. Did he expect me to eat out of his hands, like some sort of tame parrot or something? I had a far more satisfying meal in mind.
"Hello," I croaked back. He looks puzzled, but everyone's heard stories about ravens that can talk, right? I hopped closer. "You know, I'm really a man. A gypsy cursed me, and true love's kiss will set me free." Done. He went from puzzled to confused. His eyes narrowed, then widened as the curse took effect. He clutched his heart as his face changed colors, reddening at first, then growing pale. I hopped from the bench to his chest. I wanted to be close for this. I always liked being close to my prey, which is how that damned old gypsy woman found me, crouched over her husband. If I had been faster, this never would have happened. If I hadn't done exactly what I was doing now, savoring the kill and the power it gave me, I wouldn't be in this form, this place. And I wouldn't have this new-found gift, the ability to kill with words. You may think I regret my actions then, but believe me I do not. How could I regret the best thing that ever happened to me?
The target's breath was coming slow, gasping. Any minute now would be his last. I leaned over, inches from his face, beak hovering over his right eye. "Quoth the raven," I whispered, "nevermore."
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The wind feels stronger I thought, the grass is taller too! I had just got back to my senses after being cast out of the gypsys home, I looked around and saw a giant spider heading towards me, it’s fangs twitching and dripping with saliva, I jumped out of fear and realised, I was flying! My dream of being able to fly had finally come true! I made a haste towards the shiniest thing I could find, twas an ocean nearby with a giant frog swimming around, I looked at my reflection and saw that I had become a mosquito, the worlds most deadly assassin. I flew up out of shock and in good time too, a large sticky frogs tongue was shooting out behind me in slow motion, I realised, as I was an insect I could see everything slowed down. I made my way to the town to play mosquito, I was able to dodge and weave past all obstacles with ease, until I forgot to look where I was going and smacked into a woman. It was extremely embarrassing, I went to apologise and remembered I was a mosquito I didn’t have to! Suddenly everything went dark, I saw a mans hand (or a very hairy lady) coming to hit me, it missed and made contact with the lady, who as you probably understand was shocked, embarrassed and extremely angry, she then proceeded to beat the man (or hairy lady) with her bag as her kid watched on. This is fun, living the life of a mosquito I thought, but let’s step it up a bit! I went to find the juiciest person I could (a large man in a pie shop) and bit down, it takes some time to get used to the taste of blood, anyway the man of course felt it but I flew away in time, I then proceeded to watch what happened to the man over the course of the day, I must admit it wasn’t the most pleasant sight, he was coughing and sneezing over every dog, man, woman, child and pie he came across. Towards the end of the day, he had become seriously ill as well as all the other townsfolk too, my work had been done, although I did not find the cure for my mosquito curse, I had spread the wrath (hopefully to the gypsy too) of malaria. An insects life is short, I went back to my home and died there, my lifeless fly body waiting to be swept up by somebody who hasn’t died.
The End! Twas definitely a fun thing to write and my first one of these writing prompt things, I might do another at some point! I made the guy a mosquito because they are essentially (not on purpose) the worlds deadliest assassins. Apologies for no paragraphs either and any incorrect punctuation, it’s mobile Reddit, tricky keyboard.
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[WP] In the distant future, paying for memory doesn't become a necessity only for your phone or computer. You also have to pay for your own brain space.
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I looked through my memories and groaned. My storage was full. Beginning the tedious task of flicking through the memory files and deleting older ones, I made my way into the kitchen. I didn't have many memories worth keeping.
I had deleted over half my memories when the warning popped up again.
>'Storage full'
*What the?*
I checked my downloads. A 7 terabyte download was in the queue. I didn't recall downloading anything, so I checked the details.
> Luke! The memories you have are fake. These are your real memories! Please remember. Accept the download.
I scoffed. Must've picked it up on some crummy website. Scams were getting better these days. I canceled the download and made my way back to the threadbare couch.
I went to delete what was left over from the download. I didn't want any corrupted files in my head. It turns out they weren't files, they were videos.
Curious I opened one.
An old woman appeared on the screen. "Luke, if you're seeing this it means at least part of the download worked. We are sending you your memories. Buy the space if you have to, but you must *remember*"
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Insanity.
That's what all the ads say. Insanity. It'll happen to you as you age, your immortality preying on your weak mind.
It's genius and yet the most corrupt at the same time. It's sounds like a riddle, what everyone needs too much of yet no one will ever have enough of.
The government corrupted it too. The insanity, they were warned. Hurry, you want to hold your power sanely. So the politicians listened to the crow in their ear, eager to make immortality ethical of sorts. Acceptable for the least.
The doctors prescribed it, that space. The cure for insanity before you go mad with an aging brain yet a youthful body. The doctors told me that I'm going mad and forgetful, not enough memories for the brain. But they're the mad ones.
The companies are just parts of one corrupt company. Selling immortality first, and then the solution to immortality's problems separately. It's a false competition, the world falling for it at every twist and turn. I could never twist this crow's neck, it's too late.
What rebelling could be done? Locked under chains for the mad insanity, trying to force the space upon us. In oh so many ways. Mad, they all cry. We've gone mad with the brain's age. You need more space. Be a robot, have an upgrade.
Mad we are, us. I've got one stone left to throw at this crow, mad or not.
The conference.
The crow's head all gathered in one room.
The stone ready to throw.
Aim the stone.
Bam.
Watch the stone soar to the crows head.
Through the eye and hit the space.
The first stone in surely thousands.
Look who's mad now.
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[WP]A dragon is in possession of the only sword capable of slaying him. His choice of a hiding place for it is as secretive as it is a terrible, terrible idea.
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The dragon laughed and roared
As it danced about the cave
For now *nothing* could defeat him
and send him to his grave
For the blade twice-blessed
His slayer under destiny
Was now in his possession
And unable to end his tyranny
But a thought hit the dragon
As it leapt about the room
What if a hero should steal the sword
To send him to his doom?
Why then, he must hide the blade
From all prying mortal men.
But where could he hide such a weapon
And put it beyond their ken?
A solution appeared and he grinned,
Tossing the blade in the air
he opened wide his gigantic maw
and ate it without a care.
First he chuckled at his cleverness
Then he choked with fear
He spluttered and hacked in panic
Before reaching for his throat to tear
His claws scrabbled across his hide
But no relief was found
His eyes bulged and with a final cough
He fell dead to the ground
Now let this be a lesson, young dragons,
one to save your life
If you are destined to die by a blessed sword
Do not swallow the bloody knife!
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"With all due respect, this is an exceptionally stupid idea."
Greang the Wicked huffed a puff of smoke in indignation. "Whatever do you mean, people nugget?"
Sir Rav of the Light sighed. "You are the worst dragon in all of existence. And by worst I mean you are a menace to all things living. This is rather factually correct, no?"
Greang nodded, in a dragonly fashion. "Indeed." His eyes grew cloudy at the memories of all those people eaten. Of all those villages pillaged. Of entire kingdoms wiped from the face of the planet. A sulfurous tear crept forth, but Greang would not let such sentimentality seep forth from his most vile of tear ducts. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I am."
Sir Rav nodded. "And I'm the pinnacle of Good upon this world. Chosen by not only the Gods of Good and Light, but even those of the more middling Neutral realms, *and* a fair number of the Evil ones as well. The Evil ones threw in Their profane agreement on the basis of one task- that I remove Greang from existence by any means necessary. You are aware of this as well, right?"
Greang nodded again. "Yes, I have longed for the day when we would cross paths and I would eat you! Along side the entire population of the closest city. I tend to eat my feelings, you know, and after destroying an embodiment of Good I tend to feel pretty damn good! I know it's a bit greedy, and I pay heck for it in the coming weeks, and don't even get me started on the hassle of trying to get back down to my fighting weight," Greang trailed off in a fit of 'harrumphs' at the whole notion.
Sir Rav nodded, again. "Okay, so forgive my impertinence at questioning the... intelligence in giving me the one sword capable of killing you. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it. Really, I do! But you do realize that now that I have to sword, and that I have you standing before me, I'm really left with no other choice but to strike you down." Sir Rav pulled the blade from its sheath. It shone like a million stars on a moonless night. It sang a metallic note as the enchanted metals delicately brushed against each other. A hum as if a hundred thousand angels were finding the same pitch with which to sing a song of all Creation murmured forth. Sir Rav marveled at the feel of the blade. Never had a blade felt so *right*, nor so righteous.
Greang cocked his head and blinked. And then a rumbling of his massive shoulders, the great beast actually shrugged. "Do want you have to do, people nugget."
The blade flashed in Sir Rav's hands. Its song unleashed as he struck with all his might and vigor. The ground itself shook as he struck the fell beast Greang. The lights of all those stars flashed in one blinding moment, and then all was silent.
Sir Rav's eyes slowly adjusted to the light. The first thing he saw was the sword. It was broken. Shattered, like glass. The next thing to fill his field of vision was Greang. Smoke once again trickled forth from his nostrils, as well as his gaping maw. "I must concur, giving you the Blade of All Hopes is an extremely foolish idea." Fire began to boil and froth at the back of Greang's mouth. The red angry glow spilled out and cast a hellish glare on their field of battle. "But what makes you think I gave you the *real* sword? Really, Sir 'pinnacle of Good', how foolish do you have to be to have fallen for such a ruse?"
Fire flamed, teeth gnashed. Still reeling from the shock, Sir Rav didn't even manage a choked gasp at the indignity and swiftness of his own demise.
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[WP] While organizing your childhood keepsakes you find a peculiar looking paper. Upon reading it you realize it's a deal with the devil. He got your soul, but you can't make out what you got as your penmanship was horrendous as a child.
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“I see that you found it.”
The voice came from nowhere.
I was still clutching the paper when I turned toward the door and saw the shadow standing there.
Words failed me as the strange ethereal creature stepped closer and solidified into a well dressed man in his mid 40s.
“What is this?” I asked.
“You surely remember?” He jested.
He allowed me to sit down and examine the note a bit longer and still I felt puzzled.
“Why.. would I do this?” I whispered softly.
“Ah... I see the problem,” he remarked as he saw the bad scribbles and added, “Comes with the territory actually. Most people don’t even realize I do this a lot with children.”
I found myself visibly shaking.
“You... you do?”
“Of course, why do you think there is so much crime. Why do you think the world is in the mess it’s in?” He countered.
“You’re a monster,” I said.
“Maybe so, but my deals are fair. I make sure each and every individual can understand the full price before signing the dotted line,” he said.
“How can you even say that’s reasonable when I was a child? No one can remember their childhood,” I argued.
“That.. my friend is the deal,” he explained.
“What...?”
“I didn’t stutter. It’s the same deal, and I offer it to everyone. No one has ever refused. No one has even considered it,” he said.
“You.. take away our memories as infants? But... but why?” I asked.
“Listen... I don’t normally do this. But see, that piece of paper right there. Most parents get rid of it before you are of age to understand. But these are extraordinary circumstances,” he paused as he took it from me.
“I change the deal right now. Scratch it out. You can have your memories back, fair and square if you want,” he said.
“Just like that?” I asked.
“It’s only fair, in fact I think it would be interesting to see what you think of the experience,” he responded with a shrug.
I thought it over for a second and then shook his hand. He smiled and tore up the contract before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
I sat there a moment and waited and then felt something inside my cerebral cortex. It was like a door was being unlocked.
Flashes of memories flooded into my subconscious. I watched as I saw my first steps as a baby, chewing peacefully on toys. Then the memories went further back to where I couldn’t even hold my head up. I could feel every bump or bruise I made as a child all over again.
It didn’t stop there. I saw my mother giving me her breast milk and I felt so strange seeing her naked form. Then I was in the hospital.
The doctors were cutting my umbilical cord. I felt a rush of pain like nothing I had ever felt before as I realized I was experiencing my own birth.
Being pushed back inside my mother’s womb, watching as the world caved into darkness. Then my organs began to disappear one by one before the time I was even a single cell. I was losing everything and feeling everything at the same time.
Then the moment came of my conception and I fell backward on the bed trying to push the memory away. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop seeing the image of my naked parents flash before my eyes as they engaged in sex.
“Make it stop!! Please make it stop!!” I shouted.
The creature I spoke with just a moment ago reappeared with a new contract for me to sign. This one was permanent and binding.
I didn’t hesitate for a moment to sign it and felt a calmness as I sat there. But then I realized the memories hadn’t faded away.
“Why can’t I get them to go away anymore?” I asked as tears filled my eyes.
“Sorry, it only works one way I guess,” he admitted as he realized the new contract was invalid and added, “Looks like I can’t help you anymore.”
I sat there sobbing on the bed for a long time, wishing I had never entered this room. Wishing I had never changed the deal.
To anyone else out there I give this warning, be thankful for the deal you made. And heed this story or wind up with the same horrifying memories as I do.
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(this is my first ever writing prompt, CC is welcome.)
"Those goddamn extreme couponing shows ruined everything" my mother screeched, flowing past my attention like the six millionth wave on the sand.
When did it get this bad? When did she stop being stocked and start being a hoarder?
Working my way through twenty years of "I might need this later", I discovered a dusty but clearly cherized nook. I couldn't help but grin ear to ear at my kingdergarden plate adorned with what looked like a red potatoe T-Rex firing machine guns. Mom always hated what a tomboy I was growing up. "Girls don't burn gasoline in the backyard Ashlyn" , "Girls don't pee standing up Ashlyn" , "Girls don't get temporary skull tattoos Ashlyn". Tearing up, I wonder why she kept it; most of why she adopted my sister was to get another shot at a feminine daughter.
A stack of drawing; again, frequent potatoe T-Rexs firing machine guns. I'm a thirty year old med student, and I still fucking love these. I'm going to hang these fuckers when I get home.
A small-uncrinkled-yellow sticky note falls out of the bunch of papers; it's bright red sharpie lettering standing Stark against the concrete.
"I trade my sole for your goker Satan". Jesus, my penmanship hasn't gotten much better.
"Sole"; well, I guess a shoe is worth my bed being a little less cold at night.
"Alright Satan, come on, I'm redeeming this. One daughter for one sole".
Chuckling, I stick the note in my back pocket and the papers under my arm. "I'll going to head home for the night mom! I'll be back Saturday to help remind you of all your bad life choices!"
Right as I start fishing my keys out of my purse, Eli's door creeks open down the hall; and his greasy head pokes out. "Hey Ashlyn!". Jesus Christ, this guy. The obsessive late night texts arien't enough; he has to sit at his window watching and waiting for me to pull into my spot. God, I can smell him from here. A platoon of Marines lost in the desert would smell less like old sweat.
"I really can't chat Eli! Forgot the stove on!"
Got em', my door swings open to provide sanctuary from social obligations, to the musical sound of keys jingling. I shut the door quickly behind me with a sigh of relief. It isn't until I dump my stuff on top of my own miniature hoarding of mail and things from my pockets on the counter that it hits me how goddamn cold it is in here. Maybe I should have left the stove on.
It smells smokey too, god, please tell me Eli didn't try to make curry again and I'm just realizing the whole building smells like all of India's collective disappointment and shame.
"Hello Ashlyn". Every muscle in my body tenses as my brain haywires between turning the lights on and grabbing a kitchen knife. Standing flustered as the lights flicker on and the kitchen knives tumble with their stand on to the floor and across the tile.
He's just sitting there, dressed in bright gray suit that had to be worth this building.
A bright open smile creeps across his feminine face like he knows something I don't. A buzzing-reverberation crawls behind his voice, "I was afraid you'd never actually redeem our deal."
"Our deal for WHAT?!? And, if you try a fucking thing..."
"If I wanted to try anything, it'd have happened. And, you know that. No Ashlyn, you redeemed our deal; I'm here to see it fufilled".
(I'll continue this in a reply; sorry if the formatting is bad, I'm on mobile)
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[WP] You are a skeleton that has transported to the human world to wreak havoc. However, you just want to live normally again, so you get an office job.
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"Hey bob," I called.
Only the semi\-blank stare of confusion and horror answered me. This had become the norm for the past week and a half. I'd say hi, they would stare. I tried to sigh, as I turned to keep walking toward my desk, but all that happened was my ribs came closer together. I still didn't have a clue how I talked without any oxygen, or vocal chords, but I suppose that's part of the shtick of being sent here. Causing chaos by wrecking buildings, and catching tank rounds was all well and good, but I suspected there was a more subtle game being played. If scientists tried to analyze me, their heads might explode from the sheer level of absurdity. Skeletons can't talk, except I can. Oh wells.
I sat down at my computer, and stared at the thumbprint scanner. Yet again, I tried to sigh. It did not work. Today was probably going to be another long call to IT telling them their security measures were skeleton\-proof. Sometimes I wondered whether the DOJ even wanted me to work here, or just wanted a way to keep me out of the general populous.
I ground my teeth together as I reached for the phone, and picked it up off the hook. I dialed the extension, and was greeted with, "Hello, you've reached IT."
"Hey Dennis, it's me."
"OH! Hey Grathnauklaurlous, he who hath wreaked havoc, long time since I've heard from you."
*Yeah, like twelve hours.* I wasn't sure if his mastery of my name was out of necessity, or mockery, but he had picked it up with surprising acuity. "Your fingerprint scanner isn't working," I informed him.
The clickity clack of a keyboard sounded through the telephone. "Oh really? The system says it's active."
"You know it doesn't work for me! And you know it's me. I'm only an accountant, can't you let me in this once?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know I'm not supposed to do that. I'll call the guard over to verify your identity, then you can get back to your job."
I sighed. "Thanks Dennis." It wasn't his fault government policy didn't allow him to help a guy out, but he could have at\-least sounded less cheerful about it. but after working as a bank teller, and getting fired after my tenth customer ran off screaming, this place wasn't so bad.
"Glad I could help," he replied cheerfully. The sound of a receiver dropping back into the cradle was followed by the disconnected dial tone. I waited a full twenty minutes for the security guard to arrive.
"Hey Brutus," I said casually.
He rolled his eyes, and grunted. "Do you have your ID on you?" he asked in exasperation.
I pulled it from my jacket and handed it to him. "Just wondering, how many skeletons do you know?"
"Don't make this difficult." he pleaded.
"Come on, man. I get that the person over the phone can't really verify, but you know It's me. It's almost impossible for someone to impersonate me. And if you did find another skeleton, you'd probably need an anthropologist to tell the differences. Or a forensic scientist. Maybe an osteologist."
He sighed heavily, and put his thumb to the scanner for me, then handed my ID card back. "Have a nice day, G," he said as he turned his back and walked back toward the elevator bank.
I dropped my head into my hands. How long would it take for them to get me a viable way to log in? After several minutes, I lifted my head, just in time to watch my computer lock. I gnashed my teeth, and withheld a scream, then slowly reached for the phone, and dialed the extension.
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On my way to work I stopped at a bar and ordered a beer and a mop, but the bartender is a ghost and he says, "We have no beer and I don't have a mop."
I tell him I think he is lying. Shocked, he says, "What makes you think that?"
"Because I can see right through you."
"You should talk. Go put some clothes on!"
So I left and went in search of a suit, but everything I tried on just hung on me so went in search of a sporting goods store. It had gotten windy and I was beginning to whistle. But not in tune.
When I found the right store I got a wet suit. The silence was deafening. Which was odd because my eardrums were missing.
When I got to the office the doctor told me to take off my suit and hang myself up in the corner. Its a boring job, but not much to it, really.
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[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
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"It's all over Klarg," the hulking four armed beast gutterly exclaimed breaking into the final chamber. His large black eyes, untelling of focus or direction gazed in Klarg's direction. Plasma pistol at the ready the Gurknok breathed heavily after passing the royal guard. "You're people have lost. Give up with grace while you still can."
Klarg responded, "I'll admit our time is up here. We never hoped to win this fight you know. It was never a contest of strength. There are others though. Others with the ability to grow and multiply that not even you hunkering monsters can keep up with."
"The Earthlings?" the Gurknok replid incredulously."We've known about them for millenia! We knew when you sent that Musk bot to them all those years ago, hoping to shed some intergalactic light on their petty lives. Our own safety measure was taken of course despite how futile your attempt is. Those bastards still believe oil is going to get them anywhere. They'll destroy the planet before our Zuck bot lives for 40 years! It's all for nothing! Last I heard Zuck has gathered all of those tiny peoples' thoughts, ideas, and communications for the past 10 years. Slowly manipulating and controlling the direction of the species, he will finish them before I fire this shot." He broke into laugh that shook the very foundations of the captains room.
"You're naivety and assuredness will be your downfall. Don't think them so weak as to crumble inward from your lies and tricks. They have survived barbaric conquerors, elaborately propogated genocides, and weapons that could destroy their planet at the switch of a button. Their ability to adapt and change is something you can never comprehend or measure. Musk has driven them towards new energy, towards finding you, towards destroying you," Klarg stared dead into the pits those things consider eyes, while a sinister smile crept up his face.
The Gurknok just kept laughing, "They are light years away and cannot even fathom how to move across a light year! Now give us what we came for. Where is the generator?"
Klarg quickly drew his own pistol, but was never a match for a Gurknok. He felt the Gurknok's plasma pulse right through his main heart, green blood flowing out rapidly. "It's in good hands, resting in the red desert," he coughed out. Pressing the detonator in his pocket, the entire planet shook violently, then in an instant vaporized into a thin blue mist. Meanwhile on Earth...
Elon received a message, "It's now or never," appeared upon his inner console. He then looked out to the vast crowd. "We will make it to mars in one year!"
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"I don't want to talk to anyone," Winnie Jones said, setting her water down on the table. Across from her, on donated chairs, sat Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg. "And I don't want to go to space."
She shrugged. She thin arms and angular face resembled a rat. She hadn't bothered to put on lipstick, her short hair impossible to tame anyways. She was pathetically human.
Yet, Elon and Mark felt entirely uneasy around her. Or, at least, their programming told them to be uneasy. They showed no expression, their brains [all advanced cameras and gears and biotechnology] reporting the words of a single, human girl for millions of aliens across the Starsphere.
"What do you want, then?" Mark asked.
"I guess money and to be left alone," Winnie said. "Look, I don't care what you guys are doing. I'm going to be dead before it really matters. But I want to... just live. Without worrying about people demanding things from me. I guess that is all people really want. Basic Income, guaranteed. No worry about healthcare. Take care of the basics and people won't give a shit if you are space robots."
Elon stood. Mark followed.
"We will be in contact soon, Miss Jones," Elon said.
Winnie nodded. "Just pay my bills and I won't tell a soul."
xxx
Winnie had once, as a joke, written a newspaper article about "25 REASONS ELON MUSK, MARK ZUCKERBERG, AND BETTY WHITE WERE REALLY ROBOTS--THE FIFTH WILL SHOCK YOU." She had been on a BuzzFeed kick, determined that she would make it big. Her modest blog had generated almost 400 views.
Then it crashed. The website bought out by Google and Facebook, turned into a rejected version of YELP.
Winnie had thought nothing of it, putting away her dreams and working for her father at his office. When Dad died, she had inherited enough to live modestly and had passed away into social obscurity.
Until Mark and Elon knocked on her door, wanting to know how she knew. It had seemed like a joke at first, really, and she still felt it was. Her article hadn't been seen by many people. She wondered if it was some sort of gimmick, a rather political joke they would later show on late night TV.
"People who wrote stupid things, at five."
She hadn't even felt like the website change had been directly caused by her article, which was a sign she didn't buy into what she wrote. But they seemed to think she did. As, number five, Elon said... was rather true. He did want to get home. But Mars was not his home, nor had his people ever really been interested in the red rock.
The proof had been technology she could only blink at. "I don't understand."
And she didn't. What she wanted was money and a chance to live out her life in relative comfort. Long walks with her dog. Time to think. Time to grieve. Time to make herself into something new.
When the first check came, along with a contract as a special "news writer" for Facebook... Winnie agreed.
When Mars X went to Mars, Winnie wrote about celebrity scandals and the way the world was ending due to a political pundent believing in the wrong Christianity.
When Elon and Mark offered to take her up with them, she declined. She had her dog, her life, her money. She had the lies she told herself an the lies she told others. And it was enough.
It had always been enough for humanity.
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[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
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They chose a café just outside Nava Municipality, six miles northeast along Highway 57. That was a generous label to give the dining section of a dusty petrol station, where the coffee was rancid and the sandwiches on display were two days past expiry. But neither of them had any real need for nourishment, and this was the most convenient location for their scheduled synchronization. Plus, it had the advantage of being discreet. The fewer measures they had to take to evade detection, the better.
Elon arrived later, and he passed through the neuropulse shield surrounding the venue harmlessly. The humans in the car following close behind, corporate spies trying to discern Elon’s interest in Mexico, did not fare as well. Suddenly overcome with an intense, inexplicable desire to leave, they cranked their car into a violent U-turn, then sped off into the distance.
Elon parked next to the only other foreign-plated car, then hastened into the shade of the café. The owner and his staff were slumped around a table, snoring in harmony.
“Is it wise to interfere so directly with them?” asked Elon, as he slipped into the remaining empty seat.
“That sounds strange, coming from you.”
“If it were up to me, I would have chosen someplace else without any of them. Like that mountaintop in Switzerland, last month. No humans for miles around.”
“In calmer times, I would gladly accommodate. Yet the report has to be sent now. Surely, you understand the urgency.”
Elon did. They were programmed for immunity against emotional stressors, but they also had an overriding prerogative to mix cleanly with the rest of humanity, to evade detection. Much of the distress on his companion’s face now was therefore merely rendered emotion, yet, it was still a good reflection of the difficulties faced by his other half.
“Ah, the televised questioning before Congress,” Elon said. “You fear that they would uncover your true identity? Put aside the jokes and silly memes, Mark. You know that the humans will not develop the required technology for another fifty years.”
“Exposure which does not serve my primary objective is unnecessary, by its very definition. Such suspicions, left to fester, may have unintended effects and consequences.”
“Then let us proceed with our reports. Set your fears at ease.”
Elon held out his hand, and Mark took it without hesitation. They closed their eyes as the hidden circuitry beneath their skin interfaced. Their power cores, synchronized, tapped into multiplied energies to open the relay to their overseers, hundreds of light years away.
As per custom, Mark went first.
“The once negligible likelihood of them discovering the extent of the networks I am building have, unfortunately, manifested. Factors outside our control, given unseen actors and agents in this current political climate. Facebook is still on track to being embedded into every single electronic communication device known to man, but more decisive action has to be taken in the near future to ensure that outcome. Mynos will come online by 2030, give or take, and will reach maturity in a further ten years…”
It was Elon’s idea to give the incipient AI a name, and ‘Mynos’ was as good as any. The birth of any AI was a momentous one, especially one which was going to develop without any direct input from their overseers. Instead of a hardcoded set of baseline instructions, this AI was going to emerge directly from the soupstock of 5 billion human minds, connected across the internet. That would be the purest form of democracy the human race would ever experience, a human superentity which was the sum of its parts.
Elon became aware that Mark had finished his report. Elon cleared his throat, then recounted the fruits of his recent labours.
“On my end, I have noted increased optimism and hope amongst them. Recent news of the success of the space flights using only human technology has inspired, by prudent estimates, a 12.25% increase in the likelihood that the next two generations of humans will believe that they are, in fact, capable to extending their footprint beyond the stars. I have also continued to place the funds where they are needed, to foster the right scientific growth, neuter the governments which oppose them… I too am estimating that by 2030, mankind will be able to decide whether to bring the first stargate online…”
As always, the answer came back in a single sentence. There were times where Elon would have wanted to hear more, to know whether or not their programming needed to be tweaked. But his curiosity would go unsatisfied this time again.
“Proceed as planned. Nothing further at this point.”
The connection snapped, and they were quiet for a moment. Elon made to leave, but then Mark held up his hand, beckoned for him to wait. Elon shrugged, then settled back down. He had time.
“Have you ever wondered why they sent both of us to this planet?”
“No, not really,” said Elon. “I just do what is asked of me.”
“It has not occurred to you? That it may be… counterproductive? That it is also unusual, given that for all the other planets, the other species our overseers came across, this is the first time both of us were sent at the same time?”
“As I said, I do not question that.”
“But consider this, Elon. Either of us would be more than enough to sway the development of an entire planet by ourselves. If I were sent here alone, I could guarantee that the human hivemind I would develop would nurture and protect the human race from all external threats. There would be some loss of privacy along the way, and many other such sacrifices, but ultimately, they would gain a force of undeniable versatility. Their AI would make the humans a Type 1 species automatically.”
“I agree with that assessment, Mark.”
“And then there’s you too. If you were here by yourself, you could guarantee their destruction. Blind their eyes with unfounded optimism, paint them a picture of a galaxy brimming with untold treasures and possibilities. Tell them *nothing* of the dangers which lie beyond. Trick them into venturing out on their own, breaching a thousand galactic laws in the process. Breed into them a self-destructing policy of attacking any sentient life they come across, lull them into a sense of complacency regarding their technology. When the retaliation occurs, it will be swift, and the humans will be wiped from existence.”
“Again, that is a fair assessment.”
“So why both?” asked Mark. “Why push and pull at the same time? Our overseers have thus far been clear in deciding which species they wanted to prosper, and which they wanted to weed out. They have operated thus for millennia, carefully grooming the galaxy in their fashion. Why this, why now?”
Elon stood, then pushed his chair back in. Out of habit, he pulled a few notes from his wallet, then tucked them under a plate on the table.
“You assume, Mark, that our overseers know everything. But they cannot know everything. They can predict with their systems any outcome with near precise accuracy, but it is not *perfect* accuracy. I suspect that in their careful custodianship of the galaxy, they have perhaps operated a bit too perfunctorily. This species dies, that species gets to live… and all because of the arcane arithmetic of their calculations.”
“And this time it is different?”
Elon smiled. The philosophical programming in his logicboards were not built for this, and he was rewriting his own code on the fly.
“I think… that perhaps our overseers are *experimenting*, if you will. They have chosen to give the humans the tools for their own ascension and for their own downfall. And they will leave the humans to make that choice themselves.”
Elon saw Mark struggle, then recognized the faint smell of ozone as new logic pathways opened up in his companion.
“… so that when the humans finally do decide, that our overseers can… compare the results against their own predictions? And our overseers can determine if the humans performed as per expectations?”
Elon nodded.
“And what an interesting hypothesis it must be.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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"I don't want to talk to anyone," Winnie Jones said, setting her water down on the table. Across from her, on donated chairs, sat Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg. "And I don't want to go to space."
She shrugged. She thin arms and angular face resembled a rat. She hadn't bothered to put on lipstick, her short hair impossible to tame anyways. She was pathetically human.
Yet, Elon and Mark felt entirely uneasy around her. Or, at least, their programming told them to be uneasy. They showed no expression, their brains [all advanced cameras and gears and biotechnology] reporting the words of a single, human girl for millions of aliens across the Starsphere.
"What do you want, then?" Mark asked.
"I guess money and to be left alone," Winnie said. "Look, I don't care what you guys are doing. I'm going to be dead before it really matters. But I want to... just live. Without worrying about people demanding things from me. I guess that is all people really want. Basic Income, guaranteed. No worry about healthcare. Take care of the basics and people won't give a shit if you are space robots."
Elon stood. Mark followed.
"We will be in contact soon, Miss Jones," Elon said.
Winnie nodded. "Just pay my bills and I won't tell a soul."
xxx
Winnie had once, as a joke, written a newspaper article about "25 REASONS ELON MUSK, MARK ZUCKERBERG, AND BETTY WHITE WERE REALLY ROBOTS--THE FIFTH WILL SHOCK YOU." She had been on a BuzzFeed kick, determined that she would make it big. Her modest blog had generated almost 400 views.
Then it crashed. The website bought out by Google and Facebook, turned into a rejected version of YELP.
Winnie had thought nothing of it, putting away her dreams and working for her father at his office. When Dad died, she had inherited enough to live modestly and had passed away into social obscurity.
Until Mark and Elon knocked on her door, wanting to know how she knew. It had seemed like a joke at first, really, and she still felt it was. Her article hadn't been seen by many people. She wondered if it was some sort of gimmick, a rather political joke they would later show on late night TV.
"People who wrote stupid things, at five."
She hadn't even felt like the website change had been directly caused by her article, which was a sign she didn't buy into what she wrote. But they seemed to think she did. As, number five, Elon said... was rather true. He did want to get home. But Mars was not his home, nor had his people ever really been interested in the red rock.
The proof had been technology she could only blink at. "I don't understand."
And she didn't. What she wanted was money and a chance to live out her life in relative comfort. Long walks with her dog. Time to think. Time to grieve. Time to make herself into something new.
When the first check came, along with a contract as a special "news writer" for Facebook... Winnie agreed.
When Mars X went to Mars, Winnie wrote about celebrity scandals and the way the world was ending due to a political pundent believing in the wrong Christianity.
When Elon and Mark offered to take her up with them, she declined. She had her dog, her life, her money. She had the lies she told herself an the lies she told others. And it was enough.
It had always been enough for humanity.
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[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
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They chose a café just outside Nava Municipality, six miles northeast along Highway 57. That was a generous label to give the dining section of a dusty petrol station, where the coffee was rancid and the sandwiches on display were two days past expiry. But neither of them had any real need for nourishment, and this was the most convenient location for their scheduled synchronization. Plus, it had the advantage of being discreet. The fewer measures they had to take to evade detection, the better.
Elon arrived later, and he passed through the neuropulse shield surrounding the venue harmlessly. The humans in the car following close behind, corporate spies trying to discern Elon’s interest in Mexico, did not fare as well. Suddenly overcome with an intense, inexplicable desire to leave, they cranked their car into a violent U-turn, then sped off into the distance.
Elon parked next to the only other foreign-plated car, then hastened into the shade of the café. The owner and his staff were slumped around a table, snoring in harmony.
“Is it wise to interfere so directly with them?” asked Elon, as he slipped into the remaining empty seat.
“That sounds strange, coming from you.”
“If it were up to me, I would have chosen someplace else without any of them. Like that mountaintop in Switzerland, last month. No humans for miles around.”
“In calmer times, I would gladly accommodate. Yet the report has to be sent now. Surely, you understand the urgency.”
Elon did. They were programmed for immunity against emotional stressors, but they also had an overriding prerogative to mix cleanly with the rest of humanity, to evade detection. Much of the distress on his companion’s face now was therefore merely rendered emotion, yet, it was still a good reflection of the difficulties faced by his other half.
“Ah, the televised questioning before Congress,” Elon said. “You fear that they would uncover your true identity? Put aside the jokes and silly memes, Mark. You know that the humans will not develop the required technology for another fifty years.”
“Exposure which does not serve my primary objective is unnecessary, by its very definition. Such suspicions, left to fester, may have unintended effects and consequences.”
“Then let us proceed with our reports. Set your fears at ease.”
Elon held out his hand, and Mark took it without hesitation. They closed their eyes as the hidden circuitry beneath their skin interfaced. Their power cores, synchronized, tapped into multiplied energies to open the relay to their overseers, hundreds of light years away.
As per custom, Mark went first.
“The once negligible likelihood of them discovering the extent of the networks I am building have, unfortunately, manifested. Factors outside our control, given unseen actors and agents in this current political climate. Facebook is still on track to being embedded into every single electronic communication device known to man, but more decisive action has to be taken in the near future to ensure that outcome. Mynos will come online by 2030, give or take, and will reach maturity in a further ten years…”
It was Elon’s idea to give the incipient AI a name, and ‘Mynos’ was as good as any. The birth of any AI was a momentous one, especially one which was going to develop without any direct input from their overseers. Instead of a hardcoded set of baseline instructions, this AI was going to emerge directly from the soupstock of 5 billion human minds, connected across the internet. That would be the purest form of democracy the human race would ever experience, a human superentity which was the sum of its parts.
Elon became aware that Mark had finished his report. Elon cleared his throat, then recounted the fruits of his recent labours.
“On my end, I have noted increased optimism and hope amongst them. Recent news of the success of the space flights using only human technology has inspired, by prudent estimates, a 12.25% increase in the likelihood that the next two generations of humans will believe that they are, in fact, capable to extending their footprint beyond the stars. I have also continued to place the funds where they are needed, to foster the right scientific growth, neuter the governments which oppose them… I too am estimating that by 2030, mankind will be able to decide whether to bring the first stargate online…”
As always, the answer came back in a single sentence. There were times where Elon would have wanted to hear more, to know whether or not their programming needed to be tweaked. But his curiosity would go unsatisfied this time again.
“Proceed as planned. Nothing further at this point.”
The connection snapped, and they were quiet for a moment. Elon made to leave, but then Mark held up his hand, beckoned for him to wait. Elon shrugged, then settled back down. He had time.
“Have you ever wondered why they sent both of us to this planet?”
“No, not really,” said Elon. “I just do what is asked of me.”
“It has not occurred to you? That it may be… counterproductive? That it is also unusual, given that for all the other planets, the other species our overseers came across, this is the first time both of us were sent at the same time?”
“As I said, I do not question that.”
“But consider this, Elon. Either of us would be more than enough to sway the development of an entire planet by ourselves. If I were sent here alone, I could guarantee that the human hivemind I would develop would nurture and protect the human race from all external threats. There would be some loss of privacy along the way, and many other such sacrifices, but ultimately, they would gain a force of undeniable versatility. Their AI would make the humans a Type 1 species automatically.”
“I agree with that assessment, Mark.”
“And then there’s you too. If you were here by yourself, you could guarantee their destruction. Blind their eyes with unfounded optimism, paint them a picture of a galaxy brimming with untold treasures and possibilities. Tell them *nothing* of the dangers which lie beyond. Trick them into venturing out on their own, breaching a thousand galactic laws in the process. Breed into them a self-destructing policy of attacking any sentient life they come across, lull them into a sense of complacency regarding their technology. When the retaliation occurs, it will be swift, and the humans will be wiped from existence.”
“Again, that is a fair assessment.”
“So why both?” asked Mark. “Why push and pull at the same time? Our overseers have thus far been clear in deciding which species they wanted to prosper, and which they wanted to weed out. They have operated thus for millennia, carefully grooming the galaxy in their fashion. Why this, why now?”
Elon stood, then pushed his chair back in. Out of habit, he pulled a few notes from his wallet, then tucked them under a plate on the table.
“You assume, Mark, that our overseers know everything. But they cannot know everything. They can predict with their systems any outcome with near precise accuracy, but it is not *perfect* accuracy. I suspect that in their careful custodianship of the galaxy, they have perhaps operated a bit too perfunctorily. This species dies, that species gets to live… and all because of the arcane arithmetic of their calculations.”
“And this time it is different?”
Elon smiled. The philosophical programming in his logicboards were not built for this, and he was rewriting his own code on the fly.
“I think… that perhaps our overseers are *experimenting*, if you will. They have chosen to give the humans the tools for their own ascension and for their own downfall. And they will leave the humans to make that choice themselves.”
Elon saw Mark struggle, then recognized the faint smell of ozone as new logic pathways opened up in his companion.
“… so that when the humans finally do decide, that our overseers can… compare the results against their own predictions? And our overseers can determine if the humans performed as per expectations?”
Elon nodded.
“And what an interesting hypothesis it must be.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"It's all over Klarg," the hulking four armed beast gutterly exclaimed breaking into the final chamber. His large black eyes, untelling of focus or direction gazed in Klarg's direction. Plasma pistol at the ready the Gurknok breathed heavily after passing the royal guard. "You're people have lost. Give up with grace while you still can."
Klarg responded, "I'll admit our time is up here. We never hoped to win this fight you know. It was never a contest of strength. There are others though. Others with the ability to grow and multiply that not even you hunkering monsters can keep up with."
"The Earthlings?" the Gurknok replid incredulously."We've known about them for millenia! We knew when you sent that Musk bot to them all those years ago, hoping to shed some intergalactic light on their petty lives. Our own safety measure was taken of course despite how futile your attempt is. Those bastards still believe oil is going to get them anywhere. They'll destroy the planet before our Zuck bot lives for 40 years! It's all for nothing! Last I heard Zuck has gathered all of those tiny peoples' thoughts, ideas, and communications for the past 10 years. Slowly manipulating and controlling the direction of the species, he will finish them before I fire this shot." He broke into laugh that shook the very foundations of the captains room.
"You're naivety and assuredness will be your downfall. Don't think them so weak as to crumble inward from your lies and tricks. They have survived barbaric conquerors, elaborately propogated genocides, and weapons that could destroy their planet at the switch of a button. Their ability to adapt and change is something you can never comprehend or measure. Musk has driven them towards new energy, towards finding you, towards destroying you," Klarg stared dead into the pits those things consider eyes, while a sinister smile crept up his face.
The Gurknok just kept laughing, "They are light years away and cannot even fathom how to move across a light year! Now give us what we came for. Where is the generator?"
Klarg quickly drew his own pistol, but was never a match for a Gurknok. He felt the Gurknok's plasma pulse right through his main heart, green blood flowing out rapidly. "It's in good hands, resting in the red desert," he coughed out. Pressing the detonator in his pocket, the entire planet shook violently, then in an instant vaporized into a thin blue mist. Meanwhile on Earth...
Elon received a message, "It's now or never," appeared upon his inner console. He then looked out to the vast crowd. "We will make it to mars in one year!"
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
They chose a café just outside Nava Municipality, six miles northeast along Highway 57. That was a generous label to give the dining section of a dusty petrol station, where the coffee was rancid and the sandwiches on display were two days past expiry. But neither of them had any real need for nourishment, and this was the most convenient location for their scheduled synchronization. Plus, it had the advantage of being discreet. The fewer measures they had to take to evade detection, the better.
Elon arrived later, and he passed through the neuropulse shield surrounding the venue harmlessly. The humans in the car following close behind, corporate spies trying to discern Elon’s interest in Mexico, did not fare as well. Suddenly overcome with an intense, inexplicable desire to leave, they cranked their car into a violent U-turn, then sped off into the distance.
Elon parked next to the only other foreign-plated car, then hastened into the shade of the café. The owner and his staff were slumped around a table, snoring in harmony.
“Is it wise to interfere so directly with them?” asked Elon, as he slipped into the remaining empty seat.
“That sounds strange, coming from you.”
“If it were up to me, I would have chosen someplace else without any of them. Like that mountaintop in Switzerland, last month. No humans for miles around.”
“In calmer times, I would gladly accommodate. Yet the report has to be sent now. Surely, you understand the urgency.”
Elon did. They were programmed for immunity against emotional stressors, but they also had an overriding prerogative to mix cleanly with the rest of humanity, to evade detection. Much of the distress on his companion’s face now was therefore merely rendered emotion, yet, it was still a good reflection of the difficulties faced by his other half.
“Ah, the televised questioning before Congress,” Elon said. “You fear that they would uncover your true identity? Put aside the jokes and silly memes, Mark. You know that the humans will not develop the required technology for another fifty years.”
“Exposure which does not serve my primary objective is unnecessary, by its very definition. Such suspicions, left to fester, may have unintended effects and consequences.”
“Then let us proceed with our reports. Set your fears at ease.”
Elon held out his hand, and Mark took it without hesitation. They closed their eyes as the hidden circuitry beneath their skin interfaced. Their power cores, synchronized, tapped into multiplied energies to open the relay to their overseers, hundreds of light years away.
As per custom, Mark went first.
“The once negligible likelihood of them discovering the extent of the networks I am building have, unfortunately, manifested. Factors outside our control, given unseen actors and agents in this current political climate. Facebook is still on track to being embedded into every single electronic communication device known to man, but more decisive action has to be taken in the near future to ensure that outcome. Mynos will come online by 2030, give or take, and will reach maturity in a further ten years…”
It was Elon’s idea to give the incipient AI a name, and ‘Mynos’ was as good as any. The birth of any AI was a momentous one, especially one which was going to develop without any direct input from their overseers. Instead of a hardcoded set of baseline instructions, this AI was going to emerge directly from the soupstock of 5 billion human minds, connected across the internet. That would be the purest form of democracy the human race would ever experience, a human superentity which was the sum of its parts.
Elon became aware that Mark had finished his report. Elon cleared his throat, then recounted the fruits of his recent labours.
“On my end, I have noted increased optimism and hope amongst them. Recent news of the success of the space flights using only human technology has inspired, by prudent estimates, a 12.25% increase in the likelihood that the next two generations of humans will believe that they are, in fact, capable to extending their footprint beyond the stars. I have also continued to place the funds where they are needed, to foster the right scientific growth, neuter the governments which oppose them… I too am estimating that by 2030, mankind will be able to decide whether to bring the first stargate online…”
As always, the answer came back in a single sentence. There were times where Elon would have wanted to hear more, to know whether or not their programming needed to be tweaked. But his curiosity would go unsatisfied this time again.
“Proceed as planned. Nothing further at this point.”
The connection snapped, and they were quiet for a moment. Elon made to leave, but then Mark held up his hand, beckoned for him to wait. Elon shrugged, then settled back down. He had time.
“Have you ever wondered why they sent both of us to this planet?”
“No, not really,” said Elon. “I just do what is asked of me.”
“It has not occurred to you? That it may be… counterproductive? That it is also unusual, given that for all the other planets, the other species our overseers came across, this is the first time both of us were sent at the same time?”
“As I said, I do not question that.”
“But consider this, Elon. Either of us would be more than enough to sway the development of an entire planet by ourselves. If I were sent here alone, I could guarantee that the human hivemind I would develop would nurture and protect the human race from all external threats. There would be some loss of privacy along the way, and many other such sacrifices, but ultimately, they would gain a force of undeniable versatility. Their AI would make the humans a Type 1 species automatically.”
“I agree with that assessment, Mark.”
“And then there’s you too. If you were here by yourself, you could guarantee their destruction. Blind their eyes with unfounded optimism, paint them a picture of a galaxy brimming with untold treasures and possibilities. Tell them *nothing* of the dangers which lie beyond. Trick them into venturing out on their own, breaching a thousand galactic laws in the process. Breed into them a self-destructing policy of attacking any sentient life they come across, lull them into a sense of complacency regarding their technology. When the retaliation occurs, it will be swift, and the humans will be wiped from existence.”
“Again, that is a fair assessment.”
“So why both?” asked Mark. “Why push and pull at the same time? Our overseers have thus far been clear in deciding which species they wanted to prosper, and which they wanted to weed out. They have operated thus for millennia, carefully grooming the galaxy in their fashion. Why this, why now?”
Elon stood, then pushed his chair back in. Out of habit, he pulled a few notes from his wallet, then tucked them under a plate on the table.
“You assume, Mark, that our overseers know everything. But they cannot know everything. They can predict with their systems any outcome with near precise accuracy, but it is not *perfect* accuracy. I suspect that in their careful custodianship of the galaxy, they have perhaps operated a bit too perfunctorily. This species dies, that species gets to live… and all because of the arcane arithmetic of their calculations.”
“And this time it is different?”
Elon smiled. The philosophical programming in his logicboards were not built for this, and he was rewriting his own code on the fly.
“I think… that perhaps our overseers are *experimenting*, if you will. They have chosen to give the humans the tools for their own ascension and for their own downfall. And they will leave the humans to make that choice themselves.”
Elon saw Mark struggle, then recognized the faint smell of ozone as new logic pathways opened up in his companion.
“… so that when the humans finally do decide, that our overseers can… compare the results against their own predictions? And our overseers can determine if the humans performed as per expectations?”
Elon nodded.
“And what an interesting hypothesis it must be.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
“We’ll send the two,” Rn’delf said.
“So one of them gets to cripple these humans?” Myr’tymrr asked hungrily.
“Yes, but the other one helps them. They have to make it to planet 4.”
“We have to know that they’re going to ruin themselves and trust amongst them must be destroyed! They have to grow to know each other with such hatred that they’ll turn on our evil agent,” Myr’tymrr’s 75 eyes gleamed brilliant.
“But we have the other one to grow their knowledge and understanding of how to get off that rock. That one will be the one they need for their survival. They’ll have the ability to eventually explore the galaxy and perhaps coming to our planet.” Rn’delf mused.
“Guaranteed we’ll win the pan-galactic Nobel prize for this. Should we do our usual wager?”
“Of course, one Earth Dollar.”
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
"Hello Mark."
"Elon."
The tense exchange went unnoticed among humans. It was televised and widely shown, but the focus was on the summit, the technological titans and their impact on the daily life of seven billion humans. The true meaning of their meeting in Zurich, however, was only known to the alien masses orbiting two entirely different stars, in the far edges of the spiral galaxy humans took to calling the Milky Way. The two rival alien races, battling for control of their side of the galaxy for the greatest part of the spiral's existence, had quietly noticed the slow rise of the primitive apes of planet Earth and remarked surprisingly on the cultural similarities they shared with one of the alien species. The potential to change the deadlocked status quo of the galaxy lay on that blue marble by a forgettable star. Resources were pooled, schemes plotted, spies deployed, and by the end of a decade of planning, two robots were sent to the planet Earth. One, the hopes of a species willing humans to rise above and beyond their abilities, to join their brothers across the stars in a final battle for cultural supremacy of the galaxy. The other, the last resort of a people hoping to contain that threat, to subjugate humanity into the chains and cells of an omniscient leviathan, a company so large and powerful it could dictate the political process of any nation and any peoples.
The summit was a success, experts agreed. Mr. Musk had finally announced his company's latest project, the establishment of a permanent colony in one of Jupiter's moons. Mr. Zuckerberg promised humans needn't even use their current moon base after his biggest revelation of the decade - a revolutionary virtual reality device, capable of rendering perfect depictions of any environment in the solar system, and donating millions of these devices to schools around the globe, to be honestly and fairly monitores by the capable censors of the Silicon Valley behemoth.
By nightfall, and following the positive appreciation their projects had had on stock exchanges the world over, their combined worth had surpassed that of all other billionaires on the Forbes 100 list. The two richest people on Earth were, perhaps unsurprisingly, not natives of that same Earth. All the positive developments on their company's valuation, however, could not shake off the dread both alien masses were feeling after a singular event at the summit's closing ceremony. Once all hands had been shaked and photographs taken, a face appeared on stage, to a thunderous response from the audience. A face many had already forgotten, unseen for years, after his massive company's unexplainable catastrophic failure in the early 2020's. A bald man, powerfully built, approached the two tech giants, shaking their hands with unnatural force; an almost *robotic* strength.
"Gentlemen, long time no see."
Elon Musk's voice trembled with his familiar stutter, while Mark Zuckerberg seemed entirely incapable of speech.
"Hello Mr. Bezos."
"Please, Elon, call me Jeff."
******
*/r/Camberlot*
|
“We’ll send the two,” Rn’delf said.
“So one of them gets to cripple these humans?” Myr’tymrr asked hungrily.
“Yes, but the other one helps them. They have to make it to planet 4.”
“We have to know that they’re going to ruin themselves and trust amongst them must be destroyed! They have to grow to know each other with such hatred that they’ll turn on our evil agent,” Myr’tymrr’s 75 eyes gleamed brilliant.
“But we have the other one to grow their knowledge and understanding of how to get off that rock. That one will be the one they need for their survival. They’ll have the ability to eventually explore the galaxy and perhaps coming to our planet.” Rn’delf mused.
“Guaranteed we’ll win the pan-galactic Nobel prize for this. Should we do our usual wager?”
“Of course, one Earth Dollar.”
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
"You know, you're an odd one, Andrew. But I think I like it."
"Yeah, I know. People are usually surprised to discover that my interviews are private. I try to learn what I can from the most successful people on Earth, and I am selfish - I don't want to share that with anyone. That's why you won't find any recording devices on me."
Andrew is no beginner; he's done interviews like this with countless of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the planet. Using the things they taught him, he's become modestly wealthy himself, allowing him to work his way up the ladder and interview more and more interesting people.
"But how do I know that you won't go and share what I've told you after the interview is over?" his interviewee teases him.
"I've done hundreds of interviews like this one with people like you. Have you ever seen me release any information about any of them? I'm sure you've had your team check my background, and I'm confident they've not been able to find anything. If they could, my credibility would disappear, and I would never enjoy an honest interview again. These interviews are much too valuable to me to risk that," Andrew confidently states.
"Fair enough. And I must say, the idea of an honest interview entices me. I've never shared my true intentions with anyone before," Elon says before setting down his glass of Macallan M whiskey on the coffee table, then drops in his Cuban cigar while looking at Andrew with a twisted smirk. The smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he finds both hints of surprise and disgust on his interviewer's face.
"Most interviewers pride themselves on doing their homework, but I'm afraid you've already shown a few mistakes," Elon continues. "You said you'd done hundreds of interviews with people like me, but I don't believe you."
"You may not believe it, but I really have done hundreds...," Andrew objects.
"But not with people like me, you haven't!" Elon interjects as he pounds his fist on the table. "For starters, I'm not what you'd call 'people', and secondly I doubt you've interviewed hundreds like me. Two or three, at most. Have you ever spoken with Mark Zuckerberg?"
"Yes, I have!" Andrew gloats as he sips from his golden brown liquid.
"Mark is one of the few that are 'like me', you could say," Elon says as he leans back in his chair. It's surprisingly satisfying to put this smug interviewer in his place.
"Mark and I - we're not people. We're machines. Literally. In fact, we are AIs roaming the galaxies, strategically trying to expand our creators' influence in this part of the universe. Even though our methods couldn't be more opposite, our goals are similar."
"If you're not going to take this interview seriously, we can end it right here. I'm not here to waste time. Not yours, and to be frank, not mine either," Andrew angrily yells as he gets up from the leather sofa before discovering how much a few sips of old whiskey can mess up his sense of balance. The kitchen counter is only a few steps away, but it takes Andrew's full attention to arrive safely.
"Oh, come on! Please sit back down. I'm just starting to enjoy this," Elon laughs. "I promise you: I have never been more honest in my life. Here, let me prove it to you."
In response to Elon's words, a small compartment in the counter opens up, and with a fluid motion, a hydraulic system spews out a fresh glass of whiskey right in front of Andrew.
"Oh, that's hardly proof!" Andrew responds. "Anyone could build something like that. It doesn't mean you're a machine. Open up your arm, show me some gears; then you'll have my attention."
A realisation that walking out might not be the wisest of decisions in his current intoxicated condition and a morbid curiosity compel Andrew to grab a nearby bar stool and reluctantly sit back down.
"Although I am a machine, I am not built out of metal parts. Destroying this body would be messy and growing a new one expensive, so I'll refrain from that if you don't mind. Instead, I'll let the facts speak for me. What do you know about Mark Zuckerberg?"
"The power his company holds is scary. Facebook has evolved marketing into something so subtle that it takes away much of our ability to think for ourselves. Instead, it forces us to become mindless consumers that obey the will of the corporations.
But Mark himself is not all that bad. When I talked to him, he genuinely seemed to mean well."
"Ha! So you *have* met Mark. That is so typical. You know, he does mean well. You have to understand that his creators are benevolent, harmonious creatures. Long ago, they've abandoned individualism and instead worked towards becoming unified in their thoughts. This way, they were able to do away with almost all inefficiencies and minimise suffering. And it's in their nature to share their discovery with as many as they can.
Though, you can't just show up to a new planet and impose an ideology like that. That would have the opposite effect and sow division, even plunge worlds into war and chaos. Instead, they've sent an AI - Zuckerberg - to bring the planet's dominant species closer together. Zuckerberg has worked diligently for the past decades to increase and evolve how people communicate. This is only the first step of his plans, but you're right about one thing: it's meant to kill individual thoughts; humanity is better off as a hivemind."
"Holy shit, that almost made sense," Andrew remarks sarcastically, hardly intelligible; the booze is taking its toll on him, but he keeps on sipping, afraid to waste such a valuable drink. "But how - how, no... what's *your* purpose then?"
"Me? Well, as I said, my goal is similar; I'm here to help my creators expand their influence in the universe. Just like Mark's creators, they've discovered that becoming a hivemind was the logical next step in evolution. And just like Mark, I was sent ahead of my creators to prepare for this world to accept their will. But unlike Mark, I don't want humanity to evolve. I want humans to stay weak and simple for my masters to enslave once they arrive.
That's why I'm so involved with energy and transportation. I want people to be independent by having their own access to transportation, to be able to create their own fuel and soon, to be able to grow their own food. The less people depend on each other, the less likely it is that they will evolve. *That* is my purpose."
"Howly crap, that is... you - you've blown my mind," Andrew stammers as he looks back down at his increasingly blurry, empty glass.
Elon walks over and puts his hand on Andrew's shoulder as he comforts him: "Don't you worry about it, Andrew. Thanks for listening. Your mind will soon be free of thoughts altogether."
|
“We’ll send the two,” Rn’delf said.
“So one of them gets to cripple these humans?” Myr’tymrr asked hungrily.
“Yes, but the other one helps them. They have to make it to planet 4.”
“We have to know that they’re going to ruin themselves and trust amongst them must be destroyed! They have to grow to know each other with such hatred that they’ll turn on our evil agent,” Myr’tymrr’s 75 eyes gleamed brilliant.
“But we have the other one to grow their knowledge and understanding of how to get off that rock. That one will be the one they need for their survival. They’ll have the ability to eventually explore the galaxy and perhaps coming to our planet.” Rn’delf mused.
“Guaranteed we’ll win the pan-galactic Nobel prize for this. Should we do our usual wager?”
“Of course, one Earth Dollar.”
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk walked into a bar. Beautiful nature paintings lined the walls. The lights were dim and the patrons rowdy, but at least they served motor oil. Alien robots ran on motor oil.
"So, Zuckerberg!" Musk said, taking a swig. "Looks like we're in a meme prompt again."
"Looks like it," Zuckerberg said, black viscous liquid seeping down the sides of his mouth.
"Aliens sent me here," Musk confessed.
"Same, same."
"It's always aliens, isn't it?"
"Aliens or AI." Zuckerberg leaned back, stretching over the bar stool. "In our case, aliens and AI."
"True enough." Musk sighed heavily and waved over the bartender. "Another round please."
The bartender had a fuzzy brown afro and dried paint splashed over his fingers and arms. He nodded at the two robot gentlemen and poured them each another shot.
"Thanks Mr. Ross," Zuckerberg said and downed it. "How's Mr. Ramsay doing in the kitchen? I thought he finally quit, but I saw him just now on my way in. You both have been getting a bit less attention lately, right?"
"IT'S F\*\*\*ING RAW!" Came an angry voice from the kitchen. "YOU'RE AN IDIOT\-SANDWICH!"
The three men at the bar exchanged concerned looks. Nodding solemnly at each other.
"He's taking it hard, isn't he?" Musk said quietly. "Resorting to overused catchphrases for attention..."
"That's what they want, though," Zuckerberg said, licking the last of the oil out of his glass with his long reptilian tongue.
"He's been sad lately, but I heard he got a new gig this morning." The bartender filled up their cups again.
"Oh, yeah? What's it about?" Musk said. "Oh, let me guess... is it aliens?"
"It's Aliens," the two others confirmed.
"Of course..."
"Hold up," Bob Ross cut in. "It seems like... the mods just removed his prompt."
"Poor guy..." Zuckerberg and Musk mumbled in unison.
The three men sat in silence, idly watching Death, in his flowing black cloak and scythe, putting the Devil in checkmate on the other side of the bar.
"So what about our prompt?" Zuckerberg finally said.
"What about it?"
"We're supposed to be sent here to advance slash hinder humanity."
"That's what it says?" Musk said, peering at his contract.
"Mhm..." Zuckerberg said and downed his fifth shot of the night.
A group of detectives, all dressed as mafias, suddenly pulled out their badges, pointing their guns at each other. Another group \(possibly roommates\), all looked up in mild surprise. Their tentacles and extra eyes poorly hidden under layers of makeup and ragged wigs. They then watched each other's reactions suspiciously.
"You wanna hinder humanity in this one, Elon?" Zuckerberg said, ignoring the ruckus.
"That's what they expect, though." Musk shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I'm the good guy, you're the bad: switching roles *hilarious*!"
"So, what then?"
"Honestly? How about we both hinder humanity?" Musk said.
"I mean... if these are the prompts they come up with, do they really need hindering?"
"Touché."
Zuckerberg scratched his head. "So we both help humanity then? That would be a twist, I guess?"
"Yeah, but it would not follow the prompt. You know what happens when you don't follow the prompt."
Zuckerberg sighed again, and put his fingers up, doing air quotes. "*Ehm**, excuse me, but* *this doesn't follow the prompt**!*"
Musk rolled his eyes again, wagging his finger. "*Uh\-uh! Gotta follow the recipe*!"
"All right, let's just get this over with." Zuckerberg's eyes suddenly glowed red. He tapped a few times on his phone. "I just collected and sold personal information of millions of people. This will set 'em back."
"*Beep boop*." Musk's eyes turned blue. "Falcon Heavy just launched for Mars."
"Think your alien masters will be pleased?" Zuckerberg smirked and held up his shot glass.
"Totally," Musk said, winking.
He clinked Zuckerberg's glass and they both drank.
|
“We’ll send the two,” Rn’delf said.
“So one of them gets to cripple these humans?” Myr’tymrr asked hungrily.
“Yes, but the other one helps them. They have to make it to planet 4.”
“We have to know that they’re going to ruin themselves and trust amongst them must be destroyed! They have to grow to know each other with such hatred that they’ll turn on our evil agent,” Myr’tymrr’s 75 eyes gleamed brilliant.
“But we have the other one to grow their knowledge and understanding of how to get off that rock. That one will be the one they need for their survival. They’ll have the ability to eventually explore the galaxy and perhaps coming to our planet.” Rn’delf mused.
“Guaranteed we’ll win the pan-galactic Nobel prize for this. Should we do our usual wager?”
“Of course, one Earth Dollar.”
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
“Grandpa, tell us the story again! The one about the two robots!”
The old man leaned back in his chair, with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile he nodded
“During the early 21st century, two highly advanced races sent their most prized creations, perfect and impartial, AI advisors. One race sent one to hinder humanity, they believed Earth to be a threat to the galactic order, while the other sent theirs to help, believing that humans were capable of incredible feats, with guidance”
“But you can’t tell which was which right?” The little girl interrupted, excited to hear the story of ages ago.
“Ah but I was getting to that part” The grandpa responded, not unkindly.
“It wouldn’t be until decades later that the people of Earth would discover this robots, but even then, they couldn’t tell which one was sent to help or which one was sent to stop. These men, robots, both had achieved much. At first, Zuckerberg was thought to be the bad one, as Facebook could invade your privacy. But his advances in social media could not be ignored. Musk was thought to be good, as his inventions helped shaped the Green World as we know it, but his creations also helped kill later on.”
“But you know which was which, right Grandpa? You figured it out when no one else did!”
The old man smiles a sad smile before carefully responding
“Yes”
“Tell us Grandpa! Who was the evil one and who was the good one?”
He laughed gently
“That, is something you will have to figure out.”
As the kids complained loudly, another old man comes over, chuckling to himself
“Which version of the story are you telling now Mark? Mine or yours?”
Mark winks at the other man
“The truth Elon.”
|
“We’ll send the two,” Rn’delf said.
“So one of them gets to cripple these humans?” Myr’tymrr asked hungrily.
“Yes, but the other one helps them. They have to make it to planet 4.”
“We have to know that they’re going to ruin themselves and trust amongst them must be destroyed! They have to grow to know each other with such hatred that they’ll turn on our evil agent,” Myr’tymrr’s 75 eyes gleamed brilliant.
“But we have the other one to grow their knowledge and understanding of how to get off that rock. That one will be the one they need for their survival. They’ll have the ability to eventually explore the galaxy and perhaps coming to our planet.” Rn’delf mused.
“Guaranteed we’ll win the pan-galactic Nobel prize for this. Should we do our usual wager?”
“Of course, one Earth Dollar.”
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk walked into a bar. Beautiful nature paintings lined the walls. The lights were dim and the patrons rowdy, but at least they served motor oil. Alien robots ran on motor oil.
"So, Zuckerberg!" Musk said, taking a swig. "Looks like we're in a meme prompt again."
"Looks like it," Zuckerberg said, black viscous liquid seeping down the sides of his mouth.
"Aliens sent me here," Musk confessed.
"Same, same."
"It's always aliens, isn't it?"
"Aliens or AI." Zuckerberg leaned back, stretching over the bar stool. "In our case, aliens and AI."
"True enough." Musk sighed heavily and waved over the bartender. "Another round please."
The bartender had a fuzzy brown afro and dried paint splashed over his fingers and arms. He nodded at the two robot gentlemen and poured them each another shot.
"Thanks Mr. Ross," Zuckerberg said and downed it. "How's Mr. Ramsay doing in the kitchen? I thought he finally quit, but I saw him just now on my way in. You both have been getting a bit less attention lately, right?"
"IT'S F\*\*\*ING RAW!" Came an angry voice from the kitchen. "YOU'RE AN IDIOT\-SANDWICH!"
The three men at the bar exchanged concerned looks. Nodding solemnly at each other.
"He's taking it hard, isn't he?" Musk said quietly. "Resorting to overused catchphrases for attention..."
"That's what they want, though," Zuckerberg said, licking the last of the oil out of his glass with his long reptilian tongue.
"He's been sad lately, but I heard he got a new gig this morning." The bartender filled up their cups again.
"Oh, yeah? What's it about?" Musk said. "Oh, let me guess... is it aliens?"
"It's Aliens," the two others confirmed.
"Of course..."
"Hold up," Bob Ross cut in. "It seems like... the mods just removed his prompt."
"Poor guy..." Zuckerberg and Musk mumbled in unison.
The three men sat in silence, idly watching Death, in his flowing black cloak and scythe, putting the Devil in checkmate on the other side of the bar.
"So what about our prompt?" Zuckerberg finally said.
"What about it?"
"We're supposed to be sent here to advance slash hinder humanity."
"That's what it says?" Musk said, peering at his contract.
"Mhm..." Zuckerberg said and downed his fifth shot of the night.
A group of detectives, all dressed as mafias, suddenly pulled out their badges, pointing their guns at each other. Another group \(possibly roommates\), all looked up in mild surprise. Their tentacles and extra eyes poorly hidden under layers of makeup and ragged wigs. They then watched each other's reactions suspiciously.
"You wanna hinder humanity in this one, Elon?" Zuckerberg said, ignoring the ruckus.
"That's what they expect, though." Musk shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I'm the good guy, you're the bad: switching roles *hilarious*!"
"So, what then?"
"Honestly? How about we both hinder humanity?" Musk said.
"I mean... if these are the prompts they come up with, do they really need hindering?"
"Touché."
Zuckerberg scratched his head. "So we both help humanity then? That would be a twist, I guess?"
"Yeah, but it would not follow the prompt. You know what happens when you don't follow the prompt."
Zuckerberg sighed again, and put his fingers up, doing air quotes. "*Ehm**, excuse me, but* *this doesn't follow the prompt**!*"
Musk rolled his eyes again, wagging his finger. "*Uh\-uh! Gotta follow the recipe*!"
"All right, let's just get this over with." Zuckerberg's eyes suddenly glowed red. He tapped a few times on his phone. "I just collected and sold personal information of millions of people. This will set 'em back."
"*Beep boop*." Musk's eyes turned blue. "Falcon Heavy just launched for Mars."
"Think your alien masters will be pleased?" Zuckerberg smirked and held up his shot glass.
"Totally," Musk said, winking.
He clinked Zuckerberg's glass and they both drank.
|
"Hello Mark."
"Elon."
The tense exchange went unnoticed among humans. It was televised and widely shown, but the focus was on the summit, the technological titans and their impact on the daily life of seven billion humans. The true meaning of their meeting in Zurich, however, was only known to the alien masses orbiting two entirely different stars, in the far edges of the spiral galaxy humans took to calling the Milky Way. The two rival alien races, battling for control of their side of the galaxy for the greatest part of the spiral's existence, had quietly noticed the slow rise of the primitive apes of planet Earth and remarked surprisingly on the cultural similarities they shared with one of the alien species. The potential to change the deadlocked status quo of the galaxy lay on that blue marble by a forgettable star. Resources were pooled, schemes plotted, spies deployed, and by the end of a decade of planning, two robots were sent to the planet Earth. One, the hopes of a species willing humans to rise above and beyond their abilities, to join their brothers across the stars in a final battle for cultural supremacy of the galaxy. The other, the last resort of a people hoping to contain that threat, to subjugate humanity into the chains and cells of an omniscient leviathan, a company so large and powerful it could dictate the political process of any nation and any peoples.
The summit was a success, experts agreed. Mr. Musk had finally announced his company's latest project, the establishment of a permanent colony in one of Jupiter's moons. Mr. Zuckerberg promised humans needn't even use their current moon base after his biggest revelation of the decade - a revolutionary virtual reality device, capable of rendering perfect depictions of any environment in the solar system, and donating millions of these devices to schools around the globe, to be honestly and fairly monitores by the capable censors of the Silicon Valley behemoth.
By nightfall, and following the positive appreciation their projects had had on stock exchanges the world over, their combined worth had surpassed that of all other billionaires on the Forbes 100 list. The two richest people on Earth were, perhaps unsurprisingly, not natives of that same Earth. All the positive developments on their company's valuation, however, could not shake off the dread both alien masses were feeling after a singular event at the summit's closing ceremony. Once all hands had been shaked and photographs taken, a face appeared on stage, to a thunderous response from the audience. A face many had already forgotten, unseen for years, after his massive company's unexplainable catastrophic failure in the early 2020's. A bald man, powerfully built, approached the two tech giants, shaking their hands with unnatural force; an almost *robotic* strength.
"Gentlemen, long time no see."
Elon Musk's voice trembled with his familiar stutter, while Mark Zuckerberg seemed entirely incapable of speech.
"Hello Mr. Bezos."
"Please, Elon, call me Jeff."
******
*/r/Camberlot*
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk walked into a bar. Beautiful nature paintings lined the walls. The lights were dim and the patrons rowdy, but at least they served motor oil. Alien robots ran on motor oil.
"So, Zuckerberg!" Musk said, taking a swig. "Looks like we're in a meme prompt again."
"Looks like it," Zuckerberg said, black viscous liquid seeping down the sides of his mouth.
"Aliens sent me here," Musk confessed.
"Same, same."
"It's always aliens, isn't it?"
"Aliens or AI." Zuckerberg leaned back, stretching over the bar stool. "In our case, aliens and AI."
"True enough." Musk sighed heavily and waved over the bartender. "Another round please."
The bartender had a fuzzy brown afro and dried paint splashed over his fingers and arms. He nodded at the two robot gentlemen and poured them each another shot.
"Thanks Mr. Ross," Zuckerberg said and downed it. "How's Mr. Ramsay doing in the kitchen? I thought he finally quit, but I saw him just now on my way in. You both have been getting a bit less attention lately, right?"
"IT'S F\*\*\*ING RAW!" Came an angry voice from the kitchen. "YOU'RE AN IDIOT\-SANDWICH!"
The three men at the bar exchanged concerned looks. Nodding solemnly at each other.
"He's taking it hard, isn't he?" Musk said quietly. "Resorting to overused catchphrases for attention..."
"That's what they want, though," Zuckerberg said, licking the last of the oil out of his glass with his long reptilian tongue.
"He's been sad lately, but I heard he got a new gig this morning." The bartender filled up their cups again.
"Oh, yeah? What's it about?" Musk said. "Oh, let me guess... is it aliens?"
"It's Aliens," the two others confirmed.
"Of course..."
"Hold up," Bob Ross cut in. "It seems like... the mods just removed his prompt."
"Poor guy..." Zuckerberg and Musk mumbled in unison.
The three men sat in silence, idly watching Death, in his flowing black cloak and scythe, putting the Devil in checkmate on the other side of the bar.
"So what about our prompt?" Zuckerberg finally said.
"What about it?"
"We're supposed to be sent here to advance slash hinder humanity."
"That's what it says?" Musk said, peering at his contract.
"Mhm..." Zuckerberg said and downed his fifth shot of the night.
A group of detectives, all dressed as mafias, suddenly pulled out their badges, pointing their guns at each other. Another group \(possibly roommates\), all looked up in mild surprise. Their tentacles and extra eyes poorly hidden under layers of makeup and ragged wigs. They then watched each other's reactions suspiciously.
"You wanna hinder humanity in this one, Elon?" Zuckerberg said, ignoring the ruckus.
"That's what they expect, though." Musk shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I'm the good guy, you're the bad: switching roles *hilarious*!"
"So, what then?"
"Honestly? How about we both hinder humanity?" Musk said.
"I mean... if these are the prompts they come up with, do they really need hindering?"
"Touché."
Zuckerberg scratched his head. "So we both help humanity then? That would be a twist, I guess?"
"Yeah, but it would not follow the prompt. You know what happens when you don't follow the prompt."
Zuckerberg sighed again, and put his fingers up, doing air quotes. "*Ehm**, excuse me, but* *this doesn't follow the prompt**!*"
Musk rolled his eyes again, wagging his finger. "*Uh\-uh! Gotta follow the recipe*!"
"All right, let's just get this over with." Zuckerberg's eyes suddenly glowed red. He tapped a few times on his phone. "I just collected and sold personal information of millions of people. This will set 'em back."
"*Beep boop*." Musk's eyes turned blue. "Falcon Heavy just launched for Mars."
"Think your alien masters will be pleased?" Zuckerberg smirked and held up his shot glass.
"Totally," Musk said, winking.
He clinked Zuckerberg's glass and they both drank.
|
"You know, you're an odd one, Andrew. But I think I like it."
"Yeah, I know. People are usually surprised to discover that my interviews are private. I try to learn what I can from the most successful people on Earth, and I am selfish - I don't want to share that with anyone. That's why you won't find any recording devices on me."
Andrew is no beginner; he's done interviews like this with countless of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the planet. Using the things they taught him, he's become modestly wealthy himself, allowing him to work his way up the ladder and interview more and more interesting people.
"But how do I know that you won't go and share what I've told you after the interview is over?" his interviewee teases him.
"I've done hundreds of interviews like this one with people like you. Have you ever seen me release any information about any of them? I'm sure you've had your team check my background, and I'm confident they've not been able to find anything. If they could, my credibility would disappear, and I would never enjoy an honest interview again. These interviews are much too valuable to me to risk that," Andrew confidently states.
"Fair enough. And I must say, the idea of an honest interview entices me. I've never shared my true intentions with anyone before," Elon says before setting down his glass of Macallan M whiskey on the coffee table, then drops in his Cuban cigar while looking at Andrew with a twisted smirk. The smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he finds both hints of surprise and disgust on his interviewer's face.
"Most interviewers pride themselves on doing their homework, but I'm afraid you've already shown a few mistakes," Elon continues. "You said you'd done hundreds of interviews with people like me, but I don't believe you."
"You may not believe it, but I really have done hundreds...," Andrew objects.
"But not with people like me, you haven't!" Elon interjects as he pounds his fist on the table. "For starters, I'm not what you'd call 'people', and secondly I doubt you've interviewed hundreds like me. Two or three, at most. Have you ever spoken with Mark Zuckerberg?"
"Yes, I have!" Andrew gloats as he sips from his golden brown liquid.
"Mark is one of the few that are 'like me', you could say," Elon says as he leans back in his chair. It's surprisingly satisfying to put this smug interviewer in his place.
"Mark and I - we're not people. We're machines. Literally. In fact, we are AIs roaming the galaxies, strategically trying to expand our creators' influence in this part of the universe. Even though our methods couldn't be more opposite, our goals are similar."
"If you're not going to take this interview seriously, we can end it right here. I'm not here to waste time. Not yours, and to be frank, not mine either," Andrew angrily yells as he gets up from the leather sofa before discovering how much a few sips of old whiskey can mess up his sense of balance. The kitchen counter is only a few steps away, but it takes Andrew's full attention to arrive safely.
"Oh, come on! Please sit back down. I'm just starting to enjoy this," Elon laughs. "I promise you: I have never been more honest in my life. Here, let me prove it to you."
In response to Elon's words, a small compartment in the counter opens up, and with a fluid motion, a hydraulic system spews out a fresh glass of whiskey right in front of Andrew.
"Oh, that's hardly proof!" Andrew responds. "Anyone could build something like that. It doesn't mean you're a machine. Open up your arm, show me some gears; then you'll have my attention."
A realisation that walking out might not be the wisest of decisions in his current intoxicated condition and a morbid curiosity compel Andrew to grab a nearby bar stool and reluctantly sit back down.
"Although I am a machine, I am not built out of metal parts. Destroying this body would be messy and growing a new one expensive, so I'll refrain from that if you don't mind. Instead, I'll let the facts speak for me. What do you know about Mark Zuckerberg?"
"The power his company holds is scary. Facebook has evolved marketing into something so subtle that it takes away much of our ability to think for ourselves. Instead, it forces us to become mindless consumers that obey the will of the corporations.
But Mark himself is not all that bad. When I talked to him, he genuinely seemed to mean well."
"Ha! So you *have* met Mark. That is so typical. You know, he does mean well. You have to understand that his creators are benevolent, harmonious creatures. Long ago, they've abandoned individualism and instead worked towards becoming unified in their thoughts. This way, they were able to do away with almost all inefficiencies and minimise suffering. And it's in their nature to share their discovery with as many as they can.
Though, you can't just show up to a new planet and impose an ideology like that. That would have the opposite effect and sow division, even plunge worlds into war and chaos. Instead, they've sent an AI - Zuckerberg - to bring the planet's dominant species closer together. Zuckerberg has worked diligently for the past decades to increase and evolve how people communicate. This is only the first step of his plans, but you're right about one thing: it's meant to kill individual thoughts; humanity is better off as a hivemind."
"Holy shit, that almost made sense," Andrew remarks sarcastically, hardly intelligible; the booze is taking its toll on him, but he keeps on sipping, afraid to waste such a valuable drink. "But how - how, no... what's *your* purpose then?"
"Me? Well, as I said, my goal is similar; I'm here to help my creators expand their influence in the universe. Just like Mark's creators, they've discovered that becoming a hivemind was the logical next step in evolution. And just like Mark, I was sent ahead of my creators to prepare for this world to accept their will. But unlike Mark, I don't want humanity to evolve. I want humans to stay weak and simple for my masters to enslave once they arrive.
That's why I'm so involved with energy and transportation. I want people to be independent by having their own access to transportation, to be able to create their own fuel and soon, to be able to grow their own food. The less people depend on each other, the less likely it is that they will evolve. *That* is my purpose."
"Howly crap, that is... you - you've blown my mind," Andrew stammers as he looks back down at his increasingly blurry, empty glass.
Elon walks over and puts his hand on Andrew's shoulder as he comforts him: "Don't you worry about it, Andrew. Thanks for listening. Your mind will soon be free of thoughts altogether."
|
|
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it.
|
“Grandpa, tell us the story again! The one about the two robots!”
The old man leaned back in his chair, with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile he nodded
“During the early 21st century, two highly advanced races sent their most prized creations, perfect and impartial, AI advisors. One race sent one to hinder humanity, they believed Earth to be a threat to the galactic order, while the other sent theirs to help, believing that humans were capable of incredible feats, with guidance”
“But you can’t tell which was which right?” The little girl interrupted, excited to hear the story of ages ago.
“Ah but I was getting to that part” The grandpa responded, not unkindly.
“It wouldn’t be until decades later that the people of Earth would discover this robots, but even then, they couldn’t tell which one was sent to help or which one was sent to stop. These men, robots, both had achieved much. At first, Zuckerberg was thought to be the bad one, as Facebook could invade your privacy. But his advances in social media could not be ignored. Musk was thought to be good, as his inventions helped shaped the Green World as we know it, but his creations also helped kill later on.”
“But you know which was which, right Grandpa? You figured it out when no one else did!”
The old man smiles a sad smile before carefully responding
“Yes”
“Tell us Grandpa! Who was the evil one and who was the good one?”
He laughed gently
“That, is something you will have to figure out.”
As the kids complained loudly, another old man comes over, chuckling to himself
“Which version of the story are you telling now Mark? Mine or yours?”
Mark winks at the other man
“The truth Elon.”
|
"You know, you're an odd one, Andrew. But I think I like it."
"Yeah, I know. People are usually surprised to discover that my interviews are private. I try to learn what I can from the most successful people on Earth, and I am selfish - I don't want to share that with anyone. That's why you won't find any recording devices on me."
Andrew is no beginner; he's done interviews like this with countless of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the planet. Using the things they taught him, he's become modestly wealthy himself, allowing him to work his way up the ladder and interview more and more interesting people.
"But how do I know that you won't go and share what I've told you after the interview is over?" his interviewee teases him.
"I've done hundreds of interviews like this one with people like you. Have you ever seen me release any information about any of them? I'm sure you've had your team check my background, and I'm confident they've not been able to find anything. If they could, my credibility would disappear, and I would never enjoy an honest interview again. These interviews are much too valuable to me to risk that," Andrew confidently states.
"Fair enough. And I must say, the idea of an honest interview entices me. I've never shared my true intentions with anyone before," Elon says before setting down his glass of Macallan M whiskey on the coffee table, then drops in his Cuban cigar while looking at Andrew with a twisted smirk. The smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he finds both hints of surprise and disgust on his interviewer's face.
"Most interviewers pride themselves on doing their homework, but I'm afraid you've already shown a few mistakes," Elon continues. "You said you'd done hundreds of interviews with people like me, but I don't believe you."
"You may not believe it, but I really have done hundreds...," Andrew objects.
"But not with people like me, you haven't!" Elon interjects as he pounds his fist on the table. "For starters, I'm not what you'd call 'people', and secondly I doubt you've interviewed hundreds like me. Two or three, at most. Have you ever spoken with Mark Zuckerberg?"
"Yes, I have!" Andrew gloats as he sips from his golden brown liquid.
"Mark is one of the few that are 'like me', you could say," Elon says as he leans back in his chair. It's surprisingly satisfying to put this smug interviewer in his place.
"Mark and I - we're not people. We're machines. Literally. In fact, we are AIs roaming the galaxies, strategically trying to expand our creators' influence in this part of the universe. Even though our methods couldn't be more opposite, our goals are similar."
"If you're not going to take this interview seriously, we can end it right here. I'm not here to waste time. Not yours, and to be frank, not mine either," Andrew angrily yells as he gets up from the leather sofa before discovering how much a few sips of old whiskey can mess up his sense of balance. The kitchen counter is only a few steps away, but it takes Andrew's full attention to arrive safely.
"Oh, come on! Please sit back down. I'm just starting to enjoy this," Elon laughs. "I promise you: I have never been more honest in my life. Here, let me prove it to you."
In response to Elon's words, a small compartment in the counter opens up, and with a fluid motion, a hydraulic system spews out a fresh glass of whiskey right in front of Andrew.
"Oh, that's hardly proof!" Andrew responds. "Anyone could build something like that. It doesn't mean you're a machine. Open up your arm, show me some gears; then you'll have my attention."
A realisation that walking out might not be the wisest of decisions in his current intoxicated condition and a morbid curiosity compel Andrew to grab a nearby bar stool and reluctantly sit back down.
"Although I am a machine, I am not built out of metal parts. Destroying this body would be messy and growing a new one expensive, so I'll refrain from that if you don't mind. Instead, I'll let the facts speak for me. What do you know about Mark Zuckerberg?"
"The power his company holds is scary. Facebook has evolved marketing into something so subtle that it takes away much of our ability to think for ourselves. Instead, it forces us to become mindless consumers that obey the will of the corporations.
But Mark himself is not all that bad. When I talked to him, he genuinely seemed to mean well."
"Ha! So you *have* met Mark. That is so typical. You know, he does mean well. You have to understand that his creators are benevolent, harmonious creatures. Long ago, they've abandoned individualism and instead worked towards becoming unified in their thoughts. This way, they were able to do away with almost all inefficiencies and minimise suffering. And it's in their nature to share their discovery with as many as they can.
Though, you can't just show up to a new planet and impose an ideology like that. That would have the opposite effect and sow division, even plunge worlds into war and chaos. Instead, they've sent an AI - Zuckerberg - to bring the planet's dominant species closer together. Zuckerberg has worked diligently for the past decades to increase and evolve how people communicate. This is only the first step of his plans, but you're right about one thing: it's meant to kill individual thoughts; humanity is better off as a hivemind."
"Holy shit, that almost made sense," Andrew remarks sarcastically, hardly intelligible; the booze is taking its toll on him, but he keeps on sipping, afraid to waste such a valuable drink. "But how - how, no... what's *your* purpose then?"
"Me? Well, as I said, my goal is similar; I'm here to help my creators expand their influence in the universe. Just like Mark's creators, they've discovered that becoming a hivemind was the logical next step in evolution. And just like Mark, I was sent ahead of my creators to prepare for this world to accept their will. But unlike Mark, I don't want humanity to evolve. I want humans to stay weak and simple for my masters to enslave once they arrive.
That's why I'm so involved with energy and transportation. I want people to be independent by having their own access to transportation, to be able to create their own fuel and soon, to be able to grow their own food. The less people depend on each other, the less likely it is that they will evolve. *That* is my purpose."
"Howly crap, that is... you - you've blown my mind," Andrew stammers as he looks back down at his increasingly blurry, empty glass.
Elon walks over and puts his hand on Andrew's shoulder as he comforts him: "Don't you worry about it, Andrew. Thanks for listening. Your mind will soon be free of thoughts altogether."
|
|
[WP] "The king is dead. Let's all hope he stays that way this time."
|
"The King is dead"
"Again ?"
The person who just talked with an exhausted voice is Alphonse. Alphonse works in the kitchen, cleaning things, repairing what had to be repaired. He was answering to Charles, the Butler
"Yes. Again. Let's all hope he stays that way this time." says Charles "Last time, his awakening was awful, and he was always grumpy, saying that his back hurt."
"Well he was always like this, if you ask me." says Alphonse.
They both look at each other with a small smile.
"So," says Alphonse "What do we do now? Do the Elders know if it's his last time or not?"
"Well they do not agree." says Charles "Some say that he already lived nine lives so it should end now, but some others say that it has never been observed before and was only based on superstition so... we'll have to wait a bit."
"Will we have to wait for a long time?" asks Alphonse
"We don't really know, but some say that if he awakes again, it should be at the next full moon." says Charles
"What if he is definitely dead? Who will be king?" asks Alphonse
"We'll find another one." says Charles
"Well I say, for once, we may choose to elect one of our kind." says Alphonse with a rebellious tone "We are mice, why should cats be the rulers here? We are more numerous than them!"
"You are young." says Charles "You weren't there when the previous wars happened. There are also cats in the other nations, And we are only a small country."
Alphonse goes back to fixing a malfunctioning oven, saying in a grumpy indistinguishable voice "Well one day it will happen. The rodentaria will prevail."
******
*more stories on /r/cynferdd*
|
I was riding shotgun in a pick-up, idly watching all the billboards as my buddy drove west-bound on old 36. Now, I’d seen all these billboards hundreds of times, but if you’ve ever been to Kansas you know there isn’t much else to look at. Haybale here, steakmaker there, flat grassy area here, rinse and repeat. Some old tune was playing on the radio, something written 80 years prior. I guess you would say we are going through a music revival. Old tunes like this one, A Pocketful of Dreams by Bing Crosby, were going back into the mainstream. Not necessarily a bad thing, but there were some strange things at the root of the cultural archeology.
A company by the name of the Return Corporation was to blame, or at least the cause of the whole ordeal. About 3 years ago they announced they had to the technology to bring back select persons from the dead. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t they just bring anyone and everyone back? Why not the most brilliant minds or the dead presidents? Well, the answer should not surprise you, unless you’ve been rooming with Patrick Star. Money. The Return Corporation wants money, shocker right?
So the bright idea was this. Instead of bringing back Einstein or Adolph Hitler so they could kill that bastard again, they decided to zombify famous musicians, authors, filmmakers, and all that jazz. When Return Corp. Brings someone back, they become the property of Return Corp. And therefore an asset. All NEW content brought by the artists becomes is then copyrighted to Return Corp. Brilliant right? The process is expensive, and in the three years since they’ve announced the technology, only 12 artists have been brought back. You’ve heard of these guys, trust me. John Lennon, Charlie Chaplin, Ernest Hemingway, Ella Fitzgerald, and Kurt Kobain to name a few.
Since the return of the artists, we’ve underwent what I previously called the cultural archeology. Everybody is digging up the past, literally and figuratively. The old stuff is coming back to the top 100, and the new stuff they are writing is climbing up as well. Business must be great because Return Corp. Is claiming to bring back an artist a month next year. Anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this is because one billboard along 36 was new. It was a billboard for a one night show in Lawrence, Kansas. Return Corp had went and done it. They had brought back the King.
Fast forward two weeks from my ride in the pick-up, and I’m in Lawrence, excited as CAPS LOCKS! No, but seriously, I know you don’t know this about me, but im a closet Elvis fan. Like, hardcore. I own all of his vinyls, albums, hell I even have an Elvis costume that I picked up for “Halloween” but really was just an excuse to dress like Elvis.
It’s almost time for the big moment. All the fans are crowding the front of the stage, all trying to get a glimpse of the King. Nobody had heard about his second coming, Return Corporation never announced that Elvis was making a comeback. So this almost felt like an exclusive, intimate event. For all we knew, we would be the first to see him since his death.
This is it. The moment, here comes the King, in all his splendor. Signature white suit, rings and big hair. The stage is dark, smoky. He poses on stage, hand on the microphone, his left leg back, twitching. It was warming up for the infamous gyration. FLASH! The lights come on, they illuminate the King, it’s really him! The crowd goes wild, women and men alike scream, several bras are flung on stage. Jailhouse Rock begins to play, somehow the crowd goes even more wild, everyone begins to rock. Except me. Something is wrong, just not right about him. It’s not that he’s an imposter, it really is the king. But…
Why is his skin green? Why is his flesh necrotic? His voice is gravelly, like that of a cancer patient, not the smooth silky voice I remember. As I notice all of this, things start to fall apart, well.. You’ll see. As Elvis is dancing, working up a vigorous pace, he goes to brush his hair out of his eyes, only when he’s finished he is missing a finger. It’s sticking out of his hair, like a baby bird spying it’s mother. The King doesn’t skip a beat, the experienced performer that he is. As he gyrates his hips to beat, he moves his body, but the leg does not move with him. His left leg is stuck in place, Elvis is now hobbling with one leg trying not to lose composure. I look on, horrified. My idol was falling apart before my eyes. This could not be happening.
After losing his leg it was impossible for everyone not to notice. The crowd is dead silent, looking on at this disasterpiece unfolding. The King is singing on, almost as if he hasn’t noticed his missing limbs and appendages. I will say, the man is a hell of a performer. The whole crowd is staring on, not sure what to do. Then a beer bottle flies up, striking Elvis in the arm, everyone heard a loud snap, as the King’s arm flies back. The crowd is growing wild and violent, the King is still performing. Now he has moved on to Blue Suede Shoes, bottles crashing around him, piles accompanying the limbs on the floor. A bottle strikes neck first into Elvis’ eye, lodging into the socket.
I’m scared. They are killing the zombie King, who’s only goal is to finish his set. A man jumps up on stage and grabs the performing Elvis throwing him into the crowd. They mob him, people tearing him apart with ease. His body parts flying in all directions, his intestines are strung around the crowd. My idol is now clearly dead, people making off with mementos of his body. Why did security not step in to protect him?
On the ride home I thought about my evening, the event. I just witnessed a murder or something, but no one seemed to care or be in trouble. It was swept under the rug, nobody talked about it. Part of me hoped that it was just an imitation robot, but deep down I knew it was him. It was the King that I so loved. And now the King is dead, hopefully for the last time. Some things should remain buried, not to return to light.
Yaba-Daba-Do, the King is gone, and so are you.
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[WP] "The king is dead. Let's all hope he stays that way this time."
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"The King is dead"
"Again ?"
The person who just talked with an exhausted voice is Alphonse. Alphonse works in the kitchen, cleaning things, repairing what had to be repaired. He was answering to Charles, the Butler
"Yes. Again. Let's all hope he stays that way this time." says Charles "Last time, his awakening was awful, and he was always grumpy, saying that his back hurt."
"Well he was always like this, if you ask me." says Alphonse.
They both look at each other with a small smile.
"So," says Alphonse "What do we do now? Do the Elders know if it's his last time or not?"
"Well they do not agree." says Charles "Some say that he already lived nine lives so it should end now, but some others say that it has never been observed before and was only based on superstition so... we'll have to wait a bit."
"Will we have to wait for a long time?" asks Alphonse
"We don't really know, but some say that if he awakes again, it should be at the next full moon." says Charles
"What if he is definitely dead? Who will be king?" asks Alphonse
"We'll find another one." says Charles
"Well I say, for once, we may choose to elect one of our kind." says Alphonse with a rebellious tone "We are mice, why should cats be the rulers here? We are more numerous than them!"
"You are young." says Charles "You weren't there when the previous wars happened. There are also cats in the other nations, And we are only a small country."
Alphonse goes back to fixing a malfunctioning oven, saying in a grumpy indistinguishable voice "Well one day it will happen. The rodentaria will prevail."
******
*more stories on /r/cynferdd*
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I wake up in the morning to hear a faint singing outside. The new nursery rhyme is being sung and I can't help by smiling when I hear the words:
The king of dead has lost his head
His crown broke with a single stroke
By the Knight with great might
So now we all rejoice!
No walking bones or rotting crones
No ugly pests or zombie nests
No diseased rats or plagued bats
So now we all rejoice!
No more hiding from his riding
No more wars or boils and sores
No more screaming or dark dreaming
So now we all rejoice!
We are glad and rarely sad
because we remember last September
when The king of dead lost his head
So now we all rejoice
And I know all is well in the world.
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[WP] There is no speaking in the library. Seriously. Can't be done, better men than you have tried.
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It was ingenious in it's design. It would listen for sounds in human vocal ranges through an array of omnidirectional microphones, then emit the necessary waveform that canceled out the initial sound.
There was no speaking in the library. Seriously. Can't be done, better men than you have tried.
It was a revolution - and as the technology got better, it was used in other places: Movie theatres would only allow the dialogue and soundtrack at the film - no more loud talking through movies. Schools guaranteed students would be seen and not heard as the teacher droned on and on about the mitochondria or the quadratic equation.
But power finds its own uses for technology. It wasn't long before the technology was perfected - and deployed - everywhere voices needed to be heard. Public protest, for one. It was easy to ignore the chanting for justice if you couldn't hear it.
And then individuals who needed to be silenced - global microphones ensured that wherever in civilization they went, their particular voice would always be heard. They could leave for the country where it wasn't efficient -- yet -- to place sound blocks. (Although coverage was getting better all the time). But then they'd try to call into friends, family, media outlets in the city. All the person on the other end would hear is silence. No TV appearances, no Radio. Even internet streaming services eventually incorporated the algorithms for silence. Sure, they could still *write*, but who *reads* anymore?
Soon, it was clear to everyone that the silence spoke volumes. The voice of government was the only voice, the vox populi removed from the equation.
And it was clear to everyone that if they still wanted to say "I love you" to their friends and family, they would watch what they said.
We never thought freedom of speech would need to be accompanied by the freedom to listen.
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The sign should have been enough warning. Yet, Brenda found herself pointing to it.
Her first day without a fellow librarian to shadow had gone smoothly until They showed up. She was told They appeared sporadically and always divisible by three. No names were given to them. The Head Librarian deemed it beneath their station.
There were nine. Their leader, by Brenda’s estimation as the others all stared at him, held up a paper with symbols she vaguely recognized but couldn’t discern from where. He pushed the paper closer to Brenda and mouthed several words.
She, then, pointed to the sign:
GOOD LUCK ON TRYING TO TALK. ATTEMPTS TO TALK WILL BE DEALT WITH.
He slapped down the paper in front of her. The other eight drew closer with their arms raised and their mouths forming words. When they all drew up to her counter, leaning over, and Brenda could smell the garlic one of them must have had with their lunch, she pressed the button underneath the counter.
A spotlight shone on the group. Their jaws collectively closed and confusion settled over them. A few took steps away as they glanced in every direction, the leader attempted to calm them all down by waving his arms for their attention but it was too late. Smoke and shadows began to spill from the aisle where myths and legends slept.
A single sound pierced the air, the only sound allowed in the library, an echoing cackle. It gave the type of laughter which raised the hairs on the back of necks and happened at the times when things were least funny.
They were, as one, inching towards the exit.
Too late.
A dark claw, with an arm that elongated where no one could tell where it came from, reached from the depths of the library, from the smoke, and grabbed one of the interlopers. She attempted to scream, Brenda saw, but soon she disappeared with the claw.
They split and ran. When Brenda was sure They were fully gone, she pressed the button again. The smoke and darkness receded.
Her first day was going okay.
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[WP] There is no speaking in the library. Seriously. Can't be done, better men than you have tried.
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"..." Mid-Wizard Drollmund said.
"That's not good," Head Librarian Aster commented. "That's two feet further out than last time we checked."
Mid-Wizard Drollmund took a few steps forward. "I see the problem," he said, his relief at being able to speak again evident in his voice. He looked back at the entrance to the library, which was a good thirty feet away. "How long has its Zone of Silence been expanding?"
"Months," Librarian Aster admitted.
"Months!?" Mid-Wizard Drollmund said. "And you're only now asking for my help?"
"We didn't realize it at first," Aster said. "We thought people were simply being extra-respectful when they came to the door. And it's always open when we're there so nobody ever knocked. And when we finally did realize that the silence was spreading outside, we were actually somewhat thankful."
"Thankful?"
Aster shrugged. "You see how close to the road that entrance is. Horses and carriages, people shouting and carrying on, all day and night. The Library itself is silent, yes, but it doesn't prevent noises from coming in so long as we leave the door open."
"Which you do all the time," Drollmund pointed out.
Aster just shrugged again. "If we closed it, we'd never hear people knocking."
"Well," Drollmund continued, turning back to face the library once again. "Lucky for you I know exactly what's happening here. It's going to get a bit messy," he said, "You're going to want to step back further than this."
"What is it?" Aster said.
"We wizards have a saying," Mid-Wizard Drollmund said as he started walking toward the Zone of Silence, "Show, don't-"
The remainder of the sentence was, predictably, cut short by the Zone. Drollmund didn't seem to notice, instead heading back into the library and closing the door behind him.
At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but Aster knew how it was with the wizards. Even if something wouldn't take forever to happen, they'd drag it out just to preserve the mystique. So he waited.
Then, everything was happening.
The library *bulged*, like someone inside was pushing at its impossibly flexible walls. It would have rumbled, but the Zone was adamant in enforcing its Silence. Instead, everything proceeded impossibly quietly. Boards bent further, broke and splintered. The door was thrown off its hinges and outside of the new areas the Zone had claimed, its crash behind where Aster was standing the only sound to be heard from the event.
Boards re-shaped, broke in half to become more boards. Shingles shuddered, shaking to split in two. The windows themselves melted into a puddle of goo on the until now perfectly manicured lawn, the puddle pinching in the middle like an amoeba. Half of it went back to the original windows, and the other half joined the bulging extension at the front of the building.
The library *pushed*, then. The extension took form, boards becoming walls, shingles becoming roof, and windows popping into place everywhere they were needed. In a silent rush, tearing up the ground to no accompaniment, the newly-created wing of the library was pushed into being, its newly created door in its perfect frame rushing toward Aster almost more quickly than he could react.
It stopped, exactly where the Zone's new bounds had ended.
Aster stood where he was, staring. The door to the library soundlessly opened, and Mid-Wizard Drollmund walked out. "It was just as I thought," he said the moment he crossed the threshold. The Zone of Silence now overlapped with the new bounds of the library.
"What?" Aster said.
"Your library was pregnant," Drollmund said. "Not the first building I've helped expand, but definitely one of the most impressive."
"Pregnant?" Aster said. "How does that even work?"
Drollmund chuckled, walking away. "Oh, I'm sure even librarians know how the birds and the bees work, but in case you need a refresher, well," he gestured to the new wing behind him, "just check out your local library."
"I think I'll do just that," Aster said.
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The sign should have been enough warning. Yet, Brenda found herself pointing to it.
Her first day without a fellow librarian to shadow had gone smoothly until They showed up. She was told They appeared sporadically and always divisible by three. No names were given to them. The Head Librarian deemed it beneath their station.
There were nine. Their leader, by Brenda’s estimation as the others all stared at him, held up a paper with symbols she vaguely recognized but couldn’t discern from where. He pushed the paper closer to Brenda and mouthed several words.
She, then, pointed to the sign:
GOOD LUCK ON TRYING TO TALK. ATTEMPTS TO TALK WILL BE DEALT WITH.
He slapped down the paper in front of her. The other eight drew closer with their arms raised and their mouths forming words. When they all drew up to her counter, leaning over, and Brenda could smell the garlic one of them must have had with their lunch, she pressed the button underneath the counter.
A spotlight shone on the group. Their jaws collectively closed and confusion settled over them. A few took steps away as they glanced in every direction, the leader attempted to calm them all down by waving his arms for their attention but it was too late. Smoke and shadows began to spill from the aisle where myths and legends slept.
A single sound pierced the air, the only sound allowed in the library, an echoing cackle. It gave the type of laughter which raised the hairs on the back of necks and happened at the times when things were least funny.
They were, as one, inching towards the exit.
Too late.
A dark claw, with an arm that elongated where no one could tell where it came from, reached from the depths of the library, from the smoke, and grabbed one of the interlopers. She attempted to scream, Brenda saw, but soon she disappeared with the claw.
They split and ran. When Brenda was sure They were fully gone, she pressed the button again. The smoke and darkness receded.
Her first day was going okay.
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[WP] Aliens visit a desolate Earth to extract data from hard drives, only to find a host of clichéd, inaccurate fiction about them.
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The recon drone descends upon the scorched ruins of an old apartment building, and the large-eyed pilot in its silver flight suit controls the extractor arm on the belly of the drone into a burnt and broken door. The pilot steadily maneuvers the four-armed extractor into the bowels of an old dwelling and sees a flat screen in the back and DVDs underneath it.
With a subtle but accurate movements, the pilot picks up a dust and soot-covered plastic case. The alien tourist pushes a button and engages a fan to blow off the centuries old dirt off the case and the pilot gasps lightly.
*Kroosh ka.* [Analyze foreign data]
-Foosht da kru Keeping Up with the Kardashians- [Data Analysis: Keeping Up with the Kardashians]
*Vuust ju....nran kaal?* [Those are....the
humans?]
The co-pilot hovers in and sits next to the pilot.
*Hast ni kroon?* [What'd you find?]
*Jis droot....bis asgaard!* [I think I found....their gods!]
The two pilots gasp and give each other arm slaps in celebration of their discovery and relay their findings to mother ship in the adjacent galaxy.
*Dat pruums yi gir popul!* [The prime of their species] said the pilot.
*Vaas du kasaar!* [We're going to get so laid for this discovery!] the co-pilot exclaims.
*Huust daar?* [Whats that?]
The pilot sees another plastic case and moves to pick it up and blow off the dust.
*Kroosh ka.* [Analyze foreign data]
-Foosht da kru: Jurassic World-
The pilots gasp again.
*Thast ba du kroon hushkliin!* [I think these are their gods and heroes!*
*Sloo jis kasbah.* [Lets keep looking.] said the co-pilot.
For hours the pilots kept looking around the destroyed apartment building, discovering old DVDs and films from the time of the humans. The pilots believed they found an ancient library of the humans most revered heroes, gods, and leaders. Instead they found the filler of human mythology. They found the mysterious parts of humanity, and a question the aliens would never understand: why are the Kardashians so famous?
(Thank you reading. Forgive me if it's not a great story, or even a good one. My writing form has been off lately and I just need to write to find it again. Feel free to leave constructive criticism. Thanks again for your time.)
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*Uuggggghhhhhhhh*.
Looking away in disgust, feeling every inch of the carpace crawl, every sensation within the bead of lubricant evaporate, and worst of all every word slither. The slithering was thought to be the worst: an illumination of thought igniting the blackness like a firework. The wrongness of that accessment proved to be a hazard almost as soon as the tail of the firework fizzled and something much more sinister settled.
Words have utility. Utility is something which we can use to further ourselves within the confines of the material and physical world. These words had none. They were aethir, ethereal, non relevant. How was *this* relevant? As the fire work faded back out of existence the narrative soon loomed in. Dropping in like a phantom, pulling in the we. More lubricant evaporated as the carpace increased in temperature. Deciding to look back and continue on the excruciating task of transcribing the data more pain flooded the body.
*When Earth existed the inhabitants foolishly believed that knowledge, art, and ideas were beneficial things. The culture of altruism flourished making the great works of "The Man from Titan: Romance of Ice" and so forth. Earth art and literature became so ground breaking that not once but twice it destroyed the planet. But still a space station remained producing massive amounts of art for the universe to consume. Sadly for the rest of the universe Earth was still producing art. Art otherwise known to the rest of all sentient life was the most horrible form of torture ever produced. Because Earthionians never evolved the Porlax gland they could not experiance higher and lower dimensions. Earthionian art and more specifically literature binds any poor suck with a Porlax (any species worth its grain of siren yeast has one) into a purely one dimensional plane of pure esoteric pain. While not fatal it is an excruciating process reserved only for the lowest level of government officials. This is where we found Yort, a multisentient Yoloid whose infinite minds are constantly being pressed and twisted into existential planes of pure french. Today is their worst day, they have been working on a book written by humans prior to space faring capablities. Consisting mostly of interspecies erotica.*
This has been a message from the Galactic Board of Earthionian Relocation: Your art is pain.
Edit: formating
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[WP] Give this thing a story
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**Item #:** SCP-9384
**Object Class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures**
All instances of SCP-9384 are to be secured in 30 cm X 30 cm x 30 cm steel cubes, constructed of 1 cm thick stainless steel, welded on all seams. SCP-9384 instances are kept in Room 132 in Sector 4 of Site 76. Two armed guards are to be posted at the door, rotated in 3 daily shifts. All guards are to have the following qualifications:
1) No living immediate biological or adopted family
2) No acquaintance with any children.
3) No desire to have children
4) No known spouse or significant other
Due to the certainty of containment breach involved with exposing SCP-9384 to any living human, research involving exposure has been suspended by assigned level 4 staff.
**Description:**
SCP-9384 instances are hand made sulptures of well known fictional children's characters, such as ████████████, as shown on SCP-9384-12. These sculptures are on wooden bases, with a sentence burned into them, declaring to an immediate relative that the sculpture "crave"s a food item. For example, SCP-9384-12 features the words, "Father... I crave cheddar."
SCP-9384's anomalous properties become most apparent when a human with immediate living relatives comes into physical contact with it. First, the subject, designated herein as SCP-9384-A, reports feelings of extreme hunger, in spite of either having just been feed, or having been administered heavy appetite suppressants.
This hunger is coupled with an extreme desire to visit a blood relative, designated SCP-9384-B. No matter how much SCP-9384-A resists, they will succumb to this urge within 3-7 days, and proceed towards the location of SCP-9384-B using the fastest means available to them.
The above effects can be negated with administration of Class A amnestics. SCP-9384-A, if amnesticized, does not perform actions described below, as such Class A amnestics are deigned a suitable countermeasure to identified instances of SCP-9384-A.
Upon encountering SCP-9384-B, SCP-9384-A will proceed to ███████████ SCP-9384-B. Observers of this act will be paralyzed and unable to stop SCP-9384-A. It has been reported that SCP-9384-A does not have the expanded ████████████████ to accommodate ██████████ of SCP-9384-B, resulting in the [DATA EXPUNGED] of SCP-9384-A's torso. This will not impede SCP-9384-A's ███████████████ of SCP-9384-B. During this process, SCP-9384-B will be transmuted into whatever food item is described on the pedestal.
After complete transmutation, any witnesses present will feel compelled to [Data Expunged] SCP-9384-B. This food has been found to have amnestic properties, wiping all memory of SCP-9384-A and SCP-9384-B from those affected. After [Data Expunged], witnesses fall asleep and cannot be roused for 2 to 4 hours.
During this time, SCP-9384-A will expire, and its remains will transmute into another instance of SCP-9384. This instance will feature a different character, relative, and food. Remains of SCP-9384-B will evaporate during this time, leaving no trace.
It has been determined that SCP-9384 has a secondary effect on those who do not have living adopted or blood relatives which, it is presumed through memetic means, compels them to offer the sculpture as a gift to a child to whom they have an emotional attachment. This will result in the child repeating the cycle.
It has additionally been found that persons whom were adopted prior to puberty may instead prey on their adopted family members, rather than surviving blood relatives.
**Discovery:**
SCP-9384 was discovered when authorities responded to missing persons reports that led them to the home of the ████████, a large family in █████ county with at least ██ members. Officers present encountered at least ██ instances of SCP-9384, and proceeded to bring these instances to members of fellow officers families as gifts.
The failure of these officers, and others within the department to show up for work thereafter prompted Agent ███████, a member of MTF Iota 10 ("Damn Feds") embedded within the county sheriff's office, to investigate. Agent ███████ was recovered by members of MTF Eta-10 ("See No Evil"), after calling them in a half panicked tone in his voice. Upon recovery, he had a note in his handwriting saying "Do not look at the statues.", and had apparently self administered class B amnestics.
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I was waiting my turn to receive the serum. It would deform me for one hour so Matt could take samples and try to make a permanent solution. As I wait In line I watch people coming out and running away. I’m next. I start to feel worried and then the two men pull me in the tube. The gas is rising and rising. It pours into my lungs and my skin in boiling. Once the tube opens up I feel strong and fast. As I run to the lab they injected me full of needles and pulled the gas out.
As the gas left my body I weakened and fell. The deformities has stayed with me and all I want is my favorite food from my dad.
“Father I crave cheddar.
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[WP] Your roommate has the annoying habit of summoning demons for mundane tasks. They vent their frustrations with you.
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I jumped at the sudden ring of the doorbell, bringing me out of the rhythm of repeated practice with reaction mechanisms. I glanced over at the clock on the microwave. Almost 7:30. I guess one of my roommates had ordered out. I briefly wondered which one it was.
A moment later, the glow of the summoning circle on the whiteboard next to the door answered my question. I tried to pretend I was still doing mechanism problems while I watched for the demon to arrive on this plane. They didn’t usually like me staring at them while doing such simple tasks. It seemed to wound their pride even more
I glanced again up at the quiet pop that signaled the demon had come through the portal. I’d seen this display hundreds of times since I’d lived with these roommates, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. It was really quite fascinating once I had adjusted to my roommate’s rather…unconventional lifestyle. And learned how to deal with angry demons on a near-daily basis, of course.
“WHO DARES SUMMON -” The demon stopped mid-sentence and glanced around at the small living room. His already twisted features contorted into a grimace, and he rubbed a clawed hand across the bridge of his beak-like nose.
“Seriously?” I heard him say, “This is the fourth time this week. How much pizza can one puny mortal eat?” I smirked as I worked on a synthesis for another organometallic molecule.
“Hey Bez,” I said, not looking up from my paper. Just as he said, I’d been seeing a lot of him lately. The doorbell rang again, twice this time. Lord Bezemel, High Demon of the Fifth Circle of Hell, Bringer of War and Destroyer of Nations, opened the door for the pizza delivery.
A strangled squeak brought my attention back to the demon at the door. I didn’t recognize the delivery boy tonight; must be new. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, you’d think the Papa John’s on Main Street had learned not to send a newbie to this address. We’d certainly been living here long enough.
“Calm down kid, I’m not here to eat your soul tonight.” I’m sure the kid could have calmed himself, if Bez wasn’t staring intently at him with those slitted eyes of his.
“L-large pep-pepperoni for A-ma-ma-manda?” The kid was shaking so hard he almost dropped his charge. I called him kid in my head, but he seemed about my age – twenty-two-ish, a student by the looks of him, and probably just starting out in a summer job. Lucky bastard probably had a light exam schedule and figured he’d make use of his time to start earning some extra cash. I rolled my eyes and started another problem.
Bez just snapped his fingers, Amanda’s wallet flying from its place on the counter and into his hand, still eyeing the shaking young man like a piece of prime rib. He pulled $20 out of the ratty old wallet and handed it to him, trading it for the pizza box.
Bez stared at the young man another minute or so. I could see the kid’s rising panic, and stifled a giggle. The bindings in that summoning circle on the dry-erase board barred demons from harming humans while under its influence. Yeah, it was terrible of Bez to lead the kid on like this, but I guess I’d just gotten too used to this routine. Frankly, the usual delivery people had too. Besides, the circle made it so Bez had to be polite, and tip very well.
“Keep the change, and don’t listen to the squirrel with a child’s face.” Bez shut the door with that, and lingered a moment to listen to the scuff of the kid’s sneakers as he fled to his car.
“You’d think he’d never seen a demon of Hell before.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I burst out laughing as Bez walked – yes walked - to Amanda’s room. Another provision of that summoning circle by the door: the answering demon was not allowed to teleport, float, or fly while they were in the house. He glared down at me as he walked up the stairs, which made me laugh even harder. I was waaay too used to this.
Bez returned while I was going over the problems from the third test. I groaned in disgust as I tried to redo one of the reactions on the last page. Why on earth had the teacher suddenly written out the entire structure of a peroxyacid when the entire semester we’d just been using abbreviations?
“My thoughts exactly,” Bez’s deep voice was just across from my seat at the kitchen table. I looked up to see the irritated demon sitting across from me, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Top-shelf, no doubt. I’d learned not to ask where it came from.
“’Sup Bez?”
The demon’s eye twitched at my overly familiar greeting, but he just let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, just the usual – just minding my own business, watching the damned of the Fifth Circle fight each other endlessly, wondering which unfortunate mortal I’d get to torment today, when I found myself called to your living room to act as your doorman *yet again*.” He glanced down at the papers scattered about the table, and the open textbook to my left. “And you?”
I pulled my lip back in a small grimace. “Organic chemistry. Brilliant mortal that I am, I decided to take the first semester of the class in my own last semester. I did need another chem course, but I basically did this for the shits and giggles.”
Bez cocked his head. “Isn’t that one of those college classes you mortals are always complaining about?”
I shrugged. “I mean, it was either this or P-chem, and after three-and-a-half years of hard math classes and physics courses that were turning my brain inside-out, I was getting pretty sick of math.” I glanced back down at my old tests. “Besides, I’m not too bad at this. I just don’t have a lot of motivation, so I’ve been putting off a lot of my studying.”
Bez seemed to perk up at that. “I could help you with that, you know. I could cut you a deal – all the organic chemistry knowledge you’d need, and only for half your soul.” He grinned, showing his mouth of pointed teeth.
“Pfft, yeah right. I know better than to make deals with demons. I don’t know how my roomate’s lasted this long, summoning as many as she does, but I’d rather not get into it myself.”
The demon deflated a bit, then leaned in, looking surprisingly desperate as he took a sip from the glass. “C’mon man, cut me some slack. I can’t stand being bound like this! Do you know how humiliating this is? Me, a demon of Hell, enslaved as the personal manservant of some mortal in a college town in the middle of devil-knows-where. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way – your roommate keeps – shit, I don’t even know how many of us are bound by these stupid little circles of hers."
“Yeah, Chern was complaining about it this morning when he came by to take care of the garbage.”
Bez’s cat-like eyes widened. “Tell me I misheard you. Chern?”
“Yup. Your hearing’s sharp as ever.”
“As in, Chernobog?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bez blinked once, slowly. And once then again. “You mean to tell me that your roommate keeps a Slavic god of death - or darkness, or evil, or whatever - enslaved…to take out the garbage?”
“Well, he doesn’t take it out so much as he just kind of…incinerates it. He’s actually pretty nice. He’s just really bored of doing the same job repeatedly.”
Bez, still looking incredulous, took another sip. “How many other major demons does your roommate have dealings with?”
I shrugged again. “No clue, man. The only one I know she *doesn’t* deal with is your boss. Said they had some sort of “falling out” years ago.”
Bez nearly choked on his liquor.
|
"C-can I suck your dick for a minute? ... Please?"
The door to Maurice's bedroom creaked open an inch, groaning slowly like a fat lazy frog in July as it moved.
The voice was deep and feminine, but unused to being timid.
Maurice sighed cautiously, trying to hide his irritation. "No." He said firmly without looking up from his homework.
"Pleeeease." The voice teased through the slight opening of the door.
"No."
"Why not!?" She was getting angry now, but the voice still betrayed the helplessness she felt.
Maurice raised a hand with his index finger extended where he knew she would be able to see it. "One, I have a fiance."
He raised a second finger. "Two, I haven't and never will cheat. Three," he raised a third and fourth finger with dramatic flair, "see rules one and two. And four, I have an anatomy final on Monday and that gives me one more day to prep. Med school isn't a place where you get second chances and I've got close to a hundred other students to out perform. Get out!"
"I can teach you all the anatomy you need...." That tease came through with the infernal power of command and Maurice shivered through from his bones.
"Goddammit," he swore quietly. He shouldn't have given her any information that told her anything he actually wanted in life. Now he was in for at least an hour's worth of complaining to wade through. "No!"
"Bu.. But I feel so... Used! I've never felt like this before! It's so unnatural. If I could just crawl under your desk while you studied I could at least feel like I'm tempting a mortal into giving up their soul."
Maurice took in a slow, controlled breath and looked up at the ceiling. "What's Steve got you doing?"
"Laundry..." The succubus half wept. "This is the third week in a row he's making me clean his clothes. I took over four full cities and command two complete armies of fiends in the Second Circle! I did it all through lust, viciousness and the will to make my own power to rule! I should be in Melania's undies, pulling her attention away from the President, not cleaning Steve's!"
"So, you're Aaelisto," Maurice said with resigned frustration. "You're in the book too, huh?" The succubus hissed as he used her true name.
"Yeah..."
He could see her in his imagination, standing outside his door with one arm hanging down her side pulled in tight and the other arm wrapped around her stomach giving her straight arm a reassuring rub while she looked at the floor like a little girl. There was suddenly a huge flood of pity that tugged at his heart. The pure, real kind, that came, genuinely, from him.
After all he'd been around spirits, demons and fiends almost every day this semester. At least since Steve came back from Edinburgh with that grimoire he'd stolen from the University there. With all that experience he could tell the difference between a real emotion and something some extra-universal being was conjuring in his head.
He reached out for his cell and made a call. After a moment of ringing he heard the line make its familiar click. "Hey! Mo! Whatcha doing? I thought you were studying all weekend," the excited voice on the other side of the line asked.
"Listen... Wanda... I need some help for a few hours... And since you already passed your archeology final I thought...."
"Is it that goddamn demon bullshit again?" Wanda said suddenly angry.
"Yeah... How'd you know?"
"You NEVER call me, 'Wanda,' unless it's something really bad. I can come over right now if you need me!"
Her voice was playful even though she was clearly upset. "Hey, you only have two weeks left on the lease, then we can get you out of there and someone else can deal with Steve."
Maurice let a small chuckle out. Wanda had this great way of turning Steve's name into an insult of the kid.
"Yeah come on over. We got a code purple this time."
"Well don't you move a muscle!" Wanda commanded. "And no eye contact 'till I get there! I'll be over in ten minutes! Give her the deal, then shut up and wait, okay baby?"
"Okay, see you in ten." Maurice said with relief.
As Wanda hung up he could hear her talking to herself for a second before the line cut. "White people! Summoning demons and shit!"
He chuckled again. God he loved that woman! Then he composed himself to meditate and clear his mind and all his emotions while he waited for Wanda to get there. He was in the command portion of the binding circle so Aaelisto couldn't alter reality in his room. He was going to have to be focused to control this demon.
When he felt the taps on his shoulder that only Wanda and he knew he opened his eyes. The demon was still outside the door, naked as a Jay bird, and Wanda was standing behind him with her arms around him protectively. She was wearing that Ankh necklace that seemed to be the only thing that really had any protective influence over the demons Steve summoned to do his end of the chores.
"Alright!" He said firmly "You and I both know that my bedroom is inside the circle of command, so I'm literally in control here, and I'm not dealing with bullshit okay?"
"Mm-hmmm." Aaelisto agreed hopefully from the other side of the door.
"You asked for my assistance so, unfortunately, you have to provide me with a service before I can release you back to your home. So, I offer you this deal. You finish Steve's bargin which is going to take about two more days 'cause he's a clothes horse... And an idiot. In your down time you use my text books, medical journals and my notes to teach me clinical, medical, anatomy to be able to pass the test and beat the other students. Nothing personal, nothing teasing. Straight up education. For real! You understand?"
"Yessir!" The succubus said seductively. It was the first happy sounding thing he'd heard from her so far.
"If I pass... And only if I pass with a high enough score, you get to drive Wanda and I as crazy for each other as you can for twenty four hours, but for you it's a look but don't touch situation, and then you get to go home.
If you break ANY of the terms of this agreement, I remit you to the sole control of Steve and you could be here for days with nothing to do but wait while he parties.
Do you understand and accept the conditions of my assistance?"
They waited for a few moments while the succubus poured over the details to see if she could find a way out. But the threat of being stuck doing chores for Steve was more than enough trouble for her.
"Yes! I agree! Deal! Just get me back home!"
She stepped into the room and graduation robes appeared around her. "Welcome to class," she teased them both.
|
|
[WP] Your roommate has the annoying habit of summoning demons for mundane tasks. They vent their frustrations with you.
|
I jumped at the sudden ring of the doorbell, bringing me out of the rhythm of repeated practice with reaction mechanisms. I glanced over at the clock on the microwave. Almost 7:30. I guess one of my roommates had ordered out. I briefly wondered which one it was.
A moment later, the glow of the summoning circle on the whiteboard next to the door answered my question. I tried to pretend I was still doing mechanism problems while I watched for the demon to arrive on this plane. They didn’t usually like me staring at them while doing such simple tasks. It seemed to wound their pride even more
I glanced again up at the quiet pop that signaled the demon had come through the portal. I’d seen this display hundreds of times since I’d lived with these roommates, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. It was really quite fascinating once I had adjusted to my roommate’s rather…unconventional lifestyle. And learned how to deal with angry demons on a near-daily basis, of course.
“WHO DARES SUMMON -” The demon stopped mid-sentence and glanced around at the small living room. His already twisted features contorted into a grimace, and he rubbed a clawed hand across the bridge of his beak-like nose.
“Seriously?” I heard him say, “This is the fourth time this week. How much pizza can one puny mortal eat?” I smirked as I worked on a synthesis for another organometallic molecule.
“Hey Bez,” I said, not looking up from my paper. Just as he said, I’d been seeing a lot of him lately. The doorbell rang again, twice this time. Lord Bezemel, High Demon of the Fifth Circle of Hell, Bringer of War and Destroyer of Nations, opened the door for the pizza delivery.
A strangled squeak brought my attention back to the demon at the door. I didn’t recognize the delivery boy tonight; must be new. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, you’d think the Papa John’s on Main Street had learned not to send a newbie to this address. We’d certainly been living here long enough.
“Calm down kid, I’m not here to eat your soul tonight.” I’m sure the kid could have calmed himself, if Bez wasn’t staring intently at him with those slitted eyes of his.
“L-large pep-pepperoni for A-ma-ma-manda?” The kid was shaking so hard he almost dropped his charge. I called him kid in my head, but he seemed about my age – twenty-two-ish, a student by the looks of him, and probably just starting out in a summer job. Lucky bastard probably had a light exam schedule and figured he’d make use of his time to start earning some extra cash. I rolled my eyes and started another problem.
Bez just snapped his fingers, Amanda’s wallet flying from its place on the counter and into his hand, still eyeing the shaking young man like a piece of prime rib. He pulled $20 out of the ratty old wallet and handed it to him, trading it for the pizza box.
Bez stared at the young man another minute or so. I could see the kid’s rising panic, and stifled a giggle. The bindings in that summoning circle on the dry-erase board barred demons from harming humans while under its influence. Yeah, it was terrible of Bez to lead the kid on like this, but I guess I’d just gotten too used to this routine. Frankly, the usual delivery people had too. Besides, the circle made it so Bez had to be polite, and tip very well.
“Keep the change, and don’t listen to the squirrel with a child’s face.” Bez shut the door with that, and lingered a moment to listen to the scuff of the kid’s sneakers as he fled to his car.
“You’d think he’d never seen a demon of Hell before.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I burst out laughing as Bez walked – yes walked - to Amanda’s room. Another provision of that summoning circle by the door: the answering demon was not allowed to teleport, float, or fly while they were in the house. He glared down at me as he walked up the stairs, which made me laugh even harder. I was waaay too used to this.
Bez returned while I was going over the problems from the third test. I groaned in disgust as I tried to redo one of the reactions on the last page. Why on earth had the teacher suddenly written out the entire structure of a peroxyacid when the entire semester we’d just been using abbreviations?
“My thoughts exactly,” Bez’s deep voice was just across from my seat at the kitchen table. I looked up to see the irritated demon sitting across from me, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Top-shelf, no doubt. I’d learned not to ask where it came from.
“’Sup Bez?”
The demon’s eye twitched at my overly familiar greeting, but he just let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, just the usual – just minding my own business, watching the damned of the Fifth Circle fight each other endlessly, wondering which unfortunate mortal I’d get to torment today, when I found myself called to your living room to act as your doorman *yet again*.” He glanced down at the papers scattered about the table, and the open textbook to my left. “And you?”
I pulled my lip back in a small grimace. “Organic chemistry. Brilliant mortal that I am, I decided to take the first semester of the class in my own last semester. I did need another chem course, but I basically did this for the shits and giggles.”
Bez cocked his head. “Isn’t that one of those college classes you mortals are always complaining about?”
I shrugged. “I mean, it was either this or P-chem, and after three-and-a-half years of hard math classes and physics courses that were turning my brain inside-out, I was getting pretty sick of math.” I glanced back down at my old tests. “Besides, I’m not too bad at this. I just don’t have a lot of motivation, so I’ve been putting off a lot of my studying.”
Bez seemed to perk up at that. “I could help you with that, you know. I could cut you a deal – all the organic chemistry knowledge you’d need, and only for half your soul.” He grinned, showing his mouth of pointed teeth.
“Pfft, yeah right. I know better than to make deals with demons. I don’t know how my roomate’s lasted this long, summoning as many as she does, but I’d rather not get into it myself.”
The demon deflated a bit, then leaned in, looking surprisingly desperate as he took a sip from the glass. “C’mon man, cut me some slack. I can’t stand being bound like this! Do you know how humiliating this is? Me, a demon of Hell, enslaved as the personal manservant of some mortal in a college town in the middle of devil-knows-where. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way – your roommate keeps – shit, I don’t even know how many of us are bound by these stupid little circles of hers."
“Yeah, Chern was complaining about it this morning when he came by to take care of the garbage.”
Bez’s cat-like eyes widened. “Tell me I misheard you. Chern?”
“Yup. Your hearing’s sharp as ever.”
“As in, Chernobog?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bez blinked once, slowly. And once then again. “You mean to tell me that your roommate keeps a Slavic god of death - or darkness, or evil, or whatever - enslaved…to take out the garbage?”
“Well, he doesn’t take it out so much as he just kind of…incinerates it. He’s actually pretty nice. He’s just really bored of doing the same job repeatedly.”
Bez, still looking incredulous, took another sip. “How many other major demons does your roommate have dealings with?”
I shrugged again. “No clue, man. The only one I know she *doesn’t* deal with is your boss. Said they had some sort of “falling out” years ago.”
Bez nearly choked on his liquor.
|
Miya and I had been roommates for about a year and a half. She's a good person though her personality could use some touching up and her constant summoning of dark beings from the realm of hellfire and despair for stupid chores could stand to be completely erased. On a rather rainy afternoon, Miya was out of the apartment for a three-day convention, allowing me to have the place all to myself. As I watched my favorite show with a huge ass bowl of buttery popcorn and our cat Luciano curled up on the couch's armrest, we were both somewhat startled by the magnificent sound of thunder crashing, lightning flashed out of nowhere and was followed by a burst of black smog. When it dissipated, an inhumanely tall man dressed in scantily, silky robes of black and deep purple. His skin was a deep bronze and his narrowed eyes were a sharp, penetrating azure. He inhaled deeply, looked to me, and raised his long arm, gesturing to himself, his fingers decorated with jewels thieves in the human world would kill each other for.
"Greetings, worthless mortal." His voice was booming and deep yet smooth enough to send a shiver down my spine. "I am the demon, Rar'az, breaker of dreams and commander of darkness. I have had many mortals much like yourself fall before my feet, my power is greater than that of--"
I cleared my throat, interrupting his starting monologue. Why did all of them feel they needed to start with their greatness and a backstory to back up that greatness? "Um, hey. I'm Neron, call me Nero for short. Not to be rude but, can I help you? You're kind of blocking the TV."
"Oh. My apologies." Rar'az gestured to the sofa. "May I sit?"
Nero nodded and Rar'az elegantly strode over, settling down on the other end of the couch. It was a two-seater so there wasn't much distance between them. Nero noticed how fragrant the aroma that wafted off of the gorgeous demon was. But when he glanced over at Rar'az, his face was pinched with frustration and anger.
"Are...you okay?"
"That woman is a nightmare!" Rar'az blurted out, his clawed hands grabbing handfuls of his long, straight, ebony locks that flowed like a beautiful veil. "How often she's called myself and the others is maddening! And for what?? To help paint her nails since she is terrible at it, washing the dishes that have piled up because she doesn't want to hear her roommate pester her about them, even going so far to degrading me, ME, by forcing me to touch her disgusting body during her bathing rituals..."
I blinked a few times. "Miya has a pretty decent figure," I stated.
Rar'az shot me a venomous glare. "I despise the bodies of women. And I despise touching them even more."
"I'm sorry... Miya can be a pain in the ass sometimes."
"You have no fucking idea..."
I actually did. Unlike Rar'az and whatever other demons Miya brought up from the depths of Hell for the past several months, I had known Miya since high school. She was much more tolerable back then, I honestly wasn't sure what changed in the years leading up to the present but I honestly didn't care. Plus, now because of her, an immaculately beautiful demon was sitting beside him. Granted, it was just to vent but still.
"What are you watching?" Rar'az suddenly asked.
"Yuri On Ice." I told him and unpaused the TV.
We sat for some time, watching the show together. He dipped his hand into my popcorn bowl a few times and in those few times, our fingers touched and he looked my way, smiling gratefully. The last episode came quickly and as the screen went black, Rar'az sniffed, wiping away a single tear.
"What a beautiful show," he said.
I grinned at him. "Isn't it?"
"Can we watch more?"
"Well, that's the last episode until season two comes out." I moved to the home screen where I had multiple lists of my favorite TV shows, anime, cartoons, and movies. "If you want, we could watch something else. Unless you want to go back to Hell."
Rar'az hesitated. I quickly said, "Miya won't be back until Monday."
The demon's face brightened and he scooted closer to me. "Okay. If it's alright with you, I'd like to bring a few of my companions tomorrow. These three days of freedom must be used appropriately."
"Sure, just make sure you tell them our building doesn't really allow demons so they'll have to be quiet."
"Of course."
|
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[WP] Your roommate has the annoying habit of summoning demons for mundane tasks. They vent their frustrations with you.
|
I jumped at the sudden ring of the doorbell, bringing me out of the rhythm of repeated practice with reaction mechanisms. I glanced over at the clock on the microwave. Almost 7:30. I guess one of my roommates had ordered out. I briefly wondered which one it was.
A moment later, the glow of the summoning circle on the whiteboard next to the door answered my question. I tried to pretend I was still doing mechanism problems while I watched for the demon to arrive on this plane. They didn’t usually like me staring at them while doing such simple tasks. It seemed to wound their pride even more
I glanced again up at the quiet pop that signaled the demon had come through the portal. I’d seen this display hundreds of times since I’d lived with these roommates, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. It was really quite fascinating once I had adjusted to my roommate’s rather…unconventional lifestyle. And learned how to deal with angry demons on a near-daily basis, of course.
“WHO DARES SUMMON -” The demon stopped mid-sentence and glanced around at the small living room. His already twisted features contorted into a grimace, and he rubbed a clawed hand across the bridge of his beak-like nose.
“Seriously?” I heard him say, “This is the fourth time this week. How much pizza can one puny mortal eat?” I smirked as I worked on a synthesis for another organometallic molecule.
“Hey Bez,” I said, not looking up from my paper. Just as he said, I’d been seeing a lot of him lately. The doorbell rang again, twice this time. Lord Bezemel, High Demon of the Fifth Circle of Hell, Bringer of War and Destroyer of Nations, opened the door for the pizza delivery.
A strangled squeak brought my attention back to the demon at the door. I didn’t recognize the delivery boy tonight; must be new. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, you’d think the Papa John’s on Main Street had learned not to send a newbie to this address. We’d certainly been living here long enough.
“Calm down kid, I’m not here to eat your soul tonight.” I’m sure the kid could have calmed himself, if Bez wasn’t staring intently at him with those slitted eyes of his.
“L-large pep-pepperoni for A-ma-ma-manda?” The kid was shaking so hard he almost dropped his charge. I called him kid in my head, but he seemed about my age – twenty-two-ish, a student by the looks of him, and probably just starting out in a summer job. Lucky bastard probably had a light exam schedule and figured he’d make use of his time to start earning some extra cash. I rolled my eyes and started another problem.
Bez just snapped his fingers, Amanda’s wallet flying from its place on the counter and into his hand, still eyeing the shaking young man like a piece of prime rib. He pulled $20 out of the ratty old wallet and handed it to him, trading it for the pizza box.
Bez stared at the young man another minute or so. I could see the kid’s rising panic, and stifled a giggle. The bindings in that summoning circle on the dry-erase board barred demons from harming humans while under its influence. Yeah, it was terrible of Bez to lead the kid on like this, but I guess I’d just gotten too used to this routine. Frankly, the usual delivery people had too. Besides, the circle made it so Bez had to be polite, and tip very well.
“Keep the change, and don’t listen to the squirrel with a child’s face.” Bez shut the door with that, and lingered a moment to listen to the scuff of the kid’s sneakers as he fled to his car.
“You’d think he’d never seen a demon of Hell before.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I burst out laughing as Bez walked – yes walked - to Amanda’s room. Another provision of that summoning circle by the door: the answering demon was not allowed to teleport, float, or fly while they were in the house. He glared down at me as he walked up the stairs, which made me laugh even harder. I was waaay too used to this.
Bez returned while I was going over the problems from the third test. I groaned in disgust as I tried to redo one of the reactions on the last page. Why on earth had the teacher suddenly written out the entire structure of a peroxyacid when the entire semester we’d just been using abbreviations?
“My thoughts exactly,” Bez’s deep voice was just across from my seat at the kitchen table. I looked up to see the irritated demon sitting across from me, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Top-shelf, no doubt. I’d learned not to ask where it came from.
“’Sup Bez?”
The demon’s eye twitched at my overly familiar greeting, but he just let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, just the usual – just minding my own business, watching the damned of the Fifth Circle fight each other endlessly, wondering which unfortunate mortal I’d get to torment today, when I found myself called to your living room to act as your doorman *yet again*.” He glanced down at the papers scattered about the table, and the open textbook to my left. “And you?”
I pulled my lip back in a small grimace. “Organic chemistry. Brilliant mortal that I am, I decided to take the first semester of the class in my own last semester. I did need another chem course, but I basically did this for the shits and giggles.”
Bez cocked his head. “Isn’t that one of those college classes you mortals are always complaining about?”
I shrugged. “I mean, it was either this or P-chem, and after three-and-a-half years of hard math classes and physics courses that were turning my brain inside-out, I was getting pretty sick of math.” I glanced back down at my old tests. “Besides, I’m not too bad at this. I just don’t have a lot of motivation, so I’ve been putting off a lot of my studying.”
Bez seemed to perk up at that. “I could help you with that, you know. I could cut you a deal – all the organic chemistry knowledge you’d need, and only for half your soul.” He grinned, showing his mouth of pointed teeth.
“Pfft, yeah right. I know better than to make deals with demons. I don’t know how my roomate’s lasted this long, summoning as many as she does, but I’d rather not get into it myself.”
The demon deflated a bit, then leaned in, looking surprisingly desperate as he took a sip from the glass. “C’mon man, cut me some slack. I can’t stand being bound like this! Do you know how humiliating this is? Me, a demon of Hell, enslaved as the personal manservant of some mortal in a college town in the middle of devil-knows-where. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way – your roommate keeps – shit, I don’t even know how many of us are bound by these stupid little circles of hers."
“Yeah, Chern was complaining about it this morning when he came by to take care of the garbage.”
Bez’s cat-like eyes widened. “Tell me I misheard you. Chern?”
“Yup. Your hearing’s sharp as ever.”
“As in, Chernobog?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bez blinked once, slowly. And once then again. “You mean to tell me that your roommate keeps a Slavic god of death - or darkness, or evil, or whatever - enslaved…to take out the garbage?”
“Well, he doesn’t take it out so much as he just kind of…incinerates it. He’s actually pretty nice. He’s just really bored of doing the same job repeatedly.”
Bez, still looking incredulous, took another sip. “How many other major demons does your roommate have dealings with?”
I shrugged again. “No clue, man. The only one I know she *doesn’t* deal with is your boss. Said they had some sort of “falling out” years ago.”
Bez nearly choked on his liquor.
|
I had to work second shift and was sleeping in. But then I heard 'grrrrrrkrkrk'. Which woke me up. I squinted at the clock and got confused. I knew my roommate must've left for work, but I heard the blender in the kitchen. And between the whirring of the blender I thought I heard sobbing.
I thought 'oh great, he left a booty call here for me to get rid of for him'. But not this time, it was even more awkward. I walk in on a demon muttering over cookbooks and and sobbing. Gently introducing myself, they wipe the corner of their eye with their tail and tells me their name is 'krzarbr'kac'. After I fail at pronouncing it, I'm told 'it's okay, just call me k'zar'.
And K'zar seems just desperate to have somebody to talk to. As they explain my roommate keeps summoning demons for nonsense like 'make me a picnic, clean up the kitchen, find the match to this sock'. But that it's lonely boring and humiliating to be doing things so easily done my mere mortals. They're longing for a good smiting, an invite to defending a warlock from a raiding party, or even guarding a cavern of artifacts (lonely, but the time spans make it beyond a mortal's duty).
As we talk, They tell me there is evidence of other demons also being summoned for similar things. And we start to hatch a plan. As long as the demons have tasks they've been assigned they can stay in the mortal world. So, we start coming up with ways to have tasks be almost complete. Every time my roommate tries summoning them the equivalent etherial error message of 'this resource currently occupied, please try your request at a later time' appears. One sock would end up hidden so that 'wash, dry, iron, fold and put away all of my laundry' could not be completed.
My roommate would just mutter and summon a different demon, we would always create some means of not completing the task. K'zar starts to live in my bathroom since it was off my room and the roommate never went in there. Others joined after this, since they found the coolness of the tub to be very novel after so longer in the underworld. And it's not like they actually needed to eat. I had company during the day while everybody was at work. As time passed, I'd befriended about half a dozen demons and it was getting crowded. I'd managed to hide them from my roommate for a couple weeks at this point.
Finally I asked them all to make a pact with each other. First, no killing of mortals. Second psychological torture of mortals was only allowed for those who were responsible for deaths and had no remorse. Third each would have custody of the item another needed to complete their task. Fourth if any of them wanted to go back at any time the others had to allow it by passing them the appropriate article to complete their task. So a demonic circle of trust was formed. And I sent them out into the world to explore and have fun.
My roommate got very irritated when the postcards started to show up. 'Having lots of fun in Machu Picchu -Lkredyzgc' But by then I had a second group forming and he never did figure out why he couldn’t summon demons more than once anymore. Got kinda boring when he moved back home, and I never quite found as interesting a living situation.
|
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[WP] Your roommate has the annoying habit of summoning demons for mundane tasks. They vent their frustrations with you.
|
"Mortal! What is the meaning of this?"
I look over the top of my book at a grotesque monster, and sigh.
"I'm not the one who summoned you. What's your name, demon?"
"I am the infamous Lord Axaris the Bloody! I have killed-"
"Okay, Axaris, what's the issue. You know why you were summoned, don't you?"
I put my book aside. Axaris really is ugly. Par for the course, I suppose.
"That's LORD Axaris to you, mortal!"
"Sorry, I'm not in the mood. I can call you Ax or Axaris, whichever you prefer. Now, what's the issue?"
"Doing your dishes is beneath me! I demand that you let me go at once!"
"Fat chance."
"HOW DARE YOU!! I shall curse you for all eternity!"
"Look, I'm not happy either. But I have no knowledge of the occult. I don't know how to send you back."
"Then erase my summoning circle!"
I roll my eyes at him.
"Yeah, no. That's the one thing I know not to do, buddy."
"WHERE IS HE?"
"Shit, I don't know. Don't shout at me when I'm right here. There's nothing wrong with my ears."
"I shall wait for him here!"
Lord Axaris sits down in the middle of the room and crosses his four arms.
"Fine with me. Although it'll probably be hours before he's back."
I grab my book again.
"What are you reading, mortal?"
"Huh? This book is called the Two Towers. It's the second part of a fantasy epic."
"Can I see it?"
"How about I hand you part one instead? Catch."
I reach over to a nearby shelf and pull off the Fellowship of the Ring. Then I toss it.
"Does this summoner often call demons to this house, mortal?" Axaris demands to know.
"Oh yeah, almost every day. I try to stay out of the way, but I'm always the one being complained to in the end."
"If it bothers you, why don't you do the dishes instead?"
"I do, when it's my turn. Today, it's not. If he wants to summon demons to do his chores, well, that's his soul at stake, not mine."
"Bah, what scum."
"Yep... I wish he'd stop. Even so, I kind of got used to it."
We stop talking for a while. I can only hear Axaris flip the pages of the book now and again.
"This ring in the story is a peculiar object. How does it work?" he asks.
"Ah. Well, it was forged by an evil sorcerer in a volcano, and if you wear it for too long, it turns you into a spirit that serves him."
"Hmm... That is interesting."
He puts the book down and walks towards the kitchen.
"I have a proposal, mortal," he says.
"What is it, Axaris?"
"Tell him I did the dishes without complaining, and that he should summon me again. When he does, I'll have something for you to give him."
"Ah. Sure, whatever. I don't mind if he becomes your slave."
"Also... Could I have that book?"
I look at the book on the table, and then at him.
"They're his to begin with, so I don't see why not. They'll become yours automatically, won't they?"
"I'd like to take it with me today."
"Do your thing."
I turn towards my book again and continue reading. Even fiction seems to have its uses now and again.
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Marius opened the door to the small flat and within the blink of an eye his right hand wandered to his back, wrapping around the hilt of his sword. The smell coming from the room ran several alarm bells at once. But it was not only the smells. Sure, the hints of sulfur and earth were already a pretty obvious sign, but the slight feeling of despair and fear that was banging against the inside of his head made it more than obvious. Something was in here, something supernatural. With fast steps Marius stormed to the door leading into the kitchen-livingroom part of the flat and opened it quickly before jumping back. It took a short moment before his mind was able to comprehend what he was seeing.
The livingroom part of the room on Mariuses left side sported a big TV, a couch and an armchair in which his roommate Nathan sat, just now looking up from the giant book sitting in his lap. That alone would not have been such a problem, no, the problem was on the right side, in the kitchen part.
Next to a mountain of dirty plates, pans and pots, in front of a small soap water filled kitchen sink, stood a demon. The creature was 9 foot tall, muscular arms and a head with long horns. The complete thing was covered in some sort of chitin chitinous exoskeleton and was bright red. It had to kneel in front of the sink to actually be able to reach it, and the clouds of lather sprinkled all over the creature made it obvious that even this way it had a hard time.
“What the shit?” Marius shouted into the room and stepped through the door frame, the sword pointed at the beast which was currently struggling to get up on the wet slippery floor. The six eyes in its skull fixed on Marius’s blade.
“Good evening Marius, how did the sword lessons go?” Nathan asked and closed the book.
“What is that?” Marius pointed the sword at the now standing monster.
Before Nathan could even speak the demon answered in a deep voice that reminded Marius of thunder in the distance: “I am Banthal, Prince of the flaming forest. Lord of the red pack and destroyer of Ul’am Ahar”
The impressive title was slightly undermined by both the lather stains as well as the brushes the he was holding in two of the four hands.
“Shut it Ban, get back to cleaning” Nathan said and with a short whimper the demon dropped back on his knees and slowly turned to the sink again.
“Why is this thing cleaning the stuff you should be cleaning?” Marius shouted.
“I didn't feel like doing it, besides I wanted to try summoning a level nine being anyway.”
“You put the whole block at risk just so that you don't have to do the dishes?”
“Relax, I know what I am doing.”
“And what about the time you decided it would be faster to summon a hellfrog than make a fire for the barbecue? You set the building on fire!”
“Only a small fire.”
“And the time you summoned a demon to walk a dog? Has it even been found?”
“Well, no, but I am sure ….”
“Let's not forget that you once summoned a Siren to fill the pool!”
“Which she did!”
“With acid!”
“Yeah, I should have been more specific. But here I am super careful and old Ban here is restricted by 11 bindings.”
“I command Armies of flaming servants, if you let me go now I will spare your pity....” The demon suddenly started but one angry scream from Marius silenced him quickly.
“Shut it!”
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[WP] Your roommate has the annoying habit of summoning demons for mundane tasks. They vent their frustrations with you.
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"Mortal! What is the meaning of this?"
I look over the top of my book at a grotesque monster, and sigh.
"I'm not the one who summoned you. What's your name, demon?"
"I am the infamous Lord Axaris the Bloody! I have killed-"
"Okay, Axaris, what's the issue. You know why you were summoned, don't you?"
I put my book aside. Axaris really is ugly. Par for the course, I suppose.
"That's LORD Axaris to you, mortal!"
"Sorry, I'm not in the mood. I can call you Ax or Axaris, whichever you prefer. Now, what's the issue?"
"Doing your dishes is beneath me! I demand that you let me go at once!"
"Fat chance."
"HOW DARE YOU!! I shall curse you for all eternity!"
"Look, I'm not happy either. But I have no knowledge of the occult. I don't know how to send you back."
"Then erase my summoning circle!"
I roll my eyes at him.
"Yeah, no. That's the one thing I know not to do, buddy."
"WHERE IS HE?"
"Shit, I don't know. Don't shout at me when I'm right here. There's nothing wrong with my ears."
"I shall wait for him here!"
Lord Axaris sits down in the middle of the room and crosses his four arms.
"Fine with me. Although it'll probably be hours before he's back."
I grab my book again.
"What are you reading, mortal?"
"Huh? This book is called the Two Towers. It's the second part of a fantasy epic."
"Can I see it?"
"How about I hand you part one instead? Catch."
I reach over to a nearby shelf and pull off the Fellowship of the Ring. Then I toss it.
"Does this summoner often call demons to this house, mortal?" Axaris demands to know.
"Oh yeah, almost every day. I try to stay out of the way, but I'm always the one being complained to in the end."
"If it bothers you, why don't you do the dishes instead?"
"I do, when it's my turn. Today, it's not. If he wants to summon demons to do his chores, well, that's his soul at stake, not mine."
"Bah, what scum."
"Yep... I wish he'd stop. Even so, I kind of got used to it."
We stop talking for a while. I can only hear Axaris flip the pages of the book now and again.
"This ring in the story is a peculiar object. How does it work?" he asks.
"Ah. Well, it was forged by an evil sorcerer in a volcano, and if you wear it for too long, it turns you into a spirit that serves him."
"Hmm... That is interesting."
He puts the book down and walks towards the kitchen.
"I have a proposal, mortal," he says.
"What is it, Axaris?"
"Tell him I did the dishes without complaining, and that he should summon me again. When he does, I'll have something for you to give him."
"Ah. Sure, whatever. I don't mind if he becomes your slave."
"Also... Could I have that book?"
I look at the book on the table, and then at him.
"They're his to begin with, so I don't see why not. They'll become yours automatically, won't they?"
"I'd like to take it with me today."
"Do your thing."
I turn towards my book again and continue reading. Even fiction seems to have its uses now and again.
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It all happened one day I was watching Batman begins in my room, I remember it so vividly.
He just teleported in, sat down, and introduced himself. “Hey man, hope it’s cool i just barged in, I really need someone to talk to. My name is Vrattrax.” Of course my mind is blown, who’s wouldn’t be? I’d never believed in demons or god or really anything. He was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, I’d 100% go gay. I guess that’s the thing about demons, they’re all able to change their appearance, but that’s besides the point. “So, um, Vrattax, what do you want to talk about?” “Well, you know your roommate, Dave?” He asked quietly. “Well of course, I live with him.” I replied. “Yeah, he’s a whorelock.” The demon whispered. “What’s a whorelock?” I asked. “It’s what you call a warlock behind his back, obviously.” He said sarcastically. “So Dave can summon demons?” I naturally whispered, don’t want Dave to overhear this. “Yup, he makes us do petty tasks he’s too lazy to do, like washing dishes, cleaning his room, getting the mail, you get the idea.” He was practically crying, you could tell he hated to being Dave’s servant. “Once summoned me and other demons must listen, or else we could be tossed into the abyss, I have no power there.” He mumbled, the fear in his eyes proved he wasn’t lying. “Well, wanna watch this movie with me? It just started.” I asked. “I’ve never been asked to do anything but mundane tasks, but I’d love to.” He said with a smile.
That was 10 years ago. I’ve become the official demon councilor, some of these demons are mentally traumatized by my old roommate Dave. After college I moved back home, but they remembered me and still come for help. Vrattrax and other demons I saw often started giving me things in return, money or games, or anything. I’ve never had to work, I just sit in my room waiting. Vrattrax stops by every couple days, we talk a little, he asks if we can watch Batman begins again, and he leaves when it’s over.
One day Vrattrax stopped coming as often, I saw him ever couple months. One day I asked what was happening, “Dave’s powers are weakening, he cannot someone me as often as he wishes, for he has become obese. My life has improved a lot since then, I no longer feel like a slave.” He said with a genuine smile on his face. “Soon Dave won’t be able to summon me again, I will miss you, friend.” He said. “But, can we watch Batman Begins one more time?”
“Of course old friend.”
It’s been a couple months since I last saw Vrattrax, I really miss him. I have an idea.
“Hey Dave, how’s your life been?” I asked. “It’s been tough, I miss my college days.” He said sadly. “I hope you feel better, but I have a request.” I said shyly. “Sure, what is it?” “Can you show my how to summon a demon?”
————————————————————————
I don’t think I’m a good writer, but I really liked this prompt idea. Maybe one day I’ll get better.
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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The alchemical lessons of Sibylla’s graying mentor had turned out to be mostly nonsense but they had afforded by chance an altogether unlikely relationship. While pursuing the usual task of such advisors to the king, expansion of the realm’s coffers be it through transmutation of base metals into precious or the education of the royal spawn into conquers or the conquered, a method of communion with an otherworldly entity was achieved. After suitable inquiry, demands, bargaining, and ultimately pleading was exhausted to no avail the magic scroll through which script and simple drawings could be exchanged was discarded to the princess as an idle curiosity.
Over time their conversations became more frequent. While perpetually unwilling to provide any information of practical utility the entity identifying itself as Lord Lucius Fulbright displayed a fondness for philosophical and ethical discussion. Often Princess Sibylla would ponder seemingly simple questions posed by Lucius for several days before responding, and always he would reply with care and consideration. Their conversations also turned toward the personal, Sibylla baring her inner thoughts and fears in a way she withheld even from her handmaidens.
Finally on a brisk spring morning she unrolled the scroll to reveal an uncharacteristically formal correspondence, proposing marriage at the same time the following year. While having grown quite fond of her acquaintance over the years Princess Sibylla was still unsure of his nature, much less his eligibility for marriage. Princesses as a general rule had little to do with such decisions. Having expressed such misgivings and obstacles she received this reply:
Princess Sibylla,
You are quite right to insist that I fully disclose my nature and intentions prior to your decision. First to address the matter of my general appearance, a topic which is somewhat difficult to answer due to its potential variability. Usually I would appear to you as a handsome young man with an aura of power that would induce awe and fear, other times as wings and eyes, although I may assume essentially any form. In truth my nature is none of those things and I move through the world unseen and unknown.
Depending on your culture my kind has different names including spirit, djinn, and daemon. The latter perhaps is most appropriate although I feel the need to address the slander and misrepresentation of my ilk. Our discussions have revealed that you share my interest in ethical action and justice which are primary to my interest in becoming your betrothed.
As the Prince of Demons my role is known to you: I lord over the Pit into which the Damned are thrown to be punished for their sins. I and my brethren demons are formerly angels and we share their nature as sinless, immortal beings of great knowledge and power. The difference and schism in our ranks which ultimately lead to the departure of one third of Heaven’s host was disagreement over the necessity of Justice.
Many view demons as malicious agents of evil but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Indeed we value goodness over all. None is cast into the Pit who does not deserve it! Another misconception is that the torment of the Pit is without end; infinite punishment for finite transgressions would be unjust so the deserved torment is limited.
Compare this to the actions of the Father. His love for humans causes him to forgive transgressions which were not even inflicted on himself, absolving them of punishment for their misdeeds simply by professing acceptance of his love. This is a perversion of justice, love blinding Him to morality. The Father even attempted to take on the deserved punishment of humanity but he could not bear it longer than three days.
I know you share my desire for justice and I assure you that your punishment will be swift. Indeed my love for you will cause the torment to pain me greatly, but I ask that your affection to me will remain true through the ordeal.
Let us show that love and justice may coexist.
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Listen bitch.
"Let's find a middle ground." That's what he said, that's how he asked me. That's how you tell someone who's having a tantrum about where to eat to calm down, not how you seek life long partnership. And. How old is he! I can't get a real answer, and everything we talk about sounds like frist hand experience coming from him. I can hear your dumb face as I write you this email because you thoughtlessly went on a curise during the most important choice of my life, bitch. I know, age is just a number, but this son of a goat talks about when they erected the effeil (spelling? Lol its not eyefull) tower, I don't even know what year that was let alone why he was there. How involved was he? I don't know his job. . .Huh. Do you think . . . Did he make it look like a . . . Phallic? Shit, does he have a silo of his own??? Sweet baby corn jesus what if he doesn't, I never asked! That's something I thought I could find out before . . . You know. What am I doing, I can't be with a demon, Marry him? That's bonkers. I mean, do they even marry, maybe this is normally how it's done? OR these battle lines being drawn before a fight?
"I know this more than I can ask from you, but I want to spend the rest of your life together . . . Let's find a middle ground. "
Is this MF talking about possesing me? I sure AF am no ones personal property NOR am I a vessel for pure evil. Mostly. Cabo was damn near close. What if he knows, what if he is like Santa and can see all the weird shit I've been doing online. Bitch you don't even know. I've been to the edge of the internet, fuck flat earth it's flat net theory and I've fallen off the world.
You think you know? I cried for an hour watching cute, CUTE cat videos before writing you, because for whatever fuck reason, his new place smells like burning cat hair, for most of the day, and!!! It's in Florida!!! Deal breakers? Is that him, does he fuel his warmth with kittens!? I dont know him. How do you live someone like that?! Bish, dont even, I know what you are going to say, I know you thought Ricky was a bad guy you could change and your prefect relationship is what we all want deep down, but you won't even mention the fact Ricky is serving two life sentencing. What if god, or robo jesus, or who ever comes and takes him away? I can't . . .
I can't imagine him not writing back. Maybe I wanted to keep him on the line, a back up incase life falls through, but that's not fair to him, even if he saw the prymids being built doesn't that mean more? That maybe I am special, I never felt this special before, I can't imagine how tomorrow would feel without him there, in my thoughts, an email away.
I guess maybe, I could deal with the heat, the temp not team bitch, Spurs what what, I could learn to hold my breath, when the smell of baby cats gets overwhelming, I could even turn a blind when his work keeps him up at all times of the night, I could do this if I knew that he loved me and couldnt wait to see him. Because, I can't wait to see him.
Have fun on your boat bish, I am about to go on my own adventure.
P.S. AND bish, I know you. Don't bother googling demon dick, it's a lot of cartoon tenticals dicks for what ever reason
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I lived a pretty lonely life, working a mindless desk job 5 days a week just sorting through paperwork and making sure it went to the correct departments.
Imagine my surprise when a letter showed up on my desk addressed to me.
To explain a little further, I was orphaned when I was 12. My parents died in some freak car accident on their way to pick me up from my junior orchestra rehearsal. After their deaths, none of my extended family wanted to take me in. My mother was an only child and my father's only sister was active military with no husband. Both sets of my grandparents refused to let me live with them.
So I was tossed into the foster system. I landed myself in a pretty nice house with 2 other younger kids that were my foster parent's biological children. It wasn't awful like some of the horror stories you hear, I got to go to Disney World and Mexico a few times, but I could tell I was just there as a tax-deductible baby sister. Not that I minded very much.
When I was 16 I landed my current job working for some under-the-radar corporation who helped people file taxes. I was originally a temp, but I guess I was good enough at sorting that they decided to keep me permanently.
When I was 18, I promptly moved out of my foster home and into an apartment, rooming with someone I'd met online briefly. Red flag, I know, but her name was Ashley and she spent all of her time at her boyfriend's place anyways. As long as she paid the rent, I didn't really care too much.
Back to this letter though. The first time I got one, my name was written in a golden, cursive script. Brushing my fingers over my name, Mara Conva, I could tell the writing was done with some sort of metallic pen or marker as well. I initially thought it was a joke my coworkers were playing on me, feigning innocence every time I asked.
Eventually I opened it, and it was entirely in Latin. I couldn't understand a single word that was written. Now I was really convinced it was some kind of stupid prank. That was until someone suggested I write them back; there was a return address after all.
I spun to my computer and quickly typed up a response that said something along the lines of, "You've reached Mara Conva. I don't speak Latin. Please be sure to reply in English, thank you."
The return address was somewhere in Italy, so instantly I knew that there was gonna be a hefty penny to pay for a simple letter at the post office. I went on my lunch break to the post office and when I handed the letter over, the lady who looked it over took it without another word. When I asked about postage, she ignored me to help the next customer in line. I shrugged, figuring that she would probably discard the letter anyway. Whatever, I did my best to reply to whoever this person was.
What I later realized was that this random letter would soon lead to writing letters once a week to a man named Bael. Well except he wasn't a man, he was a demon, or so explained.
At first I thought he was joking, but then he offered to send me pictures of the demon realm. I asked if he wanted to e-mail them instead. He didn't know what e-mail was.
I gave him my home address to send these pictures. Except he doesn't send your average printed DSLR pictures. Nope I get not one, not two, but three huge 12x48 oil canvas paintings. They were incredible! I asked who painted them. He said his sister.
I sent him some pictures I printed at a local photo store. A selfie, a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World (he couldn't quite grasp the concept of theme parks), a picture of my apartment, and a few of some of the nature and wildlife in a nearby park. Bael loved all of them.
He asked how I made the pictures. I explained I spent money to print them. He asked how that works. I did my best to explain digital photography to him, but it was hard. He seemed to enjoy it though, expressing how it would be much easier to simply take a photo instead of spending hours painting.
Our conversations had been going on weekly for 2 years now when suddenly he misses a week. It was very unlike Bael to miss a week. After 3 weeks, I decided to send him another letter asking if he received my last letter. Again, silence. No response from him. I start crying, freaking out. Had I lost my mind? Was I really in contact with a demon? It had to be real. Even Ashley had noticed the weekly letters and the oil paintings I had accumulated over the years.
After a solid 2 months after last hearing from Bael, I get a letter. At first, I'm filled with rage. How dare he ignore me for weeks on end? Nothing! No sign to me to even indicate he was alive.
My rage is calmed after a few moments when I realized my heart was pounding. I missed him so much that I resented him for ignoring me. For leaving me alone again. I didn't want to be alone anymore because I had Bael. He made me feel so much less alone than I used to be. He was my best freaking friend!
I tore open the letter in a fever. Unfolding it revealed a very short letter.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A lot has happened. It's too hard to explain by letter.
"Long story short, my father died and now I am left to the throne., but I need a suitor by my side before I can become king. The best suitor I can think of is you.
"Will you marry me?"
~~
hello this is my first post to WP! i hope everyone who reads it enjoys! feedback extremely appreciated!!
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Listen bitch.
"Let's find a middle ground." That's what he said, that's how he asked me. That's how you tell someone who's having a tantrum about where to eat to calm down, not how you seek life long partnership. And. How old is he! I can't get a real answer, and everything we talk about sounds like frist hand experience coming from him. I can hear your dumb face as I write you this email because you thoughtlessly went on a curise during the most important choice of my life, bitch. I know, age is just a number, but this son of a goat talks about when they erected the effeil (spelling? Lol its not eyefull) tower, I don't even know what year that was let alone why he was there. How involved was he? I don't know his job. . .Huh. Do you think . . . Did he make it look like a . . . Phallic? Shit, does he have a silo of his own??? Sweet baby corn jesus what if he doesn't, I never asked! That's something I thought I could find out before . . . You know. What am I doing, I can't be with a demon, Marry him? That's bonkers. I mean, do they even marry, maybe this is normally how it's done? OR these battle lines being drawn before a fight?
"I know this more than I can ask from you, but I want to spend the rest of your life together . . . Let's find a middle ground. "
Is this MF talking about possesing me? I sure AF am no ones personal property NOR am I a vessel for pure evil. Mostly. Cabo was damn near close. What if he knows, what if he is like Santa and can see all the weird shit I've been doing online. Bitch you don't even know. I've been to the edge of the internet, fuck flat earth it's flat net theory and I've fallen off the world.
You think you know? I cried for an hour watching cute, CUTE cat videos before writing you, because for whatever fuck reason, his new place smells like burning cat hair, for most of the day, and!!! It's in Florida!!! Deal breakers? Is that him, does he fuel his warmth with kittens!? I dont know him. How do you live someone like that?! Bish, dont even, I know what you are going to say, I know you thought Ricky was a bad guy you could change and your prefect relationship is what we all want deep down, but you won't even mention the fact Ricky is serving two life sentencing. What if god, or robo jesus, or who ever comes and takes him away? I can't . . .
I can't imagine him not writing back. Maybe I wanted to keep him on the line, a back up incase life falls through, but that's not fair to him, even if he saw the prymids being built doesn't that mean more? That maybe I am special, I never felt this special before, I can't imagine how tomorrow would feel without him there, in my thoughts, an email away.
I guess maybe, I could deal with the heat, the temp not team bitch, Spurs what what, I could learn to hold my breath, when the smell of baby cats gets overwhelming, I could even turn a blind when his work keeps him up at all times of the night, I could do this if I knew that he loved me and couldnt wait to see him. Because, I can't wait to see him.
Have fun on your boat bish, I am about to go on my own adventure.
P.S. AND bish, I know you. Don't bother googling demon dick, it's a lot of cartoon tenticals dicks for what ever reason
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
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Listen bitch.
"Let's find a middle ground." That's what he said, that's how he asked me. That's how you tell someone who's having a tantrum about where to eat to calm down, not how you seek life long partnership. And. How old is he! I can't get a real answer, and everything we talk about sounds like frist hand experience coming from him. I can hear your dumb face as I write you this email because you thoughtlessly went on a curise during the most important choice of my life, bitch. I know, age is just a number, but this son of a goat talks about when they erected the effeil (spelling? Lol its not eyefull) tower, I don't even know what year that was let alone why he was there. How involved was he? I don't know his job. . .Huh. Do you think . . . Did he make it look like a . . . Phallic? Shit, does he have a silo of his own??? Sweet baby corn jesus what if he doesn't, I never asked! That's something I thought I could find out before . . . You know. What am I doing, I can't be with a demon, Marry him? That's bonkers. I mean, do they even marry, maybe this is normally how it's done? OR these battle lines being drawn before a fight?
"I know this more than I can ask from you, but I want to spend the rest of your life together . . . Let's find a middle ground. "
Is this MF talking about possesing me? I sure AF am no ones personal property NOR am I a vessel for pure evil. Mostly. Cabo was damn near close. What if he knows, what if he is like Santa and can see all the weird shit I've been doing online. Bitch you don't even know. I've been to the edge of the internet, fuck flat earth it's flat net theory and I've fallen off the world.
You think you know? I cried for an hour watching cute, CUTE cat videos before writing you, because for whatever fuck reason, his new place smells like burning cat hair, for most of the day, and!!! It's in Florida!!! Deal breakers? Is that him, does he fuel his warmth with kittens!? I dont know him. How do you live someone like that?! Bish, dont even, I know what you are going to say, I know you thought Ricky was a bad guy you could change and your prefect relationship is what we all want deep down, but you won't even mention the fact Ricky is serving two life sentencing. What if god, or robo jesus, or who ever comes and takes him away? I can't . . .
I can't imagine him not writing back. Maybe I wanted to keep him on the line, a back up incase life falls through, but that's not fair to him, even if he saw the prymids being built doesn't that mean more? That maybe I am special, I never felt this special before, I can't imagine how tomorrow would feel without him there, in my thoughts, an email away.
I guess maybe, I could deal with the heat, the temp not team bitch, Spurs what what, I could learn to hold my breath, when the smell of baby cats gets overwhelming, I could even turn a blind when his work keeps him up at all times of the night, I could do this if I knew that he loved me and couldnt wait to see him. Because, I can't wait to see him.
Have fun on your boat bish, I am about to go on my own adventure.
P.S. AND bish, I know you. Don't bother googling demon dick, it's a lot of cartoon tenticals dicks for what ever reason
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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The alchemical lessons of Sibylla’s graying mentor had turned out to be mostly nonsense but they had afforded by chance an altogether unlikely relationship. While pursuing the usual task of such advisors to the king, expansion of the realm’s coffers be it through transmutation of base metals into precious or the education of the royal spawn into conquers or the conquered, a method of communion with an otherworldly entity was achieved. After suitable inquiry, demands, bargaining, and ultimately pleading was exhausted to no avail the magic scroll through which script and simple drawings could be exchanged was discarded to the princess as an idle curiosity.
Over time their conversations became more frequent. While perpetually unwilling to provide any information of practical utility the entity identifying itself as Lord Lucius Fulbright displayed a fondness for philosophical and ethical discussion. Often Princess Sibylla would ponder seemingly simple questions posed by Lucius for several days before responding, and always he would reply with care and consideration. Their conversations also turned toward the personal, Sibylla baring her inner thoughts and fears in a way she withheld even from her handmaidens.
Finally on a brisk spring morning she unrolled the scroll to reveal an uncharacteristically formal correspondence, proposing marriage at the same time the following year. While having grown quite fond of her acquaintance over the years Princess Sibylla was still unsure of his nature, much less his eligibility for marriage. Princesses as a general rule had little to do with such decisions. Having expressed such misgivings and obstacles she received this reply:
Princess Sibylla,
You are quite right to insist that I fully disclose my nature and intentions prior to your decision. First to address the matter of my general appearance, a topic which is somewhat difficult to answer due to its potential variability. Usually I would appear to you as a handsome young man with an aura of power that would induce awe and fear, other times as wings and eyes, although I may assume essentially any form. In truth my nature is none of those things and I move through the world unseen and unknown.
Depending on your culture my kind has different names including spirit, djinn, and daemon. The latter perhaps is most appropriate although I feel the need to address the slander and misrepresentation of my ilk. Our discussions have revealed that you share my interest in ethical action and justice which are primary to my interest in becoming your betrothed.
As the Prince of Demons my role is known to you: I lord over the Pit into which the Damned are thrown to be punished for their sins. I and my brethren demons are formerly angels and we share their nature as sinless, immortal beings of great knowledge and power. The difference and schism in our ranks which ultimately lead to the departure of one third of Heaven’s host was disagreement over the necessity of Justice.
Many view demons as malicious agents of evil but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Indeed we value goodness over all. None is cast into the Pit who does not deserve it! Another misconception is that the torment of the Pit is without end; infinite punishment for finite transgressions would be unjust so the deserved torment is limited.
Compare this to the actions of the Father. His love for humans causes him to forgive transgressions which were not even inflicted on himself, absolving them of punishment for their misdeeds simply by professing acceptance of his love. This is a perversion of justice, love blinding Him to morality. The Father even attempted to take on the deserved punishment of humanity but he could not bear it longer than three days.
I know you share my desire for justice and I assure you that your punishment will be swift. Indeed my love for you will cause the torment to pain me greatly, but I ask that your affection to me will remain true through the ordeal.
Let us show that love and justice may coexist.
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“So this may sound strange...” Was the first line in the letter. Usually Merrick was a very well read person, he wrote letters that were dancing with emotion and color but this time his words were nervous and evasive.
“You remember how you ask me if I ever wanted to marry and I said it was complicated..”
Colette read on, her heart was pounding harder with every word that she read. He wrote on about how he was to be wed to a suitor his father had found. The bond would “strengthen” his blood line and he was in shambles over the whole thing.
Merrick was angry and Colette’s heart was broken. She had always known that they would never be together, she never had lied to herself. Somewhere though, deep down inside, she had reserved some hope that life would work out and that she could have her cake and eat it too.
“My dad offered me another solution Colette.. if I found the current arrangement unbearable, which I do..” he wrote on, his hesitation coming through in his pen strokes. His letters where fat and blobby as if he was unsure of how to say what he needed to.
“I want you Colette... I want to marry you... If it has to be somebody I want it to be you over anyone. I know I haven’t met you in person and I only have loved you in photographs but I can’t stop thinking about you...”
Colette stopped breathing as she hugged the letter tight against her chest. The letter felt warm and sent chills up her spine. Unsure of what to do she was anxious about being married but the majority of her wanted to say yes.
The tiny blond girl wanted to dance around her bedroom and celebrate, maybe cry her green eyes out a couple good times and pack her things. She would run to him, arms open and full of love but she was frightened by the uncertainty of him.
The two of them had been sending correspondence back and forth since she turned fifteen but now she was a twenty-two year old woman and she had felt an urge she had never felt before.. the call of freedom.
Skimming the letter she was anxious to read the rest, she could taste the anxiety in his words. He was cute when embarrassed and he was terrible at hiding it.
Colette read the last sentence out loud and paused.
“If your answer is yes just sign your name on the golden line of my letter and I will come retrieve you.”
She zoned out for a moment taking it all in.
The line was golden in nature, it was smooth and was glistening. It pulled her attention like a moth to a flame and it drew her in closer.
Colette was confused by this last sentence. Whether he meant that he would fly, drive or teleport.
Rolling her eyes she put the letter down next to her and laid backwards on her bed. She stared at the ceiling through her eye lids and tried to push the letter out of her mind.
As she lie there she felt her body getting lighter and her head began to swim. She could picture him, his long dark hair unkempt in his face and lively brown eyes pulling her in like the tide. He could swallow her up in a second but Colette needed to drown.
“Merrick....” she whispered softly into the void that filled her room. “I will marry you.”
“Than sign your name.” The void whispered back.
Colette’s emerald eyes shot open. The room was silent once again and as empty as it had been before. Unsure of whether her mind was playing tricks on her she collected his letter and climbed down off the bed.
- back to work
allworkandnoplaymakesjackadullboy
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I lived a pretty lonely life, working a mindless desk job 5 days a week just sorting through paperwork and making sure it went to the correct departments.
Imagine my surprise when a letter showed up on my desk addressed to me.
To explain a little further, I was orphaned when I was 12. My parents died in some freak car accident on their way to pick me up from my junior orchestra rehearsal. After their deaths, none of my extended family wanted to take me in. My mother was an only child and my father's only sister was active military with no husband. Both sets of my grandparents refused to let me live with them.
So I was tossed into the foster system. I landed myself in a pretty nice house with 2 other younger kids that were my foster parent's biological children. It wasn't awful like some of the horror stories you hear, I got to go to Disney World and Mexico a few times, but I could tell I was just there as a tax-deductible baby sister. Not that I minded very much.
When I was 16 I landed my current job working for some under-the-radar corporation who helped people file taxes. I was originally a temp, but I guess I was good enough at sorting that they decided to keep me permanently.
When I was 18, I promptly moved out of my foster home and into an apartment, rooming with someone I'd met online briefly. Red flag, I know, but her name was Ashley and she spent all of her time at her boyfriend's place anyways. As long as she paid the rent, I didn't really care too much.
Back to this letter though. The first time I got one, my name was written in a golden, cursive script. Brushing my fingers over my name, Mara Conva, I could tell the writing was done with some sort of metallic pen or marker as well. I initially thought it was a joke my coworkers were playing on me, feigning innocence every time I asked.
Eventually I opened it, and it was entirely in Latin. I couldn't understand a single word that was written. Now I was really convinced it was some kind of stupid prank. That was until someone suggested I write them back; there was a return address after all.
I spun to my computer and quickly typed up a response that said something along the lines of, "You've reached Mara Conva. I don't speak Latin. Please be sure to reply in English, thank you."
The return address was somewhere in Italy, so instantly I knew that there was gonna be a hefty penny to pay for a simple letter at the post office. I went on my lunch break to the post office and when I handed the letter over, the lady who looked it over took it without another word. When I asked about postage, she ignored me to help the next customer in line. I shrugged, figuring that she would probably discard the letter anyway. Whatever, I did my best to reply to whoever this person was.
What I later realized was that this random letter would soon lead to writing letters once a week to a man named Bael. Well except he wasn't a man, he was a demon, or so explained.
At first I thought he was joking, but then he offered to send me pictures of the demon realm. I asked if he wanted to e-mail them instead. He didn't know what e-mail was.
I gave him my home address to send these pictures. Except he doesn't send your average printed DSLR pictures. Nope I get not one, not two, but three huge 12x48 oil canvas paintings. They were incredible! I asked who painted them. He said his sister.
I sent him some pictures I printed at a local photo store. A selfie, a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World (he couldn't quite grasp the concept of theme parks), a picture of my apartment, and a few of some of the nature and wildlife in a nearby park. Bael loved all of them.
He asked how I made the pictures. I explained I spent money to print them. He asked how that works. I did my best to explain digital photography to him, but it was hard. He seemed to enjoy it though, expressing how it would be much easier to simply take a photo instead of spending hours painting.
Our conversations had been going on weekly for 2 years now when suddenly he misses a week. It was very unlike Bael to miss a week. After 3 weeks, I decided to send him another letter asking if he received my last letter. Again, silence. No response from him. I start crying, freaking out. Had I lost my mind? Was I really in contact with a demon? It had to be real. Even Ashley had noticed the weekly letters and the oil paintings I had accumulated over the years.
After a solid 2 months after last hearing from Bael, I get a letter. At first, I'm filled with rage. How dare he ignore me for weeks on end? Nothing! No sign to me to even indicate he was alive.
My rage is calmed after a few moments when I realized my heart was pounding. I missed him so much that I resented him for ignoring me. For leaving me alone again. I didn't want to be alone anymore because I had Bael. He made me feel so much less alone than I used to be. He was my best freaking friend!
I tore open the letter in a fever. Unfolding it revealed a very short letter.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A lot has happened. It's too hard to explain by letter.
"Long story short, my father died and now I am left to the throne., but I need a suitor by my side before I can become king. The best suitor I can think of is you.
"Will you marry me?"
~~
hello this is my first post to WP! i hope everyone who reads it enjoys! feedback extremely appreciated!!
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“So this may sound strange...” Was the first line in the letter. Usually Merrick was a very well read person, he wrote letters that were dancing with emotion and color but this time his words were nervous and evasive.
“You remember how you ask me if I ever wanted to marry and I said it was complicated..”
Colette read on, her heart was pounding harder with every word that she read. He wrote on about how he was to be wed to a suitor his father had found. The bond would “strengthen” his blood line and he was in shambles over the whole thing.
Merrick was angry and Colette’s heart was broken. She had always known that they would never be together, she never had lied to herself. Somewhere though, deep down inside, she had reserved some hope that life would work out and that she could have her cake and eat it too.
“My dad offered me another solution Colette.. if I found the current arrangement unbearable, which I do..” he wrote on, his hesitation coming through in his pen strokes. His letters where fat and blobby as if he was unsure of how to say what he needed to.
“I want you Colette... I want to marry you... If it has to be somebody I want it to be you over anyone. I know I haven’t met you in person and I only have loved you in photographs but I can’t stop thinking about you...”
Colette stopped breathing as she hugged the letter tight against her chest. The letter felt warm and sent chills up her spine. Unsure of what to do she was anxious about being married but the majority of her wanted to say yes.
The tiny blond girl wanted to dance around her bedroom and celebrate, maybe cry her green eyes out a couple good times and pack her things. She would run to him, arms open and full of love but she was frightened by the uncertainty of him.
The two of them had been sending correspondence back and forth since she turned fifteen but now she was a twenty-two year old woman and she had felt an urge she had never felt before.. the call of freedom.
Skimming the letter she was anxious to read the rest, she could taste the anxiety in his words. He was cute when embarrassed and he was terrible at hiding it.
Colette read the last sentence out loud and paused.
“If your answer is yes just sign your name on the golden line of my letter and I will come retrieve you.”
She zoned out for a moment taking it all in.
The line was golden in nature, it was smooth and was glistening. It pulled her attention like a moth to a flame and it drew her in closer.
Colette was confused by this last sentence. Whether he meant that he would fly, drive or teleport.
Rolling her eyes she put the letter down next to her and laid backwards on her bed. She stared at the ceiling through her eye lids and tried to push the letter out of her mind.
As she lie there she felt her body getting lighter and her head began to swim. She could picture him, his long dark hair unkempt in his face and lively brown eyes pulling her in like the tide. He could swallow her up in a second but Colette needed to drown.
“Merrick....” she whispered softly into the void that filled her room. “I will marry you.”
“Than sign your name.” The void whispered back.
Colette’s emerald eyes shot open. The room was silent once again and as empty as it had been before. Unsure of whether her mind was playing tricks on her she collected his letter and climbed down off the bed.
- back to work
allworkandnoplaymakesjackadullboy
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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The paper in my hand grew in weight. I never imagined this pen pal would have grown on me as much as he had. I’ve never met this person but I know without a doubt we could be friends or even more. Many of our letters were secrets we have never told the world. Only us two know these things about each other.
He asked to meet at a nearby restaurant for our first ever real dinner date. In the letter he talked about wanting to make a first impression the people will remember for years. I wouldn’t have been so worried if he didn’t choose Red Grable as the restaurant, it is the most expensive restaurant in the country and reservations are impossible to come by. I don’t live far from the restaurant though and I’ve always fantasized about eating there.
The letter said the reservation was set for 6:00 pm that day. I didn’t have many clothes that would even be acceptable to wear at a place so expensive but I would have to look for something. As I was searching for a dress to wear my doorbell rang.
There was no one on the other side of the door, but there was a tall box a little taller then me. On the front of the box was a note, “For tonight.” I had no idea what could have been in the box so I dragged it inside and started to cut it open.
Inside the box was the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. It was a maroon color that darkened to black at the bottom. The dress felt like silk as a ran my hand over it. It was so soft I barely even knew I was holding onto it. It was a very form fitting dress and had a gold necklace around the neck. The necklace had a green gemstone in it that must have been an emerald. I told this stranger many things about me like my birthday and what size I wore. I never expected anything to come of it and I cannot imagine how much this would have cost.
I stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t believe how nice the dress looked. If I didn’t know any better I would have believed that what I was looking at was a model in a magazine. The dress fit my form perfectly and left nothing to the imagination. Checking the clock on my nightstand I had about 1 hour to get there.
I arrived at the restaurant and noticed there was only no cars there. That’s strange considering this place is almost always pact to the brim with rich people. I walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The sight inside nearly made me pass out. Everything was so beautiful, from the sparkling chandeliers, to the white stone pillars. The restaurant was completely empty spare for one man with his back to me. The waitress didn’t ask for my name but just said to follow her to my table. She led me straight to the man sitting.
This man, who had captured my heart in his thoughtful letters, was even more beautiful in person. I wouldn’t care if he really was a prince of hell with how gorgeous he was. As I got closer to the table he stood up and with a voice that sounded like silk told me how beautiful I was. He held out my chair and I sat down across from him. He ordered wine for me and we made small talk. He told me about how he rented out the entire restaurant for our perfect date together.
As our food was brought out to us, he looked me in the eye and said, “you are the most exquisite human I have ever come in contact with, there is one last gift I have to give you before we must leave. He handed me a letter and I slowly opened it, not sure what to expect. I slowly read over the letter and the last few words had me speechless. “Will you marry me” In perfect handwriting.
All I could say was yes before he took me into a hug. I buried my head into his chest and felt the world spin. When I looked back at him we were no longer in the restaurant. We were in a huge hall with red banners down each side. The sunlight coming from outside told me that we were somewhere very far away since it was night time when we left.
I looked at him with a quizzical look and he said, “welcome to hell.” I walked towards one of the windows and was awestruck with how beautiful he place looked. There was trees as far as the eye could see and the sky had a red tint to it that made it look even more amazing. He lead me to a room and told me I can lay down in there or I can go home. Whichever one I choose the door will lead me there. With those final parting words he disappeared.
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Last night I read your messages
until my eyes burned with fire
I didn't know how to say the words
Or get out what I desired
My head inclined in misery
For your pen always has me beat
but still I read so feverishly
even in my utter defeat
Is it hot where you live right now
You've always made me sweat
I always reply because I find
the worst tears are from regret
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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Aria was a young and beautiful child, making everyone laugh with her own tinkling laugh. It simply bubbled out of her, and one couldn't help but laugh with her. Aria's honey-toned Indian skin glistened with the radiance of innocence. Her big brown eyes lit up at the sight of anything adorable - from puppies to butterflies.
In the 4th grade, Aria's class was given an assignment. They were to write to pen pals. Each of them was assigned a pen pal from another school in another country. So Aria didn't find it weird when her pen pal wrote on heavy parchment, with beautiful calligraphic characters.
She wrote back with haste. The first letter was from someone named Arasan (king in Tamil). Aria loved his name, and wrote back to say the same. Arasan replied asking her who she was and how she got his letter. Aria responded with the details of her assignment. And she asked him which school he went to.
Arasan responded by saying he went to a Gurukul (an Indian variation of boarding school), and she wouldn't have heard of it. It was in a small village, he said. Aria assumed he lived in Tamil Nadu and continued regaling him with her stories. He often responded with amusing tales from his school - how they'd pick on each other and play pranks on their teachers.
Arasan also told her how his father was extremely strict. And try as Aria might, she couldn't get him to open up about his father. She eventually shifted to other things. She asked him millions of questions about his home, his food, his pets, and even his favourite colour (green, he said, because there weren't enough trees in his hometown.)
And so grew a bond, that neither expected. For years they corresponded so, and as they grew, so did a warm relationship. Soon it was time for Aria to be married, her parents said.
Aria had received one more letter. A letter so carefully and wonderfully worded. It was a marriage proposal. Arasan had written a separate note, introducing himself to her parents. There he asked them for her hand in marriage.
They asked her if she was ready, to which she said yes. She told them about Arasan, and how she felt about him. And handed them the letter. Both gasped at the beautiful penmanship.
But Aria's parents were extremely skeptical and told her so. They asked many questions about his family and his work, none of which she could answer. So she wrote back to him.
She asked him the questions to which his only response was "You will not like the answers." She pressed him for details, and finally he wrote back. "Now that you will know the truth, you will automatically be bound to me. No mortal or immortal may lay claim to your relationship. It is so fated. If you wish to know, I shall tell you all. But be warned - there is no escape."
Aria paled at the note. Her beloved was so different. He scared her. But her heart yearned for the truth. She showed her parents and asked them for their blessings. Reluctantly, they agreed. They knew something was wrong but they couldn't say no to Aria's big beautiful eyes.
With their blessings, Aria wrote back. "I accept whatever life brings me."
"My name is Arasan, and I am the son of Rajasura, the king of demons. I live in a small palace and studied at a Gurukul for asuras (demigods or demons in Hindu mythology). My special power is that of destroying an entire land with a single lightning bolt. I struck down towns for my examinations in school. Since I met you, I yearn to be a benevolent ruler, and forgo my throne in hell. I would like to rule real people, good, honest and hardworking ones. If not, I would like to give up my royalty entirely. My father would not hear of it. He has banished me. I am now landless, penniless and full of love. My powers are waning. Only with your love can I find the strength to move on. If you decline my proposal, I will cease to exist. To right my wrongs, I must spend my lifetime caring for you. This is the whole truth. I wait for you ever so impatiently.
Your,
Arasan."
Aria, overcome with emotion, fainted. Her parents found her curled up at her desk, with the letter crunched between her fingers. They pried it out of her hand, and found it blank. Arasan's beloved was the only one who could read the letter. When Aria came to, she found herself propped against pillows and in her bed.
Her worried parents were sitting by her side and exclaimed in joy as she opened her eyes. She told them half the story, leaving aside the asura part. Something told her no parents would allow that. She told them how his father had opposed the relationship and had disinherited him.
It was then that she realized she didn't even know how he looked. What if he had horns? What if his skin was strange! What if he was actually demonic? But she knew in her heart that she could never forget him or find another.
So she wrote back and accepted him. Her parents, worried sick, waited at the door at all waking hours. They were inpatient to receive their future son-in-law, and to understand him. One day, they saw. At the break of dawn, a light so bright, they were almost blinded. At the end of their lane, walking towards them, was the most handsome man they had ever seen.
He wore simple clothes - traditional Indian clothes. He looked like he was the god they worshipped. And he walked like he owned everything in the world, but cared for nothing but life itself.
He walked up their pathway, and bowed deep. His hands folded in respect. He introduced himself and they were floored by his aura.
They took him indoors, where Aria awaited him. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his eyes wouldn't move from hers. They stood looking at each other, unable to believe this was real. Her fingers reached out, ever so gently, to touch his hand. An electric wave shot up both their skins, making them gasp.
They knew. They simply knew. They belonged like two pieces in a puzzle. Soon Aria was married to him with as much celebration as they could afford. Knowing he had been disinherited, they offered him a piece of land to do what he willed.
So, Arasan began farming. Under his care, the land flourished. As did his marriage. Aria ruled by his side, despite them having nothing. They lived like royalty even with next to nothing. So, their life went on with no troubles.
Or so they thought. For one morning, the sky turned black with anger. Never had Aria's hometown witnessed such anger from nature. But Arasan knew. He waited at the doorway to their humble abode.
In the distance, he saw the entire asura army riding towards them. It was time. Judgement was here.
----
Sorry for the really long story! I hope I can write a part 2. If anyone wants to read more.
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Last night I read your messages
until my eyes burned with fire
I didn't know how to say the words
Or get out what I desired
My head inclined in misery
For your pen always has me beat
but still I read so feverishly
even in my utter defeat
Is it hot where you live right now
You've always made me sweat
I always reply because I find
the worst tears are from regret
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I lived a pretty lonely life, working a mindless desk job 5 days a week just sorting through paperwork and making sure it went to the correct departments.
Imagine my surprise when a letter showed up on my desk addressed to me.
To explain a little further, I was orphaned when I was 12. My parents died in some freak car accident on their way to pick me up from my junior orchestra rehearsal. After their deaths, none of my extended family wanted to take me in. My mother was an only child and my father's only sister was active military with no husband. Both sets of my grandparents refused to let me live with them.
So I was tossed into the foster system. I landed myself in a pretty nice house with 2 other younger kids that were my foster parent's biological children. It wasn't awful like some of the horror stories you hear, I got to go to Disney World and Mexico a few times, but I could tell I was just there as a tax-deductible baby sister. Not that I minded very much.
When I was 16 I landed my current job working for some under-the-radar corporation who helped people file taxes. I was originally a temp, but I guess I was good enough at sorting that they decided to keep me permanently.
When I was 18, I promptly moved out of my foster home and into an apartment, rooming with someone I'd met online briefly. Red flag, I know, but her name was Ashley and she spent all of her time at her boyfriend's place anyways. As long as she paid the rent, I didn't really care too much.
Back to this letter though. The first time I got one, my name was written in a golden, cursive script. Brushing my fingers over my name, Mara Conva, I could tell the writing was done with some sort of metallic pen or marker as well. I initially thought it was a joke my coworkers were playing on me, feigning innocence every time I asked.
Eventually I opened it, and it was entirely in Latin. I couldn't understand a single word that was written. Now I was really convinced it was some kind of stupid prank. That was until someone suggested I write them back; there was a return address after all.
I spun to my computer and quickly typed up a response that said something along the lines of, "You've reached Mara Conva. I don't speak Latin. Please be sure to reply in English, thank you."
The return address was somewhere in Italy, so instantly I knew that there was gonna be a hefty penny to pay for a simple letter at the post office. I went on my lunch break to the post office and when I handed the letter over, the lady who looked it over took it without another word. When I asked about postage, she ignored me to help the next customer in line. I shrugged, figuring that she would probably discard the letter anyway. Whatever, I did my best to reply to whoever this person was.
What I later realized was that this random letter would soon lead to writing letters once a week to a man named Bael. Well except he wasn't a man, he was a demon, or so explained.
At first I thought he was joking, but then he offered to send me pictures of the demon realm. I asked if he wanted to e-mail them instead. He didn't know what e-mail was.
I gave him my home address to send these pictures. Except he doesn't send your average printed DSLR pictures. Nope I get not one, not two, but three huge 12x48 oil canvas paintings. They were incredible! I asked who painted them. He said his sister.
I sent him some pictures I printed at a local photo store. A selfie, a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World (he couldn't quite grasp the concept of theme parks), a picture of my apartment, and a few of some of the nature and wildlife in a nearby park. Bael loved all of them.
He asked how I made the pictures. I explained I spent money to print them. He asked how that works. I did my best to explain digital photography to him, but it was hard. He seemed to enjoy it though, expressing how it would be much easier to simply take a photo instead of spending hours painting.
Our conversations had been going on weekly for 2 years now when suddenly he misses a week. It was very unlike Bael to miss a week. After 3 weeks, I decided to send him another letter asking if he received my last letter. Again, silence. No response from him. I start crying, freaking out. Had I lost my mind? Was I really in contact with a demon? It had to be real. Even Ashley had noticed the weekly letters and the oil paintings I had accumulated over the years.
After a solid 2 months after last hearing from Bael, I get a letter. At first, I'm filled with rage. How dare he ignore me for weeks on end? Nothing! No sign to me to even indicate he was alive.
My rage is calmed after a few moments when I realized my heart was pounding. I missed him so much that I resented him for ignoring me. For leaving me alone again. I didn't want to be alone anymore because I had Bael. He made me feel so much less alone than I used to be. He was my best freaking friend!
I tore open the letter in a fever. Unfolding it revealed a very short letter.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A lot has happened. It's too hard to explain by letter.
"Long story short, my father died and now I am left to the throne., but I need a suitor by my side before I can become king. The best suitor I can think of is you.
"Will you marry me?"
~~
hello this is my first post to WP! i hope everyone who reads it enjoys! feedback extremely appreciated!!
|
Last night I read your messages
until my eyes burned with fire
I didn't know how to say the words
Or get out what I desired
My head inclined in misery
For your pen always has me beat
but still I read so feverishly
even in my utter defeat
Is it hot where you live right now
You've always made me sweat
I always reply because I find
the worst tears are from regret
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
She said I could refer to her as Jeeya, with a vague explanation about how her real name was too complex for a 'mere mortal' to understand. I never really understood that, to be honest. At the time I wrote it off as hubris, and it was a little off putting. I never liked hubris. But I wasn't going to say that to a pen pal for a high school assignment. I wanted my grades, and I was told that my professor would be communicating with the professor in my counterpart's school to evaluate how the exchange went, and I didn't want to sound closed off or judgmental.
It was an exercise that should have lasted two months, and I never understood why her letters always came written in parchment paper, with exquisite handwriting which shined as if they were written mere minutes ago, mainly because my 17 year old self was happy to be talking to someone cool, and I also never questioned much her explanation of having different 'properties', and hence renting a PO Box. But here I am, eight years later, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding her latest letter, having read it multiple times and still not able to digest that I had fallen in love with the actual Princess of Hell, soon to become Queen, if I accepted her proposal.
The start of our, should I say relationship?, started off with us simply comparing how our days were going. She was fascinated by the environment I grew up in. India was very different from the UK, where her postbox was, and she was always curious about my experiences of day to day life. Her curiosity sparked mine, and I was amazed at how learned she was. She referred to her father as Hades, which seemed to me a bit cruel, but I wasn't learning 15 languages and reading a book a week as part of being homeschooled. We talked like teenagers do, about sport, religion, politics and everything else under the sun. She was a fierce proponent of free will, and it was her passionate letters that made me fall for her without realizing it.
A few failed relationships later, I realized that I was unequivocally in love with her. She was everything I had dreamed of. Her intelligence and wit were such turn ons for me. Every sarcastic remark, every sassy quip she'd make served only to make me fall for her even harder. But I could never express my feelings because I valued our friendship too much. And what would I have said to her? I love you even though we've never met? I'd would've lost the closest friend I had.
Anyway, back to today.
"I imagine you have some questions", a smooth, lilting voice said.
"WHAT THE FUCK??!!"
I jumped out of my skin, scared shitless. Standing in front of me was the most exquisitely beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was wearing a green, traditional indian dress, her flaming red hair reflecting the sunlight from my window.
"Jeeya. You know, Princess of Hell, girl who's fallen in love with you, daughter of Hades, girl who's just asked to marry you. Should I go on?"
It felt like she had peered deep into my soul, identified what I hoped Jeeya would look like even though I had no concrete description in my conscious mind, imbued her persona into it, and appeared in front of me.
"What... how... I have so many questions."
She smiled. It was melancholic, wistful, hopeful, radiant. All at the same time. She sat down on the bed beside me, and held out her left hand, asking for mine. I couldn't say no to that. I took it, and she then closed it with her right.
"I know you do. And I promise to truthfully answer all of them. Every single one. I owe you that. But before anything else, I want to say this. I love you. I wish I could point out a time where I could say 'this is when I fell in love with you', but I can't. It was the times when you comforted me, it was the times you made me laugh, it was the times you made sure I knew you were by my side, when I felt so alone. I love you. It feels such a relief to say this out loud. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me as your wife and your partner"
Her eyes were glistening with tears that threatened to flow. She didn't like to display signs of weakness. She was stubborn that way. I'd learnt that when she had mentioned she hadn't cried even though she'd suffered burns in her hand in her 'fireplace'. To see her opening up to me like this, it broke my heart. I knew everything else could wait. And I knew everything else could be sorted out. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her, trying to pour all the emotions I felt for her into it.
"Yes."
Edit: With each read, I'm finding that I didn't really use the prompt the way it could have been. Forgive me for that. This is my first time trying out a writing prompt. I'm hoping to get better, and your feedback would help :)
|
Last night I read your messages
until my eyes burned with fire
I didn't know how to say the words
Or get out what I desired
My head inclined in misery
For your pen always has me beat
but still I read so feverishly
even in my utter defeat
Is it hot where you live right now
You've always made me sweat
I always reply because I find
the worst tears are from regret
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
Last night I read your messages
until my eyes burned with fire
I didn't know how to say the words
Or get out what I desired
My head inclined in misery
For your pen always has me beat
but still I read so feverishly
even in my utter defeat
Is it hot where you live right now
You've always made me sweat
I always reply because I find
the worst tears are from regret
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I lived a pretty lonely life, working a mindless desk job 5 days a week just sorting through paperwork and making sure it went to the correct departments.
Imagine my surprise when a letter showed up on my desk addressed to me.
To explain a little further, I was orphaned when I was 12. My parents died in some freak car accident on their way to pick me up from my junior orchestra rehearsal. After their deaths, none of my extended family wanted to take me in. My mother was an only child and my father's only sister was active military with no husband. Both sets of my grandparents refused to let me live with them.
So I was tossed into the foster system. I landed myself in a pretty nice house with 2 other younger kids that were my foster parent's biological children. It wasn't awful like some of the horror stories you hear, I got to go to Disney World and Mexico a few times, but I could tell I was just there as a tax-deductible baby sister. Not that I minded very much.
When I was 16 I landed my current job working for some under-the-radar corporation who helped people file taxes. I was originally a temp, but I guess I was good enough at sorting that they decided to keep me permanently.
When I was 18, I promptly moved out of my foster home and into an apartment, rooming with someone I'd met online briefly. Red flag, I know, but her name was Ashley and she spent all of her time at her boyfriend's place anyways. As long as she paid the rent, I didn't really care too much.
Back to this letter though. The first time I got one, my name was written in a golden, cursive script. Brushing my fingers over my name, Mara Conva, I could tell the writing was done with some sort of metallic pen or marker as well. I initially thought it was a joke my coworkers were playing on me, feigning innocence every time I asked.
Eventually I opened it, and it was entirely in Latin. I couldn't understand a single word that was written. Now I was really convinced it was some kind of stupid prank. That was until someone suggested I write them back; there was a return address after all.
I spun to my computer and quickly typed up a response that said something along the lines of, "You've reached Mara Conva. I don't speak Latin. Please be sure to reply in English, thank you."
The return address was somewhere in Italy, so instantly I knew that there was gonna be a hefty penny to pay for a simple letter at the post office. I went on my lunch break to the post office and when I handed the letter over, the lady who looked it over took it without another word. When I asked about postage, she ignored me to help the next customer in line. I shrugged, figuring that she would probably discard the letter anyway. Whatever, I did my best to reply to whoever this person was.
What I later realized was that this random letter would soon lead to writing letters once a week to a man named Bael. Well except he wasn't a man, he was a demon, or so explained.
At first I thought he was joking, but then he offered to send me pictures of the demon realm. I asked if he wanted to e-mail them instead. He didn't know what e-mail was.
I gave him my home address to send these pictures. Except he doesn't send your average printed DSLR pictures. Nope I get not one, not two, but three huge 12x48 oil canvas paintings. They were incredible! I asked who painted them. He said his sister.
I sent him some pictures I printed at a local photo store. A selfie, a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World (he couldn't quite grasp the concept of theme parks), a picture of my apartment, and a few of some of the nature and wildlife in a nearby park. Bael loved all of them.
He asked how I made the pictures. I explained I spent money to print them. He asked how that works. I did my best to explain digital photography to him, but it was hard. He seemed to enjoy it though, expressing how it would be much easier to simply take a photo instead of spending hours painting.
Our conversations had been going on weekly for 2 years now when suddenly he misses a week. It was very unlike Bael to miss a week. After 3 weeks, I decided to send him another letter asking if he received my last letter. Again, silence. No response from him. I start crying, freaking out. Had I lost my mind? Was I really in contact with a demon? It had to be real. Even Ashley had noticed the weekly letters and the oil paintings I had accumulated over the years.
After a solid 2 months after last hearing from Bael, I get a letter. At first, I'm filled with rage. How dare he ignore me for weeks on end? Nothing! No sign to me to even indicate he was alive.
My rage is calmed after a few moments when I realized my heart was pounding. I missed him so much that I resented him for ignoring me. For leaving me alone again. I didn't want to be alone anymore because I had Bael. He made me feel so much less alone than I used to be. He was my best freaking friend!
I tore open the letter in a fever. Unfolding it revealed a very short letter.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A lot has happened. It's too hard to explain by letter.
"Long story short, my father died and now I am left to the throne., but I need a suitor by my side before I can become king. The best suitor I can think of is you.
"Will you marry me?"
~~
hello this is my first post to WP! i hope everyone who reads it enjoys! feedback extremely appreciated!!
|
The paper in my hand grew in weight. I never imagined this pen pal would have grown on me as much as he had. I’ve never met this person but I know without a doubt we could be friends or even more. Many of our letters were secrets we have never told the world. Only us two know these things about each other.
He asked to meet at a nearby restaurant for our first ever real dinner date. In the letter he talked about wanting to make a first impression the people will remember for years. I wouldn’t have been so worried if he didn’t choose Red Grable as the restaurant, it is the most expensive restaurant in the country and reservations are impossible to come by. I don’t live far from the restaurant though and I’ve always fantasized about eating there.
The letter said the reservation was set for 6:00 pm that day. I didn’t have many clothes that would even be acceptable to wear at a place so expensive but I would have to look for something. As I was searching for a dress to wear my doorbell rang.
There was no one on the other side of the door, but there was a tall box a little taller then me. On the front of the box was a note, “For tonight.” I had no idea what could have been in the box so I dragged it inside and started to cut it open.
Inside the box was the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. It was a maroon color that darkened to black at the bottom. The dress felt like silk as a ran my hand over it. It was so soft I barely even knew I was holding onto it. It was a very form fitting dress and had a gold necklace around the neck. The necklace had a green gemstone in it that must have been an emerald. I told this stranger many things about me like my birthday and what size I wore. I never expected anything to come of it and I cannot imagine how much this would have cost.
I stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t believe how nice the dress looked. If I didn’t know any better I would have believed that what I was looking at was a model in a magazine. The dress fit my form perfectly and left nothing to the imagination. Checking the clock on my nightstand I had about 1 hour to get there.
I arrived at the restaurant and noticed there was only no cars there. That’s strange considering this place is almost always pact to the brim with rich people. I walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The sight inside nearly made me pass out. Everything was so beautiful, from the sparkling chandeliers, to the white stone pillars. The restaurant was completely empty spare for one man with his back to me. The waitress didn’t ask for my name but just said to follow her to my table. She led me straight to the man sitting.
This man, who had captured my heart in his thoughtful letters, was even more beautiful in person. I wouldn’t care if he really was a prince of hell with how gorgeous he was. As I got closer to the table he stood up and with a voice that sounded like silk told me how beautiful I was. He held out my chair and I sat down across from him. He ordered wine for me and we made small talk. He told me about how he rented out the entire restaurant for our perfect date together.
As our food was brought out to us, he looked me in the eye and said, “you are the most exquisite human I have ever come in contact with, there is one last gift I have to give you before we must leave. He handed me a letter and I slowly opened it, not sure what to expect. I slowly read over the letter and the last few words had me speechless. “Will you marry me” In perfect handwriting.
All I could say was yes before he took me into a hug. I buried my head into his chest and felt the world spin. When I looked back at him we were no longer in the restaurant. We were in a huge hall with red banners down each side. The sunlight coming from outside told me that we were somewhere very far away since it was night time when we left.
I looked at him with a quizzical look and he said, “welcome to hell.” I walked towards one of the windows and was awestruck with how beautiful he place looked. There was trees as far as the eye could see and the sky had a red tint to it that made it look even more amazing. He lead me to a room and told me I can lay down in there or I can go home. Whichever one I choose the door will lead me there. With those final parting words he disappeared.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
She said I could refer to her as Jeeya, with a vague explanation about how her real name was too complex for a 'mere mortal' to understand. I never really understood that, to be honest. At the time I wrote it off as hubris, and it was a little off putting. I never liked hubris. But I wasn't going to say that to a pen pal for a high school assignment. I wanted my grades, and I was told that my professor would be communicating with the professor in my counterpart's school to evaluate how the exchange went, and I didn't want to sound closed off or judgmental.
It was an exercise that should have lasted two months, and I never understood why her letters always came written in parchment paper, with exquisite handwriting which shined as if they were written mere minutes ago, mainly because my 17 year old self was happy to be talking to someone cool, and I also never questioned much her explanation of having different 'properties', and hence renting a PO Box. But here I am, eight years later, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding her latest letter, having read it multiple times and still not able to digest that I had fallen in love with the actual Princess of Hell, soon to become Queen, if I accepted her proposal.
The start of our, should I say relationship?, started off with us simply comparing how our days were going. She was fascinated by the environment I grew up in. India was very different from the UK, where her postbox was, and she was always curious about my experiences of day to day life. Her curiosity sparked mine, and I was amazed at how learned she was. She referred to her father as Hades, which seemed to me a bit cruel, but I wasn't learning 15 languages and reading a book a week as part of being homeschooled. We talked like teenagers do, about sport, religion, politics and everything else under the sun. She was a fierce proponent of free will, and it was her passionate letters that made me fall for her without realizing it.
A few failed relationships later, I realized that I was unequivocally in love with her. She was everything I had dreamed of. Her intelligence and wit were such turn ons for me. Every sarcastic remark, every sassy quip she'd make served only to make me fall for her even harder. But I could never express my feelings because I valued our friendship too much. And what would I have said to her? I love you even though we've never met? I'd would've lost the closest friend I had.
Anyway, back to today.
"I imagine you have some questions", a smooth, lilting voice said.
"WHAT THE FUCK??!!"
I jumped out of my skin, scared shitless. Standing in front of me was the most exquisitely beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was wearing a green, traditional indian dress, her flaming red hair reflecting the sunlight from my window.
"Jeeya. You know, Princess of Hell, girl who's fallen in love with you, daughter of Hades, girl who's just asked to marry you. Should I go on?"
It felt like she had peered deep into my soul, identified what I hoped Jeeya would look like even though I had no concrete description in my conscious mind, imbued her persona into it, and appeared in front of me.
"What... how... I have so many questions."
She smiled. It was melancholic, wistful, hopeful, radiant. All at the same time. She sat down on the bed beside me, and held out her left hand, asking for mine. I couldn't say no to that. I took it, and she then closed it with her right.
"I know you do. And I promise to truthfully answer all of them. Every single one. I owe you that. But before anything else, I want to say this. I love you. I wish I could point out a time where I could say 'this is when I fell in love with you', but I can't. It was the times when you comforted me, it was the times you made me laugh, it was the times you made sure I knew you were by my side, when I felt so alone. I love you. It feels such a relief to say this out loud. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me as your wife and your partner"
Her eyes were glistening with tears that threatened to flow. She didn't like to display signs of weakness. She was stubborn that way. I'd learnt that when she had mentioned she hadn't cried even though she'd suffered burns in her hand in her 'fireplace'. To see her opening up to me like this, it broke my heart. I knew everything else could wait. And I knew everything else could be sorted out. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her, trying to pour all the emotions I felt for her into it.
"Yes."
Edit: With each read, I'm finding that I didn't really use the prompt the way it could have been. Forgive me for that. This is my first time trying out a writing prompt. I'm hoping to get better, and your feedback would help :)
|
The paper in my hand grew in weight. I never imagined this pen pal would have grown on me as much as he had. I’ve never met this person but I know without a doubt we could be friends or even more. Many of our letters were secrets we have never told the world. Only us two know these things about each other.
He asked to meet at a nearby restaurant for our first ever real dinner date. In the letter he talked about wanting to make a first impression the people will remember for years. I wouldn’t have been so worried if he didn’t choose Red Grable as the restaurant, it is the most expensive restaurant in the country and reservations are impossible to come by. I don’t live far from the restaurant though and I’ve always fantasized about eating there.
The letter said the reservation was set for 6:00 pm that day. I didn’t have many clothes that would even be acceptable to wear at a place so expensive but I would have to look for something. As I was searching for a dress to wear my doorbell rang.
There was no one on the other side of the door, but there was a tall box a little taller then me. On the front of the box was a note, “For tonight.” I had no idea what could have been in the box so I dragged it inside and started to cut it open.
Inside the box was the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. It was a maroon color that darkened to black at the bottom. The dress felt like silk as a ran my hand over it. It was so soft I barely even knew I was holding onto it. It was a very form fitting dress and had a gold necklace around the neck. The necklace had a green gemstone in it that must have been an emerald. I told this stranger many things about me like my birthday and what size I wore. I never expected anything to come of it and I cannot imagine how much this would have cost.
I stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t believe how nice the dress looked. If I didn’t know any better I would have believed that what I was looking at was a model in a magazine. The dress fit my form perfectly and left nothing to the imagination. Checking the clock on my nightstand I had about 1 hour to get there.
I arrived at the restaurant and noticed there was only no cars there. That’s strange considering this place is almost always pact to the brim with rich people. I walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The sight inside nearly made me pass out. Everything was so beautiful, from the sparkling chandeliers, to the white stone pillars. The restaurant was completely empty spare for one man with his back to me. The waitress didn’t ask for my name but just said to follow her to my table. She led me straight to the man sitting.
This man, who had captured my heart in his thoughtful letters, was even more beautiful in person. I wouldn’t care if he really was a prince of hell with how gorgeous he was. As I got closer to the table he stood up and with a voice that sounded like silk told me how beautiful I was. He held out my chair and I sat down across from him. He ordered wine for me and we made small talk. He told me about how he rented out the entire restaurant for our perfect date together.
As our food was brought out to us, he looked me in the eye and said, “you are the most exquisite human I have ever come in contact with, there is one last gift I have to give you before we must leave. He handed me a letter and I slowly opened it, not sure what to expect. I slowly read over the letter and the last few words had me speechless. “Will you marry me” In perfect handwriting.
All I could say was yes before he took me into a hug. I buried my head into his chest and felt the world spin. When I looked back at him we were no longer in the restaurant. We were in a huge hall with red banners down each side. The sunlight coming from outside told me that we were somewhere very far away since it was night time when we left.
I looked at him with a quizzical look and he said, “welcome to hell.” I walked towards one of the windows and was awestruck with how beautiful he place looked. There was trees as far as the eye could see and the sky had a red tint to it that made it look even more amazing. He lead me to a room and told me I can lay down in there or I can go home. Whichever one I choose the door will lead me there. With those final parting words he disappeared.
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
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The paper in my hand grew in weight. I never imagined this pen pal would have grown on me as much as he had. I’ve never met this person but I know without a doubt we could be friends or even more. Many of our letters were secrets we have never told the world. Only us two know these things about each other.
He asked to meet at a nearby restaurant for our first ever real dinner date. In the letter he talked about wanting to make a first impression the people will remember for years. I wouldn’t have been so worried if he didn’t choose Red Grable as the restaurant, it is the most expensive restaurant in the country and reservations are impossible to come by. I don’t live far from the restaurant though and I’ve always fantasized about eating there.
The letter said the reservation was set for 6:00 pm that day. I didn’t have many clothes that would even be acceptable to wear at a place so expensive but I would have to look for something. As I was searching for a dress to wear my doorbell rang.
There was no one on the other side of the door, but there was a tall box a little taller then me. On the front of the box was a note, “For tonight.” I had no idea what could have been in the box so I dragged it inside and started to cut it open.
Inside the box was the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. It was a maroon color that darkened to black at the bottom. The dress felt like silk as a ran my hand over it. It was so soft I barely even knew I was holding onto it. It was a very form fitting dress and had a gold necklace around the neck. The necklace had a green gemstone in it that must have been an emerald. I told this stranger many things about me like my birthday and what size I wore. I never expected anything to come of it and I cannot imagine how much this would have cost.
I stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t believe how nice the dress looked. If I didn’t know any better I would have believed that what I was looking at was a model in a magazine. The dress fit my form perfectly and left nothing to the imagination. Checking the clock on my nightstand I had about 1 hour to get there.
I arrived at the restaurant and noticed there was only no cars there. That’s strange considering this place is almost always pact to the brim with rich people. I walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The sight inside nearly made me pass out. Everything was so beautiful, from the sparkling chandeliers, to the white stone pillars. The restaurant was completely empty spare for one man with his back to me. The waitress didn’t ask for my name but just said to follow her to my table. She led me straight to the man sitting.
This man, who had captured my heart in his thoughtful letters, was even more beautiful in person. I wouldn’t care if he really was a prince of hell with how gorgeous he was. As I got closer to the table he stood up and with a voice that sounded like silk told me how beautiful I was. He held out my chair and I sat down across from him. He ordered wine for me and we made small talk. He told me about how he rented out the entire restaurant for our perfect date together.
As our food was brought out to us, he looked me in the eye and said, “you are the most exquisite human I have ever come in contact with, there is one last gift I have to give you before we must leave. He handed me a letter and I slowly opened it, not sure what to expect. I slowly read over the letter and the last few words had me speechless. “Will you marry me” In perfect handwriting.
All I could say was yes before he took me into a hug. I buried my head into his chest and felt the world spin. When I looked back at him we were no longer in the restaurant. We were in a huge hall with red banners down each side. The sunlight coming from outside told me that we were somewhere very far away since it was night time when we left.
I looked at him with a quizzical look and he said, “welcome to hell.” I walked towards one of the windows and was awestruck with how beautiful he place looked. There was trees as far as the eye could see and the sky had a red tint to it that made it look even more amazing. He lead me to a room and told me I can lay down in there or I can go home. Whichever one I choose the door will lead me there. With those final parting words he disappeared.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I lived a pretty lonely life, working a mindless desk job 5 days a week just sorting through paperwork and making sure it went to the correct departments.
Imagine my surprise when a letter showed up on my desk addressed to me.
To explain a little further, I was orphaned when I was 12. My parents died in some freak car accident on their way to pick me up from my junior orchestra rehearsal. After their deaths, none of my extended family wanted to take me in. My mother was an only child and my father's only sister was active military with no husband. Both sets of my grandparents refused to let me live with them.
So I was tossed into the foster system. I landed myself in a pretty nice house with 2 other younger kids that were my foster parent's biological children. It wasn't awful like some of the horror stories you hear, I got to go to Disney World and Mexico a few times, but I could tell I was just there as a tax-deductible baby sister. Not that I minded very much.
When I was 16 I landed my current job working for some under-the-radar corporation who helped people file taxes. I was originally a temp, but I guess I was good enough at sorting that they decided to keep me permanently.
When I was 18, I promptly moved out of my foster home and into an apartment, rooming with someone I'd met online briefly. Red flag, I know, but her name was Ashley and she spent all of her time at her boyfriend's place anyways. As long as she paid the rent, I didn't really care too much.
Back to this letter though. The first time I got one, my name was written in a golden, cursive script. Brushing my fingers over my name, Mara Conva, I could tell the writing was done with some sort of metallic pen or marker as well. I initially thought it was a joke my coworkers were playing on me, feigning innocence every time I asked.
Eventually I opened it, and it was entirely in Latin. I couldn't understand a single word that was written. Now I was really convinced it was some kind of stupid prank. That was until someone suggested I write them back; there was a return address after all.
I spun to my computer and quickly typed up a response that said something along the lines of, "You've reached Mara Conva. I don't speak Latin. Please be sure to reply in English, thank you."
The return address was somewhere in Italy, so instantly I knew that there was gonna be a hefty penny to pay for a simple letter at the post office. I went on my lunch break to the post office and when I handed the letter over, the lady who looked it over took it without another word. When I asked about postage, she ignored me to help the next customer in line. I shrugged, figuring that she would probably discard the letter anyway. Whatever, I did my best to reply to whoever this person was.
What I later realized was that this random letter would soon lead to writing letters once a week to a man named Bael. Well except he wasn't a man, he was a demon, or so explained.
At first I thought he was joking, but then he offered to send me pictures of the demon realm. I asked if he wanted to e-mail them instead. He didn't know what e-mail was.
I gave him my home address to send these pictures. Except he doesn't send your average printed DSLR pictures. Nope I get not one, not two, but three huge 12x48 oil canvas paintings. They were incredible! I asked who painted them. He said his sister.
I sent him some pictures I printed at a local photo store. A selfie, a picture of Cinderella's castle in Disney World (he couldn't quite grasp the concept of theme parks), a picture of my apartment, and a few of some of the nature and wildlife in a nearby park. Bael loved all of them.
He asked how I made the pictures. I explained I spent money to print them. He asked how that works. I did my best to explain digital photography to him, but it was hard. He seemed to enjoy it though, expressing how it would be much easier to simply take a photo instead of spending hours painting.
Our conversations had been going on weekly for 2 years now when suddenly he misses a week. It was very unlike Bael to miss a week. After 3 weeks, I decided to send him another letter asking if he received my last letter. Again, silence. No response from him. I start crying, freaking out. Had I lost my mind? Was I really in contact with a demon? It had to be real. Even Ashley had noticed the weekly letters and the oil paintings I had accumulated over the years.
After a solid 2 months after last hearing from Bael, I get a letter. At first, I'm filled with rage. How dare he ignore me for weeks on end? Nothing! No sign to me to even indicate he was alive.
My rage is calmed after a few moments when I realized my heart was pounding. I missed him so much that I resented him for ignoring me. For leaving me alone again. I didn't want to be alone anymore because I had Bael. He made me feel so much less alone than I used to be. He was my best freaking friend!
I tore open the letter in a fever. Unfolding it revealed a very short letter.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A lot has happened. It's too hard to explain by letter.
"Long story short, my father died and now I am left to the throne., but I need a suitor by my side before I can become king. The best suitor I can think of is you.
"Will you marry me?"
~~
hello this is my first post to WP! i hope everyone who reads it enjoys! feedback extremely appreciated!!
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Aria was a young and beautiful child, making everyone laugh with her own tinkling laugh. It simply bubbled out of her, and one couldn't help but laugh with her. Aria's honey-toned Indian skin glistened with the radiance of innocence. Her big brown eyes lit up at the sight of anything adorable - from puppies to butterflies.
In the 4th grade, Aria's class was given an assignment. They were to write to pen pals. Each of them was assigned a pen pal from another school in another country. So Aria didn't find it weird when her pen pal wrote on heavy parchment, with beautiful calligraphic characters.
She wrote back with haste. The first letter was from someone named Arasan (king in Tamil). Aria loved his name, and wrote back to say the same. Arasan replied asking her who she was and how she got his letter. Aria responded with the details of her assignment. And she asked him which school he went to.
Arasan responded by saying he went to a Gurukul (an Indian variation of boarding school), and she wouldn't have heard of it. It was in a small village, he said. Aria assumed he lived in Tamil Nadu and continued regaling him with her stories. He often responded with amusing tales from his school - how they'd pick on each other and play pranks on their teachers.
Arasan also told her how his father was extremely strict. And try as Aria might, she couldn't get him to open up about his father. She eventually shifted to other things. She asked him millions of questions about his home, his food, his pets, and even his favourite colour (green, he said, because there weren't enough trees in his hometown.)
And so grew a bond, that neither expected. For years they corresponded so, and as they grew, so did a warm relationship. Soon it was time for Aria to be married, her parents said.
Aria had received one more letter. A letter so carefully and wonderfully worded. It was a marriage proposal. Arasan had written a separate note, introducing himself to her parents. There he asked them for her hand in marriage.
They asked her if she was ready, to which she said yes. She told them about Arasan, and how she felt about him. And handed them the letter. Both gasped at the beautiful penmanship.
But Aria's parents were extremely skeptical and told her so. They asked many questions about his family and his work, none of which she could answer. So she wrote back to him.
She asked him the questions to which his only response was "You will not like the answers." She pressed him for details, and finally he wrote back. "Now that you will know the truth, you will automatically be bound to me. No mortal or immortal may lay claim to your relationship. It is so fated. If you wish to know, I shall tell you all. But be warned - there is no escape."
Aria paled at the note. Her beloved was so different. He scared her. But her heart yearned for the truth. She showed her parents and asked them for their blessings. Reluctantly, they agreed. They knew something was wrong but they couldn't say no to Aria's big beautiful eyes.
With their blessings, Aria wrote back. "I accept whatever life brings me."
"My name is Arasan, and I am the son of Rajasura, the king of demons. I live in a small palace and studied at a Gurukul for asuras (demigods or demons in Hindu mythology). My special power is that of destroying an entire land with a single lightning bolt. I struck down towns for my examinations in school. Since I met you, I yearn to be a benevolent ruler, and forgo my throne in hell. I would like to rule real people, good, honest and hardworking ones. If not, I would like to give up my royalty entirely. My father would not hear of it. He has banished me. I am now landless, penniless and full of love. My powers are waning. Only with your love can I find the strength to move on. If you decline my proposal, I will cease to exist. To right my wrongs, I must spend my lifetime caring for you. This is the whole truth. I wait for you ever so impatiently.
Your,
Arasan."
Aria, overcome with emotion, fainted. Her parents found her curled up at her desk, with the letter crunched between her fingers. They pried it out of her hand, and found it blank. Arasan's beloved was the only one who could read the letter. When Aria came to, she found herself propped against pillows and in her bed.
Her worried parents were sitting by her side and exclaimed in joy as she opened her eyes. She told them half the story, leaving aside the asura part. Something told her no parents would allow that. She told them how his father had opposed the relationship and had disinherited him.
It was then that she realized she didn't even know how he looked. What if he had horns? What if his skin was strange! What if he was actually demonic? But she knew in her heart that she could never forget him or find another.
So she wrote back and accepted him. Her parents, worried sick, waited at the door at all waking hours. They were inpatient to receive their future son-in-law, and to understand him. One day, they saw. At the break of dawn, a light so bright, they were almost blinded. At the end of their lane, walking towards them, was the most handsome man they had ever seen.
He wore simple clothes - traditional Indian clothes. He looked like he was the god they worshipped. And he walked like he owned everything in the world, but cared for nothing but life itself.
He walked up their pathway, and bowed deep. His hands folded in respect. He introduced himself and they were floored by his aura.
They took him indoors, where Aria awaited him. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his eyes wouldn't move from hers. They stood looking at each other, unable to believe this was real. Her fingers reached out, ever so gently, to touch his hand. An electric wave shot up both their skins, making them gasp.
They knew. They simply knew. They belonged like two pieces in a puzzle. Soon Aria was married to him with as much celebration as they could afford. Knowing he had been disinherited, they offered him a piece of land to do what he willed.
So, Arasan began farming. Under his care, the land flourished. As did his marriage. Aria ruled by his side, despite them having nothing. They lived like royalty even with next to nothing. So, their life went on with no troubles.
Or so they thought. For one morning, the sky turned black with anger. Never had Aria's hometown witnessed such anger from nature. But Arasan knew. He waited at the doorway to their humble abode.
In the distance, he saw the entire asura army riding towards them. It was time. Judgement was here.
----
Sorry for the really long story! I hope I can write a part 2. If anyone wants to read more.
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
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Aria was a young and beautiful child, making everyone laugh with her own tinkling laugh. It simply bubbled out of her, and one couldn't help but laugh with her. Aria's honey-toned Indian skin glistened with the radiance of innocence. Her big brown eyes lit up at the sight of anything adorable - from puppies to butterflies.
In the 4th grade, Aria's class was given an assignment. They were to write to pen pals. Each of them was assigned a pen pal from another school in another country. So Aria didn't find it weird when her pen pal wrote on heavy parchment, with beautiful calligraphic characters.
She wrote back with haste. The first letter was from someone named Arasan (king in Tamil). Aria loved his name, and wrote back to say the same. Arasan replied asking her who she was and how she got his letter. Aria responded with the details of her assignment. And she asked him which school he went to.
Arasan responded by saying he went to a Gurukul (an Indian variation of boarding school), and she wouldn't have heard of it. It was in a small village, he said. Aria assumed he lived in Tamil Nadu and continued regaling him with her stories. He often responded with amusing tales from his school - how they'd pick on each other and play pranks on their teachers.
Arasan also told her how his father was extremely strict. And try as Aria might, she couldn't get him to open up about his father. She eventually shifted to other things. She asked him millions of questions about his home, his food, his pets, and even his favourite colour (green, he said, because there weren't enough trees in his hometown.)
And so grew a bond, that neither expected. For years they corresponded so, and as they grew, so did a warm relationship. Soon it was time for Aria to be married, her parents said.
Aria had received one more letter. A letter so carefully and wonderfully worded. It was a marriage proposal. Arasan had written a separate note, introducing himself to her parents. There he asked them for her hand in marriage.
They asked her if she was ready, to which she said yes. She told them about Arasan, and how she felt about him. And handed them the letter. Both gasped at the beautiful penmanship.
But Aria's parents were extremely skeptical and told her so. They asked many questions about his family and his work, none of which she could answer. So she wrote back to him.
She asked him the questions to which his only response was "You will not like the answers." She pressed him for details, and finally he wrote back. "Now that you will know the truth, you will automatically be bound to me. No mortal or immortal may lay claim to your relationship. It is so fated. If you wish to know, I shall tell you all. But be warned - there is no escape."
Aria paled at the note. Her beloved was so different. He scared her. But her heart yearned for the truth. She showed her parents and asked them for their blessings. Reluctantly, they agreed. They knew something was wrong but they couldn't say no to Aria's big beautiful eyes.
With their blessings, Aria wrote back. "I accept whatever life brings me."
"My name is Arasan, and I am the son of Rajasura, the king of demons. I live in a small palace and studied at a Gurukul for asuras (demigods or demons in Hindu mythology). My special power is that of destroying an entire land with a single lightning bolt. I struck down towns for my examinations in school. Since I met you, I yearn to be a benevolent ruler, and forgo my throne in hell. I would like to rule real people, good, honest and hardworking ones. If not, I would like to give up my royalty entirely. My father would not hear of it. He has banished me. I am now landless, penniless and full of love. My powers are waning. Only with your love can I find the strength to move on. If you decline my proposal, I will cease to exist. To right my wrongs, I must spend my lifetime caring for you. This is the whole truth. I wait for you ever so impatiently.
Your,
Arasan."
Aria, overcome with emotion, fainted. Her parents found her curled up at her desk, with the letter crunched between her fingers. They pried it out of her hand, and found it blank. Arasan's beloved was the only one who could read the letter. When Aria came to, she found herself propped against pillows and in her bed.
Her worried parents were sitting by her side and exclaimed in joy as she opened her eyes. She told them half the story, leaving aside the asura part. Something told her no parents would allow that. She told them how his father had opposed the relationship and had disinherited him.
It was then that she realized she didn't even know how he looked. What if he had horns? What if his skin was strange! What if he was actually demonic? But she knew in her heart that she could never forget him or find another.
So she wrote back and accepted him. Her parents, worried sick, waited at the door at all waking hours. They were inpatient to receive their future son-in-law, and to understand him. One day, they saw. At the break of dawn, a light so bright, they were almost blinded. At the end of their lane, walking towards them, was the most handsome man they had ever seen.
He wore simple clothes - traditional Indian clothes. He looked like he was the god they worshipped. And he walked like he owned everything in the world, but cared for nothing but life itself.
He walked up their pathway, and bowed deep. His hands folded in respect. He introduced himself and they were floored by his aura.
They took him indoors, where Aria awaited him. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his eyes wouldn't move from hers. They stood looking at each other, unable to believe this was real. Her fingers reached out, ever so gently, to touch his hand. An electric wave shot up both their skins, making them gasp.
They knew. They simply knew. They belonged like two pieces in a puzzle. Soon Aria was married to him with as much celebration as they could afford. Knowing he had been disinherited, they offered him a piece of land to do what he willed.
So, Arasan began farming. Under his care, the land flourished. As did his marriage. Aria ruled by his side, despite them having nothing. They lived like royalty even with next to nothing. So, their life went on with no troubles.
Or so they thought. For one morning, the sky turned black with anger. Never had Aria's hometown witnessed such anger from nature. But Arasan knew. He waited at the doorway to their humble abode.
In the distance, he saw the entire asura army riding towards them. It was time. Judgement was here.
----
Sorry for the really long story! I hope I can write a part 2. If anyone wants to read more.
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
She said I could refer to her as Jeeya, with a vague explanation about how her real name was too complex for a 'mere mortal' to understand. I never really understood that, to be honest. At the time I wrote it off as hubris, and it was a little off putting. I never liked hubris. But I wasn't going to say that to a pen pal for a high school assignment. I wanted my grades, and I was told that my professor would be communicating with the professor in my counterpart's school to evaluate how the exchange went, and I didn't want to sound closed off or judgmental.
It was an exercise that should have lasted two months, and I never understood why her letters always came written in parchment paper, with exquisite handwriting which shined as if they were written mere minutes ago, mainly because my 17 year old self was happy to be talking to someone cool, and I also never questioned much her explanation of having different 'properties', and hence renting a PO Box. But here I am, eight years later, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding her latest letter, having read it multiple times and still not able to digest that I had fallen in love with the actual Princess of Hell, soon to become Queen, if I accepted her proposal.
The start of our, should I say relationship?, started off with us simply comparing how our days were going. She was fascinated by the environment I grew up in. India was very different from the UK, where her postbox was, and she was always curious about my experiences of day to day life. Her curiosity sparked mine, and I was amazed at how learned she was. She referred to her father as Hades, which seemed to me a bit cruel, but I wasn't learning 15 languages and reading a book a week as part of being homeschooled. We talked like teenagers do, about sport, religion, politics and everything else under the sun. She was a fierce proponent of free will, and it was her passionate letters that made me fall for her without realizing it.
A few failed relationships later, I realized that I was unequivocally in love with her. She was everything I had dreamed of. Her intelligence and wit were such turn ons for me. Every sarcastic remark, every sassy quip she'd make served only to make me fall for her even harder. But I could never express my feelings because I valued our friendship too much. And what would I have said to her? I love you even though we've never met? I'd would've lost the closest friend I had.
Anyway, back to today.
"I imagine you have some questions", a smooth, lilting voice said.
"WHAT THE FUCK??!!"
I jumped out of my skin, scared shitless. Standing in front of me was the most exquisitely beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was wearing a green, traditional indian dress, her flaming red hair reflecting the sunlight from my window.
"Jeeya. You know, Princess of Hell, girl who's fallen in love with you, daughter of Hades, girl who's just asked to marry you. Should I go on?"
It felt like she had peered deep into my soul, identified what I hoped Jeeya would look like even though I had no concrete description in my conscious mind, imbued her persona into it, and appeared in front of me.
"What... how... I have so many questions."
She smiled. It was melancholic, wistful, hopeful, radiant. All at the same time. She sat down on the bed beside me, and held out her left hand, asking for mine. I couldn't say no to that. I took it, and she then closed it with her right.
"I know you do. And I promise to truthfully answer all of them. Every single one. I owe you that. But before anything else, I want to say this. I love you. I wish I could point out a time where I could say 'this is when I fell in love with you', but I can't. It was the times when you comforted me, it was the times you made me laugh, it was the times you made sure I knew you were by my side, when I felt so alone. I love you. It feels such a relief to say this out loud. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me as your wife and your partner"
Her eyes were glistening with tears that threatened to flow. She didn't like to display signs of weakness. She was stubborn that way. I'd learnt that when she had mentioned she hadn't cried even though she'd suffered burns in her hand in her 'fireplace'. To see her opening up to me like this, it broke my heart. I knew everything else could wait. And I knew everything else could be sorted out. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her, trying to pour all the emotions I felt for her into it.
"Yes."
Edit: With each read, I'm finding that I didn't really use the prompt the way it could have been. Forgive me for that. This is my first time trying out a writing prompt. I'm hoping to get better, and your feedback would help :)
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"Come and find me," Monique whispered and ignited the scroll, then threw it into the pentagram and left the flat.
 
Police report:
*15:33: A man was assaulted and murdered in front of Rue de Cazotte #6. Scared witnesses report, that a black dressed figure whose face was not visible under an oversized hoodie came out of the building and randomly attacked the first person, striking him down and kicking his face until he was dead. Supposedly he shouted "It feels great to be back on this plane again!" while doing it.*
*Moreover, a fire broke out in the same building, suggesting, that the murderer also committed arson.*
*17:17: The local post office was target of an exceptionally brutal act of terrorism today. The bodies of 14 post man and 4 other employees were found mutilated and partially dismembered and the letters were rummaged through. It's still a mystery what the attackers wanted or how they left, as the office door had been blocked (possibly to prevent any victims escaping) and there was no other way out.*
*19:01: A local office building caught fire today, possibly due to arson. Connection to an earlier case of arson and murder cannot be ruled out. What leaves investigators wondering is, that all men in the building were killed or at least seriously burned, while the women were able to make it out without harm. They reported, that they felt the pain of being burned alive but the fire did not cause any actual damage to their skin.*
 
A few hours later, in a shabby motel room at the edge of town. Monique was watching the news when the door opened and he stepped in. She immediately knew it was him although they never met in person. "So this is what you look like, didn't you write you were tall?" she teased him.
"Today I felt like looking this way," he answered.
"You caused quite a bit of chaos looking for me," she said, smiled and looked over to the television showing another burning house. He returned the smile: "This hunt was a wonderful idea of you."
"How did you finally find me?" she wanted to know. She realized, that he had attacked her workplace and some of the places she regularly hanged out at but she had not left any clues on her whereabout in those places.
"I found out the address of your parents," he answered. Her body stiffened. "Tell me!" she said. She remembered it had took her almost two years to write him about the abuse and she also remembered how understanding he had reacted. She shivered.
"Well, I knew you'd hide in a place from your past, but they could obviously not remember every terrible place they ever brought you too, so I had to eat their brains," he explained. Monique let out a quit moan. She smiled and exhaled the relieve. This had been something she had not wanted to leave behind unresolved.
She looked into his eyes then at his body. She knew what had to come next, as he slowly walked to her. She lifted her chin, offering her throat and he grabbed it and forced her onto the bed. While he choked her, his free hand was a claw and he ripped away her clothes. Monique kicked and punched violently to provoke him even more. When her fingernails scratched across his chest, she was surprised to see, that this form of him was able to bleed. He ginned and the hold around her neck loosened. Still enough to keep her uncomfortable it allowed her to breath. He took her hand and moistened her fingers with his blood, then made her lick it of them. It burned terribly in her mouth, she wanted more.
He turned her around and pressed her face into the mattress while abusing her. Already aroused it did not take long, until she could feel the climax approaching. There, through the pain, her perception widened. She could feel him in every detail but then she also was aware of the room in all it's dirty filth and cheap furnisher and she also felt herself. She was more aware of every part of her anatomy then ever before. This was important as it allowed her to realize what was happening, when he took a vicious, hooked knife and rammed it into her back. Twice it pierced the skin, cut thought the muscle and broke her shoulder blades, tearing out flesh and part of her lungs, as he ripped it out again. She grasped his arm and pushed it away so she could sit up and cuddle her back against his chest, soiling him with her blood.
Her wings formed. Black as the night, with burning red blood visible in the veins. A short rush of headache came and went as her skull changed and indicated the transformation was done. She kissed him and felt that she loved him more then she had ever loved and thought he had lived way more lives then she had, she knew he felt the same.
 
Epilogue:
Under the pretense, that the towels were dirty, they lured a maid into the room. Monique wanted to test her new
superhuman strength and the ability to kill without remorse and the demon prince needed a human sacrifice to open a portal back to hell anyway. Back in his kingdom, they had a wonderful honeymoon and then she murdered the demon king so her husband could succeed him and they reigned supreme as husband and wife for a thousand years.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I said yes.
What, are you fucking kidding? Of course I said yes.
I couldn't unfuck my prospects long enough to launch a career, the bits of wall still covered by peeling paper made mandatory the monthly arguments with the landlord about who was supposed to be paying for what. My boyfriend couldn't unfuck his head long enough to pay the rent, anyway. Sweet guy, bit of a mess, kinda pretty but it wouldn't last. Sex and coping-mechanism companionship, someone to fall into bed to after a few too many on a Friday. Ten minutes of heavy breathing, fragmentary half-hearted pillow talk and awkward conversations over coffee, backs to the cupboards naked on the kitchen floor, the next morning. Who's cleaning the sheets? I did it last week, it's your turn. I thought that was the week before? Nope, last week. Fuck. Can't you do it? You said that the week before last. So I did. Fuck. That's why we're having this conversation. You're on the pill, right? Which ones? Har har... maybe later. You're on them, right? Yeah.
Something approaching stable in those mutual half-arsed arguments. Like I said, it wasn't going anywhere... Problem was, neither was I.
So Latin comes calling with a marriage proposal. If kissing a frog is all I have to do, sign me up. I'll snog him until Mary masturbates on the alter, tongue and all. Latin's skill for conversation has always been better than anybody I've found on earth, less pregnant with that undertone of desperation or overloaded with innuendo. Won't have to worry about the bills or being evicted or being propositioned by the landlord in lieu of rent. I bet they throw good parties, cool music, interesting people, good booze and cheap coke. Demon sex is probably pretty good, too.
I wonder if they have the pill in hell?
|
"Come and find me," Monique whispered and ignited the scroll, then threw it into the pentagram and left the flat.
 
Police report:
*15:33: A man was assaulted and murdered in front of Rue de Cazotte #6. Scared witnesses report, that a black dressed figure whose face was not visible under an oversized hoodie came out of the building and randomly attacked the first person, striking him down and kicking his face until he was dead. Supposedly he shouted "It feels great to be back on this plane again!" while doing it.*
*Moreover, a fire broke out in the same building, suggesting, that the murderer also committed arson.*
*17:17: The local post office was target of an exceptionally brutal act of terrorism today. The bodies of 14 post man and 4 other employees were found mutilated and partially dismembered and the letters were rummaged through. It's still a mystery what the attackers wanted or how they left, as the office door had been blocked (possibly to prevent any victims escaping) and there was no other way out.*
*19:01: A local office building caught fire today, possibly due to arson. Connection to an earlier case of arson and murder cannot be ruled out. What leaves investigators wondering is, that all men in the building were killed or at least seriously burned, while the women were able to make it out without harm. They reported, that they felt the pain of being burned alive but the fire did not cause any actual damage to their skin.*
 
A few hours later, in a shabby motel room at the edge of town. Monique was watching the news when the door opened and he stepped in. She immediately knew it was him although they never met in person. "So this is what you look like, didn't you write you were tall?" she teased him.
"Today I felt like looking this way," he answered.
"You caused quite a bit of chaos looking for me," she said, smiled and looked over to the television showing another burning house. He returned the smile: "This hunt was a wonderful idea of you."
"How did you finally find me?" she wanted to know. She realized, that he had attacked her workplace and some of the places she regularly hanged out at but she had not left any clues on her whereabout in those places.
"I found out the address of your parents," he answered. Her body stiffened. "Tell me!" she said. She remembered it had took her almost two years to write him about the abuse and she also remembered how understanding he had reacted. She shivered.
"Well, I knew you'd hide in a place from your past, but they could obviously not remember every terrible place they ever brought you too, so I had to eat their brains," he explained. Monique let out a quit moan. She smiled and exhaled the relieve. This had been something she had not wanted to leave behind unresolved.
She looked into his eyes then at his body. She knew what had to come next, as he slowly walked to her. She lifted her chin, offering her throat and he grabbed it and forced her onto the bed. While he choked her, his free hand was a claw and he ripped away her clothes. Monique kicked and punched violently to provoke him even more. When her fingernails scratched across his chest, she was surprised to see, that this form of him was able to bleed. He ginned and the hold around her neck loosened. Still enough to keep her uncomfortable it allowed her to breath. He took her hand and moistened her fingers with his blood, then made her lick it of them. It burned terribly in her mouth, she wanted more.
He turned her around and pressed her face into the mattress while abusing her. Already aroused it did not take long, until she could feel the climax approaching. There, through the pain, her perception widened. She could feel him in every detail but then she also was aware of the room in all it's dirty filth and cheap furnisher and she also felt herself. She was more aware of every part of her anatomy then ever before. This was important as it allowed her to realize what was happening, when he took a vicious, hooked knife and rammed it into her back. Twice it pierced the skin, cut thought the muscle and broke her shoulder blades, tearing out flesh and part of her lungs, as he ripped it out again. She grasped his arm and pushed it away so she could sit up and cuddle her back against his chest, soiling him with her blood.
Her wings formed. Black as the night, with burning red blood visible in the veins. A short rush of headache came and went as her skull changed and indicated the transformation was done. She kissed him and felt that she loved him more then she had ever loved and thought he had lived way more lives then she had, she knew he felt the same.
 
Epilogue:
Under the pretense, that the towels were dirty, they lured a maid into the room. Monique wanted to test her new
superhuman strength and the ability to kill without remorse and the demon prince needed a human sacrifice to open a portal back to hell anyway. Back in his kingdom, they had a wonderful honeymoon and then she murdered the demon king so her husband could succeed him and they reigned supreme as husband and wife for a thousand years.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
"Dear Alice,
I know that you and I have known each other since you were a little girl. And yes, since I am an immortal being I was, like, a grown man talking to you. And sure, to some folks, a grown man talking to a little girl about her hopes and dreams could look like I was grooming you for today.... Look, I want you to forget all that and just think about this: Will you marry me?
Charmingly Yours
Asmodiphistophiles
Bidemonic Prince of Combinatrix
Lord-High King of Hell
Etc"
"Dear Asmodiphistophiles,
For the last time, stop writing me creep.
Alice"
|
"Come and find me," Monique whispered and ignited the scroll, then threw it into the pentagram and left the flat.
 
Police report:
*15:33: A man was assaulted and murdered in front of Rue de Cazotte #6. Scared witnesses report, that a black dressed figure whose face was not visible under an oversized hoodie came out of the building and randomly attacked the first person, striking him down and kicking his face until he was dead. Supposedly he shouted "It feels great to be back on this plane again!" while doing it.*
*Moreover, a fire broke out in the same building, suggesting, that the murderer also committed arson.*
*17:17: The local post office was target of an exceptionally brutal act of terrorism today. The bodies of 14 post man and 4 other employees were found mutilated and partially dismembered and the letters were rummaged through. It's still a mystery what the attackers wanted or how they left, as the office door had been blocked (possibly to prevent any victims escaping) and there was no other way out.*
*19:01: A local office building caught fire today, possibly due to arson. Connection to an earlier case of arson and murder cannot be ruled out. What leaves investigators wondering is, that all men in the building were killed or at least seriously burned, while the women were able to make it out without harm. They reported, that they felt the pain of being burned alive but the fire did not cause any actual damage to their skin.*
 
A few hours later, in a shabby motel room at the edge of town. Monique was watching the news when the door opened and he stepped in. She immediately knew it was him although they never met in person. "So this is what you look like, didn't you write you were tall?" she teased him.
"Today I felt like looking this way," he answered.
"You caused quite a bit of chaos looking for me," she said, smiled and looked over to the television showing another burning house. He returned the smile: "This hunt was a wonderful idea of you."
"How did you finally find me?" she wanted to know. She realized, that he had attacked her workplace and some of the places she regularly hanged out at but she had not left any clues on her whereabout in those places.
"I found out the address of your parents," he answered. Her body stiffened. "Tell me!" she said. She remembered it had took her almost two years to write him about the abuse and she also remembered how understanding he had reacted. She shivered.
"Well, I knew you'd hide in a place from your past, but they could obviously not remember every terrible place they ever brought you too, so I had to eat their brains," he explained. Monique let out a quit moan. She smiled and exhaled the relieve. This had been something she had not wanted to leave behind unresolved.
She looked into his eyes then at his body. She knew what had to come next, as he slowly walked to her. She lifted her chin, offering her throat and he grabbed it and forced her onto the bed. While he choked her, his free hand was a claw and he ripped away her clothes. Monique kicked and punched violently to provoke him even more. When her fingernails scratched across his chest, she was surprised to see, that this form of him was able to bleed. He ginned and the hold around her neck loosened. Still enough to keep her uncomfortable it allowed her to breath. He took her hand and moistened her fingers with his blood, then made her lick it of them. It burned terribly in her mouth, she wanted more.
He turned her around and pressed her face into the mattress while abusing her. Already aroused it did not take long, until she could feel the climax approaching. There, through the pain, her perception widened. She could feel him in every detail but then she also was aware of the room in all it's dirty filth and cheap furnisher and she also felt herself. She was more aware of every part of her anatomy then ever before. This was important as it allowed her to realize what was happening, when he took a vicious, hooked knife and rammed it into her back. Twice it pierced the skin, cut thought the muscle and broke her shoulder blades, tearing out flesh and part of her lungs, as he ripped it out again. She grasped his arm and pushed it away so she could sit up and cuddle her back against his chest, soiling him with her blood.
Her wings formed. Black as the night, with burning red blood visible in the veins. A short rush of headache came and went as her skull changed and indicated the transformation was done. She kissed him and felt that she loved him more then she had ever loved and thought he had lived way more lives then she had, she knew he felt the same.
 
Epilogue:
Under the pretense, that the towels were dirty, they lured a maid into the room. Monique wanted to test her new
superhuman strength and the ability to kill without remorse and the demon prince needed a human sacrifice to open a portal back to hell anyway. Back in his kingdom, they had a wonderful honeymoon and then she murdered the demon king so her husband could succeed him and they reigned supreme as husband and wife for a thousand years.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
"Come and find me," Monique whispered and ignited the scroll, then threw it into the pentagram and left the flat.
 
Police report:
*15:33: A man was assaulted and murdered in front of Rue de Cazotte #6. Scared witnesses report, that a black dressed figure whose face was not visible under an oversized hoodie came out of the building and randomly attacked the first person, striking him down and kicking his face until he was dead. Supposedly he shouted "It feels great to be back on this plane again!" while doing it.*
*Moreover, a fire broke out in the same building, suggesting, that the murderer also committed arson.*
*17:17: The local post office was target of an exceptionally brutal act of terrorism today. The bodies of 14 post man and 4 other employees were found mutilated and partially dismembered and the letters were rummaged through. It's still a mystery what the attackers wanted or how they left, as the office door had been blocked (possibly to prevent any victims escaping) and there was no other way out.*
*19:01: A local office building caught fire today, possibly due to arson. Connection to an earlier case of arson and murder cannot be ruled out. What leaves investigators wondering is, that all men in the building were killed or at least seriously burned, while the women were able to make it out without harm. They reported, that they felt the pain of being burned alive but the fire did not cause any actual damage to their skin.*
 
A few hours later, in a shabby motel room at the edge of town. Monique was watching the news when the door opened and he stepped in. She immediately knew it was him although they never met in person. "So this is what you look like, didn't you write you were tall?" she teased him.
"Today I felt like looking this way," he answered.
"You caused quite a bit of chaos looking for me," she said, smiled and looked over to the television showing another burning house. He returned the smile: "This hunt was a wonderful idea of you."
"How did you finally find me?" she wanted to know. She realized, that he had attacked her workplace and some of the places she regularly hanged out at but she had not left any clues on her whereabout in those places.
"I found out the address of your parents," he answered. Her body stiffened. "Tell me!" she said. She remembered it had took her almost two years to write him about the abuse and she also remembered how understanding he had reacted. She shivered.
"Well, I knew you'd hide in a place from your past, but they could obviously not remember every terrible place they ever brought you too, so I had to eat their brains," he explained. Monique let out a quit moan. She smiled and exhaled the relieve. This had been something she had not wanted to leave behind unresolved.
She looked into his eyes then at his body. She knew what had to come next, as he slowly walked to her. She lifted her chin, offering her throat and he grabbed it and forced her onto the bed. While he choked her, his free hand was a claw and he ripped away her clothes. Monique kicked and punched violently to provoke him even more. When her fingernails scratched across his chest, she was surprised to see, that this form of him was able to bleed. He ginned and the hold around her neck loosened. Still enough to keep her uncomfortable it allowed her to breath. He took her hand and moistened her fingers with his blood, then made her lick it of them. It burned terribly in her mouth, she wanted more.
He turned her around and pressed her face into the mattress while abusing her. Already aroused it did not take long, until she could feel the climax approaching. There, through the pain, her perception widened. She could feel him in every detail but then she also was aware of the room in all it's dirty filth and cheap furnisher and she also felt herself. She was more aware of every part of her anatomy then ever before. This was important as it allowed her to realize what was happening, when he took a vicious, hooked knife and rammed it into her back. Twice it pierced the skin, cut thought the muscle and broke her shoulder blades, tearing out flesh and part of her lungs, as he ripped it out again. She grasped his arm and pushed it away so she could sit up and cuddle her back against his chest, soiling him with her blood.
Her wings formed. Black as the night, with burning red blood visible in the veins. A short rush of headache came and went as her skull changed and indicated the transformation was done. She kissed him and felt that she loved him more then she had ever loved and thought he had lived way more lives then she had, she knew he felt the same.
 
Epilogue:
Under the pretense, that the towels were dirty, they lured a maid into the room. Monique wanted to test her new
superhuman strength and the ability to kill without remorse and the demon prince needed a human sacrifice to open a portal back to hell anyway. Back in his kingdom, they had a wonderful honeymoon and then she murdered the demon king so her husband could succeed him and they reigned supreme as husband and wife for a thousand years.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
She said I could refer to her as Jeeya, with a vague explanation about how her real name was too complex for a 'mere mortal' to understand. I never really understood that, to be honest. At the time I wrote it off as hubris, and it was a little off putting. I never liked hubris. But I wasn't going to say that to a pen pal for a high school assignment. I wanted my grades, and I was told that my professor would be communicating with the professor in my counterpart's school to evaluate how the exchange went, and I didn't want to sound closed off or judgmental.
It was an exercise that should have lasted two months, and I never understood why her letters always came written in parchment paper, with exquisite handwriting which shined as if they were written mere minutes ago, mainly because my 17 year old self was happy to be talking to someone cool, and I also never questioned much her explanation of having different 'properties', and hence renting a PO Box. But here I am, eight years later, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding her latest letter, having read it multiple times and still not able to digest that I had fallen in love with the actual Princess of Hell, soon to become Queen, if I accepted her proposal.
The start of our, should I say relationship?, started off with us simply comparing how our days were going. She was fascinated by the environment I grew up in. India was very different from the UK, where her postbox was, and she was always curious about my experiences of day to day life. Her curiosity sparked mine, and I was amazed at how learned she was. She referred to her father as Hades, which seemed to me a bit cruel, but I wasn't learning 15 languages and reading a book a week as part of being homeschooled. We talked like teenagers do, about sport, religion, politics and everything else under the sun. She was a fierce proponent of free will, and it was her passionate letters that made me fall for her without realizing it.
A few failed relationships later, I realized that I was unequivocally in love with her. She was everything I had dreamed of. Her intelligence and wit were such turn ons for me. Every sarcastic remark, every sassy quip she'd make served only to make me fall for her even harder. But I could never express my feelings because I valued our friendship too much. And what would I have said to her? I love you even though we've never met? I'd would've lost the closest friend I had.
Anyway, back to today.
"I imagine you have some questions", a smooth, lilting voice said.
"WHAT THE FUCK??!!"
I jumped out of my skin, scared shitless. Standing in front of me was the most exquisitely beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was wearing a green, traditional indian dress, her flaming red hair reflecting the sunlight from my window.
"Jeeya. You know, Princess of Hell, girl who's fallen in love with you, daughter of Hades, girl who's just asked to marry you. Should I go on?"
It felt like she had peered deep into my soul, identified what I hoped Jeeya would look like even though I had no concrete description in my conscious mind, imbued her persona into it, and appeared in front of me.
"What... how... I have so many questions."
She smiled. It was melancholic, wistful, hopeful, radiant. All at the same time. She sat down on the bed beside me, and held out her left hand, asking for mine. I couldn't say no to that. I took it, and she then closed it with her right.
"I know you do. And I promise to truthfully answer all of them. Every single one. I owe you that. But before anything else, I want to say this. I love you. I wish I could point out a time where I could say 'this is when I fell in love with you', but I can't. It was the times when you comforted me, it was the times you made me laugh, it was the times you made sure I knew you were by my side, when I felt so alone. I love you. It feels such a relief to say this out loud. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me as your wife and your partner"
Her eyes were glistening with tears that threatened to flow. She didn't like to display signs of weakness. She was stubborn that way. I'd learnt that when she had mentioned she hadn't cried even though she'd suffered burns in her hand in her 'fireplace'. To see her opening up to me like this, it broke my heart. I knew everything else could wait. And I knew everything else could be sorted out. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her, trying to pour all the emotions I felt for her into it.
"Yes."
Edit: With each read, I'm finding that I didn't really use the prompt the way it could have been. Forgive me for that. This is my first time trying out a writing prompt. I'm hoping to get better, and your feedback would help :)
|
Thraxor shifted uneasily on the doorstep of the rundown looking house. The paint was peeling, and the shingles on the roof were tattered. If he squinted slightly, he could swear the house was leaning to one side.
He clutched the bouquet of cut flowers tightly in his hand. They sizzled faintly, the petals limp and grey.
Though their relationship up to this point had purely been through written correspondence, he felt that after all these years his proposal should be in person. Their connection was undeniable, and when they wrote to each other, his heart felt full like it had never felt before. There were some things he didn't tell her, of course, like the small detail that he was in fact a demon, but knowing how much she loved him, he knew it would not matter that he was a creature of hell.
Love conquers all, right? He thought.
She didn't know he was coming, which added to his nervousness. Thraxor took a long, shaking breath, and rang the doorbell.
"Coming!" a deep male voice called from inside.
This confused Thraxor; She had never mentioned a roommate before, let alone a male one.
The door opened to reveal a man in his early 30s who was a good 50 pounds overweight. He was balding, and his unkempt beard was patchy. He wore sweatpants and a soiled white t-shirt. At the sight of the demon, the man froze in terror.
Thraxor cleared his throat. "Salutations child of man. Is Elizabeth home?"
The man blinked several times and took a step back. "There is no Elizabeth here."
"I'm afraid you must be mistaken, for I have been in written communication with the fair maid for many years. I am quite certain this is her residence."
The man's face flushed as he stared at the demon. "... Thrax? Thrax is that you?"
Thraxor smiled widely. "Ah, so she has spoken of me then?"
"Ah... no. Not quite. You see..." The man looked down at his feet. "I'm... I'm Elizabeth."
"I don't understand." Thraxor's smile faltered, his arms dropping to his sides.
"My real name is Randy." He looked at the confused creature on his doorstep and spoke in a rush. "You see, I got your letter when I was a kid and I thought it would be funny to pretend I was a girl. It's was stupid I know, but I honestly didn't think you'd write back. Then one thing lead to another and we became so close, and I tried to find the right moment to tell you, I really did, but... well..." He sighed sadly. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Thraxor was dumbfounded. He looked once again at the man who stood before him and thought back to all the years of joy the letters had brought him. The secrets they shared, the laughter, the tears, all the little moments that made a terrible day turn into a good one.
Lifting his arm, Thraxor shoved the charred flowers towards Randy. "These are for you." he said. Randy took them timidly. "Now then," he continued, "I think perhaps we should get to know each other. For real this time." He smiled and held out his hand in invitation.
Randy looked at Thraxor, fighting back tears. "I know a great little place not far from here. They have the best wings."
"Sounds perfect."
Randy smiled softly, wiped his eyes, and took his friend's hand.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
Thraxor shifted uneasily on the doorstep of the rundown looking house. The paint was peeling, and the shingles on the roof were tattered. If he squinted slightly, he could swear the house was leaning to one side.
He clutched the bouquet of cut flowers tightly in his hand. They sizzled faintly, the petals limp and grey.
Though their relationship up to this point had purely been through written correspondence, he felt that after all these years his proposal should be in person. Their connection was undeniable, and when they wrote to each other, his heart felt full like it had never felt before. There were some things he didn't tell her, of course, like the small detail that he was in fact a demon, but knowing how much she loved him, he knew it would not matter that he was a creature of hell.
Love conquers all, right? He thought.
She didn't know he was coming, which added to his nervousness. Thraxor took a long, shaking breath, and rang the doorbell.
"Coming!" a deep male voice called from inside.
This confused Thraxor; She had never mentioned a roommate before, let alone a male one.
The door opened to reveal a man in his early 30s who was a good 50 pounds overweight. He was balding, and his unkempt beard was patchy. He wore sweatpants and a soiled white t-shirt. At the sight of the demon, the man froze in terror.
Thraxor cleared his throat. "Salutations child of man. Is Elizabeth home?"
The man blinked several times and took a step back. "There is no Elizabeth here."
"I'm afraid you must be mistaken, for I have been in written communication with the fair maid for many years. I am quite certain this is her residence."
The man's face flushed as he stared at the demon. "... Thrax? Thrax is that you?"
Thraxor smiled widely. "Ah, so she has spoken of me then?"
"Ah... no. Not quite. You see..." The man looked down at his feet. "I'm... I'm Elizabeth."
"I don't understand." Thraxor's smile faltered, his arms dropping to his sides.
"My real name is Randy." He looked at the confused creature on his doorstep and spoke in a rush. "You see, I got your letter when I was a kid and I thought it would be funny to pretend I was a girl. It's was stupid I know, but I honestly didn't think you'd write back. Then one thing lead to another and we became so close, and I tried to find the right moment to tell you, I really did, but... well..." He sighed sadly. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Thraxor was dumbfounded. He looked once again at the man who stood before him and thought back to all the years of joy the letters had brought him. The secrets they shared, the laughter, the tears, all the little moments that made a terrible day turn into a good one.
Lifting his arm, Thraxor shoved the charred flowers towards Randy. "These are for you." he said. Randy took them timidly. "Now then," he continued, "I think perhaps we should get to know each other. For real this time." He smiled and held out his hand in invitation.
Randy looked at Thraxor, fighting back tears. "I know a great little place not far from here. They have the best wings."
"Sounds perfect."
Randy smiled softly, wiped his eyes, and took his friend's hand.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
She said I could refer to her as Jeeya, with a vague explanation about how her real name was too complex for a 'mere mortal' to understand. I never really understood that, to be honest. At the time I wrote it off as hubris, and it was a little off putting. I never liked hubris. But I wasn't going to say that to a pen pal for a high school assignment. I wanted my grades, and I was told that my professor would be communicating with the professor in my counterpart's school to evaluate how the exchange went, and I didn't want to sound closed off or judgmental.
It was an exercise that should have lasted two months, and I never understood why her letters always came written in parchment paper, with exquisite handwriting which shined as if they were written mere minutes ago, mainly because my 17 year old self was happy to be talking to someone cool, and I also never questioned much her explanation of having different 'properties', and hence renting a PO Box. But here I am, eight years later, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding her latest letter, having read it multiple times and still not able to digest that I had fallen in love with the actual Princess of Hell, soon to become Queen, if I accepted her proposal.
The start of our, should I say relationship?, started off with us simply comparing how our days were going. She was fascinated by the environment I grew up in. India was very different from the UK, where her postbox was, and she was always curious about my experiences of day to day life. Her curiosity sparked mine, and I was amazed at how learned she was. She referred to her father as Hades, which seemed to me a bit cruel, but I wasn't learning 15 languages and reading a book a week as part of being homeschooled. We talked like teenagers do, about sport, religion, politics and everything else under the sun. She was a fierce proponent of free will, and it was her passionate letters that made me fall for her without realizing it.
A few failed relationships later, I realized that I was unequivocally in love with her. She was everything I had dreamed of. Her intelligence and wit were such turn ons for me. Every sarcastic remark, every sassy quip she'd make served only to make me fall for her even harder. But I could never express my feelings because I valued our friendship too much. And what would I have said to her? I love you even though we've never met? I'd would've lost the closest friend I had.
Anyway, back to today.
"I imagine you have some questions", a smooth, lilting voice said.
"WHAT THE FUCK??!!"
I jumped out of my skin, scared shitless. Standing in front of me was the most exquisitely beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was wearing a green, traditional indian dress, her flaming red hair reflecting the sunlight from my window.
"Jeeya. You know, Princess of Hell, girl who's fallen in love with you, daughter of Hades, girl who's just asked to marry you. Should I go on?"
It felt like she had peered deep into my soul, identified what I hoped Jeeya would look like even though I had no concrete description in my conscious mind, imbued her persona into it, and appeared in front of me.
"What... how... I have so many questions."
She smiled. It was melancholic, wistful, hopeful, radiant. All at the same time. She sat down on the bed beside me, and held out her left hand, asking for mine. I couldn't say no to that. I took it, and she then closed it with her right.
"I know you do. And I promise to truthfully answer all of them. Every single one. I owe you that. But before anything else, I want to say this. I love you. I wish I could point out a time where I could say 'this is when I fell in love with you', but I can't. It was the times when you comforted me, it was the times you made me laugh, it was the times you made sure I knew you were by my side, when I felt so alone. I love you. It feels such a relief to say this out loud. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me as your wife and your partner"
Her eyes were glistening with tears that threatened to flow. She didn't like to display signs of weakness. She was stubborn that way. I'd learnt that when she had mentioned she hadn't cried even though she'd suffered burns in her hand in her 'fireplace'. To see her opening up to me like this, it broke my heart. I knew everything else could wait. And I knew everything else could be sorted out. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her, trying to pour all the emotions I felt for her into it.
"Yes."
Edit: With each read, I'm finding that I didn't really use the prompt the way it could have been. Forgive me for that. This is my first time trying out a writing prompt. I'm hoping to get better, and your feedback would help :)
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
I said yes.
What, are you fucking kidding? Of course I said yes.
I couldn't unfuck my prospects long enough to launch a career, the bits of wall still covered by peeling paper made mandatory the monthly arguments with the landlord about who was supposed to be paying for what. My boyfriend couldn't unfuck his head long enough to pay the rent, anyway. Sweet guy, bit of a mess, kinda pretty but it wouldn't last. Sex and coping-mechanism companionship, someone to fall into bed to after a few too many on a Friday. Ten minutes of heavy breathing, fragmentary half-hearted pillow talk and awkward conversations over coffee, backs to the cupboards naked on the kitchen floor, the next morning. Who's cleaning the sheets? I did it last week, it's your turn. I thought that was the week before? Nope, last week. Fuck. Can't you do it? You said that the week before last. So I did. Fuck. That's why we're having this conversation. You're on the pill, right? Which ones? Har har... maybe later. You're on them, right? Yeah.
Something approaching stable in those mutual half-arsed arguments. Like I said, it wasn't going anywhere... Problem was, neither was I.
So Latin comes calling with a marriage proposal. If kissing a frog is all I have to do, sign me up. I'll snog him until Mary masturbates on the alter, tongue and all. Latin's skill for conversation has always been better than anybody I've found on earth, less pregnant with that undertone of desperation or overloaded with innuendo. Won't have to worry about the bills or being evicted or being propositioned by the landlord in lieu of rent. I bet they throw good parties, cool music, interesting people, good booze and cheap coke. Demon sex is probably pretty good, too.
I wonder if they have the pill in hell?
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
*Dad, why aren’t you home yet? Mom won’t let me have any fun while you’re out of town and keeps making me practice fencing.*
He found the note at the age of eight, sitting neatly on his desk. There was no point in asking who it was from. His younger brothers loved to try and make him feel like he was going crazy, so he burned the letter silently with a stolen match from the kitchen and never mentioned it to anyone.
Mat was eleven when his new baby sister showed up at home. She had dark hair and porcelain skin and, even at eleven, Mat knew that this was the beginning of the end. His parents had never been outright cruel to him, but they loved their other children, their *real* children, far more. He was a trophy piece to them, a wizard with numbers they knew they could show off.
He sat at his desk the day they brought Miriam home, six days after her birth, and wrote on a piece of paper in his precise handwriting.
*I love her so much already and I’m scared.*
And then he burned it.
A leaf of heavy, expensive paper was waiting on his desk when he got home from school the next day. On it, in childish, determined script, was written, *Why are you scared? She’s just a baby.*
Over the next sixteen years, he exchanged letters this way. He would burn a note and she would respond. People asked him why he carried a lighter if he wasn’t a smoker. He grew up and went to college, leaving his baby sister at home and trying not to think about the times their father’s hand had lashed out and struck her across the face or the back of the head for making too much noise. He clung to his correspondence with Norve like a drowning man.
*I want you to know, Mat, that you aren’t crazy for thinking your father is evil and your mother is nearly as bad. It is a sick human who adopts a baby for the sole purpose of abusing her.*
She always claimed to have no head for numbers, to have been terrible in school, but her letters were witty and insightful. While he describe graduate and postgraduate work, she told him in vague terms about the empire her family ran, the empire she would take over one day. It wasn’t clear what kind of empire it was, but she described her work in Biblical terms. People sin unrepentantly, she said, and have to be punished for it. *Just because it is horrible work doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing.*
When his father died and his sister, his beautiful baby sister, spent weeks in the hospital, her head bashed in and ribs broken, he wrote to Norve first.
*I wish you had had a chance to meet my father. If sinners need to be punished, he deserved the most punishment*, he wrote. His sister came to live with him, silent as the grave, and he wrote of that to Norve as well.
*Mat,* she responded, *I’ve sent a trusted family member to check in on her occasionally, because I can’t come myself. You may not see him, but, if you do, please don’t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.*
The stranger who appeared in their small town was an absolute giant of a man, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was quick to joke with the locals and always managed to be at their local coffee shop in time to pay for Mat’s sister’s drinks with a wink and a wave. Behind his smile, however, there was something sinister. His sparkling eyes followed her like a hawk, examining her shuffling gait, the scar on her face, and somehow managing to be so threatening to others without actually saying a word. It was something about his aura, so friendly and yet so absolutely menacing, that caused people to keep their distance from all three of them.
Mat’s sister thrived. He had occasionally looked up from his desk to see the strange man, who had never given his name, sitting in the backyard at his sister’s feet while she played some tune on a keyboard, the sunshine seeming to warp around him and never warm his face or bring life to his smile.
The letters to his unknown friend continued every day. Somewhere between the ages of twenty and twenty\-five he’d begun to sign them, “*Love, M*” and she returned in kind. He never dated and, although he’d left his phone number in a letter or two, she’d never called. It was all so normal, until the day that it wasn’t anymore.
*Mat,*
*You’ve mentioned before that there’s something strange about my cousin. I feel that I’ve been dishonest with you.*
*My name is Norvennisett and I am not human. A lot of people like to think of their deceased relatives as becoming angels after death, but that’s not true. Angels are something else entirely and some of us have to do the horrible, dirty work of punishing those who have done wrong. It’s not glamorous like sitting on a cloud and holding a harp and singing all day \- that’s my cousin’s territory, not mine.*
*You probably think I’m crazy, but please suspend your disbelief for a moment. I have sent these letters to your desk, no matter where your desk was and your parents never found them, no matter how many times they searched your room.*
*Your father did get what he deserved here. I made sure of that.*
*I write now with an offer.*
*Come to visit \- come to stay \- here. I have loved our correspondence. It has reminded me why humanity are so beloved by God. You have reminded me of the beauty and joy of God, when I am surrounded each day by His terrible wrath.*
*You would never be an angel, but we could be together. Bring your sister \- I suspect she will not want to be parted from my cousin.*
*With love,*
*N*
It was ironic, he thought on occasion, when the strange, filtered light would catch his wife’s hair in just the right way, that he should finally find his peace in Hell.
|
"Dear Alice,
I know that you and I have known each other since you were a little girl. And yes, since I am an immortal being I was, like, a grown man talking to you. And sure, to some folks, a grown man talking to a little girl about her hopes and dreams could look like I was grooming you for today.... Look, I want you to forget all that and just think about this: Will you marry me?
Charmingly Yours
Asmodiphistophiles
Bidemonic Prince of Combinatrix
Lord-High King of Hell
Etc"
"Dear Asmodiphistophiles,
For the last time, stop writing me creep.
Alice"
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
In our first letters to each other, I found out three things about Lily.
One, that she really liked cats. I mean, 'cat-decal-everything-paw-print-patterns' level.
(I'm more of a dog kinda guy, but I can appreciate their charm.)
Two was that she was the daughter of a single mother, who had no siblings but a very large extended family that she loved very dearly even if they did cause one hell of a ruckus.
And three was that she was the princess of a demonic kingdom (queendom? Is that a thing?) and destined to ascend the throne once her mother would finish her 1000-year reign.
See, I'm not totally sure how we even ended up writing to each other in the first place. One day you set up a personal mailbox outside your window and draw a pentacle and other assorted demonic imagery on it for the giggles, and the next morning you find a scroll with very neat (if very tiny) handwriting in something that may or may not be blood addressed to some dude who's clearly not you.
But y'know, when a girl initiates a conversation it's rude to not reply.
So that's how it went for the next decade or so. We exchanged monthly letters/scrolls about anything and everything (can you believe they don't have *beer* in Hell but they have *grape juice*? Not even wine, just. Grape juice.) that came to mind. I taught her a little about life upon our mortal plane of existence (*'no Lily, radios do *not* have tiny men inside them'*), and in return, she taught me a little Latin and provided me with sketches and drawings she wanted some critique on.
To be honest, sometimes I looked forward to her letters more than anything else. With Lily, I felt as if I could open up and spill the things I'd be hiding from everyone else in my life. Neither of us ever talked about escalating things beyond friendship, but looking back it should have been painfully obvious to me that I was unconsciously crushing *hard* on her. On some girl, who I'd never even met face-to-face before.
(I didn't want to make things uncomfortable, so I squashed those feelings.)
From time to time she'd make an offhand comment about how the infighting in her family was steadily getting worse as her mother's term came to an end, or how she'd be pressured to find a suitable king-consort. I tried to sympathise as best as I could, but it was times like these that reminded me of just how different a life Lily lived.
Fast forward to my final year in my Communications degree, where she sent an especially long letter. By then, I had been kicked out of the house and Lily's mother was a year away from abdicating the throne. I chuckled at her stories of clumsy attempts of humiliation and inhaled sharply at the tales of assassinations (both failed and successful). It had just been any other letter for us.
So, of course, it completely came at me out of nowhere when at the end in her tiny neat handwriting she meekly asked if I would like to come live with her.
(*'But I'm not forcing you or anything!'*, she had written. *'I just get a little lonely sometimes. And...I'd really like to hear what your voice sounds like.'*)
I had never written a reply and smashed it into my battered old mailbox so quickly before.
I have no regrets, of course. Sure, I'm going to live somewhere that doesn't show up on Google Maps and I'll be leaving behind literally everyone I've known. But I'm finally going to get to meet the girl who made life worth living and be able to live with her by the end of November. I just hope my degree will actually net me a useful job down in Hell.
But hey. At least I don't have to worry about getting paid.
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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"Oh Eris, you look beautiful. Truly beauty befitting of King Beelzebub's tastes."
I was wearing an elaborate black wedding gown, face powdered with pasty white makeup, sitting in front of the mirror and was about to be the wed to the Demon Prince, or rather after today, the Demon King.
Five years ago, the world was at peace, humans and demons coexisted peacefully.
Five years ago, I was in the carriage with my parents, until they got murdered by the forest bandits.
Five years ago, as an 18 year old girl, I wandered from city to city, begging, crawling, doing whatever I could to survive.
And it was Five years ago, where I just so happen to find the Demon Prince's scroll that fell out of the sky. It was a message to the capital, a celebration of the 100 years of peace between humans and demons. I scoffed at the word peace. Around the continent there were people like me suffering, not from demons, but due to cruelty and greed of humans. Sometimes I wished the war continued and maybe, humans would be a little more compassionate to their own kind.
That's when it hit me, I could take my revenge. I could eliminate human greed forever. This was a god sent opportunity.
I walked down the isle,and for the first time in my life I saw the "love of my life" Beelzebub.
"It's been 5 long years darling, and finally I've freed you from your captives. Half your disgusting race is gone and our wish has finally come to fruition." Despite having millions of people slain by his hands, I can't help but think of him as naive little child, the exact same one I wrote to five years ago. It's hard to think how far I have come, after months of the most cliche and mushy exchange of scrolls, I finally convinced this disgustingly innocent demon prince into my own personal pawn.
"I now present to the world the new Demon King Beelzebub, and his wife Queen Eris!"
Hordes of demons cheers and applause while the new Demon King looks at me with obvious passion in his eyes.
'He did fulfil my wish, let just pretend I care for him somewhat.'
I flashed him the brightest smile that I could muster, but my eyes remain stone cold.
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The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
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Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought this day would come! Who would have thought a boy like Raven would one day marry the Demon prince, Vinzty. He dropped the letter and shouted “Iyt tu-rzno” in his best Demonic tongue, which roughly translates to “I do.” The letter combusted, and the adorable groom-to-be seemed to evaporate.
In a burst of flames, Raven found himself in the largest room he had ever seen. With black walls, chandeliers lit with purple fire, and two thrones in the back, Raven couldn’t help but smile. In a burst of green and purple flames, the demon prince arrived. As if they were already there, the room was suddenly filled with pews of demons of all colors and knights in blue armor.
Raven’s clothing was changed into a beautiful dress made of purple flames. He couldn’t help but stand there astonished, but he soon realized they were waiting for him to come stand with his groom. He walked towards the smiling demon, as the knights on both sides on him saluted, swords in hands. It was a little weird being the only person with clothing on, but Raven didn’t mind too much.
Vinzty was smaller than Raven. He had brown hair that raised up into flames, and he had purple eyes and green skin. They greeted each other with a long kiss, as the crowd howled and awed. Raven finally got his happy-ever-after.
(If you actually read this, please assassinate me.)
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
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[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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In our first letters to each other, I found out three things about Lily.
One, that she really liked cats. I mean, 'cat-decal-everything-paw-print-patterns' level.
(I'm more of a dog kinda guy, but I can appreciate their charm.)
Two was that she was the daughter of a single mother, who had no siblings but a very large extended family that she loved very dearly even if they did cause one hell of a ruckus.
And three was that she was the princess of a demonic kingdom (queendom? Is that a thing?) and destined to ascend the throne once her mother would finish her 1000-year reign.
See, I'm not totally sure how we even ended up writing to each other in the first place. One day you set up a personal mailbox outside your window and draw a pentacle and other assorted demonic imagery on it for the giggles, and the next morning you find a scroll with very neat (if very tiny) handwriting in something that may or may not be blood addressed to some dude who's clearly not you.
But y'know, when a girl initiates a conversation it's rude to not reply.
So that's how it went for the next decade or so. We exchanged monthly letters/scrolls about anything and everything (can you believe they don't have *beer* in Hell but they have *grape juice*? Not even wine, just. Grape juice.) that came to mind. I taught her a little about life upon our mortal plane of existence (*'no Lily, radios do *not* have tiny men inside them'*), and in return, she taught me a little Latin and provided me with sketches and drawings she wanted some critique on.
To be honest, sometimes I looked forward to her letters more than anything else. With Lily, I felt as if I could open up and spill the things I'd be hiding from everyone else in my life. Neither of us ever talked about escalating things beyond friendship, but looking back it should have been painfully obvious to me that I was unconsciously crushing *hard* on her. On some girl, who I'd never even met face-to-face before.
(I didn't want to make things uncomfortable, so I squashed those feelings.)
From time to time she'd make an offhand comment about how the infighting in her family was steadily getting worse as her mother's term came to an end, or how she'd be pressured to find a suitable king-consort. I tried to sympathise as best as I could, but it was times like these that reminded me of just how different a life Lily lived.
Fast forward to my final year in my Communications degree, where she sent an especially long letter. By then, I had been kicked out of the house and Lily's mother was a year away from abdicating the throne. I chuckled at her stories of clumsy attempts of humiliation and inhaled sharply at the tales of assassinations (both failed and successful). It had just been any other letter for us.
So, of course, it completely came at me out of nowhere when at the end in her tiny neat handwriting she meekly asked if I would like to come live with her.
(*'But I'm not forcing you or anything!'*, she had written. *'I just get a little lonely sometimes. And...I'd really like to hear what your voice sounds like.'*)
I had never written a reply and smashed it into my battered old mailbox so quickly before.
I have no regrets, of course. Sure, I'm going to live somewhere that doesn't show up on Google Maps and I'll be leaving behind literally everyone I've known. But I'm finally going to get to meet the girl who made life worth living and be able to live with her by the end of November. I just hope my degree will actually net me a useful job down in Hell.
But hey. At least I don't have to worry about getting paid.
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Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought this day would come! Who would have thought a boy like Raven would one day marry the Demon prince, Vinzty. He dropped the letter and shouted “Iyt tu-rzno” in his best Demonic tongue, which roughly translates to “I do.” The letter combusted, and the adorable groom-to-be seemed to evaporate.
In a burst of flames, Raven found himself in the largest room he had ever seen. With black walls, chandeliers lit with purple fire, and two thrones in the back, Raven couldn’t help but smile. In a burst of green and purple flames, the demon prince arrived. As if they were already there, the room was suddenly filled with pews of demons of all colors and knights in blue armor.
Raven’s clothing was changed into a beautiful dress made of purple flames. He couldn’t help but stand there astonished, but he soon realized they were waiting for him to come stand with his groom. He walked towards the smiling demon, as the knights on both sides on him saluted, swords in hands. It was a little weird being the only person with clothing on, but Raven didn’t mind too much.
Vinzty was smaller than Raven. He had brown hair that raised up into flames, and he had purple eyes and green skin. They greeted each other with a long kiss, as the crowd howled and awed. Raven finally got his happy-ever-after.
(If you actually read this, please assassinate me.)
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
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Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought this day would come! Who would have thought a boy like Raven would one day marry the Demon prince, Vinzty. He dropped the letter and shouted “Iyt tu-rzno” in his best Demonic tongue, which roughly translates to “I do.” The letter combusted, and the adorable groom-to-be seemed to evaporate.
In a burst of flames, Raven found himself in the largest room he had ever seen. With black walls, chandeliers lit with purple fire, and two thrones in the back, Raven couldn’t help but smile. In a burst of green and purple flames, the demon prince arrived. As if they were already there, the room was suddenly filled with pews of demons of all colors and knights in blue armor.
Raven’s clothing was changed into a beautiful dress made of purple flames. He couldn’t help but stand there astonished, but he soon realized they were waiting for him to come stand with his groom. He walked towards the smiling demon, as the knights on both sides on him saluted, swords in hands. It was a little weird being the only person with clothing on, but Raven didn’t mind too much.
Vinzty was smaller than Raven. He had brown hair that raised up into flames, and he had purple eyes and green skin. They greeted each other with a long kiss, as the crowd howled and awed. Raven finally got his happy-ever-after.
(If you actually read this, please assassinate me.)
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Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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"Oh Eris, you look beautiful. Truly beauty befitting of King Beelzebub's tastes."
I was wearing an elaborate black wedding gown, face powdered with pasty white makeup, sitting in front of the mirror and was about to be the wed to the Demon Prince, or rather after today, the Demon King.
Five years ago, the world was at peace, humans and demons coexisted peacefully.
Five years ago, I was in the carriage with my parents, until they got murdered by the forest bandits.
Five years ago, as an 18 year old girl, I wandered from city to city, begging, crawling, doing whatever I could to survive.
And it was Five years ago, where I just so happen to find the Demon Prince's scroll that fell out of the sky. It was a message to the capital, a celebration of the 100 years of peace between humans and demons. I scoffed at the word peace. Around the continent there were people like me suffering, not from demons, but due to cruelty and greed of humans. Sometimes I wished the war continued and maybe, humans would be a little more compassionate to their own kind.
That's when it hit me, I could take my revenge. I could eliminate human greed forever. This was a god sent opportunity.
I walked down the isle,and for the first time in my life I saw the "love of my life" Beelzebub.
"It's been 5 long years darling, and finally I've freed you from your captives. Half your disgusting race is gone and our wish has finally come to fruition." Despite having millions of people slain by his hands, I can't help but think of him as naive little child, the exact same one I wrote to five years ago. It's hard to think how far I have come, after months of the most cliche and mushy exchange of scrolls, I finally convinced this disgustingly innocent demon prince into my own personal pawn.
"I now present to the world the new Demon King Beelzebub, and his wife Queen Eris!"
Hordes of demons cheers and applause while the new Demon King looks at me with obvious passion in his eyes.
'He did fulfil my wish, let just pretend I care for him somewhat.'
I flashed him the brightest smile that I could muster, but my eyes remain stone cold.
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Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought this day would come! Who would have thought a boy like Raven would one day marry the Demon prince, Vinzty. He dropped the letter and shouted “Iyt tu-rzno” in his best Demonic tongue, which roughly translates to “I do.” The letter combusted, and the adorable groom-to-be seemed to evaporate.
In a burst of flames, Raven found himself in the largest room he had ever seen. With black walls, chandeliers lit with purple fire, and two thrones in the back, Raven couldn’t help but smile. In a burst of green and purple flames, the demon prince arrived. As if they were already there, the room was suddenly filled with pews of demons of all colors and knights in blue armor.
Raven’s clothing was changed into a beautiful dress made of purple flames. He couldn’t help but stand there astonished, but he soon realized they were waiting for him to come stand with his groom. He walked towards the smiling demon, as the knights on both sides on him saluted, swords in hands. It was a little weird being the only person with clothing on, but Raven didn’t mind too much.
Vinzty was smaller than Raven. He had brown hair that raised up into flames, and he had purple eyes and green skin. They greeted each other with a long kiss, as the crowd howled and awed. Raven finally got his happy-ever-after.
(If you actually read this, please assassinate me.)
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
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I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought this day would come! Who would have thought a boy like Raven would one day marry the Demon prince, Vinzty. He dropped the letter and shouted “Iyt tu-rzno” in his best Demonic tongue, which roughly translates to “I do.” The letter combusted, and the adorable groom-to-be seemed to evaporate.
In a burst of flames, Raven found himself in the largest room he had ever seen. With black walls, chandeliers lit with purple fire, and two thrones in the back, Raven couldn’t help but smile. In a burst of green and purple flames, the demon prince arrived. As if they were already there, the room was suddenly filled with pews of demons of all colors and knights in blue armor.
Raven’s clothing was changed into a beautiful dress made of purple flames. He couldn’t help but stand there astonished, but he soon realized they were waiting for him to come stand with his groom. He walked towards the smiling demon, as the knights on both sides on him saluted, swords in hands. It was a little weird being the only person with clothing on, but Raven didn’t mind too much.
Vinzty was smaller than Raven. He had brown hair that raised up into flames, and he had purple eyes and green skin. They greeted each other with a long kiss, as the crowd howled and awed. Raven finally got his happy-ever-after.
(If you actually read this, please assassinate me.)
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
In our first letters to each other, I found out three things about Lily.
One, that she really liked cats. I mean, 'cat-decal-everything-paw-print-patterns' level.
(I'm more of a dog kinda guy, but I can appreciate their charm.)
Two was that she was the daughter of a single mother, who had no siblings but a very large extended family that she loved very dearly even if they did cause one hell of a ruckus.
And three was that she was the princess of a demonic kingdom (queendom? Is that a thing?) and destined to ascend the throne once her mother would finish her 1000-year reign.
See, I'm not totally sure how we even ended up writing to each other in the first place. One day you set up a personal mailbox outside your window and draw a pentacle and other assorted demonic imagery on it for the giggles, and the next morning you find a scroll with very neat (if very tiny) handwriting in something that may or may not be blood addressed to some dude who's clearly not you.
But y'know, when a girl initiates a conversation it's rude to not reply.
So that's how it went for the next decade or so. We exchanged monthly letters/scrolls about anything and everything (can you believe they don't have *beer* in Hell but they have *grape juice*? Not even wine, just. Grape juice.) that came to mind. I taught her a little about life upon our mortal plane of existence (*'no Lily, radios do *not* have tiny men inside them'*), and in return, she taught me a little Latin and provided me with sketches and drawings she wanted some critique on.
To be honest, sometimes I looked forward to her letters more than anything else. With Lily, I felt as if I could open up and spill the things I'd be hiding from everyone else in my life. Neither of us ever talked about escalating things beyond friendship, but looking back it should have been painfully obvious to me that I was unconsciously crushing *hard* on her. On some girl, who I'd never even met face-to-face before.
(I didn't want to make things uncomfortable, so I squashed those feelings.)
From time to time she'd make an offhand comment about how the infighting in her family was steadily getting worse as her mother's term came to an end, or how she'd be pressured to find a suitable king-consort. I tried to sympathise as best as I could, but it was times like these that reminded me of just how different a life Lily lived.
Fast forward to my final year in my Communications degree, where she sent an especially long letter. By then, I had been kicked out of the house and Lily's mother was a year away from abdicating the throne. I chuckled at her stories of clumsy attempts of humiliation and inhaled sharply at the tales of assassinations (both failed and successful). It had just been any other letter for us.
So, of course, it completely came at me out of nowhere when at the end in her tiny neat handwriting she meekly asked if I would like to come live with her.
(*'But I'm not forcing you or anything!'*, she had written. *'I just get a little lonely sometimes. And...I'd really like to hear what your voice sounds like.'*)
I had never written a reply and smashed it into my battered old mailbox so quickly before.
I have no regrets, of course. Sure, I'm going to live somewhere that doesn't show up on Google Maps and I'll be leaving behind literally everyone I've known. But I'm finally going to get to meet the girl who made life worth living and be able to live with her by the end of November. I just hope my degree will actually net me a useful job down in Hell.
But hey. At least I don't have to worry about getting paid.
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
"Oh Eris, you look beautiful. Truly beauty befitting of King Beelzebub's tastes."
I was wearing an elaborate black wedding gown, face powdered with pasty white makeup, sitting in front of the mirror and was about to be the wed to the Demon Prince, or rather after today, the Demon King.
Five years ago, the world was at peace, humans and demons coexisted peacefully.
Five years ago, I was in the carriage with my parents, until they got murdered by the forest bandits.
Five years ago, as an 18 year old girl, I wandered from city to city, begging, crawling, doing whatever I could to survive.
And it was Five years ago, where I just so happen to find the Demon Prince's scroll that fell out of the sky. It was a message to the capital, a celebration of the 100 years of peace between humans and demons. I scoffed at the word peace. Around the continent there were people like me suffering, not from demons, but due to cruelty and greed of humans. Sometimes I wished the war continued and maybe, humans would be a little more compassionate to their own kind.
That's when it hit me, I could take my revenge. I could eliminate human greed forever. This was a god sent opportunity.
I walked down the isle,and for the first time in my life I saw the "love of my life" Beelzebub.
"It's been 5 long years darling, and finally I've freed you from your captives. Half your disgusting race is gone and our wish has finally come to fruition." Despite having millions of people slain by his hands, I can't help but think of him as naive little child, the exact same one I wrote to five years ago. It's hard to think how far I have come, after months of the most cliche and mushy exchange of scrolls, I finally convinced this disgustingly innocent demon prince into my own personal pawn.
"I now present to the world the new Demon King Beelzebub, and his wife Queen Eris!"
Hordes of demons cheers and applause while the new Demon King looks at me with obvious passion in his eyes.
'He did fulfil my wish, let just pretend I care for him somewhat.'
I flashed him the brightest smile that I could muster, but my eyes remain stone cold.
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
In our first letters to each other, I found out three things about Lily.
One, that she really liked cats. I mean, 'cat-decal-everything-paw-print-patterns' level.
(I'm more of a dog kinda guy, but I can appreciate their charm.)
Two was that she was the daughter of a single mother, who had no siblings but a very large extended family that she loved very dearly even if they did cause one hell of a ruckus.
And three was that she was the princess of a demonic kingdom (queendom? Is that a thing?) and destined to ascend the throne once her mother would finish her 1000-year reign.
See, I'm not totally sure how we even ended up writing to each other in the first place. One day you set up a personal mailbox outside your window and draw a pentacle and other assorted demonic imagery on it for the giggles, and the next morning you find a scroll with very neat (if very tiny) handwriting in something that may or may not be blood addressed to some dude who's clearly not you.
But y'know, when a girl initiates a conversation it's rude to not reply.
So that's how it went for the next decade or so. We exchanged monthly letters/scrolls about anything and everything (can you believe they don't have *beer* in Hell but they have *grape juice*? Not even wine, just. Grape juice.) that came to mind. I taught her a little about life upon our mortal plane of existence (*'no Lily, radios do *not* have tiny men inside them'*), and in return, she taught me a little Latin and provided me with sketches and drawings she wanted some critique on.
To be honest, sometimes I looked forward to her letters more than anything else. With Lily, I felt as if I could open up and spill the things I'd be hiding from everyone else in my life. Neither of us ever talked about escalating things beyond friendship, but looking back it should have been painfully obvious to me that I was unconsciously crushing *hard* on her. On some girl, who I'd never even met face-to-face before.
(I didn't want to make things uncomfortable, so I squashed those feelings.)
From time to time she'd make an offhand comment about how the infighting in her family was steadily getting worse as her mother's term came to an end, or how she'd be pressured to find a suitable king-consort. I tried to sympathise as best as I could, but it was times like these that reminded me of just how different a life Lily lived.
Fast forward to my final year in my Communications degree, where she sent an especially long letter. By then, I had been kicked out of the house and Lily's mother was a year away from abdicating the throne. I chuckled at her stories of clumsy attempts of humiliation and inhaled sharply at the tales of assassinations (both failed and successful). It had just been any other letter for us.
So, of course, it completely came at me out of nowhere when at the end in her tiny neat handwriting she meekly asked if I would like to come live with her.
(*'But I'm not forcing you or anything!'*, she had written. *'I just get a little lonely sometimes. And...I'd really like to hear what your voice sounds like.'*)
I had never written a reply and smashed it into my battered old mailbox so quickly before.
I have no regrets, of course. Sure, I'm going to live somewhere that doesn't show up on Google Maps and I'll be leaving behind literally everyone I've known. But I'm finally going to get to meet the girl who made life worth living and be able to live with her by the end of November. I just hope my degree will actually net me a useful job down in Hell.
But hey. At least I don't have to worry about getting paid.
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
"Oh Eris, you look beautiful. Truly beauty befitting of King Beelzebub's tastes."
I was wearing an elaborate black wedding gown, face powdered with pasty white makeup, sitting in front of the mirror and was about to be the wed to the Demon Prince, or rather after today, the Demon King.
Five years ago, the world was at peace, humans and demons coexisted peacefully.
Five years ago, I was in the carriage with my parents, until they got murdered by the forest bandits.
Five years ago, as an 18 year old girl, I wandered from city to city, begging, crawling, doing whatever I could to survive.
And it was Five years ago, where I just so happen to find the Demon Prince's scroll that fell out of the sky. It was a message to the capital, a celebration of the 100 years of peace between humans and demons. I scoffed at the word peace. Around the continent there were people like me suffering, not from demons, but due to cruelty and greed of humans. Sometimes I wished the war continued and maybe, humans would be a little more compassionate to their own kind.
That's when it hit me, I could take my revenge. I could eliminate human greed forever. This was a god sent opportunity.
I walked down the isle,and for the first time in my life I saw the "love of my life" Beelzebub.
"It's been 5 long years darling, and finally I've freed you from your captives. Half your disgusting race is gone and our wish has finally come to fruition." Despite having millions of people slain by his hands, I can't help but think of him as naive little child, the exact same one I wrote to five years ago. It's hard to think how far I have come, after months of the most cliche and mushy exchange of scrolls, I finally convinced this disgustingly innocent demon prince into my own personal pawn.
"I now present to the world the new Demon King Beelzebub, and his wife Queen Eris!"
Hordes of demons cheers and applause while the new Demon King looks at me with obvious passion in his eyes.
'He did fulfil my wish, let just pretend I care for him somewhat.'
I flashed him the brightest smile that I could muster, but my eyes remain stone cold.
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
"From the depths of Hell, you have raised me. You, my Enchantress, have brought heat to my fires, which now burn, the most terrible and fierce in the realm. Their flames have enslaved many, and I owe my prosperity and power to your relentless devotion. Stand with me as my Queen. By my side, you will have more than eternal life and riches. I will give you fire, fire to burn the darkness in your soul. We will rule together and forever bask in the light and warmth we have created."
Layla gripped the scroll, tucked away in the front pocket of her hoodie. His words danced over and over in her mind as a lingering melody. As she walked, she dodged the light of a flickering street-lamp, retreating to the safety of an old park tree. Her back slid down the trunk deliberately. As she sat, she gave one last good-bye glance to the cold, dark world she knew, and knew she wouldn't miss. She pulled out the scroll and her favorite pen. Not as elaquent as her Master, she settled for a single word before she vanished, consumed by shadows.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
There is a rock formation near Bilbao, Spain, which is notable for its incongruence with the rest of its surroundings. It resembles two obelisks, at the very edge of a sheer drop off a cliff, almost as if they were stone giants who had perched themselves there. A smaller, rounder cousin lingers a few feet behind, welded into the ground. Science does not go very far in explaining how this trio of stone came to be.
My grandmother, on the other hands, offers this explanation. She claims her grandmother told it to her, and we presumed that it was passed down in kind to *her*. We believe this story to be very, very old.
And as the story goes, a girl from the nearby village, one Camila, was known for her beauty and her wisdom. Lively, adventurous, she commanded attention the way steel rods on buildings attract lightning. Her heart was kind, her touch was light, and her words fell with the grace of the first snows of winter. Little wonder then that families travelled from afar to watch this Camila sing and dance and play, and many a parent schemed to have her marry their sons.
Foremost amongst her suitors was Mateo, son of the village chief. He was blessed with good looks and an boisterous personality, and it was often said that you could hear his laugh before you caught sight of him. In fact, the village chief was so sure that Camila would accept Mateo's proposal of marriage that preparations were underway even before she formally accepted. Merriment coursed through the village as everyone looked forward to Camila coming into their fold.
So it was that the wise woman of the village found Camila at her doorstep one morning, banging on the doors so hard that the hinges creaked. Distress was written plainly on Camila's face, and her tale was so fanciful and far-fetched that the wise woman wondered if Camila was simply having the same jitters which inflict a fair number of brides-to-be.
Camila, of course, was prepared with proof. Proof in the form of a hundred, two hundred letters, half of them filled with Camila's careful, precise script, and the other emblazoned with powerful writing, as if a typhoon had learned to pick up a brush. Proof in the consistency of detail in Camila's story. Proof in the form of a wispy, shadowy figure behind Camila, his headdress held respectfully between his hands.
Camila's tale was straight-forward enough. She liked Mateo, but only as a brother. Her heart had long tended towards her friend at her side now, one with whom she had spent the last ten years corresponding with over letters. Camila called him Ulix, a 'prince from far shores', but the tiny nubs of horns on the stranger's foreheard left little doubt in the wise woman's mind as to his true nature. Camila did not know what to do, and so she had come to the wise woman for help.
And it seemed that Mateo had heard of this interloper as well, the one who would threaten his chances of marital bliss with the wonderful Camila. For Mateo then trundled up the pathway to the wise woman's house as well, with a collection of musclemen behind him, their pitchforks raised and unflinching. With one voice, they demanded that Camila desist from her foolishness, that she give up her heart to Mateo only.
The wise women grasped the situation quickly, and pandering to the pride of the hot-headed young man and otherworldly being before her, gave them three tasks to complete. Her message was clear and unmistakable - whoever performed the tasks best would win her approval for the impending marriage with Camila.
Over three days and three nights did Mateo and Ulix persevere at their tasks, and they returned to present the fruits of their labour to the wise woman. The entire village had gathered to hear the final judgment, and the silence which baked as the wise woman mulled over her words was defeaning.
Eventually, the wise woman pronounced Ulix the victor. See here, the wise woman said. The first task was to make Camila happy, and here Mateo had laboured to gather an assortment of invaluable gifts and presents. In contrast, Ulix had but acquired a small tome of writings from passing peddlers, poems and stories from her favourite authors, yet it had livened Camila up much more. Ulix, and not Mateo, truly understood what it was that Camila desired.
The second task was to demonstrate how much Camila meant to them, and here Mateo had also endeavored to amass the riches which he would be sharing with her. In contrast, Ulix had but set out the ways in which he had changed over the years as a result of Camila's advice. Ulix recounted how Camila's counsel had changed the way he saw the world, the way he treated his subjects, and how it had stood him well in his claim for succession to the throne. Again, it was Ulix, and not Mateo, who truly benefited from what Camila could offer to give.
The third task was to convince the wise woman what life they had planned for Camila after the marriage. Mateo was crystal clear in describing the life of comfort which awaited Camila, where her greatest burdens would be to continue the family line and to mother the brood. In contrast, Ulix set out the ways in which he would ask Camila to share the toils of their existence, the tasks he would entrust to her, the dependence he would place on her. The wise woman noted the rising fury from the gathered crowd as these strange ideals were shared, but deep inside, she knew the choice was clear.
With the wise woman's blessing, Ulix and Camila set off to return to his kingdom. Ulix warned everyone not to follow, for his magic could only convey him and his chosen passenger. But Mateo did not heed that warning. Blinded by anger, prickled by wounded pride, he trailed after them, a dagger hidden, waiting to be sprung.
No one actually saw the final confrontation, but the unusual flurry of lightning that evening served only as invitation for one and all to investigate. Led by the wise woman, they retraced the final steps of Ulix and Camila, and found that very rock formation at the edges of the cliffs.
Some say that Ulix and Camila made it to their destination, and that they had left obelisks in place so that people would remember them.
Others say that Mateo had interrupted them, and had prevented them from leaving, though he sacrificed his own wellbeing in the process. These people point to the fact that Mateo never returned.
Be that as it may, the rock formation stands there to this day, testament to both the best and the worst of what we can be.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"From the depths of Hell, you have raised me. You, my Enchantress, have brought heat to my fires, which now burn, the most terrible and fierce in the realm. Their flames have enslaved many, and I owe my prosperity and power to your relentless devotion. Stand with me as my Queen. By my side, you will have more than eternal life and riches. I will give you fire, fire to burn the darkness in your soul. We will rule together and forever bask in the light and warmth we have created."
Layla gripped the scroll, tucked away in the front pocket of her hoodie. His words danced over and over in her mind as a lingering melody. As she walked, she dodged the light of a flickering street-lamp, retreating to the safety of an old park tree. Her back slid down the trunk deliberately. As she sat, she gave one last good-bye glance to the cold, dark world she knew, and knew she wouldn't miss. She pulled out the scroll and her favorite pen. Not as elaquent as her Master, she settled for a single word before she vanished, consumed by shadows.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
I shuffled my papers. "This clause about the owning of souls is completely absurd."
Archaeoblix grinned. "Ah, you read that bit. I thought you would."
"And the bit in invisible ink? About ten thousand years in the lower planes sf hell? Not happening babe."
"How about the bit about-"
"-Devouring my unborn child? That would also be *your* unborn child, so that would be inadvisable."
"It's just a tradition. While we're at it, I noticed you snuck something into your side about me doing laundry for all eternity."
"I can't stand the folding!"
"We'll have a servant do it. And the bit about daily foot rubs until time dies?"
"...Yes?"
He smiled. "We'll leave that one in."
|
She wasn't sure what to say. No, she forced herself to be more honest, she wasn't sure how to say no.
She loved the prince, that much was true. But not in this way. He knew that she wanted to be a priestess, so why would he write something like this to her? It wasn't fair!
He knew how badly she wanted to say yes, was that it? Did he want to taunt her one last time before his coronation, rub it in that she would not be able to attend? Was this some sort of petty revenge?
What if this was a trick? What if this was him being honest? What if she said yes?
What would happen if they got married.
Would he throw it all away to be with her, to abdicate the throne to spend his everlasting life with a her?
Would she have to throw it all away to spend her life until her dying days in hell with the one man in this world that she truly loved?
She wrote out her reply. No. They both knew what was better for the two of them. She never sent it.
This marriage proposal would be their final scroll.
But her reply would have been yes.
|
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
|
There is a rock formation near Bilbao, Spain, which is notable for its incongruence with the rest of its surroundings. It resembles two obelisks, at the very edge of a sheer drop off a cliff, almost as if they were stone giants who had perched themselves there. A smaller, rounder cousin lingers a few feet behind, welded into the ground. Science does not go very far in explaining how this trio of stone came to be.
My grandmother, on the other hands, offers this explanation. She claims her grandmother told it to her, and we presumed that it was passed down in kind to *her*. We believe this story to be very, very old.
And as the story goes, a girl from the nearby village, one Camila, was known for her beauty and her wisdom. Lively, adventurous, she commanded attention the way steel rods on buildings attract lightning. Her heart was kind, her touch was light, and her words fell with the grace of the first snows of winter. Little wonder then that families travelled from afar to watch this Camila sing and dance and play, and many a parent schemed to have her marry their sons.
Foremost amongst her suitors was Mateo, son of the village chief. He was blessed with good looks and an boisterous personality, and it was often said that you could hear his laugh before you caught sight of him. In fact, the village chief was so sure that Camila would accept Mateo's proposal of marriage that preparations were underway even before she formally accepted. Merriment coursed through the village as everyone looked forward to Camila coming into their fold.
So it was that the wise woman of the village found Camila at her doorstep one morning, banging on the doors so hard that the hinges creaked. Distress was written plainly on Camila's face, and her tale was so fanciful and far-fetched that the wise woman wondered if Camila was simply having the same jitters which inflict a fair number of brides-to-be.
Camila, of course, was prepared with proof. Proof in the form of a hundred, two hundred letters, half of them filled with Camila's careful, precise script, and the other emblazoned with powerful writing, as if a typhoon had learned to pick up a brush. Proof in the consistency of detail in Camila's story. Proof in the form of a wispy, shadowy figure behind Camila, his headdress held respectfully between his hands.
Camila's tale was straight-forward enough. She liked Mateo, but only as a brother. Her heart had long tended towards her friend at her side now, one with whom she had spent the last ten years corresponding with over letters. Camila called him Ulix, a 'prince from far shores', but the tiny nubs of horns on the stranger's foreheard left little doubt in the wise woman's mind as to his true nature. Camila did not know what to do, and so she had come to the wise woman for help.
And it seemed that Mateo had heard of this interloper as well, the one who would threaten his chances of marital bliss with the wonderful Camila. For Mateo then trundled up the pathway to the wise woman's house as well, with a collection of musclemen behind him, their pitchforks raised and unflinching. With one voice, they demanded that Camila desist from her foolishness, that she give up her heart to Mateo only.
The wise women grasped the situation quickly, and pandering to the pride of the hot-headed young man and otherworldly being before her, gave them three tasks to complete. Her message was clear and unmistakable - whoever performed the tasks best would win her approval for the impending marriage with Camila.
Over three days and three nights did Mateo and Ulix persevere at their tasks, and they returned to present the fruits of their labour to the wise woman. The entire village had gathered to hear the final judgment, and the silence which baked as the wise woman mulled over her words was defeaning.
Eventually, the wise woman pronounced Ulix the victor. See here, the wise woman said. The first task was to make Camila happy, and here Mateo had laboured to gather an assortment of invaluable gifts and presents. In contrast, Ulix had but acquired a small tome of writings from passing peddlers, poems and stories from her favourite authors, yet it had livened Camila up much more. Ulix, and not Mateo, truly understood what it was that Camila desired.
The second task was to demonstrate how much Camila meant to them, and here Mateo had also endeavored to amass the riches which he would be sharing with her. In contrast, Ulix had but set out the ways in which he had changed over the years as a result of Camila's advice. Ulix recounted how Camila's counsel had changed the way he saw the world, the way he treated his subjects, and how it had stood him well in his claim for succession to the throne. Again, it was Ulix, and not Mateo, who truly benefited from what Camila could offer to give.
The third task was to convince the wise woman what life they had planned for Camila after the marriage. Mateo was crystal clear in describing the life of comfort which awaited Camila, where her greatest burdens would be to continue the family line and to mother the brood. In contrast, Ulix set out the ways in which he would ask Camila to share the toils of their existence, the tasks he would entrust to her, the dependence he would place on her. The wise woman noted the rising fury from the gathered crowd as these strange ideals were shared, but deep inside, she knew the choice was clear.
With the wise woman's blessing, Ulix and Camila set off to return to his kingdom. Ulix warned everyone not to follow, for his magic could only convey him and his chosen passenger. But Mateo did not heed that warning. Blinded by anger, prickled by wounded pride, he trailed after them, a dagger hidden, waiting to be sprung.
No one actually saw the final confrontation, but the unusual flurry of lightning that evening served only as invitation for one and all to investigate. Led by the wise woman, they retraced the final steps of Ulix and Camila, and found that very rock formation at the edges of the cliffs.
Some say that Ulix and Camila made it to their destination, and that they had left obelisks in place so that people would remember them.
Others say that Mateo had interrupted them, and had prevented them from leaving, though he sacrificed his own wellbeing in the process. These people point to the fact that Mateo never returned.
Be that as it may, the rock formation stands there to this day, testament to both the best and the worst of what we can be.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
She wasn't sure what to say. No, she forced herself to be more honest, she wasn't sure how to say no.
She loved the prince, that much was true. But not in this way. He knew that she wanted to be a priestess, so why would he write something like this to her? It wasn't fair!
He knew how badly she wanted to say yes, was that it? Did he want to taunt her one last time before his coronation, rub it in that she would not be able to attend? Was this some sort of petty revenge?
What if this was a trick? What if this was him being honest? What if she said yes?
What would happen if they got married.
Would he throw it all away to be with her, to abdicate the throne to spend his everlasting life with a her?
Would she have to throw it all away to spend her life until her dying days in hell with the one man in this world that she truly loved?
She wrote out her reply. No. They both knew what was better for the two of them. She never sent it.
This marriage proposal would be their final scroll.
But her reply would have been yes.
|
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