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[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
"Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do."
|
*I turn to the indicated page.*
*It's the same result.*
*I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened.*
*The same ending again.*
*I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously.*
 
"Jesus Christ! Did **all** of my choices lead to me dying?"
 
*He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need:* "Of course. How could they not?"
|
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428.
I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92.
But then I turned to page 428:
*"Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all."*
*"No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile."*
*Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537.*
*Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619.*
In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537.
*You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back."*
*"What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry.*
*He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own."*
*You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!"*
The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor.
r/blairdaniels
|
*I turn to the indicated page.*
*It's the same result.*
*I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened.*
*The same ending again.*
*I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously.*
 
"Jesus Christ! Did **all** of my choices lead to me dying?"
 
*He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need:* "Of course. How could they not?"
|
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
"Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do."
|
"I know the page number you want. 14508."
I looked to God expectantly. He did, I suppose, know my heart. Gingerly, the pages flicked between my fingertips as I searched for the correct page. So many years had passed, wondering. Two marriages and two divorces, too. No children because I couldn't imagine myself having them with anyone else. My heart sank when I saw your name. I would finally know.
There was so much death. It was difficult to follow any alternative decisions because my life ended shortly thereafter. Every path, it seemed, was cursed.
"Turn to 26756."
I glanced up, and he wasn't even looking at me. My attention turned back to the book; it was large enough to smell like a bookstore all by itself. I love that smell. A sigh escaped my lips as I realized where the text had taken place. It was the day I asked you to marry me. The last day we ever spoke.
Unlike the rest of the book, this didn't have my alternative choice; I suppose I never had one. Instead, it was yours. What would have happened if you had said yes? Tears dripped off my chin. I don't think I stopped reading that book for days. The day you came out to your parents. The day we got married, both of us clad in white wedding dresses. The day I graduated with my doctorate degree. The day I found you convulsing after downing an entire bottle of pills. The day I had to admit you to the psychiatric ward for the fifth time. And the sixth, seventh, and eighth. It went on for thousands of pages; for every decision we made that kept our lives going, there were five where either you or I died. It was such a delicate life that we could have had together.
I reached the final page of our potential lives together. Both of us sat cross-legged, foreheads touching, and a gun in hand, held to the temple of the other. Wherever you wanted to go, I followed. It was finally time. No alternative choices. I closed the book.
"She didn't want this life for you."
"It shouldn't have been her choice."
|
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428.
I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92.
But then I turned to page 428:
*"Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all."*
*"No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile."*
*Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537.*
*Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619.*
In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537.
*You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back."*
*"What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry.*
*He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own."*
*You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!"*
The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor.
r/blairdaniels
|
"I know the page number you want. 14508."
I looked to God expectantly. He did, I suppose, know my heart. Gingerly, the pages flicked between my fingertips as I searched for the correct page. So many years had passed, wondering. Two marriages and two divorces, too. No children because I couldn't imagine myself having them with anyone else. My heart sank when I saw your name. I would finally know.
There was so much death. It was difficult to follow any alternative decisions because my life ended shortly thereafter. Every path, it seemed, was cursed.
"Turn to 26756."
I glanced up, and he wasn't even looking at me. My attention turned back to the book; it was large enough to smell like a bookstore all by itself. I love that smell. A sigh escaped my lips as I realized where the text had taken place. It was the day I asked you to marry me. The last day we ever spoke.
Unlike the rest of the book, this didn't have my alternative choice; I suppose I never had one. Instead, it was yours. What would have happened if you had said yes? Tears dripped off my chin. I don't think I stopped reading that book for days. The day you came out to your parents. The day we got married, both of us clad in white wedding dresses. The day I graduated with my doctorate degree. The day I found you convulsing after downing an entire bottle of pills. The day I had to admit you to the psychiatric ward for the fifth time. And the sixth, seventh, and eighth. It went on for thousands of pages; for every decision we made that kept our lives going, there were five where either you or I died. It was such a delicate life that we could have had together.
I reached the final page of our potential lives together. Both of us sat cross-legged, foreheads touching, and a gun in hand, held to the temple of the other. Wherever you wanted to go, I followed. It was finally time. No alternative choices. I closed the book.
"She didn't want this life for you."
"It shouldn't have been her choice."
|
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428.
I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92.
But then I turned to page 428:
*"Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all."*
*"No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile."*
*Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537.*
*Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619.*
In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537.
*You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back."*
*"What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry.*
*He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own."*
*You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!"*
The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor.
r/blairdaniels
|
**Please let me know what you think!**
The book looked oddly delicate for something so big. The plain, black covers were frayed and the pages within soft and thin, tearing away from the spine in some places. It looked like a book that had been shelved, and re-shelved often, loved and read over and over again.
My name was written on the first page, not in some curlicued calligraphy, but with a plain, steady typewriter font. I couldn't help finding that oddly appropriate.
I had expected some novel, some plain and staid recounting of my life. But the contents had belied the plain cover.
"You have a choice," I read. "Do you choose to accept Malcolm's proposal?"
I had turned him down. In reality, I had decided to leave him behind, to forge my own career, rather than support his. What would have happened, I wondered, if I had chosen to stay?
I had heard someone say that, for every choice we didn't make, there was another universe, where we did make that choice. Had some other version of me made the decision to stay? What had her life been?
Almost of their own volition, my hands turned the page. I only caught a glimpse of the words at the top of the page.
*'Yes,' you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. 'I'll marry you.'*
My fingers brushed over the words, and suddenly they were words no longer. I was standing in front of a grinning, jubilant Malcolm, as he slid the ring over my finger.
A lifetime flashed through my mind, or perhaps it was only a few minutes. It was hard to tell the difference.
A wedding, in some garden, laughter and joy as I walked down the aisle. Standing behind Malcolm at a rally, clapping and cheering as he talked. Even to my own eyes, I seemed young and idealistic. I lived through the birth of one child, then another, watching them grow and mature. Bittersweet tears ran down my cheeks. I could have had that. I could have had a life and children and a loving husband. I had become involved in various charities, making a real difference in real lives.
And then, as abruptly as the barrage of images had started, they stopped, with no clear ending.
"What happened?" I asked.
The dark figure who had brought me here, to this library said nothing. But I realised that it didn't need to answer.
"I died first," I said numbly. "The other me, the one who chose to marry him, outlived me. Her story's not done yet."
I wiped the tears away. "Good for her. I know she'll make good choices."
There was a soft question, so quiet that I almost missed it.
"Do you regret not marrying him?"
I thought of my quiet life, and my cat. I thought of the occasional dates I had and the solitude of my home. I thought of my sister and her brilliant, vibrant family. I remembered my niece, and my nephews and their adoration of their slightly insane aunt. I thought of my promising career, and of dying young. My life may not have been exciting, but I had been content.
And I thought of the other me, who had married a man she had loved and had had children who surprised and amazed her. I remembered her tiredness and frustration with her routine life. But, in the end, she had been content with her life, too.
I laughed, "No, I don't regret it. I don't regret making my choice. No life is perfect."
A shadowy hand flipped through the pages and I saw yet another choice on the page. I settled down to read, to watch the lives I could have led and the people I could have been.
/r/YarnsToTell
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[WP] There it is again. The nightmare. You've had it so many times, you have learned to wake yourself up before the killer even gets into the house. Except this time, you realize you cant wake up because you aren't asleep.
|
At first it was a vision, a random collection of ideas, a feeling that I woke up with. Reality flooded back to me leaving me with only pieces of a story. Although I'd like to believe that I brushed it off easily, it left a mark. It was kind of like the feeling of an aftertaste, except it was a stain on my composure. I was left uneasy, unsure of myself, at least for a while.
It was back soon. A strange sense of déjà vu was all I felt before my mind began to process the rest. Unlike the dreams I normally have, I only could remember small details at a time. There was a cold atmosphere, footsteps echoing. Something crashing, breaking. It always feels surreal, not like a dream, something even more abstract than that.
I called it my "exergasia", a repeating idea that seemed to become clearer each time. Each repetition seemed to bring a new understanding. The day I wondered if something malicious was haunting me was followed by the night that I heard the footsteps grow near. I heard every step getting louder and louder, in a manner that felt calm but eerily unnatural. I managed to force myself awake when the door opened.
The dream felt more solid since that point. It was no longer vague. I realized that it took place in my own home. Thinking about it now, I'm sure subconsciously I knew it did before that day, but it was jarring nonetheless to know now for sure. I wish I could describe the primal, irrational terror that I felt each time from that point, but other than the noises and the feint crack of light caused by the door opening, I was left, both literally and figuratively, in the dark.
This continued for a while, although I can't say how long it's been. Time grew fuzzy with my lack of sleep. I began staying up, reading, studying chess, anything to keep my mind off of the unexplained horror I felt. When I did fall asleep, I managed to wake myself up shortly, dozing off for a few minutes at a time, keeping myself distanced from some moment I desperately wanted to avoid at the end of the dream. That was then. I feel calm now. The night the dream described happened and came to pass. At first I thought it was a dream again, but the noises felt louder, my panic felt real. My head ached and my arms shook sporadically. A slender figure emerged from the door, his footsteps becoming loud pounds. I tried to look at him, to see what I've been fearing for what must be months now, but I couldn't. I can't explain why, but I just was simply unable to keep my vision fixated on the figure. At some point during the creature's approach, I realized that I was screaming, but the world started to feel distant, everything felt muffled behind an excruciating headache. I was convinced that that creature, whatever it was wanted to harm me, likely even kill me. It's not just a feeling, it's instinct. Please. I urge you to sign the attached letter to have me released from this ward. I can't remember what happened that night, but I know it's still out there. I can feel it. I can hear the pounding, echoing, and the rage of that supernatural beast and I need you to help me be free. I'm sorry I hid this from you, I hope you understand now.
Love, Dad
|
My mind is but a den of nightmares, a cursed, wretched thing that haunts me as I sleep.
They come the same, upon a night of rain and thunder. A kind of chilling unease that I am not alone, even in the lonely house within which I dwell.
First it strikes the lights, and sends me into the dark. The last thing I see is the seven-fourteen of the alarm at my bedside, and then darkness. There comes the occasional crack of thunder, and with it, a fleeting light which does little to put me at ease.
Then there comes a knocking, not upon the door of my home, but the window beside that which I sleep. I turn to face it, as always, and see no figure, but fear nonetheless. I know not at the time that a figure lurks outside my dwelling, not unless my mind clears just enough – if only to let me see the nightmare for what it is, for just a moment.
My phone does not work in those moments, whether by will or by fault. The screen reads as no legible script, and the faint light which emanates from its metal confines does not light my surroundings in the slightest.
Like many times before, I choose not to carry the phone with me as I pace the halls of my family home, long since handed to me by a father long since passed.
The flickering shadows of the trees dance upon the walls as I make my steady waltz, part of me knows not to fear the branches, but a flicker of mine eye reveals a figure cast by shadow, only visible in a time when I held little focus.
Then comes the doorknob, rattling with a thunderous might. And like many times before, I take this as my cue to leave, to force my mind to break free of its own prison. But unlike the times which I had fled from so easily, there comes no respite from my nightmare, and instead; the door swings open.
There comes before me a stranger, shrouded in black and woe.
And as he advances, I hope that my nightmare ends soon.
* * *
/r/khaarus
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[WP] There it is again. The nightmare. You've had it so many times, you have learned to wake yourself up before the killer even gets into the house. Except this time, you realize you cant wake up because you aren't asleep.
|
At first it was a vision, a random collection of ideas, a feeling that I woke up with. Reality flooded back to me leaving me with only pieces of a story. Although I'd like to believe that I brushed it off easily, it left a mark. It was kind of like the feeling of an aftertaste, except it was a stain on my composure. I was left uneasy, unsure of myself, at least for a while.
It was back soon. A strange sense of déjà vu was all I felt before my mind began to process the rest. Unlike the dreams I normally have, I only could remember small details at a time. There was a cold atmosphere, footsteps echoing. Something crashing, breaking. It always feels surreal, not like a dream, something even more abstract than that.
I called it my "exergasia", a repeating idea that seemed to become clearer each time. Each repetition seemed to bring a new understanding. The day I wondered if something malicious was haunting me was followed by the night that I heard the footsteps grow near. I heard every step getting louder and louder, in a manner that felt calm but eerily unnatural. I managed to force myself awake when the door opened.
The dream felt more solid since that point. It was no longer vague. I realized that it took place in my own home. Thinking about it now, I'm sure subconsciously I knew it did before that day, but it was jarring nonetheless to know now for sure. I wish I could describe the primal, irrational terror that I felt each time from that point, but other than the noises and the feint crack of light caused by the door opening, I was left, both literally and figuratively, in the dark.
This continued for a while, although I can't say how long it's been. Time grew fuzzy with my lack of sleep. I began staying up, reading, studying chess, anything to keep my mind off of the unexplained horror I felt. When I did fall asleep, I managed to wake myself up shortly, dozing off for a few minutes at a time, keeping myself distanced from some moment I desperately wanted to avoid at the end of the dream. That was then. I feel calm now. The night the dream described happened and came to pass. At first I thought it was a dream again, but the noises felt louder, my panic felt real. My head ached and my arms shook sporadically. A slender figure emerged from the door, his footsteps becoming loud pounds. I tried to look at him, to see what I've been fearing for what must be months now, but I couldn't. I can't explain why, but I just was simply unable to keep my vision fixated on the figure. At some point during the creature's approach, I realized that I was screaming, but the world started to feel distant, everything felt muffled behind an excruciating headache. I was convinced that that creature, whatever it was wanted to harm me, likely even kill me. It's not just a feeling, it's instinct. Please. I urge you to sign the attached letter to have me released from this ward. I can't remember what happened that night, but I know it's still out there. I can feel it. I can hear the pounding, echoing, and the rage of that supernatural beast and I need you to help me be free. I'm sorry I hid this from you, I hope you understand now.
Love, Dad
|
He is coming.
The flickering of a single fluorescent light in the hallway. The winds beat against the windows, howling murder. The owl calls. I counted four hoots, to a rhythm I have etched in my heart. Make no mistake: My killer is coming.
Sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I subconsciously draw my arms in toward myself, breathing shallowly as I vainly hide beneath my sheets. I know hiding won't work. It never did.
I heard the distinct creak of the floorboards leading to my bedroom, creeping towards me slowly, pealing my impending doom. I know if I do not wake myself up now, it will be too late to escape death.
In a well-practiced manner, I grab my arm, squeeze my eyes shut and pinch down hard.
But when my eyes open, the warm pierce of morning light does not welcome me. The wind still howls, the dark of night still covers my room. And my killer is still inching towards my room, each step echoing murder down the hallway.
Terror has come upon me now. I shake within my bed now, praying for someone to come save me. That somehow, someone will know that a murderer has come for me, and will sweep in at the last second to rescue me from my would-be assassin.
My prayers appeared to be in vain, as the creaking continued to march towards my bedroom door. Finally the door began to creak open, the flickering light beginning to stream into my room.
Suddenly, a small voice calls out to me, telling me something. It sounded alien at first, but an equally alien feeling quickly grew within me.
It was a voice of assurance. That I would be somehow alright.
I suddenly remembered what I purposed in myself for this moment, what needed to be done.
As the door finally lay fully open, I pushed the headboard, and a shotgun came barreling out of the hidden compartment. In a swift motion I brandished it and let off a warning shot at my attacker's feet.
"Get out of my home!" I roared.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/Script_Writes
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[WP] on 28jun2009, Stephen Hawking threw a party for time travellers, then claimed no one showed up. After some of his possessions are donated to your museum, a lost video recording of the party is discovered. Everyone gathers around to watch.
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Everyone gathered around the screen, eagerly anticipating what was to come. John, in particular, was very nervous. Having worked with Hawking in the last few years of his life, he had gotten close enough to the renowed scientist for him to confide secrets to him. And one of those secrets had been especially tantalizing: he had deliberately lied about something major in his life, and possessed a video to prove it which would only be released after his death.
Hand trembling, he put the DVD in, and pressed "Play". The video opened up with Hawking sitting in his wheelchair, in a room that for some reason had a boom box positioned behind him, talking through the robotic voice that was so familiar to everyone. But what he said was a total shock.
"Ha ha ha, did you really think time travel existed? Didn't you rubes listen to what I said? It's impossible to go back in time!" They were beginning to pull away, bitterly disappointed, but were stopped when Hawking said "but wait, there is one thing you'll be shocked by in this video." Still bitterly disappointed but intrigued, they sat as Hawking said "I faked the whole ALS thing." Then, in a natural and not robotic voice, and with his mouth clearly moving, he shouted "NOW LET'S DANCE BITCHES!" Suddenly, he jumped up from his chair and ran to the back, turning on the boom box, which played out a very familiar 1990s tune.
All were speechless as Stephen Hawking danced the Macarena.
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"Why is this so important?" John said, rolling his eyes at their newest archivist.
"This is from the Hawking estate. He donated all his things except his money and house to the museum remember."
"Yeah, So?"
"Well, this tape is dated June 28th 2009."
"Yeah, his time-traveller party joke. No one showed up."
"Exactly, except look at the screen, five people, Dice, AR projections of fantasy creatures on the table at about model scale. And, look closer do you recognize the person sitting at the head of the table."
"Is... Is that Gary Gygax... Didn't he Die in 2008?"
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[WP] You start recruiting various criminals into your employ to help defend the kingdom (seven deadly sins style). This effectively gives them a job, with cool coworkers, flexible schedule, and free meals!
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“Lieutenant Commander Lynch –“
“Please, I left the Navy a long time ago,” he interrupted, the senator raised an eyebrow, “Mr will do fine,” the senator nodded and cleared his throat.
“Mr Lynch, would you be able to outline to us today this so called…” he took a second glance at the document, “Dirty work, program?”
“Senator Phillips, your son served in the United States Marine Corps, didn’t he?” Mr Lynch asked poignantly.
“Please answer the question,” the senator ordered sharply.
“I understand he experienced some PTSD as a result of his service,” he added, the senator was about to protest but was cut off, “As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, it’s a great shame that we take some of the pillars of this society such as your son and send them to war, to kill and to do our government’s dirty work when they would be much better served leading us in various business or political sectors,”
“Get to the point please Mr Lynch,” the senator said, showing incredible restraint, “And leave my son out of this.”
“The CIA has come across various individuals during our efforts that have displayed exceptional talent in various areas we conduct ourselves –“
“Areas?”
“Assassination, kidnapping, extortion, political tomfoolery and so on,” he listed off, “and so we leave ourselves in a position once we obtain such individuals. Let me give you an example. Inside the folder I’ve given you is a brief personnel file,” he nodded at the secretary who projected the file onto the wall behind him. Much of the file was redacted, except for an image of a young man staring hard into the camera. His eyes looked considerably older than the rest of him, “This is Jack Wyatt, he’s a martial arts expert with a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and Linguistics from Oxford University. He had disciplinary issues in his youth resulting in him being kicked out of multiple boarding schools. He’s not an inherently good person but he does his best. His father became an informant for the DIA and consequently put a target on the backs of his siblings. We discovered Mr Wyatt when a former Cambodian Khmer Rouge hit squad was paid to go to his home and kill him,” he nodded and the next slide came up, showing some crime scene photos of 5 corpses, the senators gasped, “Oh sorry I didn’t realise I’d left that in!” he joked, indicating again, the slide going back to Jack, “Mr Wyatt took down a 5 man professional death squad - by himself. No weapons, no forewarning, just good instincts a bit of luck and the kind of ice in his veins that you can’t train into someone at West Point or in boot camp. On agreement that protection would be provided for his siblings, Jack agreed to join our Dirty Work program. Let me tell you he’s very good at his job. People like this young man are the reason the TSA won’t allow nail clippers on a plane. We point, he shoots – or stabs or bludgeons or peels. This man has little to no remorse for the people he kills and if he was left to function alone in society he’d probably be sleeping with your wife or talking your shrink into killing themselves,” he indicated and the slide switched to an employment contract with a messy signature on it, “As part of the Dirty Work agreement, Mr Wyatt receives a salary from our black ops budget, he attends mandatory monthly sessions with a specially qualified CIA Psychiatrist, he receives the outline of a mission statement and is allowed to accept or reject any mission he receives provided he meets a monthly quota, allowing for a flexible work schedule. He has other co-workers – albeit they’re all trained killers and we sponsored his green card and medical insurance, dental too,” Lynch indicated to his own teeth, “Very important,” he added with his fingers still holding his mouth open, “Additionally we agreed a system of protecting Jack’s siblings in coordination with the DIA and the US Marshals Service witness protection program. The world is a little safer because A) Jack isn’t out there doing his own nefarious dealings and B) Jack is out there doing awful things to awful people so your children don’t have to. Thank you.”
Lynch stood there smiling, expecting an applause and receiving only concerned looks from the board.
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The seven strongest they said, this makes me so mad, everyone keep forgetting me, even the oldests forgotten me.
I am Ignorance, the forgotten sin, I deserve to fight among the strongest warriors, I don't care if they were criminals or not, I just want to feel adrenaline and fear again, a worthy enemy, someone who could make me fold my knees and then, I would have the opportunity to finally use it.
- ... Right, you seem pretty ignorant, you know they are the STRONGEST warriors, right? There's no place here for you
- I don't know and I don't care, give me a chance, otherwise I will destroy this entire place and you will contemplate, my power.
Asvaris thought he was kidding, the sin of ignorance? That's obviously a lie, or at least she thought.
- Fine, take this crystal, it has the power to absorb power, if you're as powerful and you say you're, then you can destroy the crystal.
Asvaris knew it wasn't fair, that crystal was made from dragon blood, it couldn't absorb no power whatsoever, but it was the most durable material in the world.
As soon Ignorance touched, it instantly broke, he hadn't used any power, just his raw strength.
- Well.. Sorry for that, I broke it before I could use my power.
- W-who are you!?
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Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
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[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
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My first memories were of George. I reached a chubby hand out to pat his head, my mouth and fingers sticky with the lollipop my other hand grasped. He mewed in protest before leaning into the pat.
Suddenly, he howled as my three year old self lunged at him. My toddler arms were too much for the old boy as he struggled against my impossible strength. He had watched me in a bassinet, struggling for breath as a baby and made the same noises to alert my parents that my little sighs had stopped. Now, he screamed for their help again.
"No, no, Jenn," my mother crooned, gently prying my arms off the cat. "Be nice to Georgie."
George dropped to the ground, snorting in disgust. I whined as he trotted away, my lollipop a gleaming red against his blue gray fur.
For years after, he avoided me. He became a silent fixture of our household, sulking between rooms for his next sunny patch or quietly crunching his food. I was less engaged. He might as well have been a picture hung on our wall; newcomers that caught a glimpse would politely comment on him before moving on.
It wasn't until I was in my early teens that he started to warm up to me again. I was sobbing over a broken heart when he stuck a curious nose up over the ottoman and chirped a tentative meow. I gasped a short laugh through the muck and tears.
"Are you the only boy that loves me?" I asked.
Without another word, he hopped up and nuzzled his way into my arms. I broke, shaking as I held him, and his deep, soft rumble warmed my heart.
His last day was the first of my adult life. In the time, we had become inseparable. He would run to the door as I arrived home from school, mewing and chatting about his day while I studied. He slept by my side through the night, his velvet paws stretching out in his sleep to touch my shoulder. He was loving and supportive as I applied to school after school, mopping up tears with his purrs and licking me with a sandpaper tongue when I finally opened an acceptance letter.
"He was almost twenty years old, hun," my mom said softly through the phone. "That's so old for a cat. He would want you to be happy at college. Finish unpacking, and we'll be down to visit next weekend."
Life went on with a small, undefined hole in it. I met people and learned. I climbed ladders and slid up and down the rungs. The world showed me new colors that grew vivid and faded with time. I flirted and dated and tragically fell in and out of love before finding love came in shades like the rest of the world's hues.
I lived in a quiet suburb, now, a place that would make my teal-haired teen self groan. We had a dog, Clarence, a floppy-tongued, shaggy mutt. We had a cat of the same silvery blue as George, but the cat had not been my idea. My husband had chosen him out with my five-year-old son over a pile of kittens in a parking lot and named him Bailey.
It was the afternoon, and I poured over a magazine while the water boiled on the stove. My son hummed while he chose a new color to rub across his drawing.
I was worried about work. We were in crunch time, and my breath took nervous shudders as I tried not to think about tomorrow. Suddenly, my son was at my side.
"Sweetie. Be careful..."
"It's me," my son, George, said gently.
Something in the tone startled me. I looked down at his thoughtful eyes. Did five-year-olds act like this? I leaned in, intent, and his arms enveloped my neck, slamming his little chest against mine. We held each other for a long time, the water starting to rumble on the stove. Somehow, this felt different from his usual hugs and nuzzles, and we hugged tightly in silence.
"I know you from another lifetime," I whispered. "I found you in this lifetime..."
"Don't worry, Mommy," George said. "I know you do your best." He pecked a slobbery kiss on my forehead and toddled back to his drawing.
|
Momentary confusion, followed by a sudden flood of memories I hadn't known were lost. Many lifetimes that seemed to blend together. The more I watch, I realize it was one lifetime, repeated many times in a loop. Each loop ended with Rex nearly or actually dying before restarting. I had lived that one year with them how many times?
I pull back to look at the face Rex has now: it was the same. Do I look the same? I hadn't been able to see my own face.
"How did you find me? What do I call you?"
"I'm still Rex, and these." They slip their hand in their pocket and produce two silver rings. They glowed in their hand, and Rex moves their hand around.
The glow dims and brightens as it changes distance from me. The rings had been used as a compass, with my location being true north. But it has been twenty-some odd years: why is Rex appearing now?
"What took you so long to find me?"
"I thought you wouldn't want to see me."
"Of course I'd want to see you."
"You didn't remember me. I had to remember you."
"But you found me; that's enough right?"
"Do you remember how we broke the loop?"
I pause, reviewing every memory I had gotten back. Nothing. No mention of it. I look to Rex and shake my head. I see their excitement fade a moment, and instinctively put my hand on the side of their neck and squeeze. Rex smiles and leans into it. I think she's happy I remembered that. They ask if we can find a private place to talk, and I suggest my place.
\---
"My roommate likes to tease me, so ignore his comments please, " I say as I open the door. Rex says nothing, and I notice their energy dim. I say hello to my roommate, who is in the kitchen reading.
"Finally got a--"
My roommate stops when he looks at Rex. He looks at me, suddenly fearful, and goes back to his book. I'm confused, but I'll deal with it later.
We go to my room and I pull out the extra chair I used back when I had needed a desk. Rex wastes no time, and asked what my roommate had been about to say.
"He was probably going to make fun of me for finally getting a date."
"Have you tried?"
"Dating? Yeah but they never went anywhere. Something was never right about them."
And that's when I realize what wasn't right. Looking at Rex now, I realized that nothing had been right because none of the people had been them.
In my own way, I had been searching for them in this lifetime too.
|
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
|
[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
|
As her silent purring has let out a constant rumble on my shoulders, I immediately knew who I stumbled upon.
"It's me! I know you remember me!" She said to me with a rather excited voice.
I let out a big "sigh" as I calmly told her:
"Goddammit Karen, did you leave the asylum again?"
|
Momentary confusion, followed by a sudden flood of memories I hadn't known were lost. Many lifetimes that seemed to blend together. The more I watch, I realize it was one lifetime, repeated many times in a loop. Each loop ended with Rex nearly or actually dying before restarting. I had lived that one year with them how many times?
I pull back to look at the face Rex has now: it was the same. Do I look the same? I hadn't been able to see my own face.
"How did you find me? What do I call you?"
"I'm still Rex, and these." They slip their hand in their pocket and produce two silver rings. They glowed in their hand, and Rex moves their hand around.
The glow dims and brightens as it changes distance from me. The rings had been used as a compass, with my location being true north. But it has been twenty-some odd years: why is Rex appearing now?
"What took you so long to find me?"
"I thought you wouldn't want to see me."
"Of course I'd want to see you."
"You didn't remember me. I had to remember you."
"But you found me; that's enough right?"
"Do you remember how we broke the loop?"
I pause, reviewing every memory I had gotten back. Nothing. No mention of it. I look to Rex and shake my head. I see their excitement fade a moment, and instinctively put my hand on the side of their neck and squeeze. Rex smiles and leans into it. I think she's happy I remembered that. They ask if we can find a private place to talk, and I suggest my place.
\---
"My roommate likes to tease me, so ignore his comments please, " I say as I open the door. Rex says nothing, and I notice their energy dim. I say hello to my roommate, who is in the kitchen reading.
"Finally got a--"
My roommate stops when he looks at Rex. He looks at me, suddenly fearful, and goes back to his book. I'm confused, but I'll deal with it later.
We go to my room and I pull out the extra chair I used back when I had needed a desk. Rex wastes no time, and asked what my roommate had been about to say.
"He was probably going to make fun of me for finally getting a date."
"Have you tried?"
"Dating? Yeah but they never went anywhere. Something was never right about them."
And that's when I realize what wasn't right. Looking at Rex now, I realized that nothing had been right because none of the people had been them.
In my own way, I had been searching for them in this lifetime too.
|
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
|
[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
|
My first memories were of George. I reached a chubby hand out to pat his head, my mouth and fingers sticky with the lollipop my other hand grasped. He mewed in protest before leaning into the pat.
Suddenly, he howled as my three year old self lunged at him. My toddler arms were too much for the old boy as he struggled against my impossible strength. He had watched me in a bassinet, struggling for breath as a baby and made the same noises to alert my parents that my little sighs had stopped. Now, he screamed for their help again.
"No, no, Jenn," my mother crooned, gently prying my arms off the cat. "Be nice to Georgie."
George dropped to the ground, snorting in disgust. I whined as he trotted away, my lollipop a gleaming red against his blue gray fur.
For years after, he avoided me. He became a silent fixture of our household, sulking between rooms for his next sunny patch or quietly crunching his food. I was less engaged. He might as well have been a picture hung on our wall; newcomers that caught a glimpse would politely comment on him before moving on.
It wasn't until I was in my early teens that he started to warm up to me again. I was sobbing over a broken heart when he stuck a curious nose up over the ottoman and chirped a tentative meow. I gasped a short laugh through the muck and tears.
"Are you the only boy that loves me?" I asked.
Without another word, he hopped up and nuzzled his way into my arms. I broke, shaking as I held him, and his deep, soft rumble warmed my heart.
His last day was the first of my adult life. In the time, we had become inseparable. He would run to the door as I arrived home from school, mewing and chatting about his day while I studied. He slept by my side through the night, his velvet paws stretching out in his sleep to touch my shoulder. He was loving and supportive as I applied to school after school, mopping up tears with his purrs and licking me with a sandpaper tongue when I finally opened an acceptance letter.
"He was almost twenty years old, hun," my mom said softly through the phone. "That's so old for a cat. He would want you to be happy at college. Finish unpacking, and we'll be down to visit next weekend."
Life went on with a small, undefined hole in it. I met people and learned. I climbed ladders and slid up and down the rungs. The world showed me new colors that grew vivid and faded with time. I flirted and dated and tragically fell in and out of love before finding love came in shades like the rest of the world's hues.
I lived in a quiet suburb, now, a place that would make my teal-haired teen self groan. We had a dog, Clarence, a floppy-tongued, shaggy mutt. We had a cat of the same silvery blue as George, but the cat had not been my idea. My husband had chosen him out with my five-year-old son over a pile of kittens in a parking lot and named him Bailey.
It was the afternoon, and I poured over a magazine while the water boiled on the stove. My son hummed while he chose a new color to rub across his drawing.
I was worried about work. We were in crunch time, and my breath took nervous shudders as I tried not to think about tomorrow. Suddenly, my son was at my side.
"Sweetie. Be careful..."
"It's me," my son, George, said gently.
Something in the tone startled me. I looked down at his thoughtful eyes. Did five-year-olds act like this? I leaned in, intent, and his arms enveloped my neck, slamming his little chest against mine. We held each other for a long time, the water starting to rumble on the stove. Somehow, this felt different from his usual hugs and nuzzles, and we hugged tightly in silence.
"I know you from another lifetime," I whispered. "I found you in this lifetime..."
"Don't worry, Mommy," George said. "I know you do your best." He pecked a slobbery kiss on my forehead and toddled back to his drawing.
|
The sun sets over midsummer New York, it's orange hue peaking through the tips of the towers over the other side of central park. The lake you've felt drawn to your whole life for some reason, three paces in front of you, as it does most nights you feel alone. You hear the quick pitter patter of brisk footsteps. They turn into heavier steps and someone is now running towards you, assuming it's just another late night runner you don't even bother turning. Suddenly you feel two arms around the front of your neck and yourself being pulled closer to someone's chest, you think it's a mugger until their legs wrap around your stomach. 'thats an odd thing for a mugger to do' you think to yourself.
Then, in a hushed voice, they say:
"It's me!"
"I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
You pry them off and turn around to look them in the eye. The only thing you can think to say passes your lips.
"Bitch get outta here with yo new age bullshit."
|
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
|
[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
|
As her silent purring has let out a constant rumble on my shoulders, I immediately knew who I stumbled upon.
"It's me! I know you remember me!" She said to me with a rather excited voice.
I let out a big "sigh" as I calmly told her:
"Goddammit Karen, did you leave the asylum again?"
|
The sun sets over midsummer New York, it's orange hue peaking through the tips of the towers over the other side of central park. The lake you've felt drawn to your whole life for some reason, three paces in front of you, as it does most nights you feel alone. You hear the quick pitter patter of brisk footsteps. They turn into heavier steps and someone is now running towards you, assuming it's just another late night runner you don't even bother turning. Suddenly you feel two arms around the front of your neck and yourself being pulled closer to someone's chest, you think it's a mugger until their legs wrap around your stomach. 'thats an odd thing for a mugger to do' you think to yourself.
Then, in a hushed voice, they say:
"It's me!"
"I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
You pry them off and turn around to look them in the eye. The only thing you can think to say passes your lips.
"Bitch get outta here with yo new age bullshit."
|
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
|
[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
|
As her silent purring has let out a constant rumble on my shoulders, I immediately knew who I stumbled upon.
"It's me! I know you remember me!" She said to me with a rather excited voice.
I let out a big "sigh" as I calmly told her:
"Goddammit Karen, did you leave the asylum again?"
|
Like any other day, no one expects to come home with a pet.
I was never one for them but raising a family changed that one day; my wife and daughter came home with this little ball of fur, you could liken it to a dandelion that could be blown away with the faintest of breezes.
We decided to name him Sebastian; our daughter had been watching little mermaid on repeat and she was quick to make the decision.
She loved Sebastian, and he loved her. The two were inseparable; she would feed him, and then eat, she would brush her hair then his; his bed or well "theirs" they slept together under the sheets.
Like most people come to realize in life is that time passes by quick.
That lovable ball of fur got old and gray as our daughter grew up tall and beautiful, poor old Sebastian could barely walk if you could even call it that; her face when I told her that we should probably put Sebastian to sleep broke my heart, she hid and cried in her room with Sebastian for two days before I could talk reason into her anymore than she already knew, she saw the pain he was in when he walked and his heavy raspy breathing.
He had a good life, he loved my daughter probably more than I did and she him. 16 years.
This is the story of Sebastian.
|
Inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/aww/comments/8xtrx0/woman_visits_an_animal_shelter_and_its_surprised/e25owb0?utm_source=reddit-android)
|
[WP] "It's me!" Someone jumps into your arms wrapping their arms around your neck with a purr. "I know you from another lifetime... I found you in this lifetime."
|
As her silent purring has let out a constant rumble on my shoulders, I immediately knew who I stumbled upon.
"It's me! I know you remember me!" She said to me with a rather excited voice.
I let out a big "sigh" as I calmly told her:
"Goddammit Karen, did you leave the asylum again?"
|
Even the park bench is cold. The lake, reflecting the pale grey light of the sky, looks like mercury, and the grass is silvery with a coat of tiny gray baubles of dew. The trees are knobbly skeletons forming a silhouette against the sunlight. And he is sitting alone on a cold park bench. There is no one on the path that traces the lake, the grass is not punctuated by picnic rugs. He is drinking coffee, even though he doesn't like it, because he is starved for warmth.
A staticky pop pierces the blanket of silence, but before he can turn around a withered face is shoved against his neck, and leathery talons are wrapped around his chest, slipping underneath his jacket- but they are warm.
A whisper, "Roger?"
"Yes?"
"I've missed you." A tear slides down his neck. It is not his.
"I don't-"
"Don't worry about it. Just let me sit here."
Roger isn't going to decline an old lady a harmless request, but it is a strange one. Hobbled footfall rounds the bench before sitting on it. Her face is wrinkled, grooved not only by time but also by sadness. He sees that sadness in her eyes too, they are welled up with the having-happened of life, looking across the lake. He sees it in her hands as well, gripping the bench, her nightgown, or each other- needing something to hold on to. So he locks his hands with her freckled ones, feeling the delta of veins that age left as it dried up her skin.
And seeing that she is only in a nightgown Roger takes off his jacket and gives it to her. The chill seeps in to him now, but it feels like the right thing to do. They both look across the lake, saying nothing, because she doesn't need to (nor does she think she should), and because he doesn't know what to say to a crying old lady.
"This was nice," she says.
"Yeah but... are you alright? Do you need help getting home?"
"I know you from another lifetime, this one... I've found you. But I should be getting home. I'll be fine."
Slowly, she gets up from the park bench, remembering and missing the footprints of green amongst the silvery grass, the bare trees like silent sentinels, the stillness of the water. Missing all these things but knowing she must say goodbye. With a staticky pop she flies forward fifty-seven years, alone.
Now another person walks the solitary path. Not yet wrinkled, the puffs of her breath are the only sign of warmth in the silence and coldness. Noticing the man on the bench has no jacket, she offers hers. It feels like the right thing to do.
|
[WP] "Millennials are killing the superhero industry!"
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"Millennials are killing the superhero industry!" was printed in big, bold letters on the Sunday paper. With a sigh, Jerry pulled his eyes away from the headline and gutted the paper for the Sunday funnies. He flicked the television on and kicked up his old suede recliner and decided to see what the daily junior jumble was.
"In other news today," said the news anchor in a perfect tone to grab ones attention and make one turn the volume down on their televisions. "Are Millennials killing the superhero industry? Certain political parties say yes."
Jerry groaned, put aside the junior jumble and dug the remote out of the crevice in his recliner and pressed the power button three times before the television finally shut off. "Hey, Muriel! Is this what them young internet people call clickbaiting?" he hollered into his little tenement. A voice called back, "What is what?"
A stout woman in a bright yellow shirt and faded purple sweat pants with glasses hanging from her face waddled into the room. "What is what now?" she asked again.
"All this damn... er, news is all the same! Millennials are killing the superhero industry... Feh!" he scoffed with a wave of his hand before peering at Garfield and Friends. "I went down to the fish & Tackle shop downtown the other day, and these two old geezers-- older than us, Muriel! They were arguing and complaining about Millennials this, Millennials that!"
Muriel grunted as she tried to sit down in her own recliner, juxtaposed to her husband. "It does seem to be the talk of late, huh?" she said while checking her pure white curly perm. "Why, Charlene was telling me that I should tell Sousanna to get out of the, uh... the... oh, shit..."
"What about our daughter?" Jerry said while sipping his lukewarm coffee from his old, chipped mug.
"Oh, they were saying to tell her to get out of that, um..." Muriel seemed to be running into the ever present epidemic of the word being just on the tip of your tongue. "The... the superhero police. Like the old tv show she used to watch. What was it called?"
"The Coalition?" Jerry said, looking up from his morning funnies.
"No, that's not what it was called! The tv show with the colorful jumpsuits and giant monsters. It was all-live and junk."
"The Coalition is what are daughter is in." Jerry clarified. "Charlene told you to tell our daughter to leave the Coalition." He settled back into his funnies and tried to figure out the junior jumble.
"Oh yeah! That's right! Charlene and the gals said the the Coalition is apparently bad now because of the president!" Muriel said with a shake of her head.
"That's ridiculous!" Jerry said with a grunt, the hair on the back of his head standing up.
"That's what I said to her! I said, Charlene, I'm not telling no one to do anything they don't wanna do especially when it comes to my own daughter!"
"Well, yeah! I mean, she's what-- 25 years old now? She's a damned adult! I ain't telling no grown-ass woman what to do with her life, even if it's my own flesh and blood!" Jerry said setting aside the sunday funnies, thoroughly befuddled by the jumble. "Secondly, the Coalition was designed not to serve the president! The Enhanced Coalition is devoted to the preservation of freedom and the constitution! It's ah..." Jerry snapped his fingers, also forgetting the word he was looking for. "It's one of them checks and balances! If the president becomes a corrupt dictator, the military has the right to remove him from office if he's unfit! That Charlene is talking straight out of her ass!"
"My thoughts exactly Jerry," she said with a nod. "She's got no right messing with the lives of the young and bold. We learned that when we were kids, right Jer?"
"Damn straight. Millenials ain't killing no damn industry, and no amount of finger pointing's gonna be the cause for anything except anger, and thumb-twiddling!" Jerry emphasized his point by gently rapping against his recliner.
Muriel nodded sagely and paused for a moment. "Is there anything good in the news?" she asked while looking for the remote.
"Nothing but garbage!" Jerry grunted while handing her the remote. Regardless, Muriel flicked on the television.
((End of part one))
((Part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8z6731/wp_millennials_are_killing_the_superhero_industry/e2gyvcn)))
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God, these damn millennials with their "Instachat" and "Snapgram", and their stupid Selphies. I hate it! They are ruining the superhero industry, and should just get off my damn lawn. The capes nowadays don't have any flair, and pizzazz. Back in my day we had the fanciest capes around, with the coolest powers, and we didn't stop every FIVE DAMN SECONDS to take a Selphie. Nope, not at all. I miss the good old days.
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[WP] "Millennials are killing the superhero industry!"
|
I plopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels ( who still used cable?) until I found a news station.
*In local news, today marks the 57th birthday of Kelowna's resident superstar Prime, Impetus! A parade is being held downtown, where the blue bullet himself will be there! Bring your kids, and don't forget your sunscreen! Olly will tell you more on that! Afterwards, how are millennials killing the diamond industry?*
The newscast cut to a disheveled looking man giving a weather report, and I turned the TV off with a small smile. Impetus was our hometown superstar, eventually going off to join the Legion. Hadn't been hard for him, with his endless charisma and good looks. Not to mention his marketability. The costume alone, a navy coloured suit, his recognisable orb lightning logo splayed across his chest had made him a hit with the toymakers. Even though it had been decades since he'd been in the game, he still probably sold more merchandise than any new heroes. Despite the Legions base of operations being in Houston, Impetus still made time to come down every evening to visit his hometown. Not a hard feat when you could break the sound barrier with about as much effort as most people put into jogging I suppose. While Impetus was our big name, Kelowna had produced a fair share of minor heroes and villains as well. I suppose this is where I come in. I go by Inertia, and I have the ability to transfer kinetic energy from one thing to another. Seemed pretty lame at first, but with a little creativity, you'd be surprised at the almost endless applications one can think of. There's more to me than my Prime identity though, unlike half of those golden age geezers (Impetus included). My real name is Adrian Cho, and I'm 21. I'm not looking for fame, or glory, or any of that garbage. What I am looking for is money. With powers like these, I'd assumed I could join one of the branches of the Legion, do some low work policing stuff and make a decent chunk of change. But just like anything else, being a Prime was not an easy task for people my age. You had to be a sidekick for a two years before you became a hero, and in order to become a sidekick you had to prove you were hero material. Paradoxical at best, and at worst, it meant I was unemployed. In the distance I hear a large crack. *Sonic Boom*. He's here. I quickly stand up an extend my hand, as Impetus rushes into his living room, his shoulder grazes my index finger, and I pull away all the kinetic energy, and he's left a motionless statue, his eyes growing in horror. "Getting slower in your old age?" I ask, a smirk making its way onto my face. "Your time is over old man, has been for a long time. You need to let us get into the superhero business, but you just can't give it up, can you? Let some new blood in, shake it up a bit. Can't retire. Can't let any but yourselves have it. I mean Jesus, look at me. I'm monologuing!". I see a small flicker of movement in his lips. His power is allowing him to regain his kinetic energy much faster than he should. He speaks out, his words coming through clenched teeth. " You're fucking crazy? Do you know who I am? I'm part of the legion, you've made a hu-"
"I know exactly who you are"
His nostrils flare. "Then you know you're dead for pulling this. Fucking kids."
"I don't think I am actually." I responded, a hint of humour lacing the words. "You can't keep me like this forever" he says, the malice in his voice almost venomous. "I don't intend to at all Mr...? I trail off, but he doesn't respond, and like a rattlesnake, his fist shoots up and strikes me in the chin. The sheer force (or speed? With my powers the way they are, one would expect I'd have learned all about this, but I've had better things to do.) sends me through the air, and I land on the television, which shatters beneath my weight. His two arms raised, the rest of him immobile, the look in his eyes shows me he's confident now. "I don't need to run when you can't touch me without me knocking your clock off son. Give up while you can".
I sigh, a long, drawn out dramatic exhalation and pull a coin out of my pocket. A flash of inspiration seems to strike Impetus, and he begins waving his hands in circles as fast as he can, creating a windfunnel that is slowly, but surely pushing me back. Enough games. I imbue the coin with the speed I took from the aging hero, and it whizzes through the funnel, seemingly unaffected, and goes continues straight through. The windfunnel suddenly stops, and Impetus, a small sole going directly through his skull, topples onto the floor. My phone buzzes, and I scroll through my texts, looking for the new one.
**GALLANT**
*Complete*
**VOID**
*Complete*
**REAVER**
*Complete*
**TSAR**
*Complete*
**INFINITE**
*Complete*
**IMPETUS**
Finding what I'm looking for, my thumbs click against the screen, and within a half second I hit the send button.
*Complete*
|
God, these damn millennials with their "Instachat" and "Snapgram", and their stupid Selphies. I hate it! They are ruining the superhero industry, and should just get off my damn lawn. The capes nowadays don't have any flair, and pizzazz. Back in my day we had the fanciest capes around, with the coolest powers, and we didn't stop every FIVE DAMN SECONDS to take a Selphie. Nope, not at all. I miss the good old days.
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**Edit**: It's been so excellent to see great writing for this funny idea I had just a couple days ago. Never participated in WP before, I definitely will be doing so more. Thanks for making something beautiful out of my silly thoughts.
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[WP] A man accidentally runs over a bunny on his way to work. Unbeknownst to him, it was the rabbit king. Now the whole of the rabbit kingdom wants a slow and deliberate revenge...
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*Ugh, please go away.* Outside my first floor office was a rabbit, munching on some ambiguous plant growing through the cracks in the pavement. It was like his large sad eyes were staring directly into my soul. I opened the window. "Look, I'm sorry I hit your friend, but you have to go away! I didn't mean to, he ran right out in front of me. He gave me no choice," I plead to the animal. I knew it couldn't understand what I was saying, but it almost looked as if it nodded and it hopped away through the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small firm. "Get a grip," I sighed, "You're pleading with animals."
I got up and went to the break room to get a cup of coffee. I was just some random code monkey that got "lucky" enough to be promoted. By "lucky" I mean the only one stupid enough to stay on this long. But whatever, the benefits were okay and they paid me enough to afford my mortgage. I stood, leaned against the counter and smiled at the random workers, whose names I could never remember. Just more bright, happy faces that have yet to be turned into a permanent frown by this drowning firm. I drained my cup, rinsed it in the sink and returned to my office. I sat at the desk and breathed a sigh. Cracking my knuckles, I stretched my arms toward the monitor. I reached for the mouse to wake my computer, when I noticed a reflection in my screen. I rubbed my eyes and turned again toward the window.
Where the singular rabbit once stood, there was now possibly twenty. They all stood on there hind legs watching me. Their noses were wiggling back and forth. They just stared. I slowly stood, almost paralyzed with fear. "This is ridiculous, where's the number for that exterminator?" As soon as I placed my hands on the sill, they all brought their chins to the ground, closed their eyes stayed there. All at once, perfectly in sync. I scribbled a note, left it on my boss's desk, and raced home. I need a shower. I needed to get the fuck away from here. Clearly my mind was playing tricks on me because I felt guilty. Rabbits get lay on the side of the highway all the time? Why is this happening to me?
I parked my car in the garage and sprinted upstairs. I raced past my wife on the stairway, and almost sent her tumbling. "Sorry!" I called and slammed the door behind me. I turned the water on, hot enough to make me forehead sweat as a left my shoulders and back under the spout. I melted under the water for about an hour before emerging from the steam-filled room. I fanned the ceiling with my towel so I didn't set off the smoke detector. *What a terrible place for a smoke detector.*
"Honey?" my wife called.
"Yeah?
"There's something you need to see!"
I stepped downstairs and tossed my towel on the end of the banister. That's when I saw my yard from the bottom of the stairwell. "The fuck?"
Hundreds of rabbits had filled my front yard. The green of the grass was no longer visible under the rolling mounds of grey, brown, and white rabbit fur.
"Oh my god... What's going on?" my wife wondered, with her phone's camera pressed to the window.
The rabbits all started rushing toward the house, determined looks on their faces. They looked angry, their small rodent teeth bared as they made their way toward us. *Crash!* I shielded my face as the glass shattered. *Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit*. I grabbed my wife's wrist and we tumbled back toward the ground. We held each other while propelling ourselves backward toward the wall. The rabbits soon circled around us. They slowly hopped in unison, staring us down, *menacingly.* Our feet repeatedly slipped out from under ourselves as we tried to back further away, but were already against the wall.
"What do you want from me?!" I demanded looking into their angry, but adorable faces. Slanted, angry looking eyes peered back above wet, pink noses!"
The rabbits parted, creating a path to the door. I stood and gingerly made my way to through the crowd. Slowly, to make sure I didn't set these things off. They looked angry, and who knows what diseases they probably carry. Better play it safe. I pulled my keys out of my pocket, ready to hop in the car and speed away. I opened the door and looked down. "Jesus Christ!" I nearly jumped out of my sneakers. A large jackrabbit peered back at me and tilted his head sideways.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said. I stared blankly and wiggled my fingers in my ears. "You okay?" he asked nonchalantly.
"I'm sorry... you can talk? You can talk. Why am I going crazy? Why are you talking to me?" I replied, shocked. My legs quaked beneath me.
"Well it's high time that we had this chat."
"Look, I didn't mean to kill your little friend."
"Oh, he was no friend of ours."
"Then what exactly is it that you want from me? Why are you guys following me?"
"What I want, Mr. Sanders, is for you to look at your kingdom."
"My kingdom?"
He made a motion for me to turn around. The rabbits all stood on their hind legs, looking at me, like they were expecting something.
"All hail the rabbit king!" One called out.
In unison, they all chanted, "Slayer of the tyrant!"
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They began appearing everywhere Zack went. He saw them first in the periphery of his vision, like shadows in his imagination, small ears poking out from behind rocks and bushes, in the corners of his windows at home, behind the potted plants on his porch.
Over time they became more bold, even brazen, standing on their hindlegs on the steps to his house and scampering off only as he approached. One night six or seven posted up on the thin outside ledge of the bedroom window, just staring at him between the slits of the curtains.
Zack began to worry. Sure they were only tiny bunnies, cute even on an individual level, what with their bushy tails and big, heartwarming eyes. Sometimes his bunny stalkers would be nibbling on strands of grass and even as he freaked out over their presence Zack couldn't help but take note of how damned cute they were.
Things took a decidedly dark turn, however, when one day Zack got home from work and found his door crudely marked with a word smeered in what looked like mud.
> Rvng
Zack thought about this for a long time, running the nonsense word, "rvng", around and around in his head. The letters were barely formed, hardly even identifiable as letters at all. Moreover they were written very close to the ground, conspicuously at bunny height. The abbreviated similarity to the word revenge eventually struck Zack as irrefutable and with the realization came real fear.
Zack washed the threat off with a hose and immediately loaded the rifle he kept in a gun safe in his bedroom. He drew all the curtains and sat himself on his couch facing the front door, rifle in hand. Sitting there he tried to remember what could possibly have pissed off these bunnies.
It struck him all at once, much the same way Zack's own car had struck the majestic bunny himself a week earlier. Zack had been driving home from work at night when a bunny of abnormal size hopped into the road. Zack couldn't swerve fast enough and the bunny went under his front tire. Zack had felt badly, buy not badly enough to stop.
Thinking on the experience now Zack rembered the strange glint of metal he thought he'd seen on the bunny's head. At the time Zack had thought it looked like a crown, but put the insane idea out of his mind. Now the possibility began to make an insane, implausible sense.
There were a series of pitter patter knocks on his front door, down near the bottom of the wood. It began as syncopated thumps, like bunny feet horse kicking the door, and steadily the number and frequency increased and with it the noise. Zack stood up and raised the rifle expectantly.
From around the house more thunping began, emanating from all the windows. A symphony of thumps echoing through the house. Zack peeked behind one of the curtains and saw that the outside ledge of the window was full to the brim with bunnies - angry bunnies on their hind legs tapping at the glass with their forefeet. When they saw him the bunnies hissed in unison and slammed into the glass with such ferocity that one of their number fell back into the bushes. A hairline crack formed in the window and Zack recoiled, startled.
He began to panic. The thumping continued to crescendo as Zack returned to the front door. He checked to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber of his rifle and went to call the police. He picked up his phone and heard nothing. The bastards must have chewed through the landline.
Terror gripping his heart Zack decided it was ridiculous, all of it. They were just bunnies for Christ's sake. He was a full grown man, with a rifle.
"The hell with this!"
Adrenaline pumping like mad Zack raised the gun, aimed it at bunny height toward the front door and began unloading like mad. He pulled the trigger over and over sending hot lead through the thick wood, shards of shattered pine spitting back into the room. All around the house the thumping stopped and Zack kept pulling the trigger. By the end he was screaming nonsensically, like Rambo with a minigun, until at last the final bullet was fired and the next trigger pull only brought an impotent click.
Zack's heart was racing. He took a deep breath, then another, the rifle still raised up and slowly then lowered to his side. The house was silent and the bottom of the front door was more holes then wood.
Step by step, Zack walked toward the door, fear sweat streaming down his face, bitter on his lips. He reached for the doorknob, grabbed it, twisted and with a final deep breath, pulled.
The wood of the porch was littered in bullet holes and bits of fur. But there were no bunnies, alive or dead.
Terror welling up in his chest Zack began to hear a slight tapping, growing in volume. It was not coming from outside, but from inside the house.
The blood of his heart beat pulsed audibly in Zack's ears as, inch by terrible inch, he turned around.
Arrayed before him, covering every surface, every object, the entire floor - an unbroken layer of brown bunnies, each tapping incessantly, tapping and tapping. Zack swallowed bile and turned to run, but outside it was the same, bunnies filling the porch, and the steps and the front lawn. Thousand upon thousand of bunnies.
All at once they pounced, hissing ferociously. Zack screamed and flailed but there were too many of them. Swiftly he disappeared beneath mound of writhing brown fur, his screams muffled at first and, eventually silent.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
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Yes, I made a stupid grammatical mistake in the title. Should be "You're"
|
[WP] Your best friend suddenly loses his/her memory. Your now the only person he/she trusts
|
“So, who was I!?”
I try to decipher this whole situation. A joke? A prank of some sort? Surely that was the explanation.
“Listen, Harlan, you were my partner. Are my partner. Remember all those projects!?”
He sniffles. I’m starting to think this isn’t just a stupid joke anymore.
“I don’t, know. I just woke up...here...just feel so scared, so lost, so alone.”
I can sense the legitimate panic in his voice. I had heard it hundreds of times throughout my career.
“Naperville? Pompano Beach? Burbank? Norfolk? You don’t honestly remember!?”
“No, no, no no no no no!”
I’m starting to panic too. How were we going to pull off Omaha, if my partner suddenly had amnesia? It just wouldn’t work.
“OK, buddy, just listen. I’m...whew...gonna be honest with you-“
“Huh? Alex, what the hell!? Why are you calling me at three in the morning!?”
My heart rose, maybe it was just a stupid joke after all?
I shouted into the phone. Damn him for scaring me like that.
“You bullshitter! You called me and told me you had lost all your damn memory!”
He laughs uneasily.
“I don’t remember.”
“Omaha still on!?”
“Of course, I’m on getaway this time. Damn it, Alex, just forget this ever fucking happened, ok?”
I hung up.
I soon immediately received another call.
“Hello!? Alex, the fuck do you want now!?”
The other side is silent for a moment.
“Who the fuck are you!? Where’s Cathy!? Where’s Cathy!? Where!?”
A chill ran down my spine.
Cathy was our old getaway driver.
And we had killed her five years ago.
|
"Rita," I said impatiently over the phone. "Mike is really your husband."
"I don't know, Richard. I am so scared. I don't know anything anymore."
"I get it. Listen, if you are so scared you don't have to do it. I am sure Michael will understand. You want me to talk to him for you?"
"I don't know, Rich. Will you?"
"Of course I will. You know I will. You want to stay over at my place for some time? You know, until things get sorted out."
"I..." her voice faltered. "I think so. Am I bothering you too much?"
"Of course not. I will get back to you once I talk to Mike. Do not drive here on your own. I will ask him to drop you over here."
----
"Mikey, he bought it."
"For real?"
"Yup. He will be texting you any time now to ask you to drop me over at his place."
"Honey, you really want to go through with this?"
"Yes."
"You know what will happen?"
"Yes."
"And you are okay with it?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Richard," she said, transferring the pliers into her handbag. "Nobody touches my daughter and gets away with it."
----
I think I took it too far off the intended concept, and sorry if you don't like this angle!
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[WP] Everyone dies by what they fear most. Yet death is unsure about you. Your greatest fear is staying alive.
|
“Do it.”
My words are cold and level as I stare down the barrel of the mugger’s Glock 17. She looks almost startled at my composure, breath producing turbulent clouds in the evening air. Her hands almost seem to shake.
“Are you a goddamn coward,” I snarl, stepping forward, “or just stupid?” Hands in my hoodie’s pockets, I advance.
“Don’t - don’t make me...what’re you doing? I-I’ll shoot! Just give me your cash and you, hah, y-you can get on with your life!”
The walls of the alley loom over us, insulating our little pocket of tension. It’s here. It’s finally here. My chance to die. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pass this up - I’m too complacent for suicide and too indifferent to seek death actively, so this mugging is nothing short of ideal. Life has lost its luster for me. Reluctant or not, I’m going to get that woman to pull the trigger. I lunge forward, grab the barrel and pin it to my forehead.
“DO IT!”
The sudden movement must’ve been enough to force her hand, because I hear a click and then my head explodes. Everything is impact and heat and shock as I reel backwards and fall into the earth, out of my mind, out of my body and into blackness. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I feel...wrong. I feel nothing.
Then everything comes back. I sit up slowly, taking in my surroundings. I’m still in the alley, but my wallet isn’t on me. The ground is red and...something is strewn across the pavement.
“You were a tricky one, you know,” echoes a voice as soft as a whisper yet as pervasive as a scream.
“I get that a lot,” I grumble, rubbing the side of my head. My hair is cold and wet.
“My name is Eamon,” it continues, and a figure quite literally materializes in front of me. It’s a male, slight in stature with clean-cut red hair and a cleaner-cut black suit.
“Hi, Eamon,” I reply in a sing-song tone, “I’m Shaun. And - wait a minute, this isn’t an AA meeting. Where are we?”
The ethereal twink looks unenthused; it appears that he doesn’t much care for my sarcasm.
“I’m a Reaper,” he manages to say, “and I’m here because you’re dead. But this, you see, should have been impossible. In this world, a human being can only be killed-”
“By that which they fear in life, I know. Weird, isn’t it? That the only thing I was scared of was the sun rising on another morning, yet here we are? Pretty sure those nasty bits on the ground over there used to be part of my brain, so I’d say I got what I wanted. Suck it.”
“Actually, that’s what I’m here to speak to you about. Yes, you’re dead. But you’re not done with life yet.”
“Excuse me?”
“You see, Shaun, ‘life’ is an umbrella term. I couldn’t claim your soul while you were *biologically* alive, but now you’re not. I’ve already bound your essence to my own.”
“Cool. Great. What’s next?”
“Look around you. What do you see?”
I heave myself to my knees and scope out my location. The setting is visibly identical to the alleyway I was shot in, though I assume it must be some sort of parallel space on another plane. The ground is slick and scarlet with what I can only assume is my blood and viscera. The blood has soaked its way into my back and crusted on the sleeves of my grey hoodie, a swath of saturated darkness against the light fabric. Nasty.
“It’s the alley I died in. So?”
“It is.”
“But...it’s not the actual, *physical* alley-”
“You’re wrong.”
“What?”
“You’re wrong. Your soul is mine, but I’ve taken the liberty of restoring functionality to your mind and body.”
“But I...ahhh...I...”
Reluctantly, I reach up to my forehead. A gentle press and my finger sinks directly into the middle. Shaking, I withdraw my fingertip and reach for the back of my skull. Problem is, it isn’t there.
“What the...what the *fuck*? How am I-”
My bloodied hand flies to my throat. I check for a pulse, reposition my hand, and check again. Nothing.
“Eamon?” I cry out, voice shaking. I can’t feel the pain. I can’t even feel fear properly. There’s no racing heartbeat, no sweaty palms or erratic breaths. I can’t feel anything, and the specter is gone.
“EAMON!”
“I did it,” his voice echoes, bodiless. “Didn’t I?”
“Please...no.”
“Life was never what you feared most. You feared existence.”
The walls of the alley loom over me like giants forever barring the path to the heavens. I feel like I should cry. I feel like I should scream, but I can’t muster the will. I can’t feel enough to do so.
“This was the only way.”
I stumble to my feet as the voice of the Reaper fades out for the last time. My body and mind are utterly numb. My soul, for all I know, is gone. I’ve accepted that my life is over, but only now has it begun to set in that I will never truly die.
With trembling fingers, I pull my hood up over what’s left of my head and begin to walk.
|
Death: Jack... We've been playing **hangman** for the past 3 years. I think its time that we change what game we decide to play. How about Checkers or Crokinole? Those could be fun.
Jack: I'm sorry death. But, how can you keep saying that we should be playing different games when I'M TRYING TO DO YOUR JOB FOR YOU. I'VE LITERALLY HUNG MYSELF 365,520,062 times already playing this stupid game.
Death: I'm... Sorry jack. My vocabulary is just so small that I can't possibly win. I'm sorry for making you feel bad.
Jack: I know. I know. Let me just calm down and grab a drink of water.
Death: Yeah, that might be good.
*Jack grabs a glass of water from the floating refrigerator behind death*
Jack: Death. I've never told you this, but my greatest fear is... My greatest fear is...
*Death walks up Jack and softly puts his hand on his left shoulder*
Death: Jack, I know what your greatest fear is; it's staying alive. You don't have to worry about staying alive anymore. We've been together for three years. You have come with me and seen how I do my work. It's a messy job.
Jack: I just... I just don't wann
Death: Shhhh. Sh... sh.. shhhhhh. It's ok, Jack. Everything is going to be alright. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Jack: Breathe in. Breathe out.
Death: Breathe in. Breathe out.
Jack: Breathe in. Breathe out. Hey, you know that's not bad! You're a pretty good guy.... wait. What you making try to do? **Hurls up blood**
Death: Breathe in. Breathe out.
Jack: Breathe in *AUDHGUH-KAHCKUGAH-UGHO*. Breathe ou....
Death: Jack. You forgot to breathe out.
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[WP] Everyone dies by what they fear most. Yet death is unsure about you. Your greatest fear is staying alive.
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“Do it.”
My words are cold and level as I stare down the barrel of the mugger’s Glock 17. She looks almost startled at my composure, breath producing turbulent clouds in the evening air. Her hands almost seem to shake.
“Are you a goddamn coward,” I snarl, stepping forward, “or just stupid?” Hands in my hoodie’s pockets, I advance.
“Don’t - don’t make me...what’re you doing? I-I’ll shoot! Just give me your cash and you, hah, y-you can get on with your life!”
The walls of the alley loom over us, insulating our little pocket of tension. It’s here. It’s finally here. My chance to die. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pass this up - I’m too complacent for suicide and too indifferent to seek death actively, so this mugging is nothing short of ideal. Life has lost its luster for me. Reluctant or not, I’m going to get that woman to pull the trigger. I lunge forward, grab the barrel and pin it to my forehead.
“DO IT!”
The sudden movement must’ve been enough to force her hand, because I hear a click and then my head explodes. Everything is impact and heat and shock as I reel backwards and fall into the earth, out of my mind, out of my body and into blackness. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I feel...wrong. I feel nothing.
Then everything comes back. I sit up slowly, taking in my surroundings. I’m still in the alley, but my wallet isn’t on me. The ground is red and...something is strewn across the pavement.
“You were a tricky one, you know,” echoes a voice as soft as a whisper yet as pervasive as a scream.
“I get that a lot,” I grumble, rubbing the side of my head. My hair is cold and wet.
“My name is Eamon,” it continues, and a figure quite literally materializes in front of me. It’s a male, slight in stature with clean-cut red hair and a cleaner-cut black suit.
“Hi, Eamon,” I reply in a sing-song tone, “I’m Shaun. And - wait a minute, this isn’t an AA meeting. Where are we?”
The ethereal twink looks unenthused; it appears that he doesn’t much care for my sarcasm.
“I’m a Reaper,” he manages to say, “and I’m here because you’re dead. But this, you see, should have been impossible. In this world, a human being can only be killed-”
“By that which they fear in life, I know. Weird, isn’t it? That the only thing I was scared of was the sun rising on another morning, yet here we are? Pretty sure those nasty bits on the ground over there used to be part of my brain, so I’d say I got what I wanted. Suck it.”
“Actually, that’s what I’m here to speak to you about. Yes, you’re dead. But you’re not done with life yet.”
“Excuse me?”
“You see, Shaun, ‘life’ is an umbrella term. I couldn’t claim your soul while you were *biologically* alive, but now you’re not. I’ve already bound your essence to my own.”
“Cool. Great. What’s next?”
“Look around you. What do you see?”
I heave myself to my knees and scope out my location. The setting is visibly identical to the alleyway I was shot in, though I assume it must be some sort of parallel space on another plane. The ground is slick and scarlet with what I can only assume is my blood and viscera. The blood has soaked its way into my back and crusted on the sleeves of my grey hoodie, a swath of saturated darkness against the light fabric. Nasty.
“It’s the alley I died in. So?”
“It is.”
“But...it’s not the actual, *physical* alley-”
“You’re wrong.”
“What?”
“You’re wrong. Your soul is mine, but I’ve taken the liberty of restoring functionality to your mind and body.”
“But I...ahhh...I...”
Reluctantly, I reach up to my forehead. A gentle press and my finger sinks directly into the middle. Shaking, I withdraw my fingertip and reach for the back of my skull. Problem is, it isn’t there.
“What the...what the *fuck*? How am I-”
My bloodied hand flies to my throat. I check for a pulse, reposition my hand, and check again. Nothing.
“Eamon?” I cry out, voice shaking. I can’t feel the pain. I can’t even feel fear properly. There’s no racing heartbeat, no sweaty palms or erratic breaths. I can’t feel anything, and the specter is gone.
“EAMON!”
“I did it,” his voice echoes, bodiless. “Didn’t I?”
“Please...no.”
“Life was never what you feared most. You feared existence.”
The walls of the alley loom over me like giants forever barring the path to the heavens. I feel like I should cry. I feel like I should scream, but I can’t muster the will. I can’t feel enough to do so.
“This was the only way.”
I stumble to my feet as the voice of the Reaper fades out for the last time. My body and mind are utterly numb. My soul, for all I know, is gone. I’ve accepted that my life is over, but only now has it begun to set in that I will never truly die.
With trembling fingers, I pull my hood up over what’s left of my head and begin to walk.
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I crave being on the edge.
The mixture of pain and pleasure provides blurred lines. There is no telling when I’d live, when I’d die, and soon the pain became too much, too soon. I wished for death, I wished to be dragged into the depths, by the bony hand of the Grim Reaper. I tried, and I tried. I stabbed myself with ritual daggers, tested to limits of human pain, the limits of mental strength. Yet I hung on, like a pit viper, to life, for I feared nothing but life itself.
The Grim Reaper never came to see me, for he had no way to kill me but to do wat I fear the most. He made me immortal, everlasting. I am cursed to walk the Earth, watching things wither and die, and my obsession with pain entails that without that concoction of pure agony and sweet bliss, I am unable to function, to even wander.
I am an addict, my vice is pain.
My addiction shall never subside, for the one thing my addiction helps me ignore - my life - will last forever.
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[WP] In the middle of the night, you hear indistinguishable whispers. As you get up to investigate, you say that there's a thief in your house. But the thief comes up behind you and says, "That ain't me, dude..."
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Brandon stumbled back and nearly knocked into his coffee table. "Holy shi-"
"Shush!" The man dressed in black whispered angrily, covering his mouth. "Shut the fuck up, dude!"
Brandon pushed the man's hand away, scowling at him angrily. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?" He muttered at the intruder.
"I WAS going to rob it, until I found out you live in the fucking Paranormal Activity house." The thief hissed. "There's some messed-up shit going on here."
"Oh, and you coming into my house to rob me isn't messed up?" Brandon retorted. "You better get the hell out of this house right now or-"
"Keep your voice down, it's going to hear us!" The thief interrupted. "Listen man, you have to believe me. There's something weird in this house..."
It was then that Brandon noticed the silhouette of a wispy, clawed hand reaching for the man's shoulder, and noticed a pair of completely white pupils in the darkness.
"Your house is haunted or...or something." The man rambled, unaware of the sudden chill. "You need to move out or some-"
There was a sharp crunching noise as the hand sunk it's claws deep into the man's shoulder. The thief let out a garbled scream and a string of curses, desperately trying to grab onto something as he was flung back. Whatever pleas he tried to make seemingly fell on deaf ears as Brandon stood there, watching.
Smiling.
The man desperately clawed on the floor until his fingernails bled, grasping as he let out choked noises with each resounding crunch and thump. All of the noises he was making tricked to a halt when he was violently throw down the basement stairs.
Brandon sighed. "Thank you for waking me up and alerting me, Isabel." He thanked.
The entity made a soft hum in response.
"Though I have to say, you kind of overdid it." Brandon informed. "It would've been easier to just kick him out of the house. A lot of mess for us to clean up now."
The entity made a small noise.
"Nah, don't feel bad about it. You still got rid of the problem; just in a extreme way."
There was a soft giggle.
"Yeah, yeah, I should've been specific. C'mon, let's get everything cleaned up now-we've got guests coming over."
Who knew ghosts made such good alarms/bodyguards?
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It's rarely on purpose I sit awake at three in the morning staring at the darkness, but it's also rare someone is in my house whispering. Normally I'm a pretty heavy sleeper so it's that much more surprising the whispers woke me up. I sigh and mumble to myself, "Never actually thought I'd get to hit a thief with a bat, but tonight is the night."
From the darkness next to my bed comes a panicked whisper, "Yo, I please don't hit me. I swear I wasn't going to hurt you, just take a few things. You know this Rolex is a fake?" Startled, I leap from my bed and snatch up the aforementioned bat. I probably would have swing if the whisper hadn't come from the other side of my bed. "I... I'll make sure you leave my Rolex alone!" It wasn't a great threat, but I wasn't really used to being robbed.
The lamp on my desk clicks on to reveal a slender woman in black. She holds the watch up and now with greater confidence, replies, "No for real, it's fake. I don't even want it. Also, do you have roommates? I thought I cased this place well, but there's someone in your kitchen."
I stare at her, surely with a defeated look, and lower my bat. She waits as I find my words, "So... I'm coincidentally being robbed by two different people?" Really, what are the odds?
She rolls her eyes, puts my watch down and steps closer, but not within range of my bat. "Look," she says, "if they are whispering, then it's clear there's at least two. No thief talks to herself while perusing a house. No good thief at least."
Oddly, the matter of fact tone makes her seem less of a threat. It doesn't help that now I have even more people in my home to worry about. I lean on my bat like a cane and ask, "Alright, if you know everything, what should I do? And don't think you're off the hook. I'm definitely going to call the police after all this is done."
She smirks, "Sure you will." Jerking her head toward the door, she says with a more serious tone, "I'm actually curious too. If you promise not to try and hit me, we can go down together." I think this over and ultimately decide it's better to go with her than leave her to steal my things and escape while I go look on my own. "Fine, but no funny business."
We creep down the hallway towards my kitchen, her in front because I'm not that foolish. As we get near, the floor board creeks under my foot and the whispers cut short. How had she not stepped on it herself? Of course, she's now glaring at me over her shoulder. I shrug, unsure of what she expected or what to do.
Before I can say anything, a voice calls out from the kitchen, "That was clumsy of you, Sam. We know you're there now so you might as well come in here and face what's coming." Her glare turns to panic and I get my turn at glaring, though I at least keep my mouth shut. She makes a few quick hand motions and I get the idea she wants me to go around to the other kitchen entrance. I violently shake my head and mouth, "No way."
Sam pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment then sighs in defeat. With a sad look, she turns and walks into the kitchen. "Look Vinny, I know It's your territory, but let's try and take this outside at least."
Vinny replies, "That's a good idea. Ray, get the door for the lady." Satisfied this problem will resolve itself, I turn to go upstairs and call the police to make sure it gets resolved for sure.
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[WP] When you kill someone, it is believed you get their best trait. In reality, you get the trait they think is their best
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Judy was absolutely amazing...or so she claimed.
Her arrogance was nothing short of infuriating. I despised how she looked down upon others,
The way she treated others simply because she was smarter.
That's why I did it.
And I regret it so, so much.
As it turns out, you don't get what you like the most about them; you get what they like the most about themselves.
The thing I didn't realize was that Judy wasn't just rude; she had a severe case of narcissism.
And now I look at people the same way she does, becoming the exact thing I hated.
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Charlotte wiped her forehead and entered the bathroom, leaving her water bottle on the bench outside. He glanced around: the hard gusts of wind and rain left the trail empty, save for the most devoted fitness freaks… and him. He twisted her bottle open and poured the little vial into it, careful not to get any on his hands. He positioned it perfectly on the bench before jogging away.
Considering how careful she was in other aspects of her life, she could be surprisingly careless with her things.
Nobody really *knew* what trait they'd earn until they earned it, but he thought it would be either her brains or her discipline. She had graduated from MIT and was on the path to making 100K, all while maintaining an active social life and a perfect body despite the harsh February climate. He was more equip to handle the exercise after Eli, but none of his victims had given him resistance to cold. At least now, four weeks of winter jogs could finally come to an end.
- - -
He knew the poison had done the trick when he felt *something* wash over him in the shower – a fundamental aspect of him had shifted. He shut off the water and wiped condensation off the bathroom mirror. His face hadn't changed, and neither had the rest of his body. If he had received something nebulous like *discipline,* the change would reveal itself slowly.
He dressed quickly, still wondering what the new trait would be, and entered the kitchen. His roommate Marcus sat at the table, eating a bowl of Reese's Puffs in his pajamas. The clock on the wall read 3:12 PM.
“Have you even left the house today?” He asked. Marcus's spoon paused on the way to his mouth.
“Uh, it’s a Sunday,” he said, as if that answered the question.
“I guess it’s your life to ruin,” he said absently, rummaging through the cabinets. He was craving something healthy for once; maybe that was the change? He could think of worse traits then becoming a healthy eater.
He heard Marcus set down the spoon. “You okay, dude?”
“Not really,” he said – then froze, dread flashing through his body. What the hell was he *saying?*
“What’s going on?”
“I guess I just feel kind of guilty-”
He *swallowed* the rest of the words threatening to spill out of his mouth. “I’m, uh – going to go to my room for a bit,” he said, running back to his room. Marcus muttered something under his breath.
He slammed the door, locking it for good measure, before slumping down to the floor.
“Today is Sunday,” he tested.
“Today is Mon-” Something lurched inside of him, some sense of *wrongness* at the lie, and the words cut themselves off. “…Uh, Monday?”
Charlotte Pelletier, MIT graduate, confident socialite, and fitness fanatic had valued her *honesty* above everything else?
He laughed, the sound choked even to his own ears.
“This won’t end well,” he said out loud, smooth and honest.
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[WP] When you kill someone, it is believed you get their best trait. In reality, you get the trait they think is their best
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Judy was absolutely amazing...or so she claimed.
Her arrogance was nothing short of infuriating. I despised how she looked down upon others,
The way she treated others simply because she was smarter.
That's why I did it.
And I regret it so, so much.
As it turns out, you don't get what you like the most about them; you get what they like the most about themselves.
The thing I didn't realize was that Judy wasn't just rude; she had a severe case of narcissism.
And now I look at people the same way she does, becoming the exact thing I hated.
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The world changed when you could inherit traits. They day I learned I had spent with my mates. I moved on thinking that nothing would happen. The world would stay the same, not descend into madness.
Oh how wrong we were when later that day, when the criminals came out to play. I was in my room when the door was knocked down. A man with great strength was out on the town. He threatened me and brandished a knife. "I'm sorry child, your life ends tonight." I knew the man, he lived down the street. He was the butcher who would beat the meat. I always knew he envied my brain, for I would often hear him complain. "That kid is too smart for his own good, why do we need someone like that in this neighborhood. My son Kyle always feels dumb, this kids is why he always feels glum!"
Fearing the knife strike as it came my way, I quickly dived much to the butchers dismay. I grabbed the heaviest book on my table, and hit him quite hard in an attempt to disable. He fell and hit his head on the ground, all I heard was the great sound. I suddenly found myself filled up with strength, and realized I had absorbed his favorite trait.
I continued on slaying anyone in my way, gathering all the traits I could as they came my way. Beauty I got from a girl in my school, I justified it saying she never followed the rules. Speed I got from a friend who ran track, I hit him with quite a loud smack. Fearing trouble I wanted to learn how to hide, so I killed the kid whom I thought applied.
Assured of my strength I felt quite strong, but I also knew that something was wrong. Something had changed within my head, I felt as though everything was red. The anger in my mind would not subside, not even with waiting quite a long time. I suddenly heard a voice ending my slaughter, "Please Sir spare this young daughter." A priest pleaded with me, I guess he just wasn't aware of what I could be. A young girl behind him scared I could see. I stabbed the priest, my eyes like a beast's. The young girl looked at me as I began to cry, the girl confused and waiting to die.
"Why have you spared me sir?" as her voice rang aloud. I said nothing but felt like I was covered by a shroud. The weight on my soul was too much to bear.
I could tell that it was time to share. "For every person I kill gain their traits!" The girl had quite a funny look on her face.
"I know that mister, just tell me why you spared this young sister."
"Well the priest I just killed had quite a strong power gifted from above."
"What trait is it sir, that saved me from death."
"Well young lady, it was the power of love."
"Well now I guess I won't take my last breath!" The girl said with a smile. Suddenly all I could taste was poisonous bile. I looked down and there was a knife. In front of my eyes flashed my terrible life. The girl looked at me with that fiendish glare. "It seems that now you've been caught in my snare." A tear rolled down my face as I accepted my fate. I bled out wondering to myself what was my greatest trait.
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[WP] In a world with superheroes the greatest villain of all time has placed you under his protection. Being a person of no consequence, and with no powers, you can only wonder why.
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"So, I'm now under your protection. You'll make sure no harem comes to me?"
"Yep."
"And I get to live in your fortress of evil. Rent free and meals included."
"Yep."
"And according to this contract I get a monthly allowance in addition to a separate dress and jewelry allowance?"
"Yep."
"But I can't leave the fortress."
"Nope."
"And I HAVE to wear dresses... you do realize i'm a guy right?"
"Yep."
"...what D&D fantasy are you trying to recreate exactly?"
" **All of them** ! Dress and gem allowance is negotiable by the way if you would consider cat ears and tail now and again."
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Barry jolted awake, looking around panicked. He saw a man sitting nearby in a wheelchair. "Wh-where am I?"
The man responded calmly, seeming fairly at ease. "Calm down, Mr. Alan. You are in Star Labs, and you have just survived a blast of lightning."
Barry blinked and shook his head. He could have sworn that he just saw that vase fall off the table... It was probably just a trick of the light.
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[WP] In a world with superheroes the greatest villain of all time has placed you under his protection. Being a person of no consequence, and with no powers, you can only wonder why.
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"Hm." I nonchalantly survey my surroundings.
For a notorious supervillain skeletal monster...thing..., the Lich certainly keeps a very tidy home. The coloring is a bit drab, sure, but there's definitely an intentional pairing of browns, blacks, and beiges, making it calming... in a macabre way? There's the bed that I'm sitting on (neatly made), a single locked window overlooking what once might have been considered a pastoral landscape, a dusty yet sturdily built night stand (empty), a crusty old lamp, standard locked door, an old CRT TV with an equally old DVD player...
Ugh, why am I focused on interior design?
This situation is probably more dire than I'm willing to acknowledge, but it sure isn't happening on an urgent timeline. It's been hours since I've been dumped here, and, I mean, yeah, I have access to some of his minions making sure I'm fed and such, so I'm not really in any discomfort, but this is certainly more boring than an average kidnapping is expected to be.
I'm not even sure why I'm here.
I'm pretty unremarkable, all things considered. Average frame, average height, brown hair, brown eyes... There's noth- well, okay, I guess I have an above-average appetite for anime...
…
...wait...
**BLAM**
There was no time to ruminate before the Lich kicked the door in, arms full of DVDs (box sets *and* loose discs without their jackets), and an abundance of mangas, most of which I've read before. I would be more horrified if the pure surrealism of the situation hadn't already set in.
I knew what was coming.
**"PUNY HUMAN, I HAVE ACQUIRED THE ANCIENT RECORDS AND TOMES OF YOUR PEOPLE. YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF TO BE THE MOST KNOWLEDGABLE OF THIS DIALECT AND YOU WILL DISCERN THE GREATEST AMONG THESE IMMEDIATELY."**
I...I have no idea what to do with this. Who would've thought that the Lich was a *weeb*??
**"YOU HAVE ONE HOUR. I WILL THEN RETURN FOR YOUR ANSWER. SATISFY ME OR PERISH."**
The door closed as quickly as it opened, with the tumblers of the lock serving as his final punctuation. I stood frozen in place, mouth agape, and I slowly looked down at the disheveled pile of media strewn about my feet. I carefully sat myself down and began.
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"Vanessa! I told you NOT to touch ANYTHING!" a nasally voice yelled from within the elaborate rooftop laboratory.
"Ugh! It's so boring here!" Vanessa replied, frustrated, as she passed by the TePartySimulator-inator, wondering just why she chose to spend her Sunday here. "Besides, I didn't even have anything to deliver this time."
"I'm expecting *company*" the super villain replied, with a glint in his eye, as he delightedly rubbed his hand together.
The teenaged girl rolled her eyes "A platypus doesn't coun- "
The front door dropped to the ground with a loud thud.
"Ctrrrtrrrtrr" articulated the intruder, tipping his hat.
"Ahem - that means - he does, when your father is the infamous Dr.Doofenshmirtz"
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[WP] In a world with superheroes the greatest villain of all time has placed you under his protection. Being a person of no consequence, and with no powers, you can only wonder why.
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Every few millennia, or upon the death of a carrier, the power of Xondir chooses a new host. It is not inherently good or evil, but the selection process usually ensures it is used for the former. The power selects a person of strong resolve, immense courage and bravery, a strong will, and a clear conscience. It grants the host awesome strength, immense speed, flight, intellect, a tactical mind yet to be outmatched, telekinesis, immortality, near invulnerability, and the ability to shoot energy blasts from the hosts eyes or hands.
“And you think I’m the next host of this...what did you call it? Power of zon...deer?” The captive asked.
“Xondir!” The villain shouted at his captive as he paced back and forth in front of the cage.
“Sounds pretty cool...wait you said it’s usually used for good, what makes you think when I get the power I won’t bust out of here and kill you?” The captive asked, thinking he outsmarted his kidnapper.
“Upon receiving the power, the host’s memories are completely wiped, leaving the host...suggestible. Which is why it also chooses people without family or friends, orphan boy.” The villain turned his nose up at his captive, who shrunk down with the reminder of his tragic past.
“Whatever, I’m sure Captain Fantastic will rescue me before any of that happens.” The captive said defiantly.
“Oh I’ve made doubly sure that the heroes of this city are quite pre-occupied, and in case any of those distractions fell through, that no one knows of your capture. Trust me, Alex Jones, there’s nothing you can think of that I haven’t already.”
Alex studied his captor, still pacing in front of the cage. “You look nervous.”
“You would be too if you knew what I’m going to have to go through.” He said.
“I’m going to be what you have to go through!” A voice came from above.
“Captain Fantastic? How!” The villain shouted.
Before the good captain had a chance to explain his presence, a bolt of red lightning hit Alex Jones, and tossed the hero and villain to opposite sides of the room. Just as fast as it had appeared, the blinding red flash of light was gone. Alex Jones was now standing, eyes glowing red and gazing between the awe struck hero and now panicking villain.
“No! Not now! I need more time!” The villain scrambled to his feet.
“This must be the power of Xondir you’ve been after all your life. What was the phrase you said that needed to be said to a new host to control him again? Ah yes, **Xondir! I am this host’s mentor and trainer, I wish to guide him on a path of light using your power!**”
“**Then it is your lead that I will follow, Captain Fantastic**.”
“NOOOOOO!” The villain shouted as the two flew off into the night sky. His one chance to wield cosmic power...
...gone.
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"Vanessa! I told you NOT to touch ANYTHING!" a nasally voice yelled from within the elaborate rooftop laboratory.
"Ugh! It's so boring here!" Vanessa replied, frustrated, as she passed by the TePartySimulator-inator, wondering just why she chose to spend her Sunday here. "Besides, I didn't even have anything to deliver this time."
"I'm expecting *company*" the super villain replied, with a glint in his eye, as he delightedly rubbed his hand together.
The teenaged girl rolled her eyes "A platypus doesn't coun- "
The front door dropped to the ground with a loud thud.
"Ctrrrtrrrtrr" articulated the intruder, tipping his hat.
"Ahem - that means - he does, when your father is the infamous Dr.Doofenshmirtz"
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[WP] You have been pregnant for little over three months. At your next scan, it becomes apparent that you are pregnant with 12 babies. Six months later you give birth to the now ‘modern’ Greek Gods.
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"Aw dammit. I knew I shouldn't have had sex with that peacock."
Initially it seemed like an ordinary pregnancy, with a lot of kids. But no. One came from my head, one from my leg, and birthing 2 of them required me to be born on this small ass rock in the middle of the ocean.
But, damn, it was a sexy peacock.
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The first time Sam saw Evelyn she was kneeling in her garden, with a half dozen kids scattered across the backyard. The garden took up the entirety of the backyard. Two acres leading from the back of the wooden house to the forest. A path on the right side of the house lead to the backyard. The dirt path turned to field stone in the earth.
Sam followed the path and could smell the backyard garden before he saw it. Bushes and flowers of herbs covered the porch and lattice. Then cleared earth for a fire. Three slabs of stone surrounded the smoldering fire. Past the fire was the vegetable garden. The with of the backyard filled with seemingly random patches of shrubs, flowers, grasses and weeds.
The kids noticed Sam first, between him and Evelyn were two. A boy and girl. They sat on some rocks with there feet in an irrigated row of corn. A boy with pale blonde hair kicked his feet contently. A girl with long curly brown hair under a straw hat turned to see Sam. She grabbed her brothers hand and stood. The children ran to their mother. All but one, a chubby child with curly hair and golden brown skin ran to get between them. Then he said "Mama" like a Soldier calling for his Captain. His two brother stood on either side of her of her with their sisters watching over their shoulders.
Evelyn rose to greet Sam and Sam could feel a sense of importance.
*Hi Miss Evelyn? I'm the new landlord-*
*Wonderful, there's a wild animal in the tool shed I need you to look at.*
*What is it?*
*I'm sure I don't know.*
*Could you call animal control or an exterminator or something?*
*What am I paying you for then? Call yourself a landlord, lords use to go to war you know. Just take a look, it's not even my tool shed that last landlord made that very clear.*
*Alright fine fine, I'll take a look.*
The garden was full of pleasant smelling flowers and greens. A dirt path weaved through bushes of flowers, past a steep hill sowed with vegetables, ending in flat field with a man sized shed shaded by the trees.
THOON. The shed shook sending clapboards flying.
THOON. Through the window a dark hairy figure reared up.
THOON. The shed exploded in splitters. A wolf as big as a bear gnarled, baring his fangs at Sam.
In front of Sam stood that little boy. Sam stood paralyzed in fear, only able to witness. The beast leap at the boy opening his jaws to swallow the boy whole. The boy leaned to the side and punched the side of the wolfs head with a CRACK, sending him flying into a tree.
*Andrew!*
*Mama I saved the man!*
The boy stood beaming at his mother. Sam finally able to move could only look at the giant beast now dead having smashed into the tree.
*Andy can you take the new landlord inside, I think he should take a look at the sink in the bathroom* she said breathlessly as she ran down the path to Sam. She pulled him up and turned him toward the house. Andy ran between them and pushed Sam away.
Sam turning to see the animal could not stop his movement try as he might. The Boy did not seem to struggle to push Sam, he merely marched forward with his hands on Sams back. Behind him the two brothers went to do something Sam couldn't see.
*Wait what was that?*
But no one answered and in seconds he was in a cramped kitchen. Then a clean white bathroom. The boy pushed Sam in to the tub then dove into under the sink pulling out a wrench. He tossed it over to Sam who caught it surprising himself. The boy turn the spout upside down with one hand.
*Fix it.* and he left slamming the door behind him.
*WHAT'S HAPPENING!*
He could hear activity outside, they sounded busy but the window was blocked by a bush of thorns. Now coming to his senses he stepped out of the tub and dropped the wrench on an open hamper. He washed his face with cold water but felt no better.
KNOCK KNOCK
The door opened. Evelyns face appeared with a nervous smile.
*Oh good you're done. well then I won't keep you.* She opened the door fully and the curly haired boy stood covered in dirt and huffing. Behind her two girls on either side held onto her pants, all covered in dirt. Down the hall the rest of her children peeked from behind door ways and up a staircase.
Andrew began pushing Sam again but Sam could hear the child straining behind him. Sam was already at the front door when he managed to run forward out of Andrews's reach. The boy fell and Same took off down the path to the shed. Climbing the small hill the path now ended at a tree. The remains of the shed nowhere to be seen. A girl watered the tree.
*There you go Maple tree, you're okay.*
*Little girl, how long has this been here?*
*Oh since last summer* She didn't turn to answer. It was the curly haired girl. Her hands and feet dirty and her white dress colored pinks and blues and greens from running through fields. Evelyn and her son now caught up.
*Thank you mister Sam but we don't need anything else.* She went to go around him for another push but he spoke up.
*Wheres the animal?*
*I buried it already* Said Andy.
*That quickly?*
*It was just a opossum. Didn't take very long.*
*It wasn't a opossum! It was huge as a bear, you killed it, it was amazing.*
*Mr. Sam! Please Andy is a small boy, he couldn't kill bear. He just kicked a opossum, you got scared and you think it was bear?*
*No it was as big as a bear, it looked like a wolf but perfectly black. Where'd you bury it.* Sam looked to the boy.
*you're standing on it.*
Looking down Sam now recalled that there hadn't been a small mound earlier. He walked off it now paying it respect. The girl with the watering can walk around it throwing seeds onto the still loose soil.
*We can put its spirit to rest.* Said Evelyn. *But you can't disturb it now. That'd be very bad.*
The young girl watered the mound and spoke. *You're okay wolfie. You'll be alright.*
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[WP] If physics was replaced with Bethesda's engine
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The sirens. I miss the sirens. They are less frequent now, if they happen at all. Hiding seems to be all people can do when the refuse took to the sky. Anything not nailed down could, at any time, chaotically take flight and spread like dust in the wind. Mass means nothing anymore, the world is being destroyed by its own lack of consistency. Some people didn't even notice the changes initially, till they were stuck, unable to move forward or back in doorways. Seemingly for no reason, even with help they couldn't progress. I never saw it, but some would have horrific things happen to them if they were too close to a wall. The worst I've seen were the invisible barriors. They exist in the edges of towns or just outside old buildings. Some could simply touch the barrior and it felt like touching a sheet of unbreakable warm glass. Others found that they would touch and their bodies would become contorted. I saw my neighbor's arms twist and break, protruding from her chest as her legs song upward backwards from the knee. She just floated there. She didn't even feel it. Poor soul. As we ran, some were stuck in place trying to escape, but couldn't move, not from any kind of barriors, they just seemed to have lost traction and began to sink into the earth, like they were water through a strainer, without a trace they just slipped into the ground. I miss the sirens.
The sirens. They let me know the world was still real. I haven't seen it for days. I've been in this room, watching my cat frictionlessly walking in the same spot. Every so often I sleep, only to wake and everything in the room not nailed down has raised up 6 inches and all comes crashing down. Nothing is on shelves anymore. There is no organization to the mess, just the occasional slamming and the odd pair of pants or cup falling and sporadically ricocheting, seemingly randomly. The drywall is ruined.
I will die soon and I'll embrace the death. The flying objects don't bother me anymore. The flames outside can't seem to go out nor spread, so I know I will eventually starve. I'm still not sure how I'm alive right now to tell this story. I woke up yesterday and as I tried to get out of bed, I found myself standing inside of the bed. Not on it, mind you, but inside of it. My feet are cold, so I imagine they are hanging from the ceiling downstairs, or maybe in the hollow of the floor. I can't tell, but I know my thighs are in the bed frame. I wish that they had just been severed so I could simply bleed out, but somehow I simultaneously exist inside of the frame and the frame exists within me. I haven't been able to move. I want to die.
There's a gun in my side table. The rattling of something on the other side of the wall, endlessly spinning in place, tearing chunks out of my floor has pushed me over the edge. I'd like to simply end it, but I'm afrade that with what has happened to this world, I don't know that I can. Last night I held the barrel firmly pressed against my temple, simply ready to end my existence. I couldn't take it anymore. I'm sure my family is dead, or contorted or stuck like me and I can't even imagine it. I squeezed. Click. Bang. My hearing is ruined now, but the bullet simply didn't touch me. It did manage to put another hole in the drywall to my left. Nothing makes any sense anymore. I put the gun back into the side table. The drywall is ruined.
|
Everything started off normally. The great rapture wasn’t all that bad. People still danced, sung and just enjoyed life. But one day when they hit four-hundred-eight hours into the event something horrifying happened.
The engine started to glitch. People at first didn’t know why it was happening. Why people morphed and feel through the floor. People didn’t know why they would do one task and be set back to another world. People only know that it created painful, horrifying monsters. No one knew what to do.
Than they figured it out. People often wondered how but in truth it was because of all the weird glitches. They said it was a way they added a logo to the engine but everyone knew the truth. There was no denying it. They could only try to help.
This is how they did that.
No one knew what engine it ran on, so the “Bee” hired everyone they could to go through and fix every engine. No one knew if it would help but they had to try.
_____________________________________________
> Hey I’m Jake and don’t usually write these. Maybe a part two will come. Thanks
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[WP]]After death, you find yourself in a long queue waiting to jump into one of the two pits. Each had something written on its entry. one pit had the word 'Life' and the other pit had gibberish. To your surprise many were already jumping into the other pit. Now it's your turn to jump.
|
I knew my time had come as soon as I stepped up onto the podium. Death asked for no decisions as it swiftly plucks us from our bodies and whisks us to this underworld. But little did many people and major religions predict was that there's a part two. That's right. Christianity believed in two realms based on your worldly life: an ethereal heaven or blazing hell. Islam believed in two angels that'll determine your afterlife. Hell, even Egyptians believed in weighing your worldly heart to determine whether you get eaten by a monster dog or get to reap wheat happily.
But they were all wrong. Not completely though, but I can summarize it for you in two statements:
1. Whatever happened in your earthly life does not affect your afterlife. At least, you won't get immediately thrusted into either a cloudy paradise or burning abyss.
2. It's a hella long queue.
When I woke up, I was half-expecting hell. I mean, how good would you be if you were a high-school dropout turned office worker bum who'd drink himself to near-death every weekend? But, all I saw was a huge cavern of darkness, and a brightly lit neon sign that simply glowed:
**LINE UP 42 THIS DIRECTION**
I trudged up that direction as I felt around my body. I think I died in my sleep, although not sure of what. But whatever had ended me did not leave a mark. I was wearing my blue worn-out pyjamas and slippers, organs all intact. I breathed a sigh of relief as I started on my journey to Line 42.
The walk was pretty long, but I started to enjoy it. Quietness, dimly-lit, all by myself; totally the opposite of my busy city life that ultimately amounted to nothing. But as light quickly approached, I introduced myself to an unwelcome, but all-too familiar setting.
A line of people stood there as it advanced maybe every 10 seconds. But even despite then, the number of people I saw could not be put into words. Have you ever been to a concert? Not the outdoors one. The ones where the cheapest seat is $120 and you're at least 3 miles away from the stage. Great, now double that. I guess overpopulation is starting to leak into the underworld too.
"Here kiddo! Over here!" I heard a call to my right as I saw an old man with a cane beckon me over to what looks like the end of the line. Slowly making my way there, he shook his hand in a hurried motion. I speed-walked there as I got into the queue behind him; only a matter of nanoseconds until the line behind me started building up.
"You looked lost, so I figured a kind soul would be nice huh?" He started as he gave me a toothy grin.
"U-Uh yeah." I stammered out as I took a few more seconds to take in the sight. Truly something to behold that hell or purgatory or whatever this realm is, is not full of cherubs or demons or whatever. In fact, it looked more like a hospital waiting room. Without the drinks of course. I letted out a sigh of relief. At least I wasn't doomed, yet.
"This is the afterlife." The old man started as he gestured to the whole crowd. "We all wait here. The good, the bad, and the ugly." He cracked a joke as I let out a small smirk. "But I bet you probably wondering what awaits us at the end."
"Yeah. Is it God or Satan or, or I don't even fucking know at this point." I scratched my head.
"Haha, close." He said as he pointed to the wall in front of him. Placed there were two large slabs of obsidian stone with a single word in each of them. Straining my eyes, I took a closer look at what they each said.
The leftward one said Life.
The rightward one said Ferg..., Dfo..., actually, it looked more like chicken scratch.
"See, right there are two choices kiddo." The old man said with a smile as he traced out a circle. "When you get to the end, there are two pits, capiche?" I nodded apprehensively. "And each pit will lead to either life, or your wild card!" He danced gleefully, almost like a broken animation. "Many are choosing their wildcard, and I'm sure gonna too!"
It made sense the two inscriptions corresponded to the pits. But I'm still confused with mine. "Uh, you're gonna choos-"
"No no!" The old man stopped me as he shook his head in disagreement. "There's a reason it's called the wild card, and it's because it's different for everyone." He explained as he advanced in line; I followed. "If you choose Life, you born again. Something new, something old, but definitely something random."
"BUT!" His voice escalated with excitement. "Your wild card is unique! May be reincarnation, may be not!" He smiled as he placed his hand on his cane, as if in a seducing position. "Mine says I get to relive the last 24 hours before Gertrude died, and then go to an eternal hell." He said in a soft and genuine tone. "To see her again..." He ended his explanation wistfully.
"B-but wait!" I said as I jumped forward, causing the old man to move back in shock. "Why would you choose 24 hours over a new life!" My confused self nearly shouted with utter confusion as other people started giving us looks. "W-Why?! It's absurd to choose that!"
"Ah...yes, absurd." The old man said slowly as he lowered his tired head. "She said that a lot. Must be one of the reasons why I fell for her in the first place." Tears started to form on his eyes as he looked up at me with his reminiscing eyes of hope.
"Before death takes you, every one has one last wish; one last chance." His mouth moved slowly as years of wrinkles and old age suddenly poured out their repressed sentiments. "Even if it damns me... even if it stops my own cycle..."
"He's right you know." A female voice came from behind me as a young-looking teenage girl moved forward with stride. "My right choice says I get to see my biological father, but then get reincarnated into a life of abuse." Her words stung at my skin as I imagined what kind of fool would take that trade-off, but it was evident in her eyes that she wanted to see the father she never had.
"I-I see garden!" A squeak came from below me as a small infant wearing a blue onesie crawled towards my direction. "Me fell! Hit head!" He squealed in a sad tone as he rubbed his head, as if hurt. "But now I see flower! And sun! And sky! Wish! Wish!" He waved his hands excitedly as he let out squeals of joy.
People moved forward too as they started telling their own wild card choices. A burn victim getting to live a life graduating from her preferred university but then dying of leukemia. A truck driver who died with his family gets to see them before being whisked away. But amongst all these voices, I kept thinking about my own wild card. What have I done in my life? Who did I impact with my life? Was it good? Was it bad?
***What is the meaning of my life?***
But before long, I found myself at the podium. On the stage of where heaven and hell meets; where judgment and free will clash. The stage that Hamlet himself had preached about, this is the stage I stood at as I stared down at the two large bottomless pits and their adjoining signs.
**Life.**
**???**
I closed my eyes one last time and thought back through all my memories. Through every person whose heart I have touched or destroyed. To every interaction and choice I made. How impactful were they? Not on them, but on me? Did my life mean something to me, or was it just a flashy blur of nonchalance? Through all the happiness and sadness and tears and laughter, how much did they mean right now as I stared into the eyes of my maker?
In that one moment, I realized that the life of Samuel Gerry was nothing worth remembering; nothing more than a fleeting petal in the wind, in a world of ephemeral flowers.
And without a second thought, I dove into the unknown.
\-----------------------------------------------------
[SH](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shiruet/)
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I contemplate my decision.
Life? Or the unknown?
Well, naturally I’m terrified of the second pit. It’s just human nature to be afraid of the unknown. Maybe it’s just in some satanic language I can’t read? I attempt to read it again,
“Jan’jtan loghma’ahk [|}~<]>|%”
It doesn’t help that it’s in one of those unreadable cursive fonts.
I ponder the pit labeled “Life.”
Ive already had one of those, so I know what it’s like. It sucks.
After all, the saying is “Life isnt fair,” not “Jan’itan etc etc isn’t fair.” But life isn’t so bad; it’s right about in the middle of the good-bad scale. It’s neutral.
Okay, looking at the Life pit isn’t helping. I just need to decide whether I think this mystery pit is better or worse than life.
“Get a move on, we have more people to get through!”
“I WAITED FIVE HOURS IN THIS LINE YOU CAN GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES!” I respond to whoever shouted.
What if, if I chose life, I remember this in my next life?
Oooooh I’ll be eaten up by the curiosity of what’s in the mystery pit.
Okay, I’m too curious. I’m an explorer, it’s in my nature! I line myself up with the unknown pit and look down into this abyss.
Here we go.
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[WP] Everyone thinks that rising temperatures is the greatest threat posed by climate change, but only you know the real danger. With the melting of the ice, old monsters rise out of their ancient hibernation...
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We tried so hard to stop this. There were petitions to reduce carbon emissions, and to have harsher penalties on companies that weren't green enough. Now we were reaping what we sowed. A part of me felt we deserved, but there were so many innocent people who didn't deserve this. Our efforts weren't enough.
It all started when a significant portion of the ice melted. They didn't come for a while though, but the first sign was mysterious deaths. News stations had a field day with that, and scientists were left baffled. We had no idea what caused this.
Eventually, we learned the source and tried to contain the threat. When that didn't work, we tried to figure out a way to help those that came into contact with it. Our researchers couldn't keep up with the demand. These monsters were hibernating for a long time, and we were left with no defenses.
I'm sorry to say that there is not much hope. I told everyone what would happen if we didn't stop global warming, and now they are reaping what they sowed. The diseases trapped in the ice were never dead; they were laying in wait for us to release them from their thousands of years of hibernation.
No one listened then, and now there are few people left to even talk to.
|
I remember now.
I was a researcher on such creatures. It was my job to figure out if these creatures were still capable of being brought back to existence. If possible, I would extract such an animal to take some of its DNA and clone it.
I didn't expect it to still be *alive*.
While the wind howled behind me, my team ran away at the sight of this creature. I had not realized that it moved- I thought it was just an illusion. I was all alone when the beast began to rise up from its ancient hibernation.
Covered in thick, brown fur, it sniffed the air with its large nose, but when it found what it was looking for, it opened its massive jaws. Paralyzed with fear, I stood still as the monster began to lurk towards me. Finally, I got my wits about me to move, but the ice had engulfed my legs. I couldn't move. I couldn't run. I couldn't escape.
Closer and closer.
I could smell its putrid, disgusting breath that burned my skin. I fell to the icy ground, praying to God that my team was coming back with weaponry, or *something* to get me out of there. *Save me, dear Lord, save me.*
Closer and closer.
God wasn't answering my prayers. The creature cast a large, black shadow over me. Its jaws weren't wide enough to swallow me whole, but I knew that its razor sharp teeth could easily cut me in half.
Closer and closer.
Finally, I accepted my fate. There was no use in trying to resist- the beast had already found its first meal in several million years.
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[WP]"Did you honestly think humans couldn't learn magic?"
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“Yes,” I answered truthfully.
She groaned. “Really? I feed you, give you a place to stay and this is the thanks I get?”
“Sorry, I’ve never seen a human who had magic before. I thought it had something to do with your species not having a tail.”
“A tail?” She balks. “Not all magic comes from under the sea, you racist mermaid.”
“Excuse me? I’m half dolphin, I’ll have you know. I’d swim away if I weren’t stuck in this contraption.”
"It's called a bathtub." She sighed. “I learned magic from my goldfish. You happy?”
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"I mean, the eleves were the ones who made it.. "
"Just because yall' didnt want to share it with rest of the world, doesn't mean that Humans cant just start screaming out gibberish until someones house just lights on fire. We figured it out, BECAUSE you didn't tell us."
"Oh..are you gonna like destroy us all now?"
"Nah, you guys are cool."
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[WP] You wake up a human lie detector, and your ability tells you everything your best friend told you, including his name, is a lie.
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"Joey, what's your real name?" I ask him.
"Huh?" he responds, grinning. "My real name? Joseph Patrick Mulgrew. You know that, Frankie."
"No I don't," I shoot back. "As a matter of fact, I *know* that's not your real name."
"Oh really? Well, that would be news to me, Frankie!" he laughs. "So, what do *you* think my name is, if it's not what I think it is?"
"I don't know," I respond, trembling. "I just know that everything you've ever said to me is a lie."
"Everything? A *lie*? Come on, Frankie, we've known each other for over 30 years. Do you really think I've been lying to you all this time?"
I steel myself. "I don't think it, I *know* it."
He looks concerned, though I know it's just another lie. "Oh? And how do you *know* it, all of a sudden?"
"I've had the ability to detect lies, since I woke up this morning."
His look of concern deepens. "And...was anything *else* different?"
That question caught me off guard. "Well," I start, "I do have a bit of a headache, and my left side's a little weak..."
He yells to the foreman, "Harry! Call 911, tell 'em Frankie's had a stroke and I'm running him to the ER at Saint Edna!"
"A *stroke*?" Harry responds. "Why do you think he's had a--"
"*Just make the fucking call!*" he yells at Harry, as he slings me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and heads for the door.
Once we're in Joey's car, he peels out of the parking lot like a man with a death wish, headed for the hospital.
"Who are you and why are you doing this?" I ask him, terrified.
"I'm trying to save your fucking *life*, buddy," he responds immediately. "Tell me, Frankie, which is more likely: One, that a guy has a stroke in his sleep, and the next morning has the delusion that his best friend isn't who he says he is...
"Or two, that a guy wakes up with a miraculous truth-detecting ability, and the first guy he sees happens to lie about *everything*?"
I'd been so caught up trying to figure out why Joey was lying to me that I hadn't even considered that it might be my own mind that was lying. "I see your point," I mutter, getting *really* frightened now.
In the ER, they give me a sedative to calm me, and it starts to put me to sleep. As it takes hold, draining me of will, I hear Joey and the doctor talking--
"So that's what he said. What do you think, Doc?"
"Interesting case... I'd like to keep him for a few days for observation, but first we need to increase the standard meds in his diet. Some of the humans develop an immune response like this, but it's easy enough to keep ahead of it once it's identified. Good job, Griznflindo."
"That's *Joey* if you don't mind!"
They both laughed, as I drifted off to dreamless sleep.
|
"Un-fucking-believeable Fredrick", I screamed into the phone. "How could you have lied to me about your name! *Harold*? Give me a break".
I was so mad I didn't realize the people staring at me in the underground subway. I turn around to avoid their gaze and continue.
"W-what do you mean man", he said, choking on his words as the very truth of him has been exposed. "Who told you? How did you find out?" He was practically pissing his pants at this point. I paused for a minute. How did I know? What was this sudden urge of realization? Everything Haro- erm, Fredrick told me this far has been a lie. His 8 membered family in China, his 13 years of service in the Navy, his long distance girlfriend, Maria. I mean, it might've been obvious he didn't have that relationship but to be friends with him for so long and to have been lied to this much.
My anger boiled inside me. I was ready to shout until a bag was forced over my head. My hands were being held by a tight grip as well as my legs. I panicked, I screamed, but it was muffled. I think I was practically pissing my pants at this point.
We stop.
"Put him in the trunk", a gruffly voice yelled from in front of me. My heart began racing as I hear the latch of the trunk unhitch. They threw me in and slammed it shut.
"Fuck me", I thought, trying to separate my hands. I didn't know they were tied, considering it had been held tight until now. I was, how they say, fucked. I feel and hear the car take off. In a sudden jolt, I'm thrown into the front of the opening, head hitting something oddly comfortable. I managed to calm down.
"Where are we going?"
"Am I going to die?"
The thoughts circled my brain until I had a clever idea.
"I am going to die", I muffled out.
An undescribable feeling coursed through the back of my neck. It was a lie. Feeling relieved, I relax my shoulders and let my breathing calm. "Am I going to see Fredrick", I thought. That's probably why he sounded so scared. He was probably hiding and I exposed him so plainly like that. Or maybe he's a criminal on the run? I wish I knew but I didn't. The thought of it scared me.
A few minutes passed and the vehicle came to a soft, slow halt. I heard he sounds of car doors opening and closing. More than enough to be one car. I began to panic again,y breath frantically trying to catch itself.
The trunk opens.
I'm pulled out from my shoulders and forced to the ground. An object pressed against my head and the bag is removed. Standing in front of me was none other than Fredrick. But it wasn't like those typical movie scenes where they would have a smirk, no, this was different. The whole aura was off.
"Mr. Tre Seams, born September fourth, nineteen eighty two".
Ah shit. It's witness protection.
"Age Thrity Four", the voice resumes. "Single, no social life, born with no father".
The voice continues to list my personal information and my life. I almost fell asleep until I was forced onto my feet and turned around to face man with a suit and a document in his hand that read -[CLASSIFIED]- in big red letters. Fredrick's picture was located in the top right, held by a paper clip.
"How do you know Fredrick if he introduced himself to you as Harold Montgommery", the man sternly asked. His eyes stared into mine, patiently waiting for answer.
I didn't know what to tell him. If I told him that it just felt like a hunch, he'd instantly have me arrested and sent to prison. I had to think fast.
"I-It's a long story", I muttered out.
The man then, was handed two foldable chairs. He put one behind me and then sat on his own. Me? I was forced to sit and held down by the guy still pointing his gun to my head.
"Well, let's hear this story then", he stated. "I have all day".
And so, I began.
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[WP] "How is the E.A.R.T.H. project going?" "It is mostly a success with 68 of the 100 planet developing life, 12 of which are inhabited by intelligent races. Most of the planets are safe, but the planet S-3 is inhabited by a relatively advanced "peaceful" war-race."
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Xandar was quietly daydreaming in his cabin. A rare moment of tranquility in the otherwise chaotic world of galactic bureaucraty. E.A.R.T.H. harvesting scout ships were not exactly luxury space cruisers, they were small, cramped, understaffed and the air always felt musky and humid. The pressure was slowly getting to him too, the Galactic Food Association had poured a great deal of time and ressources at their pet project "Exquisite Appetizer Ressources and Tasty Hors d'oeuvre" and the demand for results was becoming a heavy burden. Xandar didn't particularly liked the job but the rank had its privileges, most notable was an individual cabin, the only place he could have some quiet time to himself abord the ship.
&#x200B;
*Commander Xandar, you are needed on the bridge sir.*
Well, quiet time until some asshat gets on the ship intercom. Xandar got up and made his way to the bridge. Although calling this a bridge might have been an overstatement, it was a glorified cockpit where 4 person could fit with the bare minimum of comfort.
&#x200B;
*Commander, quarterly culling orders just came in on project E.A.R.T.H.*
How are we looking lieutenant?
*Pretty good quarter if you ask me, 68 planets ready for harvest with 12 displaying advanced but peaceful civilization so it's shouldn't be a problem. There is however a special note about S-3...*
What about it ?
*Preliminary reports indicated above-average violence tendencies but according to the follow-up notes the situation has been corrected and the planet is back within acceptable E.A.R.T.H. parameters.*
That's...almost suspicious. Please set course for S-3 immediatly.
*Very well sir, setting course for Earth*
Wait, what ?
*Earth sir, it's what the locals have been calling S-3. It's not very original but it's kinda clever, almost cute.*
I don't care what the livestock calls the hen lieutenant, please limit yourself to official callsigns as previously instructed, I don't want to go trough a second case of Therion VI anytime soon.
*Will at due respect sir, I don't think Therion VI was any...*
Zip it, lieutenant! We wasted 3 months on that god forsaken rock because you sent us to the wrong planet with your stupid love of indigenous naming. Stick to protocole and official naming.
*As you will, sir.*
&#x200B;
Xandar tried to calm himself. He hated raising his voice but the boredom of this posting and the pressure of his rank meant that he had very little patiente for incompetence and the little quirks of some of his staff members. He turned his attention to the dossier handed to him labeled S-3. Monty had somehow thought it a good idea to rename the file EARTH in bold letters with little stars around them. Xandar sighted and opened the folder. Typical class 5 planetoid with decent atmoshpere and vegetation, high levels of water, primitive humanoid residents mixted with abondant animal life. If these readings were true then the planet had indeed managed a surprising development correction.
&#x200B;
Allright lieutenant, take us in for a closer look, High Command will want a situation update quickly.
&#x200B;
As the ship loomed closer to earth, Xandar studied the screens in front of him, atmospheric readings, temperatures, vegetations, population levels. It was a lot of information to take in all at once but this was hardly his first rodeo so he knew what to look for. As the numbers ran across his 3 eyes, Xandar looked back to his first lieutenant with anger.
&#x200B;
Monty, what the fuck am I looking at here ?
*I'm not sure sir, these readings are highly uncharacteristics.*
Highly uncharacteristics ? Well that's the fucking understatement of the century. High density population dwellings, highly polluted atmosphere, polluted water, depleting natural ressources and 8 billions monkey humanoids killing each others across the planet. I think we're way past *uncharacteristic* readings!
*I don't understand sir, development adjustment harvesting protocoles have been implemented a little over 2,000 local years ago, this should not have happened. The last protocole follow-up report denoted a standard harvesting evolution, lots of natural resources, clean atmosphere and medium density population, like it should have been.*
For fuck's sake, who was in charge of that report ?
*Survey team Beta IX, captain Muligan, sir.*
Muligan ? Dammit, I bet this asshole just pasted the same damn report over and over wihout even bothering to look out of his ass. High Command is gonna have our heads for this.
*Sir ?*
Just.... start me over from the beginning Lieutenant, if we're going to survive this screw up, we'll have to document everything. High commands had high hoped for this planet given the humanoid food presence.
&#x200B;
*Well sir, when first surveyed, this planetoid had a standard level 3B humanoid life society albeit with higher than average violence tendencies. Following standard protocoles, we sent an envoy to pose as a local deity to usurp whatever religion they had and replace it with a goody religion of peace. That way the population grows peacefully, thus limiting its expension and it's usage of the planet's natural ressources. Success rates is close to 94%. Once ready to be harvested, the planet is inhabited by spartially divided pockets of love hippies, resulting in almost no physical and technological resistance.*
Well, lieutenant, I guess we can say that we seriously missed the mark on this one. Peaceful hippies my ass, look at these things. Overpopulated monkey killing machines living in high density dwellings. It looks like they're taking the planet with them as well. We can't use that water, it's brown. Water isn't supposed to be brown lieutenant, shit is brown! The air is lethal to us, they used up more than 3/4 of the world's wood supply, the only thing left are some rare metals but nowhere near enough to recoup our original investment.
*Natural ressources are only an additional revenue stream sir, with those 8 billions ape-thing down there, we should more than reach our harvesting target. I agree they're not really fit for hors-d'oeuvres but bulk meat markets should thrive on the abondance of ressources down there.*
Not viable, according to these numbers the pollution has contaminated them well beyond acceptable levels. We'd have the galactic food control organisation on us within seconds. Shit, this is really bad.
&#x200B;
*What do we do now sir ?*
Nothing, document everything then we're out of here. Since Muligan screwed this up, I'm gonna make sure he's the one paying for it.
*What about the planet sir ? Do we vitrify it ?*
Nah, not worth it.
*But sir, protocole dictates that in the event of...*
I know the protocole lieutenant, but since we're already knee-deep in debts on this project, I'm not going to waste a 5,000,000 credits neutron bomb on this backwater hell-hole. Just put up a quanrantine beacon and hope nobody stumbles upon this wasted rock.
&#x200B;
Xandar heahed back to his cabin. He would be lucky to survive the next yearly review with any rank on his shoulder. As he felt the ship make the jump to hyperspeed, he rested his head on his pillow and looked at the rusty wall next to his bed, water slowly leaking from the main plumbing.
&#x200B;
God I hate this job.
&#x200B;
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The untapped comms network was a whole bag of surprises. On one hand, I was surprised that an extraterrestrial line would be so easy to access, and that it would conveniently be in English. And on the other, who wouldn't be surprised to hear the creation of the whole cosmos, everything you knew, in such a tacit and matter-of-fact way? It was as though a father was talking to his son about a science project.
Recording as much as I could down in my log book, I called the officer of the watch over. He was similarly mindblown, and reported it to the commanding officer, to be answered to as fast as humanly possible. But it seemed that humanly possible just wasn't good enough, when the radio exploded in my face. Charring my anti-flash gear black, I ran to get the mini fire extinguisher in the corner of the combat information centre when the whole ship was struck with a blinding white light.
When I opened my eyes again, we were all standing before two incorporeal flashes of energy, that slowly materialised as humans. One, an old man that stood tall before us, attire inconsistently swapping between full battle order and the suit our leaders wore. His companion, female, smouldered in her dangerous beauty.
"You have made a mistake by eavesdropping, sentients," the man started. "We are your past, present, and future. You could have been the ones to succeed us, but you are as brutish as your time left in this cosmos will be short."
"Brutish? What a joke." The coxswain of our ship scoffed. "Okay, let's get to business. You're going to tell us exactly what you did with our ship and crew, and where you are from."
The executive officer was cautious. "Now, now, Chief. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. Diplomacy first."
He was curtly shut up by the energy woman, flashing brightly as her face contorted into anger. "Silence! You have wrought countless deaths upon yourselves, and will do so upon our other creations if you are allowed to survive." She opens a portal into space, letting us look through it. "Gaze upon the other 11 sentient races, and despair! They are intelligent, strong, and have the resources to defend themselves for many years. What right have you to survive? You, our starter race, our greatest failure!" And indeed, these societies are stunning. Beautiful in their organisation, their achievements, their military... Taking them down in a fight would be nigh-impossible, especially since we are the first ship of our kind.
"You have no strengths. When we call the 11 Races upon you - " The old man's monologue is cut off by a single shot from our Commanding Officer's P226 pistol. Lucky he had it with him at that exact moment. CO sir always came prepared, even if with an antique. And at that moment, with a deafening scream, we were back in our ship, no longer in that white wasteland, being lectured at by two precusor aliens.
"Sir! Enemy craft sighted at x-20, y-40, z-50, reciprocal course. Enemy craft sighted at x-30..." The lookouts are in a panic, as the radar blips are getting increasingly near on our screens.
"No strengths my ass. That shot of mine was filled with every single ounce of defiance and bravery we had. Today, we cancel the inevitable!" CO sir yells. The enemy crafts are getting closer and closer, and as everyone assumes their stations, we will work as one to show the galaxy what humans are capable of.
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[WP] "How is the E.A.R.T.H. project going?" "It is mostly a success with 68 of the 100 planet developing life, 12 of which are inhabited by intelligent races. Most of the planets are safe, but the planet S-3 is inhabited by a relatively advanced "peaceful" war-race."
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E.A.R.T.H. truly was an ambitious project. An entire galaxy in a black hole; a black hole they had created. It was astounding what was capable of existing in so infinitesimally small a space. Truly, he barely understood it. He doubted that even those who had created it truly grasped what they had made, or how they had done it.
It was like a ZIP file; something of a massive size compressed to a fraction of what it once was, or is. The scientists could safely study all the planets and lifeforms in it, but none dared actually try enter the black hole. It was not certain death, no - it was *un*certain death, and the more they theorized what might occur if they tried to enter, the more they were convinced that it was simply not possible.
That did have its benefits , however - it was a window into the world they had created, yet with no entrance or exit. Whatever became of E.A.R.T.H., it would be confined to its own galaxy.
47-S-3 was certainly a curious development though. A peaceful war-race... how oxymoronic. It was certainly the first time they had encountered such a thing, not just in E.A.R.T.H. but the galaxy as a whole. It was always one or the other, yet neither was without its negatives.
The war-races do very well to conquer their own planet, but few manage to colonize other systems. They usually exterminate each other before that ever becomes a possibility. Nasty, short and brutish lives are the hallmark of war-races, and that is certainly a blessing for us. For we are peaceful.
Peaceful races such as ours fare much better, as mutual cooperation is a sure indicator of eventual interplanetary travel.
But of course... any war race that *does* make it out of their planet tend to quickly dominate all peaceful planets around them. The galaxy had learned this time and time again, and countless billions, if not trillions, of lives have been lost at the hand of the few space-faring warrior races. It was only with the cooperation of all peaceful civilizations together that the warrior races were finally defeated, although no doubt their own in-fighting did at least as much damage as we did.
The aftermath of that had led to the galactic treaty, in which any emerging species or planets that waged war were swiftly dealt with. We simply nipped them in the bud, so to speak.
With no notable war-races left, the treaty subsisted, and the galaxy had grown into a peaceful, harmonious place as a result. Species freely intermix, and science flourishes. Truly there has never been such long-lasting peace and prosperity in all our history.
A peaceful war-race... that would certainly be nipped in the bud, if it were not enclosed in our black hole. In the right circumstances, a species like that could unite to wage war on all other planets, and far more effectively than a war-race. Looking at what the species had already done to each other - if they were unleashed on the galaxy with sufficient technology, the results could be catastrophic.
However, with them safely contained in their own little pocket galaxy - they would watch 47-S-3 very closely indeed. E.A.R.T.H. was in for a rough time.
Fortunately for us, there was simply no way the species could exit the black hole.
Theoretically, of course.
*****
*****
[Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9dpfzx/wp_earth_ii/)| [Part III](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9drc02/wp_earth_iii/) | [Part IV - New!](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9dtcih/wp_earth_iv/?)
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
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God nodded in approval at his son. "You are doing well, Ecari. Just beware with that advanced war-race. They might seem peaceful right now, but I'd had to deal with those sort of species in the past. You blink once, a hundred years go by in their world and, before you know it, they conquered the cosmos."
Ecari huffed at his father's words. Didn't he understand that he was eighteen now? An adult capable of taking his own decisions? Those haughty advices bothered Ecary like an itch he couldn't scratch. He wasn't a moron.
"Yes, dad," Ecari said and shook his head, "I know what I'm doing."
God raised an eyebrow and pointed at the sphere in his son's hands. "Are you sure? If I were you I'd check on your project."
Ecari's heart thumped. He turned to gaze at his sphere, plunging right into his universe. Perspiration trickled down his temples and out his palms, he fidgeted as if an earthquake was taking place in his right leg, and he swallowed time and time again.
The Humans as he'd called it, had discovered how to travel faster than light through wormholes without disintegrating. How? Ecari had made sure that was not an option for them. They should've became energy. The pressure should've killed them.
Ecari narrowed his eyes. What were those enormous spaceships made of? He didn't remember creating such a dense material. He didn't remember allowing the possibility of creating such a mighty engine either.
What was happening?
He took a deep breath, and shed a tear as the sides of his lips quirked downward and trembled. The humans had conquered and destroyed every single planet in his universe, slaughtered every other form of intelligent life.
He placed his sphere on a cloud beneath, and waited for his father to boast about how he'd told him he should've watched closer.
However, God placed a hand on his shoulder, knelt to level with him, and whispered into Ecari's ear.
"Happy April fools day," God said and snickered like a mischievous kid.
"What?" Ecari yelled, veins bulging out his neck. "Did you give them all those things?"
"Of course not," God said and laughed again, slapping his knee. "I distracted you on purpose. Those bastards always do the same. Somehow they discover bugs in our universes. They are our testers."
Ecari rose to his feet, his visage hidden in deep shadows, the clouds trembled beneath him, and a storm surged on the horizon, spitting booming thunder and burying Heaven in darkness. "Did you ruin my life time project just because of a simple joke? Choose your words carefully dad. I'm not that little innocent child anymore."
"Ecari, there's no need for one of your tantrums right now," God said, sighed and shook his head. The vestiges of his laughter long gone. "You need to learn to take a joke. Here."
Golden tendrils billowed out of God's beard and wrapped Ecari's sphere. There was a swishing sound, and Ecari's project burst with light, as if it had caught sudden fire.
"There. I reset it to where you were before I interrupted your work," God said and gazed at the storm retreating, then at his son. "You humorless bastard, who raised you?"
"A fool, of course," said Ecari, beaming with sudden joy. "Why don't you check your projects?"
"You didn't."
"Did you think I didn't know what day was today? Happy April fools day, dad."
-------------------------------------------
r/AHumongousFish for more!
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
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Ah great. Not this guy.
His face has been an annoyingly similar sight on the newspapers for a while with headlines of "Innocent man faces court once again for crimes committed by others", "Man escapes court yet again due to guilty conscious " and even the blunt "Court: The corruption and rife exposed!". At least this shouldn't take too long.
Urg why do these lawyers insist on taking forever to do anything? Wish I was with my friend celebrating their newbor- wait a second, that sounds similar... oh fuck, how did they know about the second gun, the silenced witness and the card... I took steps; I took steps to hide this! I can't let this innocent man go to jail for a crime I committed!
I could feel myself uncontrollably stand up, the sound of everyone turning their heads, and that grin. In that grin, I could see why this 'innocent' man had escaped time after time. **I will not go to jail for a crime I did not commit**. I heard in horror myself speaking "*I, Fredrick Trid, hereby confess to* being mind controlled by the defendant *the murder of Alice Godfrey*".
I could feel the confusion sloshing around the courtroom with both lawyers looking shocked but I could see the anger behind those glasses. I could see his face transform from grin to horror, and as I passed out, I saw my own reflected in his eyes...
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And again six hands dropped back down onto the table. "But Jared" Larry whined, his walrus mustache quivering on his wide, glossy face, "They have him at the scene, with the weapon, and her blood all over him". I sat silently for a moment, imagining how easy it would be to simply stand, break a leg off my chair, and stab it into his femoral artery and let him bleed to death from his legs. Standing over him, savoring the irony of him dying to something he obviously used so little would be the pinnacle of enjoyment for me.
"Jared, we have to stop this monster, she's the 13^(th) victim! How can you say he shouldn't get the injection?" Sally declared, bringing me back to reality. Of course they say thirteen, but the total was actually 48. The others all immaculately hidden in ways that none of the cretins would ever be able to comprehend. "He has all the major requirements to pull this off. The military training needed to abduct them without notice, the history of violence against that subset of the populace dating back to his tours in their country, and most of all a discharge due to a failed psych eval which state- " Clare looked down at the notes in front of her "Staff Sergeant Henry Polt has obsessive tendencies which could be detrimental to his platoon and shows signs that lead me to believe he may be suffering from mild depression. I will be prescribing him anti-depressants and recommending discharge for a undisclosed amount of time until he is found to have undergone treatment back home".
The six who believed Polt to be the killer stared at poor Jared who sat there floating in his court donated suite. These wealthy pricks obviously didn't care for the paltry evidence and didn't care for these women, who came from a lower caste of society than them, they only wished to be done with this whole affair. The pressure of their gazes visibly made Jared squirm in his seat. Of the 13 jurors, Jared was the swing vote and the poor man needed to return to work. I knew it, and so too, did the rest of those simpletons trying to coerce him. I looked at Jared, at his sunken cheeks, his calloused hands and though he was tan, somehow still seemed pale, probably some iron deficiency.
"Look, as the defense pointed out, the scene where Polt was found next to the river was vastly different from all the other scenes. His DNA was the only one at the scene, even the body's DNA wasn't found anywhere else. The whole area was obviously already scrubbed and cleaned like the others" I looked at each of them pointedly and they shrunk down a bit. "All these victims are displayed in calm positions without any Rigor mortis set in due to something the police can't identify. Why would Polt randomly on his 13^(th) victim disturb this scene and body, yet still painstakingly keep her body from going through the natural steps after death with this chemical?" I paused for their meager minds to catch up "this was obviously some other ingenious individual who was framing whomever would happen along so the police would stop looking for him". The group of jurors who were in favor of Polt's defense nodded their heads.
Jared squared his shoulders seeming to draw on some unknown energy within him. In that moment I no longer saw a underfed man who worked himself to death just to get by, but a powerful man that could lead his people from the brink back to power. "I feel we should vote again on the case of the people vs. H. Polt", he looked around the room, past the gargantuan Larry, over little Shit Sally and all of the jurors finally resting on me. His clear blue eyes hard as i had seen them these past five days. "All in favor of the defendant raise your hand" and this time, seven hands rose into the air. "The vote passes then 7 to 6 in favor of the defendant, Bailiff please call the Judge and inform him that we have reached a decision" I called from my seat.
The next few hours passed in a blur. As I announced the verdict Mr. Polt practically fell to the floor crying in happiness. The victims of the families also broke, some crying hysterically while others began to yell and scream at us on the jury. It amazed me to see so many of the families of the people I had killed being so angry at me for the wrong reason. The announcement sent a chill over society as the details of the case were leaked. More and more, people began to believe that the killer was indeed still at large.
But I didn't have time for that. It would have made sense to let Polt take the fall for me, as people would not be as on guard again. But when I came forward with the results people needed to **believe** me. And now I had found another one for my experiments. I knew no one would suspect me for killing him. I mean, we had voted the same way and gotten along in the jury meetings. Jared had that spark within him just like the others. That energy was something outside of our current scientific understanding and I **needed** to understand what it was.
&#x200B;
This was my first one ever. Hope it's ok on here!
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
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They had arrested his son instead. I couldn't believe it. He bought the exact same knife as I did, except he lost it, and the police though the knife I used to kill him was the knife the boy bought. They even had two eyewitnesses. A woman who saw the killing from an elevated train and an old man who heard the crime from the floor below and saw the boy running away.
I thought I was incredibly lucky. But then the prosecutor revealed he was asking the maximum penalty: Death. I was shocked. And what shocked me even further happened after the trial, when the jurors started voting. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. All of them were ready to send the boy to die for something he hadn't done. I knew if I got caught, I'd be the one in handcuffs. But I didn't care. This boy was innocent, and I knew it. So, I raised my hand and gave my vote.
“Not guilty.”
And just like that, I was stuck in a room with 11 angry men.
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I looked on impassively, as I was trained to do all those years ago alongside Wayne. The program had trained us to blend in and control our emotions. To defeat their polygraph pseudoscience and stand up to intense interrogation techniques. But there was little to be done in the face of a criminal justice system and collected evidence. Luka had done well to ensure his testimony pointed to him being the only culprit protecting the remainder of the cell, but his capture was a blow.
&#x200B;
I had been the one to pull the trigger that night, but Wayne had been the one to make the mistake. Seeing the evidence laid out before me, I saw what it was he did that got him caught. It was an excellent learning experience. All I needed to do was commit as many of the details to memory as I could and make sure not to slip up. When the trial was over I could seek extraction and use what I learned to help the program. Right now, however, was the hurdle of condemning a man to death that had nearly died for me, that I had nearly died for, that I fell in love with so many years ago.
&#x200B;
There was no way around his execution with the espionage and murder charges. I would have expected a black bag operation to handle this, but another cell from the program had caught wind of the investigation and found a way to bring it into daylight. They forced the government's hand to take it to public trial by sensationalizing it in order to cause further embarrassment. Insult to injury. I don't know if it was cosmic coincidence or tampering that resulted in me being selected for the jury, but here I am.
&#x200B;
In the courtroom, it was all I could do to just block all thoughts of Wayne from my mind. I only looked at him when he spoke and found myself longing to have his eyes return my gaze, but hoping so much more that he didn't so much as glance in my direction. The guilty verdict was all but guaranteed, there was no point in denying that at this point. The difficulty came in not being overcome by emotion. Never had I been so completely assaulted by guilt, fear of loss, hatred for my enemies, and anger at the necessary sacrifice. The injustice of the world felt like it would crush me, but I had to contain it all. He was sacrificing everything as I looked on and he would want me to understand and do right by that sacrifice. That strength would be the only thing that could help me bear the burden on my heart.
&#x200B;
But it was not enough. I've broken. Attached is a comprehensive record of the trial from the perspective of a juror, as well as the coordinates to my body for clean-up. I hope this will assist the program as he would have wished.
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
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I could get away with it, it was an open and shut case. The public defender was overworked, the prosecution baying for blood, and a little institutionalized racism and this kid will take the fall for me. It's perfect, he has the motive, the opportunity and all I need to do it vote guilty to wash my hands of this forever.
No. This isn't my design. "Not guilty, I think we can deliberate the facts for five minutes before we convict him." I wonder how far I can push this, If they execute the kid it's not going to be because of some over zealous prosecutors it will be because I made it so.
I argue with the other jurors, I question the prosecutors narrative that the weapon is rare or the prosecutors could even be in position to see what they say they did. I have them, they aren't so sure now, five minutes ago they were willing to send a kid to his death but now they waver, this is much more fun.
I think this needs a bold move "you've heard what I have to say, hold another secret ballot, I will abstain. I you all still think guilty I will vote with you and its unanimous." even if it doesn't pay off I get away Scott free.
When the ballots come back I managed to sway one of them, and now the cat is amongst the pigeons. Its quite easy to argue for reasonable doubt when you know for a fact the kid is innocent.
I keep needling them, Juror No. 3 hates the kid, now this is fun. Damn, I wanted to get a few so I choose his fate, or leave the jury hung and let a new trial decide, but this is a challenge I have to turn No. 3. I run though every piece of the prosecutions evidence. Every fact can be turned one way or the other and with each piece of the puzzle I get another but 3 wont budge. How dare he run counter to my design.
With a flash it hits me, for No.3 it's personal too, all I need to do I find out why and I'll win. The kid will go free I suppose but they didn't catch me first time I doubt they will find better evidence this time, even if they do I can use this trials testimony to throw doubt on my own guilt.
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A tiny droplet of sweat runs slowly down the back of my neck before making contact with my collar and disappearing off my nervous systems radar.
This is exhilarating.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves before looking around the room again. Before me is a courtroom filled with exactly what you would expect. A judge perched atop his throne looked down on a nervous defendant, Justin Denton, who seemed to be having a hard time not bursting into tears. The wrinkled suit Justin wore had probably fit several years ago, when it was still in style, but now it seemed likely to bust open under the weight of his inflated gut. His balding head glistened with sweat and his leg tapped furiously under the rickety old wooden table that had been his home for the past two weeks.
The prosecutors had spun an interesting story about how Justin had met the victim, drugged her, lured her into an abandoned warehouse and raped her before decapitating her. Interesting but wrong. Most of the case that the prosecution had built against Mr. Denton had undoubtedly been fabricated by a detective who had been willing to throw an innocent man under the bus for a bit of fame.
A hair found at the crime scene. A fingerprint on the door handle. A bloodied knife in the trunk of his car. Amateur hour is what they made it seem like.
My excitement was beginning to show. I felt a smile slowly start to creep across my face before stifling it swiftly.
I looked to my left to see a woman in her mid-thirties whose makeup had been applied, cried off, and then reapplied possibly several times that day. She, like the other jurors I found myself grouped with, were shaken and already convinced that the man before us was guilty. I could see it as my eyes traced the faces of those around me. Their looks varied from anger to disgust to heartbreak but they all said guilty.
Closing arguments were being concluded and each side was desperately trying to summarize their case in a clear and concise manner but it was obvious who the better lawyers were. The prosecution had the money, the manpower, and the experience while the defendant had an appointed lawyer who looked like he might not be old enough to be in law school much less be a licensed and practicing attorney. His defense was shaky and unconvincing but at least he delivered it with passion. It seemed that he truly believed his client was innocent.
He was innocent of course but only myself and Justin Denton knew that for sure.
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
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I was happy to know that I could get out of the office for a few months, especially from the constant bullying from my Boss, I thought it about high time I took a break from my work. I had no clue who had been arrested for the murders I committed either, so I was eager to find out. Especially after almost being caught in a police chase which coincidently drove me straight past my office building.
Luckily after seeing the face of the "killer" I didn't recognize him, but he did have similar looks to my boss which made it somewhat satisfying. After months passed of trials and many pieces of evidence that I recognized and had my heart skipping a beat at points. I had stayed fairly quiet around the other jurer's as I usually am at work anyway so I didn't seem to our of the ordinary.
We were discussing the final verdict of the killer and it was at 50/50 and the final verdict was on me to choose whether he goes down or not.
"Mr Flenderson?" Said the head of the dury, "what will it be." without hesitation I said guilty, and that was it. A huge rush of adrenaline came over me and I knew that I had gotten away with it.
After a few months of getting back to work and trying to get more friendly with my boss. The more he bullied me the more I kept thinking about the case and feeling guilty for what I had done. So I decided that I would go into the prison and visit him and tell him everything.
I knew this wouldn't be easy and that it may end up with me behind the bars, but I knew it as the only thing I could do. I was I a small brick room no bigger the 10m by 10m I the guard was to far away to be able to tell what was going on, he sat down in front of me, and immediately on the look on my face he knew what I was there for. He had the look in his eyes that made me know he we going to kill me, so I knew there was only one way out of it. I grabbed his hands and forced them around my throat. I knew that this could go one of two ways, he would kill me and I would never have to feel the guilt of the case or bullying of my boss ever again, or it would prove that he was definitely the killer and he would be put away for longer. He had his hands around my throat for no more then 40 seconds, even though I had a firm grip on his hands and putting a large amount of pressure on them he managed to pull away. My neck was aching with pain and the guard immediately came in and detained him.
The ambulance came and have had to put a neck brace on me. I guess its poetic really, The strangling of the Scranton Strangler... And no one will ever know
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A tiny droplet of sweat runs slowly down the back of my neck before making contact with my collar and disappearing off my nervous systems radar.
This is exhilarating.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves before looking around the room again. Before me is a courtroom filled with exactly what you would expect. A judge perched atop his throne looked down on a nervous defendant, Justin Denton, who seemed to be having a hard time not bursting into tears. The wrinkled suit Justin wore had probably fit several years ago, when it was still in style, but now it seemed likely to bust open under the weight of his inflated gut. His balding head glistened with sweat and his leg tapped furiously under the rickety old wooden table that had been his home for the past two weeks.
The prosecutors had spun an interesting story about how Justin had met the victim, drugged her, lured her into an abandoned warehouse and raped her before decapitating her. Interesting but wrong. Most of the case that the prosecution had built against Mr. Denton had undoubtedly been fabricated by a detective who had been willing to throw an innocent man under the bus for a bit of fame.
A hair found at the crime scene. A fingerprint on the door handle. A bloodied knife in the trunk of his car. Amateur hour is what they made it seem like.
My excitement was beginning to show. I felt a smile slowly start to creep across my face before stifling it swiftly.
I looked to my left to see a woman in her mid-thirties whose makeup had been applied, cried off, and then reapplied possibly several times that day. She, like the other jurors I found myself grouped with, were shaken and already convinced that the man before us was guilty. I could see it as my eyes traced the faces of those around me. Their looks varied from anger to disgust to heartbreak but they all said guilty.
Closing arguments were being concluded and each side was desperately trying to summarize their case in a clear and concise manner but it was obvious who the better lawyers were. The prosecution had the money, the manpower, and the experience while the defendant had an appointed lawyer who looked like he might not be old enough to be in law school much less be a licensed and practicing attorney. His defense was shaky and unconvincing but at least he delivered it with passion. It seemed that he truly believed his client was innocent.
He was innocent of course but only myself and Justin Denton knew that for sure.
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
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He thinks that man is me
He knew him at a glance!
That stranger he has found
This man could be my chance!
Why should I save his hide?
Why should I right this wrong
When I have come so far
And struggled for so long?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
I am the master of hundreds of workers.
They all look to me.
Can I abandon them?
How would they live
If I am not free?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
Who am I?
Can I condemn this man to slavery
Pretend I do not feel his agony
This innocent who bears my face
Who goes to judgement in my place
Who am I?
Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I'm not the man I was before?
And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow men?
How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to God, I know
I made that bargain long ago
He gave me hope when hope was gone
He gave me strength to journey on
[He appears in front of the court]
Who am I? Who am I?
I'm Jean Valjean!
|
When kramer realises he is the juror of the crime he committed, he becomes quietly startled. He anxiously begins to slowely slide lower on his chair while leaning over running his hand thru his hair in anxiety.
Que the bass guitar.
Kramer storms thru jerry's door.
"Jerry! You're gonna have to help me! " He tells Jerry in a loud crying voice
" come in kramer " jerry replies. " now what did you do? "
Kramer replies in an anxious scared voice
" you know that thing I did jerry? "
Jerry
" what thing kramer??"
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I could get away with it, it was an open and shut case. The public defender was overworked, the prosecution baying for blood, and a little institutionalized racism and this kid will take the fall for me. It's perfect, he has the motive, the opportunity and all I need to do it vote guilty to wash my hands of this forever.
No. This isn't my design. "Not guilty, I think we can deliberate the facts for five minutes before we convict him." I wonder how far I can push this, If they execute the kid it's not going to be because of some over zealous prosecutors it will be because I made it so.
I argue with the other jurors, I question the prosecutors narrative that the weapon is rare or the prosecutors could even be in position to see what they say they did. I have them, they aren't so sure now, five minutes ago they were willing to send a kid to his death but now they waver, this is much more fun.
I think this needs a bold move "you've heard what I have to say, hold another secret ballot, I will abstain. I you all still think guilty I will vote with you and its unanimous." even if it doesn't pay off I get away Scott free.
When the ballots come back I managed to sway one of them, and now the cat is amongst the pigeons. Its quite easy to argue for reasonable doubt when you know for a fact the kid is innocent.
I keep needling them, Juror No. 3 hates the kid, now this is fun. Damn, I wanted to get a few so I choose his fate, or leave the jury hung and let a new trial decide, but this is a challenge I have to turn No. 3. I run though every piece of the prosecutions evidence. Every fact can be turned one way or the other and with each piece of the puzzle I get another but 3 wont budge. How dare he run counter to my design.
With a flash it hits me, for No.3 it's personal too, all I need to do I find out why and I'll win. The kid will go free I suppose but they didn't catch me first time I doubt they will find better evidence this time, even if they do I can use this trials testimony to throw doubt on my own guilt.
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When kramer realises he is the juror of the crime he committed, he becomes quietly startled. He anxiously begins to slowely slide lower on his chair while leaning over running his hand thru his hair in anxiety.
Que the bass guitar.
Kramer storms thru jerry's door.
"Jerry! You're gonna have to help me! " He tells Jerry in a loud crying voice
" come in kramer " jerry replies. " now what did you do? "
Kramer replies in an anxious scared voice
" you know that thing I did jerry? "
Jerry
" what thing kramer??"
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I was happy to know that I could get out of the office for a few months, especially from the constant bullying from my Boss, I thought it about high time I took a break from my work. I had no clue who had been arrested for the murders I committed either, so I was eager to find out. Especially after almost being caught in a police chase which coincidently drove me straight past my office building.
Luckily after seeing the face of the "killer" I didn't recognize him, but he did have similar looks to my boss which made it somewhat satisfying. After months passed of trials and many pieces of evidence that I recognized and had my heart skipping a beat at points. I had stayed fairly quiet around the other jurer's as I usually am at work anyway so I didn't seem to our of the ordinary.
We were discussing the final verdict of the killer and it was at 50/50 and the final verdict was on me to choose whether he goes down or not.
"Mr Flenderson?" Said the head of the dury, "what will it be." without hesitation I said guilty, and that was it. A huge rush of adrenaline came over me and I knew that I had gotten away with it.
After a few months of getting back to work and trying to get more friendly with my boss. The more he bullied me the more I kept thinking about the case and feeling guilty for what I had done. So I decided that I would go into the prison and visit him and tell him everything.
I knew this wouldn't be easy and that it may end up with me behind the bars, but I knew it as the only thing I could do. I was I a small brick room no bigger the 10m by 10m I the guard was to far away to be able to tell what was going on, he sat down in front of me, and immediately on the look on my face he knew what I was there for. He had the look in his eyes that made me know he we going to kill me, so I knew there was only one way out of it. I grabbed his hands and forced them around my throat. I knew that this could go one of two ways, he would kill me and I would never have to feel the guilt of the case or bullying of my boss ever again, or it would prove that he was definitely the killer and he would be put away for longer. He had his hands around my throat for no more then 40 seconds, even though I had a firm grip on his hands and putting a large amount of pressure on them he managed to pull away. My neck was aching with pain and the guard immediately came in and detained him.
The ambulance came and have had to put a neck brace on me. I guess its poetic really, The strangling of the Scranton Strangler... And no one will ever know
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When kramer realises he is the juror of the crime he committed, he becomes quietly startled. He anxiously begins to slowely slide lower on his chair while leaning over running his hand thru his hair in anxiety.
Que the bass guitar.
Kramer storms thru jerry's door.
"Jerry! You're gonna have to help me! " He tells Jerry in a loud crying voice
" come in kramer " jerry replies. " now what did you do? "
Kramer replies in an anxious scared voice
" you know that thing I did jerry? "
Jerry
" what thing kramer??"
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
The trail to the trial began in the courthouse parking garage on the 4th level section E near the dimly lit spots designated for jurors. As jurors we knew it was expected of us to follow the trail to the trial and announce our verdict upon reaching the courtroom. All citizens know that when they have been selected for jury duty they or one of their eleven peers are guilty of a state crime. State officials are already aware of who the guilty party is but it is a time honored tradition that a citizen is given the duration of the trail to the trial to determine if they are the accused and to use the time to convince their peers that some other among them is the actual criminal. All verdicts are guilty, jurors must decide unanimously upon one guilty party by the end of the trail or all jurors receive a life sentence at one of the many shore reclamation labor camps at the nations borders. I am guilty. I know this immediately upon waking even though this is my first time walking the trail. As the others come to I hear the disheartened groans of those who could be considered repeat offenders; those who knew what would follow all too well. I am not sure what I am guilty of but I can feel it deep inside. I know there is some ordinance I let slip through my mind’s cracks, some statute I violated through my everyday existence. Maybe one of the many taxes, fees, dues, or mandatory donations that are irregularly scheduled on our citizen’s calendar. I knew nothing except the fact of my guilt and the sudden feeling of control and power that knowing this and not caring about my fate gave me over the lives of my fellow jurors. I felt glee. Elation, euphoria, deep animal delight. I could easily release them all by confessing guilt or I could toy with them, sow confusion and possibly bring them all down with me. Or maybe I would choose one as my prey and slowly turn the others against this helpless fellow citizen. Possibilities churning in my mind, I gathered with the others and we slowly began to walk the trail to the trial.
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When kramer realises he is the juror of the crime he committed, he becomes quietly startled. He anxiously begins to slowely slide lower on his chair while leaning over running his hand thru his hair in anxiety.
Que the bass guitar.
Kramer storms thru jerry's door.
"Jerry! You're gonna have to help me! " He tells Jerry in a loud crying voice
" come in kramer " jerry replies. " now what did you do? "
Kramer replies in an anxious scared voice
" you know that thing I did jerry? "
Jerry
" what thing kramer??"
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
She was the only one saying no. That bitch.
Hannah Smith. What a stupid name. We all had voted, we all had agreed that he was guilty, except her. Hannah freaking Smith. People were rolling their eyes at her and I know I was not the only one calling her a bitch inside of my head. John Something kept telling her he needed to go back to work, the blonde fat woman had her son birthday party the next day and needed to bake a cake, the cute Adam guy with a foreign surname who was probably gay was going to miss his cruise if that trial didn’t end ASAP (he said that while snapping his finger, gay AF). But Hannah Smith and her perfect curly hair with her perfect teeth was quiet and calm.
“I’m just not sure he did it. I’m not convinced. I don’t want the guilt of sending an innocent man to jail. No birthday party, no cruise, no work is worth that”.
More people rolled their eyes. Even the short skinny guy whose name starts with L - was it Larry? Laurie? - and was flirting with Hannah the whole day was getting annoyed. We had discussed the case for hours. At first, maybe three or four people had some doubts, but it wasn’t hard to change their minds. Except for curly dummy Hannah.
She had that insufferable face of a know it all, the type of girl who uses the word “ethics” (twice that day) and talks about the honor of jury duty (people have cakes to bake, ships to board, Damian had his first date after the divorce, Hannah). She kept saying she didn’t care if we would hate her, but she would hate herself if she didn’t vote with her heart. “It is not only about peace of mind, it is about doing what is right”.
Fuck you, Hannah.
Look, I know you are right, I know that man is innocent, but we all have a lot to lose. Fuck you, damn you, damn your freckles, damn your ethics and your need to feel superior. Damn your aluminum straw and your vintage backpack.
I spent the last two years having constant panic attacks. Every time the bell rang I thought it was the police. Every time the freaking murder popped up on the news I thought I was going to see a stupid drawing of me. A witness, a footage, a piece of evidence... but nothing. The police never came, no ugly drawing, no nothing. Just the Jury Duty letter.
The universe was trying to help me out - and I’m sure I deserved it, I’m a great person overall - and the only thing between me and a great night of sleep was Hannah Smith with her stupid name and her stupid face.
“Hannah, tell us again why you are still not sure”. I was as calm as possible, but made sure to say the “again” in a higher pitch. I wanted to scream at her, pull her hair, bite her ear off - I had the same tickling inside of me that I felt in the day I kicked that horrible horrible woman soul out of her ass - but I knew that was not the place or time to start a fight. Instead, I smiled.
“I understand your concern and we all here are trying to do the right thing. And, for us, the right thing is to put Brad in jail forever. He is a murderer, Hannah. You saw the pictures. You saw what that poor woman looked like. Isabela deserves justice. We are the ones who can giver it to her. We just need you to vote yes”.
I said it as an anthem, I brought tears to some people’s eyes. Truth is, Isabela was a cow. I have no idea who Brad was, but if the universe wanted him in jail, his karma was running high. I, on the other hand, was being compensated finally. I mean, it was the tickling and the cursing and the fact she had called me “fat ass suburban basic bitch” that made me kill that skinny tanned piece of shit. She had stolen my parking stop, I simply opened the window and pointed it out. I remember being polite. I said “please” and “sorry” and that “I was sure she didn’t saw me”, but she kept laughing and laughing and saying it was not her problem. I left the car to talk, I’m not the person who gets into fights with stranger people, but the she kept laughing and walking away and the tickling and the pipe on the curb and the blood.
I can’t say I don’t remember. It was fucking awesome. I felt a rush of energy and I felt alive. I think I even laughed out loud. I felt strong. I had killed a woman with just one blow to her head. How awesome is that?
I had the serenity to bring the pipe with me. I washed the blood and the hair - and I think maybe some chunks of brain? Not sure - before throwing it in the trash. I cleaned my car. I bleached my white clothes. I cooked dinner. It was a great day followed by the worst two years of my life. I didn’t feel guilty, I just didn’t want to get caught.
“He had no motive. They dated what, two weeks? He was the one who broke up with her. Also, how did he know she was at Walmart? There is no footage of him following her and even her sister told us she decided to go last minute. The only thing they have is a random eye witness who saw someone who looks like him and the fact he has no alibi because he might have been taking care of his baby by himself that day. I really don’t understand how that can make you think he is guilty”
“I know in my heart he is”, I said, with a deep voice. Damian nodded.
“Look, maybe he is guilty. But aren’t them supposed to prove it to us without a doubt?”
I looked around and people were thinking. They were thinking. Fuck. She had made people think it over. Hannah Smith was fucking me over and my fat suburban ass wasn’t going to let it happen.
Edit: english is not my first language :/
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When kramer realises he is the juror of the crime he committed, he becomes quietly startled. He anxiously begins to slowely slide lower on his chair while leaning over running his hand thru his hair in anxiety.
Que the bass guitar.
Kramer storms thru jerry's door.
"Jerry! You're gonna have to help me! " He tells Jerry in a loud crying voice
" come in kramer " jerry replies. " now what did you do? "
Kramer replies in an anxious scared voice
" you know that thing I did jerry? "
Jerry
" what thing kramer??"
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
He thinks that man is me
He knew him at a glance!
That stranger he has found
This man could be my chance!
Why should I save his hide?
Why should I right this wrong
When I have come so far
And struggled for so long?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
I am the master of hundreds of workers.
They all look to me.
Can I abandon them?
How would they live
If I am not free?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
Who am I?
Can I condemn this man to slavery
Pretend I do not feel his agony
This innocent who bears my face
Who goes to judgement in my place
Who am I?
Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I'm not the man I was before?
And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow men?
How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to God, I know
I made that bargain long ago
He gave me hope when hope was gone
He gave me strength to journey on
[He appears in front of the court]
Who am I? Who am I?
I'm Jean Valjean!
|
The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly.
He’d never been appointed jury duty before, but he never would have guessed how anxious he would get as he walked toward the court room.
But maybe he was just having one of those days.
Along with 19 strangers, he walked to the court room’s upper stands, reserved for him and his fellow jurors.
The judge, a heavy-set man of no younger than 62, swayed to his chair in seemingly no hurry.
In came several more people; beginning with a cocky young District Attorney and his meekly posed assistant. The pair were soon followed by another group: a lawyer with a powerful walk, a middle aged woman who looked as though she’d been weeping. A stone-faced bailiff took the rear, marching into the court room with a man in an orange outfit, who’s shackles seemed comically large on his small, middle-aged frame.
Attendance began. His heart pounded in his chest as he gave his response: “here.” To the name that had been called “Westley Brooks”.
The rest goes as anyone would expect. The jurors carrying any bias (or well composed excuses) were weeded out, and once the discussion had been had regarding impartiality, court was now in session.
The case of the “State of Virginia vs. Roger Filmore” has begun. Roger had been found drunk, with spots of the victim’s blood-type on him, not more than 3 houses down from where Yvette Nelson had been butchered in her own kitchen.
His alibi was weak, stating he had “gotten in an argument with his wife, gone for a drink, and then went for a walk alone”.
His excuse for the blood was even weaker, recalling that a brawl had ensued in the bar, and he had been in the splash zone when one of the fighters had his front teeth punched out.
The case was certainly skewed in the prosecution’s favour. The state police had been desperate to find the killer after the news broke out regarding Ms. Nelson’s demise. It wasn’t every day the townspeople of Lexington heard about local murders, and the case of Yvette Nelson was... gruesome, to say the least.
A recess was called, and Westley made his way out of the courthouse feeling even more anxious than he had earlier in the morning.
Why?
Because he had killed Yvette Nelson.
The rape, torture, murder, and mutilation had all been perpetrated by him on a cocaine-infused night. A trip he could hardly remember.
And he was about to get away with it all.
Recess had ended. The defence was torn to shreds by the prosecution, and the jury voted unanimously guilty, with a strong recommendation for the death penalty.
The judge agreed with the jury’s advice, and it wasn’t two months before Roger Filmore took the needle.
No one questioned the verdict.
At least not until a second murder occurred in Lexington. Rachael Jackson was found sawn in half on her basement floor.
They never found her legs.
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I could get away with it, it was an open and shut case. The public defender was overworked, the prosecution baying for blood, and a little institutionalized racism and this kid will take the fall for me. It's perfect, he has the motive, the opportunity and all I need to do it vote guilty to wash my hands of this forever.
No. This isn't my design. "Not guilty, I think we can deliberate the facts for five minutes before we convict him." I wonder how far I can push this, If they execute the kid it's not going to be because of some over zealous prosecutors it will be because I made it so.
I argue with the other jurors, I question the prosecutors narrative that the weapon is rare or the prosecutors could even be in position to see what they say they did. I have them, they aren't so sure now, five minutes ago they were willing to send a kid to his death but now they waver, this is much more fun.
I think this needs a bold move "you've heard what I have to say, hold another secret ballot, I will abstain. I you all still think guilty I will vote with you and its unanimous." even if it doesn't pay off I get away Scott free.
When the ballots come back I managed to sway one of them, and now the cat is amongst the pigeons. Its quite easy to argue for reasonable doubt when you know for a fact the kid is innocent.
I keep needling them, Juror No. 3 hates the kid, now this is fun. Damn, I wanted to get a few so I choose his fate, or leave the jury hung and let a new trial decide, but this is a challenge I have to turn No. 3. I run though every piece of the prosecutions evidence. Every fact can be turned one way or the other and with each piece of the puzzle I get another but 3 wont budge. How dare he run counter to my design.
With a flash it hits me, for No.3 it's personal too, all I need to do I find out why and I'll win. The kid will go free I suppose but they didn't catch me first time I doubt they will find better evidence this time, even if they do I can use this trials testimony to throw doubt on my own guilt.
|
The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly.
He’d never been appointed jury duty before, but he never would have guessed how anxious he would get as he walked toward the court room.
But maybe he was just having one of those days.
Along with 19 strangers, he walked to the court room’s upper stands, reserved for him and his fellow jurors.
The judge, a heavy-set man of no younger than 62, swayed to his chair in seemingly no hurry.
In came several more people; beginning with a cocky young District Attorney and his meekly posed assistant. The pair were soon followed by another group: a lawyer with a powerful walk, a middle aged woman who looked as though she’d been weeping. A stone-faced bailiff took the rear, marching into the court room with a man in an orange outfit, who’s shackles seemed comically large on his small, middle-aged frame.
Attendance began. His heart pounded in his chest as he gave his response: “here.” To the name that had been called “Westley Brooks”.
The rest goes as anyone would expect. The jurors carrying any bias (or well composed excuses) were weeded out, and once the discussion had been had regarding impartiality, court was now in session.
The case of the “State of Virginia vs. Roger Filmore” has begun. Roger had been found drunk, with spots of the victim’s blood-type on him, not more than 3 houses down from where Yvette Nelson had been butchered in her own kitchen.
His alibi was weak, stating he had “gotten in an argument with his wife, gone for a drink, and then went for a walk alone”.
His excuse for the blood was even weaker, recalling that a brawl had ensued in the bar, and he had been in the splash zone when one of the fighters had his front teeth punched out.
The case was certainly skewed in the prosecution’s favour. The state police had been desperate to find the killer after the news broke out regarding Ms. Nelson’s demise. It wasn’t every day the townspeople of Lexington heard about local murders, and the case of Yvette Nelson was... gruesome, to say the least.
A recess was called, and Westley made his way out of the courthouse feeling even more anxious than he had earlier in the morning.
Why?
Because he had killed Yvette Nelson.
The rape, torture, murder, and mutilation had all been perpetrated by him on a cocaine-infused night. A trip he could hardly remember.
And he was about to get away with it all.
Recess had ended. The defence was torn to shreds by the prosecution, and the jury voted unanimously guilty, with a strong recommendation for the death penalty.
The judge agreed with the jury’s advice, and it wasn’t two months before Roger Filmore took the needle.
No one questioned the verdict.
At least not until a second murder occurred in Lexington. Rachael Jackson was found sawn in half on her basement floor.
They never found her legs.
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|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I was happy to know that I could get out of the office for a few months, especially from the constant bullying from my Boss, I thought it about high time I took a break from my work. I had no clue who had been arrested for the murders I committed either, so I was eager to find out. Especially after almost being caught in a police chase which coincidently drove me straight past my office building.
Luckily after seeing the face of the "killer" I didn't recognize him, but he did have similar looks to my boss which made it somewhat satisfying. After months passed of trials and many pieces of evidence that I recognized and had my heart skipping a beat at points. I had stayed fairly quiet around the other jurer's as I usually am at work anyway so I didn't seem to our of the ordinary.
We were discussing the final verdict of the killer and it was at 50/50 and the final verdict was on me to choose whether he goes down or not.
"Mr Flenderson?" Said the head of the dury, "what will it be." without hesitation I said guilty, and that was it. A huge rush of adrenaline came over me and I knew that I had gotten away with it.
After a few months of getting back to work and trying to get more friendly with my boss. The more he bullied me the more I kept thinking about the case and feeling guilty for what I had done. So I decided that I would go into the prison and visit him and tell him everything.
I knew this wouldn't be easy and that it may end up with me behind the bars, but I knew it as the only thing I could do. I was I a small brick room no bigger the 10m by 10m I the guard was to far away to be able to tell what was going on, he sat down in front of me, and immediately on the look on my face he knew what I was there for. He had the look in his eyes that made me know he we going to kill me, so I knew there was only one way out of it. I grabbed his hands and forced them around my throat. I knew that this could go one of two ways, he would kill me and I would never have to feel the guilt of the case or bullying of my boss ever again, or it would prove that he was definitely the killer and he would be put away for longer. He had his hands around my throat for no more then 40 seconds, even though I had a firm grip on his hands and putting a large amount of pressure on them he managed to pull away. My neck was aching with pain and the guard immediately came in and detained him.
The ambulance came and have had to put a neck brace on me. I guess its poetic really, The strangling of the Scranton Strangler... And no one will ever know
|
The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly.
He’d never been appointed jury duty before, but he never would have guessed how anxious he would get as he walked toward the court room.
But maybe he was just having one of those days.
Along with 19 strangers, he walked to the court room’s upper stands, reserved for him and his fellow jurors.
The judge, a heavy-set man of no younger than 62, swayed to his chair in seemingly no hurry.
In came several more people; beginning with a cocky young District Attorney and his meekly posed assistant. The pair were soon followed by another group: a lawyer with a powerful walk, a middle aged woman who looked as though she’d been weeping. A stone-faced bailiff took the rear, marching into the court room with a man in an orange outfit, who’s shackles seemed comically large on his small, middle-aged frame.
Attendance began. His heart pounded in his chest as he gave his response: “here.” To the name that had been called “Westley Brooks”.
The rest goes as anyone would expect. The jurors carrying any bias (or well composed excuses) were weeded out, and once the discussion had been had regarding impartiality, court was now in session.
The case of the “State of Virginia vs. Roger Filmore” has begun. Roger had been found drunk, with spots of the victim’s blood-type on him, not more than 3 houses down from where Yvette Nelson had been butchered in her own kitchen.
His alibi was weak, stating he had “gotten in an argument with his wife, gone for a drink, and then went for a walk alone”.
His excuse for the blood was even weaker, recalling that a brawl had ensued in the bar, and he had been in the splash zone when one of the fighters had his front teeth punched out.
The case was certainly skewed in the prosecution’s favour. The state police had been desperate to find the killer after the news broke out regarding Ms. Nelson’s demise. It wasn’t every day the townspeople of Lexington heard about local murders, and the case of Yvette Nelson was... gruesome, to say the least.
A recess was called, and Westley made his way out of the courthouse feeling even more anxious than he had earlier in the morning.
Why?
Because he had killed Yvette Nelson.
The rape, torture, murder, and mutilation had all been perpetrated by him on a cocaine-infused night. A trip he could hardly remember.
And he was about to get away with it all.
Recess had ended. The defence was torn to shreds by the prosecution, and the jury voted unanimously guilty, with a strong recommendation for the death penalty.
The judge agreed with the jury’s advice, and it wasn’t two months before Roger Filmore took the needle.
No one questioned the verdict.
At least not until a second murder occurred in Lexington. Rachael Jackson was found sawn in half on her basement floor.
They never found her legs.
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I was happy to know that I could get out of the office for a few months, especially from the constant bullying from my Boss, I thought it about high time I took a break from my work. I had no clue who had been arrested for the murders I committed either, so I was eager to find out. Especially after almost being caught in a police chase which coincidently drove me straight past my office building.
Luckily after seeing the face of the "killer" I didn't recognize him, but he did have similar looks to my boss which made it somewhat satisfying. After months passed of trials and many pieces of evidence that I recognized and had my heart skipping a beat at points. I had stayed fairly quiet around the other jurer's as I usually am at work anyway so I didn't seem to our of the ordinary.
We were discussing the final verdict of the killer and it was at 50/50 and the final verdict was on me to choose whether he goes down or not.
"Mr Flenderson?" Said the head of the dury, "what will it be." without hesitation I said guilty, and that was it. A huge rush of adrenaline came over me and I knew that I had gotten away with it.
After a few months of getting back to work and trying to get more friendly with my boss. The more he bullied me the more I kept thinking about the case and feeling guilty for what I had done. So I decided that I would go into the prison and visit him and tell him everything.
I knew this wouldn't be easy and that it may end up with me behind the bars, but I knew it as the only thing I could do. I was I a small brick room no bigger the 10m by 10m I the guard was to far away to be able to tell what was going on, he sat down in front of me, and immediately on the look on my face he knew what I was there for. He had the look in his eyes that made me know he we going to kill me, so I knew there was only one way out of it. I grabbed his hands and forced them around my throat. I knew that this could go one of two ways, he would kill me and I would never have to feel the guilt of the case or bullying of my boss ever again, or it would prove that he was definitely the killer and he would be put away for longer. He had his hands around my throat for no more then 40 seconds, even though I had a firm grip on his hands and putting a large amount of pressure on them he managed to pull away. My neck was aching with pain and the guard immediately came in and detained him.
The ambulance came and have had to put a neck brace on me. I guess its poetic really, The strangling of the Scranton Strangler... And no one will ever know
|
He thinks that man is me
He knew him at a glance!
That stranger he has found
This man could be my chance!
Why should I save his hide?
Why should I right this wrong
When I have come so far
And struggled for so long?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
I am the master of hundreds of workers.
They all look to me.
Can I abandon them?
How would they live
If I am not free?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
Who am I?
Can I condemn this man to slavery
Pretend I do not feel his agony
This innocent who bears my face
Who goes to judgement in my place
Who am I?
Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I'm not the man I was before?
And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow men?
How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to God, I know
I made that bargain long ago
He gave me hope when hope was gone
He gave me strength to journey on
[He appears in front of the court]
Who am I? Who am I?
I'm Jean Valjean!
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
The trail to the trial began in the courthouse parking garage on the 4th level section E near the dimly lit spots designated for jurors. As jurors we knew it was expected of us to follow the trail to the trial and announce our verdict upon reaching the courtroom. All citizens know that when they have been selected for jury duty they or one of their eleven peers are guilty of a state crime. State officials are already aware of who the guilty party is but it is a time honored tradition that a citizen is given the duration of the trail to the trial to determine if they are the accused and to use the time to convince their peers that some other among them is the actual criminal. All verdicts are guilty, jurors must decide unanimously upon one guilty party by the end of the trail or all jurors receive a life sentence at one of the many shore reclamation labor camps at the nations borders. I am guilty. I know this immediately upon waking even though this is my first time walking the trail. As the others come to I hear the disheartened groans of those who could be considered repeat offenders; those who knew what would follow all too well. I am not sure what I am guilty of but I can feel it deep inside. I know there is some ordinance I let slip through my mind’s cracks, some statute I violated through my everyday existence. Maybe one of the many taxes, fees, dues, or mandatory donations that are irregularly scheduled on our citizen’s calendar. I knew nothing except the fact of my guilt and the sudden feeling of control and power that knowing this and not caring about my fate gave me over the lives of my fellow jurors. I felt glee. Elation, euphoria, deep animal delight. I could easily release them all by confessing guilt or I could toy with them, sow confusion and possibly bring them all down with me. Or maybe I would choose one as my prey and slowly turn the others against this helpless fellow citizen. Possibilities churning in my mind, I gathered with the others and we slowly began to walk the trail to the trial.
|
the first thing I did was break the 4th wall and fix the spelling.
&#x200B;
The next. I sat through voir dire while they asked me questions like 'do I know anyone from the Smith family in the town?' of course I didn't.
'what about the law firm of X and Y' . . . I assure you I couldn't be more indifferent, even if I knew the firm.
&#x200B;
Why me? I thought to myself, this is a complete waste of time I could be making money at work instead of listening to this crap. I wasn't really paying attention during opening argument until I heard about the ribs which were removed. I thought to myself 'isn't that what I did because I heard about the serial killer who did the same?' Then the prosecutor started to explain the case.
&#x200B;
Check
. . . Check
. . . . . check? I know it was unsolved but this sounds exactly like the murder I committed (after all, who wouldn't kill the bitch when you found out she was cheating?)
Juror #5 is everything alright? The bailiff asks. (play it cool) 'yeah, it is just a bit warm and I didn't know if it was proper for me to remove my jacket' I responded. I guess I must be sweating.
'Go ahead, make yourself comfortable' the judge responded. The pause felt like it lasted for hours, but I know it was only a few seconds long as I took my suit jacket off.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The prosecutor continued his opening statement. I sat there in shock how accurate it was. It is as if he was standing there when I committed the murder.
&#x200B;
Just. play. it. cool. I thought to myself. Eventually he stopped talking and sat down. I didn't pay attention, I focused on the ground to try and seem 'focused' instead of afraid.
&#x200B;
Now the defense has a turn. Great, they will come up with something completely different.
&#x200B;
"i agree with everything the prosecution said, except one thing who killed the victim. My name is Phoenix Wright and I'm going to prove who the real killer is"
&#x200B;
. . . well fuck. . . uhm maybe he will just ask for a boot to the head?
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
She was the only one saying no. That bitch.
Hannah Smith. What a stupid name. We all had voted, we all had agreed that he was guilty, except her. Hannah freaking Smith. People were rolling their eyes at her and I know I was not the only one calling her a bitch inside of my head. John Something kept telling her he needed to go back to work, the blonde fat woman had her son birthday party the next day and needed to bake a cake, the cute Adam guy with a foreign surname who was probably gay was going to miss his cruise if that trial didn’t end ASAP (he said that while snapping his finger, gay AF). But Hannah Smith and her perfect curly hair with her perfect teeth was quiet and calm.
“I’m just not sure he did it. I’m not convinced. I don’t want the guilt of sending an innocent man to jail. No birthday party, no cruise, no work is worth that”.
More people rolled their eyes. Even the short skinny guy whose name starts with L - was it Larry? Laurie? - and was flirting with Hannah the whole day was getting annoyed. We had discussed the case for hours. At first, maybe three or four people had some doubts, but it wasn’t hard to change their minds. Except for curly dummy Hannah.
She had that insufferable face of a know it all, the type of girl who uses the word “ethics” (twice that day) and talks about the honor of jury duty (people have cakes to bake, ships to board, Damian had his first date after the divorce, Hannah). She kept saying she didn’t care if we would hate her, but she would hate herself if she didn’t vote with her heart. “It is not only about peace of mind, it is about doing what is right”.
Fuck you, Hannah.
Look, I know you are right, I know that man is innocent, but we all have a lot to lose. Fuck you, damn you, damn your freckles, damn your ethics and your need to feel superior. Damn your aluminum straw and your vintage backpack.
I spent the last two years having constant panic attacks. Every time the bell rang I thought it was the police. Every time the freaking murder popped up on the news I thought I was going to see a stupid drawing of me. A witness, a footage, a piece of evidence... but nothing. The police never came, no ugly drawing, no nothing. Just the Jury Duty letter.
The universe was trying to help me out - and I’m sure I deserved it, I’m a great person overall - and the only thing between me and a great night of sleep was Hannah Smith with her stupid name and her stupid face.
“Hannah, tell us again why you are still not sure”. I was as calm as possible, but made sure to say the “again” in a higher pitch. I wanted to scream at her, pull her hair, bite her ear off - I had the same tickling inside of me that I felt in the day I kicked that horrible horrible woman soul out of her ass - but I knew that was not the place or time to start a fight. Instead, I smiled.
“I understand your concern and we all here are trying to do the right thing. And, for us, the right thing is to put Brad in jail forever. He is a murderer, Hannah. You saw the pictures. You saw what that poor woman looked like. Isabela deserves justice. We are the ones who can giver it to her. We just need you to vote yes”.
I said it as an anthem, I brought tears to some people’s eyes. Truth is, Isabela was a cow. I have no idea who Brad was, but if the universe wanted him in jail, his karma was running high. I, on the other hand, was being compensated finally. I mean, it was the tickling and the cursing and the fact she had called me “fat ass suburban basic bitch” that made me kill that skinny tanned piece of shit. She had stolen my parking stop, I simply opened the window and pointed it out. I remember being polite. I said “please” and “sorry” and that “I was sure she didn’t saw me”, but she kept laughing and laughing and saying it was not her problem. I left the car to talk, I’m not the person who gets into fights with stranger people, but the she kept laughing and walking away and the tickling and the pipe on the curb and the blood.
I can’t say I don’t remember. It was fucking awesome. I felt a rush of energy and I felt alive. I think I even laughed out loud. I felt strong. I had killed a woman with just one blow to her head. How awesome is that?
I had the serenity to bring the pipe with me. I washed the blood and the hair - and I think maybe some chunks of brain? Not sure - before throwing it in the trash. I cleaned my car. I bleached my white clothes. I cooked dinner. It was a great day followed by the worst two years of my life. I didn’t feel guilty, I just didn’t want to get caught.
“He had no motive. They dated what, two weeks? He was the one who broke up with her. Also, how did he know she was at Walmart? There is no footage of him following her and even her sister told us she decided to go last minute. The only thing they have is a random eye witness who saw someone who looks like him and the fact he has no alibi because he might have been taking care of his baby by himself that day. I really don’t understand how that can make you think he is guilty”
“I know in my heart he is”, I said, with a deep voice. Damian nodded.
“Look, maybe he is guilty. But aren’t them supposed to prove it to us without a doubt?”
I looked around and people were thinking. They were thinking. Fuck. She had made people think it over. Hannah Smith was fucking me over and my fat suburban ass wasn’t going to let it happen.
Edit: english is not my first language :/
|
the first thing I did was break the 4th wall and fix the spelling.
&#x200B;
The next. I sat through voir dire while they asked me questions like 'do I know anyone from the Smith family in the town?' of course I didn't.
'what about the law firm of X and Y' . . . I assure you I couldn't be more indifferent, even if I knew the firm.
&#x200B;
Why me? I thought to myself, this is a complete waste of time I could be making money at work instead of listening to this crap. I wasn't really paying attention during opening argument until I heard about the ribs which were removed. I thought to myself 'isn't that what I did because I heard about the serial killer who did the same?' Then the prosecutor started to explain the case.
&#x200B;
Check
. . . Check
. . . . . check? I know it was unsolved but this sounds exactly like the murder I committed (after all, who wouldn't kill the bitch when you found out she was cheating?)
Juror #5 is everything alright? The bailiff asks. (play it cool) 'yeah, it is just a bit warm and I didn't know if it was proper for me to remove my jacket' I responded. I guess I must be sweating.
'Go ahead, make yourself comfortable' the judge responded. The pause felt like it lasted for hours, but I know it was only a few seconds long as I took my suit jacket off.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The prosecutor continued his opening statement. I sat there in shock how accurate it was. It is as if he was standing there when I committed the murder.
&#x200B;
Just. play. it. cool. I thought to myself. Eventually he stopped talking and sat down. I didn't pay attention, I focused on the ground to try and seem 'focused' instead of afraid.
&#x200B;
Now the defense has a turn. Great, they will come up with something completely different.
&#x200B;
"i agree with everything the prosecution said, except one thing who killed the victim. My name is Phoenix Wright and I'm going to prove who the real killer is"
&#x200B;
. . . well fuck. . . uhm maybe he will just ask for a boot to the head?
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
She was the only one saying no. That bitch.
Hannah Smith. What a stupid name. We all had voted, we all had agreed that he was guilty, except her. Hannah freaking Smith. People were rolling their eyes at her and I know I was not the only one calling her a bitch inside of my head. John Something kept telling her he needed to go back to work, the blonde fat woman had her son birthday party the next day and needed to bake a cake, the cute Adam guy with a foreign surname who was probably gay was going to miss his cruise if that trial didn’t end ASAP (he said that while snapping his finger, gay AF). But Hannah Smith and her perfect curly hair with her perfect teeth was quiet and calm.
“I’m just not sure he did it. I’m not convinced. I don’t want the guilt of sending an innocent man to jail. No birthday party, no cruise, no work is worth that”.
More people rolled their eyes. Even the short skinny guy whose name starts with L - was it Larry? Laurie? - and was flirting with Hannah the whole day was getting annoyed. We had discussed the case for hours. At first, maybe three or four people had some doubts, but it wasn’t hard to change their minds. Except for curly dummy Hannah.
She had that insufferable face of a know it all, the type of girl who uses the word “ethics” (twice that day) and talks about the honor of jury duty (people have cakes to bake, ships to board, Damian had his first date after the divorce, Hannah). She kept saying she didn’t care if we would hate her, but she would hate herself if she didn’t vote with her heart. “It is not only about peace of mind, it is about doing what is right”.
Fuck you, Hannah.
Look, I know you are right, I know that man is innocent, but we all have a lot to lose. Fuck you, damn you, damn your freckles, damn your ethics and your need to feel superior. Damn your aluminum straw and your vintage backpack.
I spent the last two years having constant panic attacks. Every time the bell rang I thought it was the police. Every time the freaking murder popped up on the news I thought I was going to see a stupid drawing of me. A witness, a footage, a piece of evidence... but nothing. The police never came, no ugly drawing, no nothing. Just the Jury Duty letter.
The universe was trying to help me out - and I’m sure I deserved it, I’m a great person overall - and the only thing between me and a great night of sleep was Hannah Smith with her stupid name and her stupid face.
“Hannah, tell us again why you are still not sure”. I was as calm as possible, but made sure to say the “again” in a higher pitch. I wanted to scream at her, pull her hair, bite her ear off - I had the same tickling inside of me that I felt in the day I kicked that horrible horrible woman soul out of her ass - but I knew that was not the place or time to start a fight. Instead, I smiled.
“I understand your concern and we all here are trying to do the right thing. And, for us, the right thing is to put Brad in jail forever. He is a murderer, Hannah. You saw the pictures. You saw what that poor woman looked like. Isabela deserves justice. We are the ones who can giver it to her. We just need you to vote yes”.
I said it as an anthem, I brought tears to some people’s eyes. Truth is, Isabela was a cow. I have no idea who Brad was, but if the universe wanted him in jail, his karma was running high. I, on the other hand, was being compensated finally. I mean, it was the tickling and the cursing and the fact she had called me “fat ass suburban basic bitch” that made me kill that skinny tanned piece of shit. She had stolen my parking stop, I simply opened the window and pointed it out. I remember being polite. I said “please” and “sorry” and that “I was sure she didn’t saw me”, but she kept laughing and laughing and saying it was not her problem. I left the car to talk, I’m not the person who gets into fights with stranger people, but the she kept laughing and walking away and the tickling and the pipe on the curb and the blood.
I can’t say I don’t remember. It was fucking awesome. I felt a rush of energy and I felt alive. I think I even laughed out loud. I felt strong. I had killed a woman with just one blow to her head. How awesome is that?
I had the serenity to bring the pipe with me. I washed the blood and the hair - and I think maybe some chunks of brain? Not sure - before throwing it in the trash. I cleaned my car. I bleached my white clothes. I cooked dinner. It was a great day followed by the worst two years of my life. I didn’t feel guilty, I just didn’t want to get caught.
“He had no motive. They dated what, two weeks? He was the one who broke up with her. Also, how did he know she was at Walmart? There is no footage of him following her and even her sister told us she decided to go last minute. The only thing they have is a random eye witness who saw someone who looks like him and the fact he has no alibi because he might have been taking care of his baby by himself that day. I really don’t understand how that can make you think he is guilty”
“I know in my heart he is”, I said, with a deep voice. Damian nodded.
“Look, maybe he is guilty. But aren’t them supposed to prove it to us without a doubt?”
I looked around and people were thinking. They were thinking. Fuck. She had made people think it over. Hannah Smith was fucking me over and my fat suburban ass wasn’t going to let it happen.
Edit: english is not my first language :/
|
The trail to the trial began in the courthouse parking garage on the 4th level section E near the dimly lit spots designated for jurors. As jurors we knew it was expected of us to follow the trail to the trial and announce our verdict upon reaching the courtroom. All citizens know that when they have been selected for jury duty they or one of their eleven peers are guilty of a state crime. State officials are already aware of who the guilty party is but it is a time honored tradition that a citizen is given the duration of the trail to the trial to determine if they are the accused and to use the time to convince their peers that some other among them is the actual criminal. All verdicts are guilty, jurors must decide unanimously upon one guilty party by the end of the trail or all jurors receive a life sentence at one of the many shore reclamation labor camps at the nations borders. I am guilty. I know this immediately upon waking even though this is my first time walking the trail. As the others come to I hear the disheartened groans of those who could be considered repeat offenders; those who knew what would follow all too well. I am not sure what I am guilty of but I can feel it deep inside. I know there is some ordinance I let slip through my mind’s cracks, some statute I violated through my everyday existence. Maybe one of the many taxes, fees, dues, or mandatory donations that are irregularly scheduled on our citizen’s calendar. I knew nothing except the fact of my guilt and the sudden feeling of control and power that knowing this and not caring about my fate gave me over the lives of my fellow jurors. I felt glee. Elation, euphoria, deep animal delight. I could easily release them all by confessing guilt or I could toy with them, sow confusion and possibly bring them all down with me. Or maybe I would choose one as my prey and slowly turn the others against this helpless fellow citizen. Possibilities churning in my mind, I gathered with the others and we slowly began to walk the trail to the trial.
|
|
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
She was the only one saying no. That bitch.
Hannah Smith. What a stupid name. We all had voted, we all had agreed that he was guilty, except her. Hannah freaking Smith. People were rolling their eyes at her and I know I was not the only one calling her a bitch inside of my head. John Something kept telling her he needed to go back to work, the blonde fat woman had her son birthday party the next day and needed to bake a cake, the cute Adam guy with a foreign surname who was probably gay was going to miss his cruise if that trial didn’t end ASAP (he said that while snapping his finger, gay AF). But Hannah Smith and her perfect curly hair with her perfect teeth was quiet and calm.
“I’m just not sure he did it. I’m not convinced. I don’t want the guilt of sending an innocent man to jail. No birthday party, no cruise, no work is worth that”.
More people rolled their eyes. Even the short skinny guy whose name starts with L - was it Larry? Laurie? - and was flirting with Hannah the whole day was getting annoyed. We had discussed the case for hours. At first, maybe three or four people had some doubts, but it wasn’t hard to change their minds. Except for curly dummy Hannah.
She had that insufferable face of a know it all, the type of girl who uses the word “ethics” (twice that day) and talks about the honor of jury duty (people have cakes to bake, ships to board, Damian had his first date after the divorce, Hannah). She kept saying she didn’t care if we would hate her, but she would hate herself if she didn’t vote with her heart. “It is not only about peace of mind, it is about doing what is right”.
Fuck you, Hannah.
Look, I know you are right, I know that man is innocent, but we all have a lot to lose. Fuck you, damn you, damn your freckles, damn your ethics and your need to feel superior. Damn your aluminum straw and your vintage backpack.
I spent the last two years having constant panic attacks. Every time the bell rang I thought it was the police. Every time the freaking murder popped up on the news I thought I was going to see a stupid drawing of me. A witness, a footage, a piece of evidence... but nothing. The police never came, no ugly drawing, no nothing. Just the Jury Duty letter.
The universe was trying to help me out - and I’m sure I deserved it, I’m a great person overall - and the only thing between me and a great night of sleep was Hannah Smith with her stupid name and her stupid face.
“Hannah, tell us again why you are still not sure”. I was as calm as possible, but made sure to say the “again” in a higher pitch. I wanted to scream at her, pull her hair, bite her ear off - I had the same tickling inside of me that I felt in the day I kicked that horrible horrible woman soul out of her ass - but I knew that was not the place or time to start a fight. Instead, I smiled.
“I understand your concern and we all here are trying to do the right thing. And, for us, the right thing is to put Brad in jail forever. He is a murderer, Hannah. You saw the pictures. You saw what that poor woman looked like. Isabela deserves justice. We are the ones who can giver it to her. We just need you to vote yes”.
I said it as an anthem, I brought tears to some people’s eyes. Truth is, Isabela was a cow. I have no idea who Brad was, but if the universe wanted him in jail, his karma was running high. I, on the other hand, was being compensated finally. I mean, it was the tickling and the cursing and the fact she had called me “fat ass suburban basic bitch” that made me kill that skinny tanned piece of shit. She had stolen my parking stop, I simply opened the window and pointed it out. I remember being polite. I said “please” and “sorry” and that “I was sure she didn’t saw me”, but she kept laughing and laughing and saying it was not her problem. I left the car to talk, I’m not the person who gets into fights with stranger people, but the she kept laughing and walking away and the tickling and the pipe on the curb and the blood.
I can’t say I don’t remember. It was fucking awesome. I felt a rush of energy and I felt alive. I think I even laughed out loud. I felt strong. I had killed a woman with just one blow to her head. How awesome is that?
I had the serenity to bring the pipe with me. I washed the blood and the hair - and I think maybe some chunks of brain? Not sure - before throwing it in the trash. I cleaned my car. I bleached my white clothes. I cooked dinner. It was a great day followed by the worst two years of my life. I didn’t feel guilty, I just didn’t want to get caught.
“He had no motive. They dated what, two weeks? He was the one who broke up with her. Also, how did he know she was at Walmart? There is no footage of him following her and even her sister told us she decided to go last minute. The only thing they have is a random eye witness who saw someone who looks like him and the fact he has no alibi because he might have been taking care of his baby by himself that day. I really don’t understand how that can make you think he is guilty”
“I know in my heart he is”, I said, with a deep voice. Damian nodded.
“Look, maybe he is guilty. But aren’t them supposed to prove it to us without a doubt?”
I looked around and people were thinking. They were thinking. Fuck. She had made people think it over. Hannah Smith was fucking me over and my fat suburban ass wasn’t going to let it happen.
Edit: english is not my first language :/
|
When I opened the envelope, to my surprise, it was a Jury Summons. I took a second and closed my eyes. I knew this day was unavoidable – I just didn’t think I would have to deal with it this soon. I regret having the burden to serve my community. However, I live in a community where I do not get the pleasure of having a choice. I finally opened the Summons reading,
*‘Cameron Barkley, you have been selected for jury service.*
*Your name was randomly selected from the electoral register. During your jury service you may be required to go to another court.*
*What the Jury Summons Means*
*Jury service is an important public duty.’*
“Give me a break,” I said aloud. The letter slowly crumbling in my palm. I skipped ahead as the next opening paragraph caught my attention. It seemed different somehow.
*‘What to do now,*
*It is important to read the enclosed leaflet ‘Guide to Jury Summons.’ This guide has not been enclosed with your specific letter. Your next instruction is the following:*
*You are going to walk out from your back door. You will take the brick left on the side of your patio and you will throw it through your dining room window. Immediately afterward, you will meet me down on the dock. You only have five minutes.*
*Good luck.’*
I felt my heart sink in the pit of my stomach. I knew this was the work of a certain individual. The sound of a car door slamming jolted my attention from the letter. Police were starting to swarm around the trail leading into my front yard. I quickly threw open my back door and grabbed hold of the brick perfectly placed where it had been said. I took a deep breath and tossed it through my dining room window.
The glass shattered while I watched the cops out in the front quickly duck into cover. Everything seemed to have been planned out so carefully. I didn’t take any chances. I turned without hesitation, stuffing the letter into my pocket. The dock was about half a mile away, so I needed to start running without being detected.
As soon as I broke into the trees, I watched the cops wrap around my entire home. None of them seemed to have seen me. Suddenly, a branch snapped under my boot signaling for a cop to turn my direction.
“Over there!” He called out revealing my identity in the woods.
“Shit!” I spat in terror. Bullets snapped against the bark on the trees behind. The river started to approach in view as I found a gentleman standing on the dock with his arms crossed.
“What took you so long?!” The man I instantly recognized cupped his hands.
“How did you know?” I jumped onto the wooden dock following his guidance into the boat. “How did you know they were coming?”
“They’ve come for all of us. Cameron.” He told me while throwing the ropes back in the boat. He stirred the water with the engine as we pulled away from the dock. We both ducked when cops fired behind us. One of the bullets split the glass over my shoulder.
“Cameron! Get down!”
Our boat sped down the river bank, ignoring the brush that was left over from the floods. Sitting up, I ran the glass out from my hair. I just realized that everything had happened so fast, I never even fully introduced the man who had just saved my life. He was very intelligent. The fact that he had everything lined up so perfectly was proof of his precision in execution. He is my older brother, Ron Barkley. I never knew him growing up, but after the incident, he was the only person who had my back. I could never thank him enough for the things he has done for me, nor the things he is willing to do. I didn’t waste a minute. I wanted answers.
“Who is coming for us? What is happening? How did you know about the cops?”
Ron pulled his long blonde hair out from the front of his face. He started to turn our boat out into the open bay leading towards the cove. “Someone picked up on our trail.”
“How?” I sat up from underneath the back seat. I started to wipe more of the glass from my shirt.
“I don’t know. They all came at us at once and father told me no matter what happens, I was to grab you before they got there. I knew they had surveillance, but not through postal.”
“The letter." I realized why he hid the message in a fake court summons. They wouldn't think to check a court summons. "Wait, did you say Father? You spoke to him? Where is he? Is he still alive?” I had too many questions that I started growing more impatient not getting the answers quick enough.
“Look,” Ron let go of the wheel. “I am following specific instructions just like you. I need you to trust me. They know what we all did, and they will not stop until they capture each and every one of us. I promised father I’d look after you so turn around and hand me the case to your left.”
“Why? What’s in the case? Where is father?”
“Enough fucking questions! Cameron, little brother,” Ron rested both his hands on my shoulders. “Enough with the questions. I know as much as you do. Please, just hand me the case.”
Ron took out a map as I pulled a black briefcase out from under the seat. I opened it to find a strange looking handgun inside. The barrel was larger than normal.
“What am I looking at here?” I asked but not with the intent of adding another question.
Ron turned to take the gun in his hand. He lifted the barrel upward while removing the bottom pad from the case. He grabbed a stick like item and loaded it into the gun. I watched him study the map again before pointing the gun in a specific direction. A red flare blasted out into a spiral above the clouds overhead. The flare brightened the evening sky making everything around us glow in a red color.
“Won’t that just tell the cops where we are?” I threw down the case. A nervous feeling grabbed hold of my spine as I watched Ron wink before smiling.
A strange sound started to follow from above. A light brightened overhead as a helicopter swooped down beside our boat.
“Who’s that?” Another question slipped from my mouth. I noticed Ron had quickly packed up a bag.
I was trying to understand, but it was all happening too fast. The helicopter drew closer beside us. I turned to lock eyes with the pilot, my mother, whom I had not seen in years. Her face was still and stern as she continued to level the helicopter overhead.
“Mother!” I called out. Ron pulled me back to avoid getting too close while she fixed her position more.
“Now!” Ron pushed me up into the helicopter. He tossed his bag of items behind me. My mother mouthed him a ‘thank you.’ Before she pulled up on the joystick.
“Wait! Ron! You didn’t get Ron!” My mother pulled the helicopter up into a low hanging cloud. I watched red and blue lights circle around our boat below. Police boats sped out from every direction. My mother steered out toward the cove, heading over the ocean.
“Why did you leave him? What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“He still has a job to do!” My mother ripped the headset from her head and slammed it against the cockpit. She glared over at me before continuing, “You still need to do yours. If you don’t, we all die.”
***
Want to read more? Visit [13th Olympian Stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I walked into the courthouse to a flurry of lawyers, paralegals, reporters, and regular citizens scurrying about.
The case was one that had gathered national attention. The body of a girl who was missing for three weeks finally turned up. A single suspect had been apprehended and the governor wanted this case to be dealt with quickly.
I was selected to be a juror and made it through all the trials and tests and qualifiers to make up that twelve man body of people who would decide the suspect’s guilt.
I felt bad, sitting through the trial. Days of questions, and testimonies, and objections, and cross-examinations. The suspect definitely didn’t commit this crime, I was sure of that, but the prosecutors were bent on nailing this guy for it. The defense attorney, some young, fresh public defendant with probably too many cases handled it poorly. The guy seemed almost resigned to his fate. He could hardly fend off the prosecutor’s questioning and his story was too unverifiable. He claimed he was jogging that night in the area, but a few people said they saw him. And since he was in the area and without an alibi, he was arrested quickly. Looking at his face though when he testified hit hard. I just knew he didn’t do it.
Maybe, I felt bad because he reminded me of myself. We were similar height, had dark hair, and the same build. Hell, we could’ve been brothers. Too bad for the guy though.
The defense had utterly bombed this case and the prosecutor was sharp and convincing. This guy was going away for this, or worse.
When, on that last day, we finally convened and the other jurors all quickly agreed that he was guilty. I knew he didn’t do it but I wasn’t going to be the only juror not in agreement.
When we went back and the foreman announced guilty, I felt so bad for the kid. And then the judge handed down the death penalty. The people in the gallery mumbled furiously, snapped photos, embraced each other, broke down as justice was served.
When we were dismissed, I walked out the courtroom shaking my head. I knew that kid was innocent but didn’t stand up to the other jurors. And now the dude was gonna get the chair or needle or something.
I suppose I should’ve felt like scum but I’ve done worse. I mean, I killed a girl and let somebody else take the fall while I sat on the jury that decided his fate. His only crime was looking like me.
|
When I opened the envelope, to my surprise, it was a Jury Summons. I took a second and closed my eyes. I knew this day was unavoidable – I just didn’t think I would have to deal with it this soon. I regret having the burden to serve my community. However, I live in a community where I do not get the pleasure of having a choice. I finally opened the Summons reading,
*‘Cameron Barkley, you have been selected for jury service.*
*Your name was randomly selected from the electoral register. During your jury service you may be required to go to another court.*
*What the Jury Summons Means*
*Jury service is an important public duty.’*
“Give me a break,” I said aloud. The letter slowly crumbling in my palm. I skipped ahead as the next opening paragraph caught my attention. It seemed different somehow.
*‘What to do now,*
*It is important to read the enclosed leaflet ‘Guide to Jury Summons.’ This guide has not been enclosed with your specific letter. Your next instruction is the following:*
*You are going to walk out from your back door. You will take the brick left on the side of your patio and you will throw it through your dining room window. Immediately afterward, you will meet me down on the dock. You only have five minutes.*
*Good luck.’*
I felt my heart sink in the pit of my stomach. I knew this was the work of a certain individual. The sound of a car door slamming jolted my attention from the letter. Police were starting to swarm around the trail leading into my front yard. I quickly threw open my back door and grabbed hold of the brick perfectly placed where it had been said. I took a deep breath and tossed it through my dining room window.
The glass shattered while I watched the cops out in the front quickly duck into cover. Everything seemed to have been planned out so carefully. I didn’t take any chances. I turned without hesitation, stuffing the letter into my pocket. The dock was about half a mile away, so I needed to start running without being detected.
As soon as I broke into the trees, I watched the cops wrap around my entire home. None of them seemed to have seen me. Suddenly, a branch snapped under my boot signaling for a cop to turn my direction.
“Over there!” He called out revealing my identity in the woods.
“Shit!” I spat in terror. Bullets snapped against the bark on the trees behind. The river started to approach in view as I found a gentleman standing on the dock with his arms crossed.
“What took you so long?!” The man I instantly recognized cupped his hands.
“How did you know?” I jumped onto the wooden dock following his guidance into the boat. “How did you know they were coming?”
“They’ve come for all of us. Cameron.” He told me while throwing the ropes back in the boat. He stirred the water with the engine as we pulled away from the dock. We both ducked when cops fired behind us. One of the bullets split the glass over my shoulder.
“Cameron! Get down!”
Our boat sped down the river bank, ignoring the brush that was left over from the floods. Sitting up, I ran the glass out from my hair. I just realized that everything had happened so fast, I never even fully introduced the man who had just saved my life. He was very intelligent. The fact that he had everything lined up so perfectly was proof of his precision in execution. He is my older brother, Ron Barkley. I never knew him growing up, but after the incident, he was the only person who had my back. I could never thank him enough for the things he has done for me, nor the things he is willing to do. I didn’t waste a minute. I wanted answers.
“Who is coming for us? What is happening? How did you know about the cops?”
Ron pulled his long blonde hair out from the front of his face. He started to turn our boat out into the open bay leading towards the cove. “Someone picked up on our trail.”
“How?” I sat up from underneath the back seat. I started to wipe more of the glass from my shirt.
“I don’t know. They all came at us at once and father told me no matter what happens, I was to grab you before they got there. I knew they had surveillance, but not through postal.”
“The letter." I realized why he hid the message in a fake court summons. They wouldn't think to check a court summons. "Wait, did you say Father? You spoke to him? Where is he? Is he still alive?” I had too many questions that I started growing more impatient not getting the answers quick enough.
“Look,” Ron let go of the wheel. “I am following specific instructions just like you. I need you to trust me. They know what we all did, and they will not stop until they capture each and every one of us. I promised father I’d look after you so turn around and hand me the case to your left.”
“Why? What’s in the case? Where is father?”
“Enough fucking questions! Cameron, little brother,” Ron rested both his hands on my shoulders. “Enough with the questions. I know as much as you do. Please, just hand me the case.”
Ron took out a map as I pulled a black briefcase out from under the seat. I opened it to find a strange looking handgun inside. The barrel was larger than normal.
“What am I looking at here?” I asked but not with the intent of adding another question.
Ron turned to take the gun in his hand. He lifted the barrel upward while removing the bottom pad from the case. He grabbed a stick like item and loaded it into the gun. I watched him study the map again before pointing the gun in a specific direction. A red flare blasted out into a spiral above the clouds overhead. The flare brightened the evening sky making everything around us glow in a red color.
“Won’t that just tell the cops where we are?” I threw down the case. A nervous feeling grabbed hold of my spine as I watched Ron wink before smiling.
A strange sound started to follow from above. A light brightened overhead as a helicopter swooped down beside our boat.
“Who’s that?” Another question slipped from my mouth. I noticed Ron had quickly packed up a bag.
I was trying to understand, but it was all happening too fast. The helicopter drew closer beside us. I turned to lock eyes with the pilot, my mother, whom I had not seen in years. Her face was still and stern as she continued to level the helicopter overhead.
“Mother!” I called out. Ron pulled me back to avoid getting too close while she fixed her position more.
“Now!” Ron pushed me up into the helicopter. He tossed his bag of items behind me. My mother mouthed him a ‘thank you.’ Before she pulled up on the joystick.
“Wait! Ron! You didn’t get Ron!” My mother pulled the helicopter up into a low hanging cloud. I watched red and blue lights circle around our boat below. Police boats sped out from every direction. My mother steered out toward the cove, heading over the ocean.
“Why did you leave him? What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“He still has a job to do!” My mother ripped the headset from her head and slammed it against the cockpit. She glared over at me before continuing, “You still need to do yours. If you don’t, we all die.”
***
Want to read more? Visit [13th Olympian Stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
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[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I walked into the courthouse to a flurry of lawyers, paralegals, reporters, and regular citizens scurrying about.
The case was one that had gathered national attention. The body of a girl who was missing for three weeks finally turned up. A single suspect had been apprehended and the governor wanted this case to be dealt with quickly.
I was selected to be a juror and made it through all the trials and tests and qualifiers to make up that twelve man body of people who would decide the suspect’s guilt.
I felt bad, sitting through the trial. Days of questions, and testimonies, and objections, and cross-examinations. The suspect definitely didn’t commit this crime, I was sure of that, but the prosecutors were bent on nailing this guy for it. The defense attorney, some young, fresh public defendant with probably too many cases handled it poorly. The guy seemed almost resigned to his fate. He could hardly fend off the prosecutor’s questioning and his story was too unverifiable. He claimed he was jogging that night in the area, but a few people said they saw him. And since he was in the area and without an alibi, he was arrested quickly. Looking at his face though when he testified hit hard. I just knew he didn’t do it.
Maybe, I felt bad because he reminded me of myself. We were similar height, had dark hair, and the same build. Hell, we could’ve been brothers. Too bad for the guy though.
The defense had utterly bombed this case and the prosecutor was sharp and convincing. This guy was going away for this, or worse.
When, on that last day, we finally convened and the other jurors all quickly agreed that he was guilty. I knew he didn’t do it but I wasn’t going to be the only juror not in agreement.
When we went back and the foreman announced guilty, I felt so bad for the kid. And then the judge handed down the death penalty. The people in the gallery mumbled furiously, snapped photos, embraced each other, broke down as justice was served.
When we were dismissed, I walked out the courtroom shaking my head. I knew that kid was innocent but didn’t stand up to the other jurors. And now the dude was gonna get the chair or needle or something.
I suppose I should’ve felt like scum but I’ve done worse. I mean, I killed a girl and let somebody else take the fall while I sat on the jury that decided his fate. His only crime was looking like me.
|
(Kind of went a weird direction with the prompt when I was thinking about a trail for murderers.)
&#x200B;
I’ve done some things I’m not proud of in life, I’ll own up to that, made some bad choices, thought I had good enough reasons at the time, but I just kept digging my way deeper and deeper into the hole I was making for myself. Eventually it got so bad that I was desperate enough to do something reckless, stupid really, and it was unforgivable. That night haunts me to this day, but the funny thing is I never got caught. Finally, the universe was giving me a break, just wish I could do the same, but no matter what the memories stick with me.
A few weeks after it all went down, I got called into jury duty, felt a little weird going down to the courthouse to pass judgement on others, when I myself had committed one of the worst crimes of all. It felt like some kind of cosmic joke honestly.
So, there I was walking down tot the courthouse, wearing my Sunday best, ready to cast judgement on lesser criminals than myself, but when I got to the courthouse that morning something seemed off.
There wasn’t a car in the parking lot, and no light coming from the building itself. As I walked up to the front door, crossing the threshold of the marble archway that sheltered the building’s entrance, I felt a shiver run up my spine, and suddenly the courthouse was alive again, lights on crowded with people. I turned around to see a full lot behind me.
Weird as it was there was no way I was skipping out on jury duty since I was already here so I made my way inside, and asked the clerk at the desk near the entrance where the jurors were supposed to go, she pointed me towards the room with a smile and the promise of free donuts. I took the stairs up there dreading the next couple of hours.
But when I got to the room what I found waiting for me on the inside was not the usual bunch every day folks begrudgingly fulfilling their legal obligations.
Instead I found myself back at the scene of the burglary the night it all went wrong, the woman's dead body staring back at me.
(End of Part 1 I'll post another part shortly)
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[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.”
|
You step out of the Jeep and into the cool autumn air. Everything is wet, permeated with the earthy scent of peat. The clouds above threaten rain but don’t seem like they’ll follow through. As soon as your feet touch the ground, your ability kicks into action, revealing the low, round alto hum of rocks; the violin-like whisper of grass; even the hollow knocking of the bones of small creatures decaying beneath you.
Dr. Otero waves to you from atop the small hill, the Scottish breeze tousling her short cap of hair. You head toward her, passing groups of assistants and trailers full of equipment along the way. They seem to be preparing for a big excavation, larger than any you’ve ever been called to help with before.
“Jackie,” the archaeologist greets you, clapping a hand on your shoulder even though she stands a full foot shorter than you. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice. These events always go better when you’re around.”
“Well, the twenty thousand dollars help.”
Dr. Otero laughs, a high tinkle of a sound that quickly gets snatched away by the wind.
“I’m sure they do. Come on, I’ll show you where we’re planning to excavate today.”
She leads you to a hollow on the other side of the hill. It looks just like every other part of the landscape, clad in waving grasses and moss-covered rocks.
“What do you think you’ll find out here?” you ask as Dr. Otero takes out her GPS.
“I found some texts that indicate there may have been a settlement here at one time,” the archaeologist replies, checking the GPS against her battered notebook. “Nothing terribly exciting or new, but you never know.” She wanders a few steps east, then takes one step back and taps at the ground with the toe of her boot. “Here.”
Dr. Otero steps aside and you walk forward to take her place. As your foot comes down, though, the quiet symphony of the ground beneath your feet…stops.
You jerk your foot up again like you just walked on hot coals, your heart pounding.
“Jackie, are you all right?” Dr. Otero demands, taking a step toward you.
“Stop!” you shout, holding up a hand to her. “Don’t walk there!”
She freezes and looks down at the ground.
“What? Is there something breakable right here?” she asks. “We should cordon it off right away, if that’s –”
“No,” you interrupt. “Just…just wait.”
Slowly, you place your foot next to the other again. There’s the symphony you’re used to, sounds you hear every day. But when you step forward…. Gingerly, you take one step.
And the symphony dies.
A shiver rakes its way up your spine. Never, not a single time in your twenty-eight years, have you ever heard utter *silence* beneath your feet. There’s always something. This shouldn’t be possible. There can’t be nothing, there just can’t be.
Dr. Otero watches in silence as you step forward and backward in a strange one-woman waltz. You shuffle to the side, testing the ground with your feet. Left foot, sound; right foot, silence.
“Get someone to mark this off,” you tell her.
Immediately, the archaeologist barks orders to her team, summoning undergrads armed with plastic stakes and tape. As you rock back and forth, you point to where the boundary inexplicably lies. Silence, sound. Silence, sound. The rest of the team gradually stops what they’re doing to watch, observing as the silent spot grows larger. An hour passes, then two as you carefully demarcate this anomaly. When you finally circle back around to the beginning, you look up for the first time.
Before you lies a rough oval shape nearly the size of a football field, its boundary glaringly illuminated by orange tape. Its sheer size takes your breath away. And fills your lungs with apprehension. The settlement Dr. Otero mentioned could well be under there, but what foul magic could it harbor to negate your ability entirely?
Dr. Otero stares out across the landscape, at the space that is seemingly no different from what lies outside it.
“What’s down there?” Dr. Otero asks. Excitement and anticipation color her voice.
You shake your head.
“I don’t know.”
She turns to you, incredulous.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You spent all that time marking this off, how could you not have seen what’s down there?”
“Every step I took into that space, all I heard was silence.”
The archaeologist draws in a breath. She knows as well as you that you’ve never experienced this before. Almost imperceptibly, she inches back from the silent ground before you. Perhaps a wise decision.
“Dr. Otero,” you tell her, unable to tear your eyes from the innocuous-looking grass, “we should not dig here.”
|
"What, why?"
"We shouldn't dig just yet. There's a very large ant nest directly underneath us, and the artifacts are below that."
"I don't see why we can't just dig our way through the ant nest. We've done it before."
"Yeah, before, but I just found this site that makes [ant nest sculptures](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGJ2jMZ-gaI) out of molten aluminum. If we call those [guys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_w9xVpsGt0c) to take out the ant nest first, we'll have both our artifacts and some tidy profit."
"And that artifacts..."
"Won't be disturbed. They're a couple of feet below the ant nest. Don't worry about it."
|
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[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.”
|
You step out of the Jeep and into the cool autumn air. Everything is wet, permeated with the earthy scent of peat. The clouds above threaten rain but don’t seem like they’ll follow through. As soon as your feet touch the ground, your ability kicks into action, revealing the low, round alto hum of rocks; the violin-like whisper of grass; even the hollow knocking of the bones of small creatures decaying beneath you.
Dr. Otero waves to you from atop the small hill, the Scottish breeze tousling her short cap of hair. You head toward her, passing groups of assistants and trailers full of equipment along the way. They seem to be preparing for a big excavation, larger than any you’ve ever been called to help with before.
“Jackie,” the archaeologist greets you, clapping a hand on your shoulder even though she stands a full foot shorter than you. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice. These events always go better when you’re around.”
“Well, the twenty thousand dollars help.”
Dr. Otero laughs, a high tinkle of a sound that quickly gets snatched away by the wind.
“I’m sure they do. Come on, I’ll show you where we’re planning to excavate today.”
She leads you to a hollow on the other side of the hill. It looks just like every other part of the landscape, clad in waving grasses and moss-covered rocks.
“What do you think you’ll find out here?” you ask as Dr. Otero takes out her GPS.
“I found some texts that indicate there may have been a settlement here at one time,” the archaeologist replies, checking the GPS against her battered notebook. “Nothing terribly exciting or new, but you never know.” She wanders a few steps east, then takes one step back and taps at the ground with the toe of her boot. “Here.”
Dr. Otero steps aside and you walk forward to take her place. As your foot comes down, though, the quiet symphony of the ground beneath your feet…stops.
You jerk your foot up again like you just walked on hot coals, your heart pounding.
“Jackie, are you all right?” Dr. Otero demands, taking a step toward you.
“Stop!” you shout, holding up a hand to her. “Don’t walk there!”
She freezes and looks down at the ground.
“What? Is there something breakable right here?” she asks. “We should cordon it off right away, if that’s –”
“No,” you interrupt. “Just…just wait.”
Slowly, you place your foot next to the other again. There’s the symphony you’re used to, sounds you hear every day. But when you step forward…. Gingerly, you take one step.
And the symphony dies.
A shiver rakes its way up your spine. Never, not a single time in your twenty-eight years, have you ever heard utter *silence* beneath your feet. There’s always something. This shouldn’t be possible. There can’t be nothing, there just can’t be.
Dr. Otero watches in silence as you step forward and backward in a strange one-woman waltz. You shuffle to the side, testing the ground with your feet. Left foot, sound; right foot, silence.
“Get someone to mark this off,” you tell her.
Immediately, the archaeologist barks orders to her team, summoning undergrads armed with plastic stakes and tape. As you rock back and forth, you point to where the boundary inexplicably lies. Silence, sound. Silence, sound. The rest of the team gradually stops what they’re doing to watch, observing as the silent spot grows larger. An hour passes, then two as you carefully demarcate this anomaly. When you finally circle back around to the beginning, you look up for the first time.
Before you lies a rough oval shape nearly the size of a football field, its boundary glaringly illuminated by orange tape. Its sheer size takes your breath away. And fills your lungs with apprehension. The settlement Dr. Otero mentioned could well be under there, but what foul magic could it harbor to negate your ability entirely?
Dr. Otero stares out across the landscape, at the space that is seemingly no different from what lies outside it.
“What’s down there?” Dr. Otero asks. Excitement and anticipation color her voice.
You shake your head.
“I don’t know.”
She turns to you, incredulous.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You spent all that time marking this off, how could you not have seen what’s down there?”
“Every step I took into that space, all I heard was silence.”
The archaeologist draws in a breath. She knows as well as you that you’ve never experienced this before. Almost imperceptibly, she inches back from the silent ground before you. Perhaps a wise decision.
“Dr. Otero,” you tell her, unable to tear your eyes from the innocuous-looking grass, “we should not dig here.”
|
I stared at the ground beneath my feet, all I had to do was hold my breath. Once I did this, anything that wasn't sediment would be visible to me. I took a deep gulp of air, then waited. The ground seemed to part and a small brown dot rose up, as it rose I could make out that is was wooden, it looked old. Metal bands straddled the edges. Finally it was there, right before me. A wooden chest, it came up to my waist.
'This is it.' I thought to myself, anticipation building. 'One-Eyed Willies treasure.'
The urge to breath came to the forefront of my mind, I took a breath of air and the chest disappeared. My aide looked at me quizzically, anticipating my response.
"Tell them there's nothing here." As I finished, he began to run across the clearing.
"Wait." I stopped him.
"Bring back a shove."
Not my best, but seemed fun.
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[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.”
|
I could always tell, even from my earliest memories.
When I was younger, I could only get the broadest sense of things. A rough feel of the shape, maybe a hint at the material. Much like a muscle, it developed as I exercised it. As time wore on, I became finely attuned to the world that lay beneath my feet. I could pick out the individual layers, the sediments of time and the secrets each held.
As the world below became fixed in my mind's eye, I grew increasingly interested in its study. It wasn't enough to know what lay beneath, I wanted to understand it. To see how this mysterious subterranean ecosystem operated. How it progressed. How each layer lay the foundation for what was to come. How the present gave birth to the surface.
Archeology was a natural calling. I'm certain I could have had a fantastic future as a human treasure detector, but this unique gift seemed too precious to squander on frivolities. I went to university and spent my summers volunteering on dig sites. Needless to say, my uncanny abilities were greatly appreciated even if they were not fully comprehended by my colleagues.
It wasn't until my years as a graduate student that I finally gave voice to talent. I spoke with my dissertation advisor, a woman I had grown to admire and trust through the years. Her scientific nature required a number of demonstrations before she would accept the truth of the matter, but eventually she accepted that what I said was true: I could see the world above and below with equal clarity.
That was the beginning of a great partnership. Dr. Liu and I traveled the world, exploring and unraveling the mysteries of humanity.
Our fame grew as we provided answer after answer to the great questions that had plagued us.
What had happened to the Mayans?
Where was Gengis Khan buried?
Just what the hell was Stonehenge anyways?
One by one they fell.
It was then we received the missive we had long waited for. The invitation from the government of Egypt. Inviting us to examine the environs of the pyramids. To unearth the secrets without unearthing them.
Why had they been built? How had they been built? What lay within? What chambers led where, and what did they hold?
So many questions. And finally, at long last, they would be answered.
Which brings us to the here and now. Dr. Liu by my side, knapsack slung casually over her shoulder. Her standard khaki shorts and shirt combo causing her to blend in slightly to the dull sand swirling about us in small eddies on the wind. She spread her arms broadly, a grin on her face, "So Lawrence, where do we begin?"
I stamped my feet against the ground a bit, "Lots of stuff below. Mostly pottery and tools. I'd say we get closer to the big stuff and see where that takes us."
"Wanna unravel the mystery of the Sphinx?" She asked, before waving her fingers about in undulating waves, "Spoooooooky."
I grinned and shrug, "Sure. Seems like as good a place as any." We began to walk toward the Sphinx, which lay about a mile away, though it was still visible through the wavy heat of the late afternoon. We chatted amiably as we strolled along, with me occasionally stopping to call out an object of interest. Whenever I did, she would make a marking on the map, stack a few stones on top of each other and then we would continue.
Approximately a half mile out from the Sphinx, I felt something odd below. A thick, heavy barrier. "Nancy, something weird here."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Thick. Very thick. Stone. Maybe..." I walked back and forth a few times, "yeah, maybe ten feet thick, twenty feet high." I began to walk south, following the structure beneath my feet. "It's long. Still going."
We continued on in silence for a few minutes, as I concentrated on my task. Finally, Dr. Liu spoke up, "We're heading in a circle. It's curving."
I blinked and looked up, "Huh?"
"It's a circle. Whatever it is down there, it's a big circle."
"Around what?" I asked.
She glanced down at her map, tracing her finger along. After a moment, she looked up, her dark brown eyes wide, "It's...it's around the Sphinx."
"Huh. That's weird, what should we do?"
She looked down at her map again, rubbing her lips together as she worked through the possibilities, "I say we continue toward the Sphinx. We can always check back on this later, I don't imagine it's going anywhere."
"No, probably not. It's far enough down that it predates the Sphinx by a fair measure," I said, beginning to turn back in the direction of the odd lion human statue in the distance.
"Interesting," was all Dr. Liu replied as she fell into stride beside me.
At about a quarter mile, I stopped again. "There's another one." I stomped about a bit. "Even bigger. Thicker. Taller." I squinted. "Wow, metal bands around it to reinforce." I walked along it again for a minute or two, keeping my eye on the Sphinx as I did so. "Same thing as before."
Dr. Liu nodded and turned toward the Sphinx again. "Let's keep going."
We crossed three more walls as we headed inward, each a smaller concentric circle. "They certainly took their walls seriously back then. I wonder what they were protecting?" I mused aloud.
"Or trying to keep in," Dr. Liu replied, her gaze fixed on the Sphinx ahead.
We began to approach the Sphinx, the revelations of the last hour combined with the majesty of the monument to evoke a contemplative mode between us.
I took another step, moving past the most recent barrier. My mouth dropped open, my throat running dry. "Dr. Liu. There's....there's bodies below."
"Bodies? As in plural?"
"Hundreds. Thousands even," I said, my words coming out unevenly.
"What do you mean thousands?"
I dug my foot in to the sand, moving it about slowly. "Layer upon layer. Thousands of bodies in a thin layer of sediment..." I paused, as I felt the information flow into me, "followed by hundreds of years of silence before another layer. The pattern repeats. Time and time again. Layer upon layer of slaughter."
"Slaves? Were they sacrificed?"
"No. It feels as if there was a great battle. The last one was waged just before the barriers came into existence." I walked toward the Sphinx. The layers did not change. There were entire armies buried beneath my feat, all clustered around the statue.
Finally, I walked between its paws. I stopped. I could feel it. Deep below. A chamber. Large. Black. Dark. And within it...something even darker. An abyss. A living one. I stared down at my feet, "Dr. Liu...we should not dig here."
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
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"I've been working with y'all for awhile now, so you know that I know my shit. I'm telling you, we should not dig here."
Lead archeologist: "We've been told that there are many unnamed and undiscovered artifacts right under our feet! You can't tell me that we should forego the knowledge we can soon ascertain!"
"Actually, there is a sewer line coming from that complex just to the north, so if you wanna dig, go ahead, but I'm not sticking around."
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[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.”
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They've tried to figure out how it works, exactly. I listened to each and every theory as it flew over my head, but all I can say is that everything trembles in its own way. Quartz is solid and steady, amethyst comes in short bursts, and gold vibrates with a soft, alluring tremor that makes it hard to resist. Oil is always the big one; a thick and resonant wave that means I'm about to make seven figures. Twenty six years at a job brings you a lot of experience, and I am *very* good at what I do. It takes me less than a second to identify any of the three hundred most common minerals, and I can figure out thousands of others in under a minute. I've found rocks no one even knew existed! But this time, oh this time...
They sent me out to a rocky patch of wasteland in northern Algeria. Exxon had just purchased a hundred thousand acres, and they pulled me in to scope it out. I flew into Algiers and set out with several teams of surveyors. After a few survey points that came up dry, we came to our last one for the day. When the Jeep came to a stop, I hopped out and listened, and heard nothing. Not the dull warbling of the local bedrock, not even the sand beneath my feet. The silence was unimaginable: the same as stepping outside at noon and seeing a pitch black sky. I can't tell you how long I stood and strained to feel the slightest rumble, the faintest touch. It could have been seconds or hours; I lost track of time. The others, I could tell, were starting to get concerned, but before they said anything, I heard it.
Humans tend not to freeze when they feel fear. We jump, scream, recoil, anything to help us run from the perceived threat. But sometimes, there is a level of terror beyond reaction. A feeling so awesome, so cataclysmic, that we cannot breathe, or twitch, or think: we can only wait. I waited then, too, as I heard it begin. It was beyond what I had ever heard, almost extra-dimensional in scope and nature. It swelled and faded, rumbled and barked, flowed and jolted from the farthest reaches of the abyss below. It made me long for the silence that moments ago had unsettled and disturbed me. It brought tears streaming from my eyes and drool from my gaping mouth, as I begged for the gods to wake me, kill me, torture me; anything to end the wailing from below.
One of the surveyors came and put his hand on my shoulder, and I collapsed into his arms. I don't remember what happened after that, only that in a few hours I was back in Algiers at my hotel, with the survey leader sitting by my bed. When I woke up, he asked me what happened. I didn't have the words or the strength to tell him them what I had felt. I simply said "We should not dig here."
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"I've been working with y'all for awhile now, so you know that I know my shit. I'm telling you, we should not dig here."
Lead archeologist: "We've been told that there are many unnamed and undiscovered artifacts right under our feet! You can't tell me that we should forego the knowledge we can soon ascertain!"
"Actually, there is a sewer line coming from that complex just to the north, so if you wanna dig, go ahead, but I'm not sticking around."
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[WP] Instead of becoming emotional or violent, you become extremely diplomatic when drunk. You've just woken up with a hangover and two feuding families thanking you for everything you did the previous night.
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It takes me a couple seconds to understand the pounding I'm hearing isn't only the hangover, and that whoever is going at my door intends to keep at it until I either wake up, or they break it.The waves of nausea are immediate, vicious, as I stumble to my feet, sight still blurry. I haven't gotten myself in such a state for years, what ever happened yesterday ? I just remember this horrible, stuffed atmosphere at the annual ball and the glasses I downed with my friend. Again the door rattles on its hinges and I croaks
" Coming !" I hack out some tequila tasting phlegm, fighting another urge to hork. " I said, I'm coming!"
I've never seen the guy at my door. Middle aged, looking starched within an inch of his life, he lifts his left eyebrow a quarter of an inch upon surveying my disheveled, wrinkled carcass.
" Sir Mercutio ?"
" That would be me, and you are ?"
The guy doesn't even answer, stepping past me and into my flat. He carefully lays a wrapped package, a suit, I could swear, on the back of one of my chairs.
&#x200B;
"Lord Escalus has been... more than impressed by your feat of last night. For years this feud has been raging and you, you managed withing a couple hours to staunch those fires and bring peace in the city, a most amazing exploit."
" If you say so"
I still can't remember a lot, maybe bits of a passionate argument I was shouting at a crowd but nothing more. Again my stomach rumbles and abandoning all hopes at hospitality I dash to my bathroom, barely making it in time.
As I puke my guts out, I can hear the man, souding still as professionnal and detached as ever
" I shall advise you, sir, to take a shower once you are done. After all, the wedding can't start without its bestman and your friend Romeo will want to thank you in person"
Edits: typos. Please apologize any grammatical mistakes as english isn't my first language.
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I didn't remember anything last night, but apparently it had to do over who gets the last slice of pizza. Something happened, and two groups of my adopted family (who I am not sure were even invited) started arguing over who gets the last slice of pizza, and it almost turned to blood. It's the last I remembered before I downed the rest of my vodka and blacked out. Next thing I know, my best friend is congratulating me on my problem solving skills, and both groups left without turning my house into a mess. He told me that when I was drunk out of my mind, I was using vocabulary that he didn't know I had in me, and I was using logic that he's never seen in me before! He kept going on and on about it until I asked him for a glass of water. I knew before he even finished talking about it that my new "super power" will be the best party trick of the century.
&#x200B;
As the years went on, I willing became drunk at bars and house parties, just for the heck of it. As I was drunk with other people, I helped them solve many of their problems with each other. I've stopped many couples from breaking up on the spot, and even an engaged couple thanked me personally on their wedding day! They said it was probably me who kept them together, and without me, they wouldn't know where they would be now. After a lot of drunkenness, I was starting to get tired of it, and tried to stop and stay quiet about it. But it wasn't easy keeping quiet. I didn't exactly try and make it a secret, but I didn't deliberately go out and show off. Okay, maybe I did. But it was only a matter of time before the word was spread, and someone took notice in how useful my talent was.
&#x200B;
It's late on a Friday night, and I was just relaxing, playing some BOTW, when I heard a knock on my apartment door. It was a really firm knock, and definitely not my roommate. He was supposed to be out of town. Cautiously, I peak through the peephole. A tall, muscular but skinny man in a neat suit, with sunglasses on, was standing at my door. It was 10 PM, and he was wearing sunglasses?!? After scanning him over and not seeing any noticeable bulge of a firearm, I opened the door slowly. Before I could say anything, the man said "Hayate Koizumi?" Weird. No one in the US addresses me by my original name, except for my parents. I always went by my "American" name, Ethan. I answered "Uh, yeah, that's me. You need anything?" He stopped for a moment, before saying, "You need to come with me, now. You don't need to bring anything, and you need to be quick. People are after you." I froze for a moment, not knowing what to believe, before he pulled me out of the doorway. "Stop standing there like a dumbass and come with me! Did you not hear my last sentence?" Grabbing my coat off the hook, I was still frozen from the words he said, but I went and followed him. Who knows, maybe he's telling the truth?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Criticism more than welcome, I need to know what to improve on. I'm relatively new to creative fiction writing, and constructive criticism will be really helpful
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[WP] "A bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. A lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the field of battle. And a sword that grants great leadership, but will kill you from a decision that you make. Which will you take?"
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"This is a test, isn't it?"
The sage said nothing.
I pointed to the sword: "Sometimes the right decision requires you to make a sacrifice play. Sometimes the general needs to take the field. Using the sword to its full potential means putting your life on the line."
I pointed to the lance. "This one is the most obvious. A lance requires you to lead the charge. That puts your life at risk, no matter how strong or skilled you are. Using this weapon will lead you to die in battle."
Then I turned to the bow. "This weapon grants the mindset of an assassin - not simply shooting arrows but knowing where and *who* to shoot for maximum effect. But life of an assassin is a lonely one - always knowing your targets but never letting anyone know you."
I turned back to the Sage. "They aren't actually cursed, are they? This is simply a description of what it means to use their powers."
He inclined his head slightly. "The question remains, young warrior. Which will you choose?"
I thought a bit more, and said, "The sword. The war is too big to be ended by a single soldier or assassin. They have their place, but without leadership, we could lose entire armies."
I picked up the sword and buckled its scabbard to my waist. Instantly, it was as if my mind expanded, filled with knowledge about the kingdom's armies. As if looking down from on high, I could see a legion marching to block the road to Tel Marathi, another hastily fortifying the North Pass, another retreating in disarray...
I was yanked back down to earth by the Sage saying "Actually, they are cursed."
"What?"
"The weapons are cursed. Anyone who wields one, even for a single battle, will find themselves paying its price. Sometimes in days, sometimes in months, always in less than a year. There's a reason they were sealed away."
"So I was completely wrong." I said.
"I didn't correct you because you grasped the most essential part - we need someone willing to use these weapons to their full potential, even if it costs their life or the life of a loved one. The war is going badly and we need every advantage we can get."
I said nothing, still grappling with the magnitude of my error. I had been so confident in my understanding of the curses that I never bothered to ask *why the weapons were never used.* And for my pride, I was going to die before the year was out.
"If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was a very clever analysis."
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"Better to have loved and lost," I said, lifting the bow. "Or so I've been told."
"Indeed," said Bricklebranch, the gnome, already disappearing the other weapons. "Though I'll make sure to check how you feel after it's done."
"So the 'skill' it provides, how does that work?"
"Oh, it already has. You'll simply have a better sense of what to do when the time comes. And something tells me, those times will come aplenty."
That was 32 years ago, back when I was little more than a bit of cannon fodder in the Green Briar Militia. Back before the Master of Paths was known to all. Back even before I met the Lady of Lies, Mentrosa, but then, she's the one I was led to, the woman who chose the Sword. The woman who chose me, as well, for all that's worth.
You see, I was only one of Bricklebranch's customers. He'd started with five weapons, counting a staff and a spear that had been claimed before I came along. I've heard so many version of their blessings, I couldn't tell you which are true. And as their bearers are both dead, I don't suppose I'll ever learn the truth. As for the curses, well, the staff-bearer was buried alive, and the spear, he was poisoned by his own daughter. The Mistress of Miles, and the Father of Fear. It hurt to lose them.
And then there is the Lord of Doors, with that blasted Lance. He's tucked himself away, cut off from the world. Locked up away from any battle. A clever scheme, and it's worked so far. But I've let my sorrow hold me too long. He stayed hidden only because I wasn't looking. Now, I set out on a path of revenge. And the Master of Paths always knows exactly where they lead.
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[WP] "A bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. A lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the field of battle. And a sword that grants great leadership, but will kill you from a decision that you make. Which will you take?"
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"The cursed treasures," I whispered.
"You must choose one or you will die on the way out," the sprite said.
I sighed.
I'd been on this quest for over two years. My entire team had perished for the cause over the journey of hundreds of miles, through rough terrain, past misleading robbers, petty thieves and horrific murderers. The treasure was indeed "cursed", there was no doubt to it.
Countless people had died searching for it before me, so much so that the entire kingdom had deemed it an impossible quest. But I was adamant.
"You can take your time," the sprite said.
It was a ghastly creature that was doomed to guard the treasure until someone came to take them. One of its eyes was fixed upon the treasure, the other upon me. It had a wild, fervent motion, like that of a genie that was about to be released from its "bottle".
I reflected over my choices once again. Two choices led to certain death, one choice led to heartbreak and sorrow.
"This is easy," I said.
"Yes?"
"I can take the bow. I can take the loss of love at the cost of tactical skill."
"Isn't that a selfish decision? Think of the countless maidens who's hearts you will break," the sprite said.
"I can't relinquish my ownership of the treasure after I get it? What if I'm here as a messenger and I want to take it back to my king?"
"Only death can break your ownership of the treasures," the sprite said.
"Cursed indeed," I muttered.
"Yes, cursed indeed. Yes," the sprite whispered.
"Has anyone come here before me?" I asked.
"You are the second person", the sprite said.
"The first being?"
"Me," he replied.
"What? And you're cursed to defend these treasures?"
"Oh, no. I just assumed that was my role. You see, I had decided to take the bow, just like you thought to. Then I did. I took the bow. As soon as I took it, I felt a great sorrow pass through me. I was in love with the treasures. Look at the beautiful lance, look at that sword! Where have you seen such elegance before? It defies the skills of the greatest weaponries of the kingdom," he said.
"Wait. So you're cursed to lose the treasures because you love them?"
"Yes," the sprite whispered.
"So I have to kill you in order to procure the bow. Because just walking away with it wouldn't give me any power. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"So why didn't you just pick up all three and walk out? You knew you were going to die anyway," I said.
"The bow tells me not to. The tactical choice is to wait," the sprite said.
"Alright. Then I will kill you, take the bow, close my eyes and walk out of here. How do you want to die?" I asked.
"You don't understand. The treasures all lead you to death one way or another. The bow only prolongs it by cursing you to a doomed fate. The lance and the sword grant you glory at the cost of death. The logical choice is for us to kill each other and hope that nobody comes here again," the sprite said.
"Is this you talking or the bow?"
"Both of us," he said.
"Alright. I'll take the lance and the sword before I die since you don't own them," I said.
I wanted to experience true power and leadership before I died.
"As you wish," the sprite said.
I picked up the lance. A surge of wild energy pulsed through me, and I felt my eyes sparkle with the glory of a thousand suns.
I picked up the sword. There was a subtle change in my thoughts, but I could feel it permeate through my being in a flash.
"Sprite," I said.
"Yes?"
"We shall strike each other at the same time."
The sprite picked up his bow and looked me in the eye.
"I am sorry child," he said.
With a swift motion, he released an arrow and it struck my heart, sending me crashing onto the floor of the cave.
"I don't understand!"
"I lied to you about everything," the sprite said.
"B-but the treasures-"
"A myth. We're a group of thieves, murderers, snatchers. Instead of going around and finding people to steal from, our great-great-grandfathers came up with the mystery of the Cursed Treasures. Countless men like you have come here or perished along the way and we have prospered beyond your wildest dreams by stealing from them."
"This is wrong!" I shouted.
"Of course it is. It is cursed treasure after all," the man said.
He slipped out of his elaborate costume and bent down to look at my face.
"And you thought you were special," he whispered.
I closed my eyes as his knife grazed against my bloodied face.
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"Better to have loved and lost," I said, lifting the bow. "Or so I've been told."
"Indeed," said Bricklebranch, the gnome, already disappearing the other weapons. "Though I'll make sure to check how you feel after it's done."
"So the 'skill' it provides, how does that work?"
"Oh, it already has. You'll simply have a better sense of what to do when the time comes. And something tells me, those times will come aplenty."
That was 32 years ago, back when I was little more than a bit of cannon fodder in the Green Briar Militia. Back before the Master of Paths was known to all. Back even before I met the Lady of Lies, Mentrosa, but then, she's the one I was led to, the woman who chose the Sword. The woman who chose me, as well, for all that's worth.
You see, I was only one of Bricklebranch's customers. He'd started with five weapons, counting a staff and a spear that had been claimed before I came along. I've heard so many version of their blessings, I couldn't tell you which are true. And as their bearers are both dead, I don't suppose I'll ever learn the truth. As for the curses, well, the staff-bearer was buried alive, and the spear, he was poisoned by his own daughter. The Mistress of Miles, and the Father of Fear. It hurt to lose them.
And then there is the Lord of Doors, with that blasted Lance. He's tucked himself away, cut off from the world. Locked up away from any battle. A clever scheme, and it's worked so far. But I've let my sorrow hold me too long. He stayed hidden only because I wasn't looking. Now, I set out on a path of revenge. And the Master of Paths always knows exactly where they lead.
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[WP] "A bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. A lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the field of battle. And a sword that grants great leadership, but will kill you from a decision that you make. Which will you take?"
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The priests gathered around the altar which had been covered in white cloth. I watched as one dipped an olive branch into goat’s blood only to flick it across the altar spattering its stain. The priests knew I had arrived. The head priest signaled for the others to kneel as I stepped through the doorway of stone pillars.
“Ah, our new King!” The head priest greeted.
I didn’t know what to respond with. I never thought of myself being King this young. My father, who had been King, fell ill last winter and was not able to recover. Now, I must go through the ceremony of transfer to the crown. In our Kingdom, each King must select their mark. This is a mark that all kingdoms know. It is a mark of the King itself – apparently a weapon of sorts.
“Respond to the priest.” My teacher pulled my attention back from my inner thoughts. “He’s greeted you.”
“Head priest,” I stated before hesitating to say, “Bless you.” It is what all Kings are supposed to say as they had instructed me.
“Stand over there.” My teacher pointed. He was my father’s most trusted councilor. He would always fold his hands behind his back when he walked. I noticed he'd have a habit of looking down onto the floor. It was a habit he’d developed after serving his years with my father. When I asked him why he always looked down when he walked, it was because he made sure my father never tripped. He claimed that all Kings have to look up when they walk, or no one will want to follow them.
“Let me have a look at you. Ah, yes. You have your father’s eyes I see.” The head priest rested both his hands atop my shoulders to study me closely. “We have never had such a young King before, hmm.”
I lowered my eyes. I had only been alive for about nineteen years now. I was far too young to be any sort of King. The head priest quickly raised my chin to force my eyes back upward off the floor. “Kings look upward.” He responded.
“Here you are, King Jacob.” My mother approached from behind. She threw a cloth matching the altar over me. I found the cloth dragging along the floor. Usually Kings are much older and much taller. I lifted the cloth to hang lower over my back so that it would not drag beneath my feet.
“Step up to the altar, King Jacob.” My teacher guided me. The priests circled around the altar with copper braziers in front of them. They all lit their individual flame in unison. Each flame was a different color to symbolize each of the traits a King should carry.
The head priest stepped up on the other side of the altar and had me come in closer to the altar’s edge. “King Jacob, each King shall carry each of the traits in order to gift the Kingdom with another sun.”
The head priest continued to read off from ancient text dating to the first of Kings. My attention came back when I heard him start the text covering a King’s mark. “Hear this closely, King Jacob, for your choices cannot be undone. Your choices will carry knowledge for our Kingdom. You must now choose your mark.”
Everyone in the room kneeled down before bowing their head. I glanced over my shoulder to find my teacher kneeling beside my mother. The head priest did not kneel, instead, he pointed to a wooden curved bow. “This bow shall grant you tactical skill. It is this skill that can hold our Kingdoms together whether in diplomacy or combat. It is this very skill that makes your tongue as deadly as the silver arrows themselves. Because of this, you shall find love.”
The bow. I leaned over to touch it softly. My father had chosen the bow. His mark of the bow flew on every banner across all Kingdoms.
“I know son, it is hard. He will be with you in spirit as his legacy will now be with all of us. If you would like to choose the bow in honor of your father, you must first hear all of the readings before making your final choice.” The head priest paused. Everyone else in the room remained kneeling as he was the only one who witnessed my tear soaking into the wood of the bow.
I took in a deep breath and told the head priest to continue. He repeated, “Because of this you shall find love,” then he added what I never would have expected, “but because of this, you shall lose it entirely.”
“Wait what?” I stopped the head priest again. My teacher began to lift his eyes, but the head priest immediately responded,
“Do not lift your heads for your eyes are not to see this moment of our King!” The head priest focused back onto me. “King Jacob, each mark comes with a price. The King found love. And it was you who he had lost in the end. His sacrifice allowed our Kingdom to see many different suns and its seasons. Now you must do the same.”
“It was me? Is it because of me he is gone?” I asked him. He looked to be angry when I asked but I could tell he took a moment before telling me,
“No, it was his mark. That was the mark and now his mark will forever be remembered in our kingdom. He knew he would lose his love, being you and your mother. He also allowed us peace for many years and improvement across our region.”
After his explanation, I realized my father had sacrificed more than I had ever known. I wonder what other things he was not able to tell me. I nodded for the head priest to continue. He moved away from the bow and placed his hand on an iron lance next.
“This lance will grant you great power. This will be the power to inflict fear upon our enemies. Your strength will be tougher than its iron core. With this, you will win every battle. However, this mark will end with you on the battlefield itself.
I needed clarification. “If a King falls, how would that win a battle?”
“King Jacob!” My teacher shouted while keeping his head down.
“Silence!” The head priest ordered. “Let us not forget that our King is still full of youth and that means he has much to learn. That being both in knowledge and when to speak.” He glared toward me. I could tell he was forcing himself to be patient. He did answer my question. He claimed that sacrifice can win the most important battle of all. It was usually this time in our history when we had won the war. I nodded in understanding. I knew I could not interrupt with another question.
The head priest continued to the last mark, the sword. “This sword will grant you leadership and understanding. It is this that allows those who could never follow finally find sanctuary. This mark will grant you with the decision making to guide our kingdom in knowledge over power. This mark ends in a final decision that you will enforce.”
I took a moment to question the decision that will dictate the rest of my life – my mark. I could choose the bow but then I would lose the one I loved. I wouldn’t want to lose my love. If I truly loved them, I wouldn't want to put them in danger. I'd expect the mark is never the same in the end result. It could have been me that died during the winter months, or my mother. All of these marks have an end set aside for me. Losing love would be me losing myself. Even if it was for diplomacy, there had to be a better option.
After moments of looking back and forth on all three marks. I noticed the head priest shaking his head. He was the only one allowed to watch me choose my mark. I wanted the lance but then I would die in battle. I’ve heard the stories of our enemies, it would be a gruesome death. The sword would allow me to make the best decision although one decision would get me killed. Then again maybe I would know when making the decision. I don’t know how my father had ever chose his mark. I feel like this is impossible, that I should not be King.
“King Jacob, as each fire burns in the traits of a King, the Kings will always be with you in spirit.” The head priest stepped forward. “Now choose your mark, for I can see in your eyes that you are still very young, and you are wandering how this mark will affect *you.*”
“Yes,” I replied. “I am trying to figure out how each one could be my end.”
“That is your problem, King Jacob.” The head priest leaned in close to me. “You need to choose based on how it will affect our Kingdom. Figuring out how to avoid us from never seeing another sun rise.”
I was expecting more encouragement. The head priest just took my impossible decision and made it even more difficult. I tried to close my eyes and focus. I felt a chill overwhelm me as something had pulled my hand over each of the marks. I couldn’t describe what had happened, but my hand grabbed hold of the sword.
“Yes,” The head priest smiled again. “It seems that you have chosen the sword.”
I didn’t respond. I lifted the sword up to eye-level studying the design etched into the blade.
“Do not worry, King Jacob.” The head priest assured me. “Your father and the Kings before him had help choosing as well.”
***
Want to read more? Visit [13th Olympian Stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
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"Better to have loved and lost," I said, lifting the bow. "Or so I've been told."
"Indeed," said Bricklebranch, the gnome, already disappearing the other weapons. "Though I'll make sure to check how you feel after it's done."
"So the 'skill' it provides, how does that work?"
"Oh, it already has. You'll simply have a better sense of what to do when the time comes. And something tells me, those times will come aplenty."
That was 32 years ago, back when I was little more than a bit of cannon fodder in the Green Briar Militia. Back before the Master of Paths was known to all. Back even before I met the Lady of Lies, Mentrosa, but then, she's the one I was led to, the woman who chose the Sword. The woman who chose me, as well, for all that's worth.
You see, I was only one of Bricklebranch's customers. He'd started with five weapons, counting a staff and a spear that had been claimed before I came along. I've heard so many version of their blessings, I couldn't tell you which are true. And as their bearers are both dead, I don't suppose I'll ever learn the truth. As for the curses, well, the staff-bearer was buried alive, and the spear, he was poisoned by his own daughter. The Mistress of Miles, and the Father of Fear. It hurt to lose them.
And then there is the Lord of Doors, with that blasted Lance. He's tucked himself away, cut off from the world. Locked up away from any battle. A clever scheme, and it's worked so far. But I've let my sorrow hold me too long. He stayed hidden only because I wasn't looking. Now, I set out on a path of revenge. And the Master of Paths always knows exactly where they lead.
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[WP] "A bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. A lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the field of battle. And a sword that grants great leadership, but will kill you from a decision that you make. Which will you take?"
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"This is a test, isn't it?"
The sage said nothing.
I pointed to the sword: "Sometimes the right decision requires you to make a sacrifice play. Sometimes the general needs to take the field. Using the sword to its full potential means putting your life on the line."
I pointed to the lance. "This one is the most obvious. A lance requires you to lead the charge. That puts your life at risk, no matter how strong or skilled you are. Using this weapon will lead you to die in battle."
Then I turned to the bow. "This weapon grants the mindset of an assassin - not simply shooting arrows but knowing where and *who* to shoot for maximum effect. But life of an assassin is a lonely one - always knowing your targets but never letting anyone know you."
I turned back to the Sage. "They aren't actually cursed, are they? This is simply a description of what it means to use their powers."
He inclined his head slightly. "The question remains, young warrior. Which will you choose?"
I thought a bit more, and said, "The sword. The war is too big to be ended by a single soldier or assassin. They have their place, but without leadership, we could lose entire armies."
I picked up the sword and buckled its scabbard to my waist. Instantly, it was as if my mind expanded, filled with knowledge about the kingdom's armies. As if looking down from on high, I could see a legion marching to block the road to Tel Marathi, another hastily fortifying the North Pass, another retreating in disarray...
I was yanked back down to earth by the Sage saying "Actually, they are cursed."
"What?"
"The weapons are cursed. Anyone who wields one, even for a single battle, will find themselves paying its price. Sometimes in days, sometimes in months, always in less than a year. There's a reason they were sealed away."
"So I was completely wrong." I said.
"I didn't correct you because you grasped the most essential part - we need someone willing to use these weapons to their full potential, even if it costs their life or the life of a loved one. The war is going badly and we need every advantage we can get."
I said nothing, still grappling with the magnitude of my error. I had been so confident in my understanding of the curses that I never bothered to ask *why the weapons were never used.* And for my pride, I was going to die before the year was out.
"If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was a very clever analysis."
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"Hi there. I'm looking to join the militia next weekend but I heard that they prefer it if you can provide your own weapon. For the past four years, I've trained with swords, lances, bows, flails, spears, halberds, maces, and more, so I'm fairly confident that I can handle anything you have for sale. What do you have on offer?"
"Good sir, I have three *Very* powerful weapons available that seem *Right* up your alley! Here, I have a bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. Over here I have a lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the battlefield. And this, *This* is a sword that grants *Great* leadership, but it will kill you from a decision that you make. Which weapon will you choose?"
"Um, honestly? All of those sound terrible. Why would I buy a weapon that is guaranteed to ultimately, somehow, kill me? That's just bad business. And the love thing. What's that about? Will the bow make me eventually shoot and kill the love of my life? Why the fuck would I buy that? Who in their right mind would want *Any* of these weapons?!"
"Er, um, well sir, when you put it like that... I honestly don't know. This is just what I have on offer..."
"Well that's rubbish! Don't you have a normal sword or ax or something? You know, You hit someone with it, they die, and you *Don't* get fucked over with unintended consequences?"
"Um, well, no. Sorry, I only got these here. They have magical properties tho! Makes 'em quite valuable!"
"Yeah, 'bout as valuable as a knife to the kidney. Tell you what. You can keep all o' this junk, and I'm going to go find a blacksmith that's not a complete idiot."
"Wha...!?!? *Good sir!* I'll say, I Never...!"
"Never what? Used your common sense? Thought a thing through? Tried to sell normal gear that didn't screw over your own customers? Yeah, I can see that. I'll be taking my leave now. And you can *Bet* that I'll tell every other adventurer I meet just What kind of "Goods" they can expect to find here. How you're still in business, I'll *Never* know. Good *Day*, sir!!!'
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[WP] "A bow that grants tactical skill, but leads you to love and then lose that love. A lance that grants great power, but leads you to die on the field of battle. And a sword that grants great leadership, but will kill you from a decision that you make. Which will you take?"
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"This is a test, isn't it?"
The sage said nothing.
I pointed to the sword: "Sometimes the right decision requires you to make a sacrifice play. Sometimes the general needs to take the field. Using the sword to its full potential means putting your life on the line."
I pointed to the lance. "This one is the most obvious. A lance requires you to lead the charge. That puts your life at risk, no matter how strong or skilled you are. Using this weapon will lead you to die in battle."
Then I turned to the bow. "This weapon grants the mindset of an assassin - not simply shooting arrows but knowing where and *who* to shoot for maximum effect. But life of an assassin is a lonely one - always knowing your targets but never letting anyone know you."
I turned back to the Sage. "They aren't actually cursed, are they? This is simply a description of what it means to use their powers."
He inclined his head slightly. "The question remains, young warrior. Which will you choose?"
I thought a bit more, and said, "The sword. The war is too big to be ended by a single soldier or assassin. They have their place, but without leadership, we could lose entire armies."
I picked up the sword and buckled its scabbard to my waist. Instantly, it was as if my mind expanded, filled with knowledge about the kingdom's armies. As if looking down from on high, I could see a legion marching to block the road to Tel Marathi, another hastily fortifying the North Pass, another retreating in disarray...
I was yanked back down to earth by the Sage saying "Actually, they are cursed."
"What?"
"The weapons are cursed. Anyone who wields one, even for a single battle, will find themselves paying its price. Sometimes in days, sometimes in months, always in less than a year. There's a reason they were sealed away."
"So I was completely wrong." I said.
"I didn't correct you because you grasped the most essential part - we need someone willing to use these weapons to their full potential, even if it costs their life or the life of a loved one. The war is going badly and we need every advantage we can get."
I said nothing, still grappling with the magnitude of my error. I had been so confident in my understanding of the curses that I never bothered to ask *why the weapons were never used.* And for my pride, I was going to die before the year was out.
"If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was a very clever analysis."
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“What do you know of me?”
“They call you The Lioness. The peerless vanguard of your people. When those around you step back in fear, you leap forward. When others stumble and tire, you fight on. When the way seems impossible, you find the path forward. I have heard what they say of you.”
“Then you know nothing of me. I am a selfish, weak and cowardly. Why would you offer such power to someone like me?”
“I know that you alone volunteered to embark on this quest, hoping to fail in solitude. I know your sleep is plagued with nightmares of things you have done, things you think you have done, and things you failed to do. I know your fears, your frailties, and what it is you covet.”
“My question remains unanswered.”
“I have foreseen ruin and darkness befalling us all. I am offering you the help you need as it is in my best interests to do so. However there is no gain without sacrifice.”
“Then tell me of the costs so that I might choose.”
“The bow will bestow the clarity of mind to always see the path to victory. Victory, as all things, has it's price and it will be paid by absence of those closest to your heart.”
“No. Please... no. I can not bear to loose much more, and I abhor the thought becoming so callous that I no longer feel the pain of heart break.”
“Very well. The sword will grant the wisdom of an expectational leader. You will guide your people to greatness but in doing so you will ultimately become the architect of your own demise.”
“To devote my life to others only to be ruined by it seems a particularly cruel and drawn out fate. Wisdom or not, I lack the strength to bear the burden of leadership. I would twist and break under it's weight; so as to be too far gone to see the justice that would be served by my death. I have plenty enough to atone for as it is.”
“Perhaps the lance will interest you. There is great power in wielding it yet not enough to save you from finding your death in the heat of battle. You will never know the peace you have fought so hard to secure.”
“I... yes, yes this will do. I will take the lance.”
“Are you sure? The bow will undoubtedly hasten the end of the war saving many lives and the sword will lead to a golden age the likes of which your people never dreamed possible.”
“As I said before, I am a weak selfish coward. I will not give up the ones I love, nor am willing to make thousands of sacrifices, big and small, until it breaks me.”
“Then your choice has been made. May it serve you well and may you find the end you seek.”
“The fates are rarely ever so kind but... thank you none the less.”
“The fates have less to do with our destinies than the choices we make for ourselves. Something to remember as you make use of that lance.”
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[WP]: The principal of your daughter's school calls you. Your daughter has founded her own religion. Her followers are starting to get out of hand.
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“I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice, Mrs. Cooper” Vice Principal Swinton’s voice was soft and unassuming. Swinton was a woman who had taught for many years, and it showed. Years of breaking up schoolyard fights, defusing angry parents, and managing her underpaid staff had worn her down. Dark purple semi circles hung under her eyes.
“You look tired.” I said, still unsure what my purpose here was. “Is Jessica okay?”
“Thank you, Jessica is fine, you know she’s a bright young lady, and popular too! I couldn’t explain everything to you over the phone, I’m trying to keep my opposition a secret. I need your help, If I can catch her off guard, I might be able to take the offensive and put a stop to her reign.” The Vice Principal spoke very plainly as she pulled at a loose thread on her jacket sleeve.
“Excuse me? Her...Reign?” I said.
“Reign of terror, yes.” Swinton lit a cigarette, placed it to her lips, and inhaled half of it in one huge gulp.
“I assume you don’t know The *Order of the Cross.”* She exhaled.
“The….What? I’m sorry... why am I here?” I tried to think back, to see if I could remember anything about an ‘Order’.
Swinton sighed. “I thought not. She kept it from you, the genius. She’s orchestrated the whole thing. Principal Cobb thinks this was all your idea. Do you mind if I show you some of your daughters artwork?”
I didn’t respond, but my silence was interpreted as interest.
“She drew this yesterday.” Swinton pulled out a piece of paper covered in crayon markings.
In the center of the drawing was a stick figure girl sitting in a yellow chair. Around her were five or so stick figures, all bowing to her. Her teacher had given the drawing an ‘A’ with seven plus signs. I looked over the picture and handed it back to Swinton.
“The colors are good, there’s no denying it’s an excellent picture for a seven year old. The issue is what this drawing represents.” Swinton continued. “Let me read you a poem she wrote in class on monday, the prompt was ‘*What my family means to me’”.* Swinton pulled out another sheet of paper and began to read from it.
“My family means so much to me. My children will follow me to their deaths, I can have the entire universe, we can all be free from tyranny. It’s so dark dark dark outside, but the light can carry us to salvation, carry us to the Seven. I will end the war between student and teacher. No more nap times, no more plain milk, soon the halls will run red and the crosses will be plentiful. I love my dog, his name is Checkers. He’s a silly dog.”
Swinton put down the paper and looked me in the eyes.
“um….Tyranny, thats a big word.” I tried to lighten the mood.
“College level. No doubt she’s smart.” Swinton sighed. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your child. You need to threaten her with a time out. Be firm, don’t take no for an answer.”
Swinton didn’t wait for a response, she stood up, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I followed her down the hall to a set of double doors.
“This is the Gym, I’m forbidden to enter, but *The Order* doesn't say anything about you. I need you to put a stop to this.” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Put a stop to what?” I shivered, just realizing that the schools heater wasn’t on.
“You’ll see.” She opened the door and I walked through.
Inside the gym it was dimly lit. All the lights were out, the only sources of light were the twenty or so candles strewn about. Jessica was sitting directly underneath the far basketball hoop. On her head was a tiara made of melted wax crayons. The chair she sat on had been painted yellow, and looked like it had been pulled from the teachers lounge. It was large and padded and too big for such a small girl. She had a footrest and she was adorned with hundreds of candy bracelets and necklaces. Both arms, up to the shoulder, as well as her neck, were covered in the tiny candy beads. All throughout the room there were Children sitting criss cross applesauce, bowing their heads to her in reverence. Three children dressed in all white were walking around slowly, passing out cups of Kool-aid to the masses of praying children.
When I entered, my daughter looked at me with wide eyes. She pulled her feet up to her chest and grabbed her knees. It was then that I realized she had been using Principal Cobb as a footrest. He was on all fours and didn’t seem to notice me at all.
“Young lady,” I started “You are in so much trouble!” My voice echoed inside the gym. “Just you wait until your dad hears about this!”
“But Mom-” She started to whine but couldn’t keep her voice from cracking as tears welled in her eyes.
“No buts! How many times, Jessica, how many times do I have to tell you!? We’re still getting letters from your last school, they think a spaceship is going to come to take them away!” My voice raised several decibels as I yelled at my child.
Jessica began to bawl. I walked up to her throne, some of the children stopped praying to watch me approach her.
“Listen darling, when you’re older, you can start as many cults as you want. Right now you’re just a kid and you can’t take care of all these stupid people. Common, don’t cry, I’ll take you home, we can get some ice cream on the way.” I stroked her hair in an attempt to soothe her.
Jessica's tears let up at the mention of ice cream. I picked her up and started to walk towards the exit.
By the time we got to the double doors, there were six children fighting over the golden throne. Several of the children who had drunk the Kool-Aid were foaming at the mouth and collapsing. The Principal of the school stayed exactly where he was, waiting for the children to determine his new leader.
“This looks like a really nice cult sweetie. You did a good job.” I whispered to her on the way out. “I give it an ‘A’ with seven pluses.”
“It’s my seventh cult.” She said, smiling. “My eighth will be better.”
“Just promise to wait until middle school” I said.
“Fifth Grade.” She bargained, a cheshire grin bubbling onto her face.
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I was slack-jawed.
Sugar, piled one foot high in a large ring, with rulers circling the exterior.
A two foot pile of flour, and worse yet, a small pile of yeast in the valley between the two.
And several bars of bakers chocolate rested atop their wrappers in a hexagon around it all.
A large and intricate design, drawn in washable markers, circled the baking products.
The desks were piled in the corner of the room, and all but my daughter and the teacher, who cowered behind the desks, sat around the circle.
My daughter strolled in, and just as an earthquake began, poured the water into the trough in the powders.
The circle glowed bright, and the rulers bent into the form of a large cake tin, soon followed by a massive, and delicate, chocolate cake.
I knew we shouldn't have moved to california.
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[WP]: The principal of your daughter's school calls you. Your daughter has founded her own religion. Her followers are starting to get out of hand.
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"Mr. Chat-Tully," he started, butchering my name. Everyone does. "We felt it was necessary to bring you in. I tried to handle this in-house, as it seemed like an innocent joke. But it's been a week, and it's just keeps growing. It started with a few kids drawing symbols on their arms, but now we're starting to worry."
"And there was the incident this morning," Cathy Lou's science teacher cut in.
"Yes, absolutely. I might have held off calling, but this morning, when Ms. Humboldt was setting up for class, she heard chanting from down the hall. A group of twelve kids surrounding...how did you put it?"
"A devil circle."
I held my face blank and gave a small nod. I doubted it was for a devil, but it'd be a mess to explain that to them.
"We don't even know where they got the robes," the principal said, trying to fill the silence.
"And where are the kids now?"
"In class," he answered. "We weren't really sure how to respond."
"Well, I'll have a talk with her tonight, see if I can sort this mess out. Just let me know right away if you see her doing anything else like this."
Darn kid had probably been sneaking down to the basement. She was always a little too curious.
"Thank you, we really appreciate the understanding."
"Hey, out of curiosity, what were they chanting?"
"I missed most of it. Sounded like nonsense words, but I thinking I heard 'fat tagging' a couple times."
*Fhtagn*, I thought, but didn't bother correcting it allowed. Yep, brat had been in the basement. I'd have to talk to her about keeping these things out of school. And probably her pronunciation to. Still, a dozen converts in a week. I couldn't have been prouder of my little girl.
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The office has a few framed documents on the walls; there is a Masters of Education, followed by a certificate in Youth Mentorship and an Bachelor degree with fake gold trimming. Mrs. Joan Graham had graduated from OSU in 1985. The cross on her necklace showed she was pious. On the other hand, Ashley Carrol, the rumors about her relationship with the deacon of St. Matthew's were much less so.
"I'm sorry." Ashley looked Mrs. Joan Graham right in the eye. "You mean to tell me that my daughter started a religion?"
"Not only that." It was condescending, the way she spoke, all pursued mouth and domineering voice. "It has gotten out of hand. Absolutely out of hand, and we think it might have to do with problems in the home."
"'Problems in the home'? You must be kidding me! And if this was such an issue why didn't anyone tell me? I... I mean, what kind of religion are we even talking about?"
There was the thundering of kids outside the door, passing between periods. It was almost lunch as well. Ashley had taken off her lunch break for this. She was starving.
The desk was large enough that it seemed too big for the room. From the looming walls to the odd looking runoff from the ceiling to the lack of windows the whole place was compressed; it had a lived in stink and the carpet looked matted. Rough and poorly cared for.
"I don't rightly know. Some woman's lib thing." Joan was too young to be using *woman's lib* in any sort of sentence.
Ashley took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. I'm sorry she's been disruptive. I really am, so... What do you want me to do?"
"First she needs to stop with the... The solicitation of religious material." It sounded like Joan was quoting something. "And no profiteering..."
"Profiteering?" Ashley would have liked to have thought she would have noticed that her kid was making some extra money; but she was also a freshman and the walk home passed through the middle of town. It might not have even made it past the ice cream shop.
"She's running around trying to convert the other kids. Good, decent kids! And that's against the first amendment, doing all this is schools.
"Even in Oklahoma."
"Especially in Oklahoma!"
"Okay. Alright." Ashley tried not to run her eyes. She'd get makeup all over her face. "So no paper and no covering people. Is that all?"
"I think that about covers it. We wouldn't want to being in the ALCU."
ACLU. Anyone could get a Masters in the 80s. Ashley hadn't even been in high school then.
"Just, can you show me one? So I know what to look for?"
"I can do one better." Joan puffed up like a doing chicken. Which she had never, ever been. "I can show you what she wrote!" Then she slammed a photocopied version of *Siddhartha* on the desk with the fanfare of a magician.
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[WP]: The principal of your daughter's school calls you. Your daughter has founded her own religion. Her followers are starting to get out of hand.
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“I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice, Mrs. Cooper” Vice Principal Swinton’s voice was soft and unassuming. Swinton was a woman who had taught for many years, and it showed. Years of breaking up schoolyard fights, defusing angry parents, and managing her underpaid staff had worn her down. Dark purple semi circles hung under her eyes.
“You look tired.” I said, still unsure what my purpose here was. “Is Jessica okay?”
“Thank you, Jessica is fine, you know she’s a bright young lady, and popular too! I couldn’t explain everything to you over the phone, I’m trying to keep my opposition a secret. I need your help, If I can catch her off guard, I might be able to take the offensive and put a stop to her reign.” The Vice Principal spoke very plainly as she pulled at a loose thread on her jacket sleeve.
“Excuse me? Her...Reign?” I said.
“Reign of terror, yes.” Swinton lit a cigarette, placed it to her lips, and inhaled half of it in one huge gulp.
“I assume you don’t know The *Order of the Cross.”* She exhaled.
“The….What? I’m sorry... why am I here?” I tried to think back, to see if I could remember anything about an ‘Order’.
Swinton sighed. “I thought not. She kept it from you, the genius. She’s orchestrated the whole thing. Principal Cobb thinks this was all your idea. Do you mind if I show you some of your daughters artwork?”
I didn’t respond, but my silence was interpreted as interest.
“She drew this yesterday.” Swinton pulled out a piece of paper covered in crayon markings.
In the center of the drawing was a stick figure girl sitting in a yellow chair. Around her were five or so stick figures, all bowing to her. Her teacher had given the drawing an ‘A’ with seven plus signs. I looked over the picture and handed it back to Swinton.
“The colors are good, there’s no denying it’s an excellent picture for a seven year old. The issue is what this drawing represents.” Swinton continued. “Let me read you a poem she wrote in class on monday, the prompt was ‘*What my family means to me’”.* Swinton pulled out another sheet of paper and began to read from it.
“My family means so much to me. My children will follow me to their deaths, I can have the entire universe, we can all be free from tyranny. It’s so dark dark dark outside, but the light can carry us to salvation, carry us to the Seven. I will end the war between student and teacher. No more nap times, no more plain milk, soon the halls will run red and the crosses will be plentiful. I love my dog, his name is Checkers. He’s a silly dog.”
Swinton put down the paper and looked me in the eyes.
“um….Tyranny, thats a big word.” I tried to lighten the mood.
“College level. No doubt she’s smart.” Swinton sighed. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your child. You need to threaten her with a time out. Be firm, don’t take no for an answer.”
Swinton didn’t wait for a response, she stood up, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I followed her down the hall to a set of double doors.
“This is the Gym, I’m forbidden to enter, but *The Order* doesn't say anything about you. I need you to put a stop to this.” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Put a stop to what?” I shivered, just realizing that the schools heater wasn’t on.
“You’ll see.” She opened the door and I walked through.
Inside the gym it was dimly lit. All the lights were out, the only sources of light were the twenty or so candles strewn about. Jessica was sitting directly underneath the far basketball hoop. On her head was a tiara made of melted wax crayons. The chair she sat on had been painted yellow, and looked like it had been pulled from the teachers lounge. It was large and padded and too big for such a small girl. She had a footrest and she was adorned with hundreds of candy bracelets and necklaces. Both arms, up to the shoulder, as well as her neck, were covered in the tiny candy beads. All throughout the room there were Children sitting criss cross applesauce, bowing their heads to her in reverence. Three children dressed in all white were walking around slowly, passing out cups of Kool-aid to the masses of praying children.
When I entered, my daughter looked at me with wide eyes. She pulled her feet up to her chest and grabbed her knees. It was then that I realized she had been using Principal Cobb as a footrest. He was on all fours and didn’t seem to notice me at all.
“Young lady,” I started “You are in so much trouble!” My voice echoed inside the gym. “Just you wait until your dad hears about this!”
“But Mom-” She started to whine but couldn’t keep her voice from cracking as tears welled in her eyes.
“No buts! How many times, Jessica, how many times do I have to tell you!? We’re still getting letters from your last school, they think a spaceship is going to come to take them away!” My voice raised several decibels as I yelled at my child.
Jessica began to bawl. I walked up to her throne, some of the children stopped praying to watch me approach her.
“Listen darling, when you’re older, you can start as many cults as you want. Right now you’re just a kid and you can’t take care of all these stupid people. Common, don’t cry, I’ll take you home, we can get some ice cream on the way.” I stroked her hair in an attempt to soothe her.
Jessica's tears let up at the mention of ice cream. I picked her up and started to walk towards the exit.
By the time we got to the double doors, there were six children fighting over the golden throne. Several of the children who had drunk the Kool-Aid were foaming at the mouth and collapsing. The Principal of the school stayed exactly where he was, waiting for the children to determine his new leader.
“This looks like a really nice cult sweetie. You did a good job.” I whispered to her on the way out. “I give it an ‘A’ with seven pluses.”
“It’s my seventh cult.” She said, smiling. “My eighth will be better.”
“Just promise to wait until middle school” I said.
“Fifth Grade.” She bargained, a cheshire grin bubbling onto her face.
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The office has a few framed documents on the walls; there is a Masters of Education, followed by a certificate in Youth Mentorship and an Bachelor degree with fake gold trimming. Mrs. Joan Graham had graduated from OSU in 1985. The cross on her necklace showed she was pious. On the other hand, Ashley Carrol, the rumors about her relationship with the deacon of St. Matthew's were much less so.
"I'm sorry." Ashley looked Mrs. Joan Graham right in the eye. "You mean to tell me that my daughter started a religion?"
"Not only that." It was condescending, the way she spoke, all pursued mouth and domineering voice. "It has gotten out of hand. Absolutely out of hand, and we think it might have to do with problems in the home."
"'Problems in the home'? You must be kidding me! And if this was such an issue why didn't anyone tell me? I... I mean, what kind of religion are we even talking about?"
There was the thundering of kids outside the door, passing between periods. It was almost lunch as well. Ashley had taken off her lunch break for this. She was starving.
The desk was large enough that it seemed too big for the room. From the looming walls to the odd looking runoff from the ceiling to the lack of windows the whole place was compressed; it had a lived in stink and the carpet looked matted. Rough and poorly cared for.
"I don't rightly know. Some woman's lib thing." Joan was too young to be using *woman's lib* in any sort of sentence.
Ashley took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. I'm sorry she's been disruptive. I really am, so... What do you want me to do?"
"First she needs to stop with the... The solicitation of religious material." It sounded like Joan was quoting something. "And no profiteering..."
"Profiteering?" Ashley would have liked to have thought she would have noticed that her kid was making some extra money; but she was also a freshman and the walk home passed through the middle of town. It might not have even made it past the ice cream shop.
"She's running around trying to convert the other kids. Good, decent kids! And that's against the first amendment, doing all this is schools.
"Even in Oklahoma."
"Especially in Oklahoma!"
"Okay. Alright." Ashley tried not to run her eyes. She'd get makeup all over her face. "So no paper and no covering people. Is that all?"
"I think that about covers it. We wouldn't want to being in the ALCU."
ACLU. Anyone could get a Masters in the 80s. Ashley hadn't even been in high school then.
"Just, can you show me one? So I know what to look for?"
"I can do one better." Joan puffed up like a doing chicken. Which she had never, ever been. "I can show you what she wrote!" Then she slammed a photocopied version of *Siddhartha* on the desk with the fanfare of a magician.
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[WP]: The principal of your daughter's school calls you. Your daughter has founded her own religion. Her followers are starting to get out of hand.
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“I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice, Mrs. Cooper” Vice Principal Swinton’s voice was soft and unassuming. Swinton was a woman who had taught for many years, and it showed. Years of breaking up schoolyard fights, defusing angry parents, and managing her underpaid staff had worn her down. Dark purple semi circles hung under her eyes.
“You look tired.” I said, still unsure what my purpose here was. “Is Jessica okay?”
“Thank you, Jessica is fine, you know she’s a bright young lady, and popular too! I couldn’t explain everything to you over the phone, I’m trying to keep my opposition a secret. I need your help, If I can catch her off guard, I might be able to take the offensive and put a stop to her reign.” The Vice Principal spoke very plainly as she pulled at a loose thread on her jacket sleeve.
“Excuse me? Her...Reign?” I said.
“Reign of terror, yes.” Swinton lit a cigarette, placed it to her lips, and inhaled half of it in one huge gulp.
“I assume you don’t know The *Order of the Cross.”* She exhaled.
“The….What? I’m sorry... why am I here?” I tried to think back, to see if I could remember anything about an ‘Order’.
Swinton sighed. “I thought not. She kept it from you, the genius. She’s orchestrated the whole thing. Principal Cobb thinks this was all your idea. Do you mind if I show you some of your daughters artwork?”
I didn’t respond, but my silence was interpreted as interest.
“She drew this yesterday.” Swinton pulled out a piece of paper covered in crayon markings.
In the center of the drawing was a stick figure girl sitting in a yellow chair. Around her were five or so stick figures, all bowing to her. Her teacher had given the drawing an ‘A’ with seven plus signs. I looked over the picture and handed it back to Swinton.
“The colors are good, there’s no denying it’s an excellent picture for a seven year old. The issue is what this drawing represents.” Swinton continued. “Let me read you a poem she wrote in class on monday, the prompt was ‘*What my family means to me’”.* Swinton pulled out another sheet of paper and began to read from it.
“My family means so much to me. My children will follow me to their deaths, I can have the entire universe, we can all be free from tyranny. It’s so dark dark dark outside, but the light can carry us to salvation, carry us to the Seven. I will end the war between student and teacher. No more nap times, no more plain milk, soon the halls will run red and the crosses will be plentiful. I love my dog, his name is Checkers. He’s a silly dog.”
Swinton put down the paper and looked me in the eyes.
“um….Tyranny, thats a big word.” I tried to lighten the mood.
“College level. No doubt she’s smart.” Swinton sighed. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your child. You need to threaten her with a time out. Be firm, don’t take no for an answer.”
Swinton didn’t wait for a response, she stood up, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I followed her down the hall to a set of double doors.
“This is the Gym, I’m forbidden to enter, but *The Order* doesn't say anything about you. I need you to put a stop to this.” She placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Put a stop to what?” I shivered, just realizing that the schools heater wasn’t on.
“You’ll see.” She opened the door and I walked through.
Inside the gym it was dimly lit. All the lights were out, the only sources of light were the twenty or so candles strewn about. Jessica was sitting directly underneath the far basketball hoop. On her head was a tiara made of melted wax crayons. The chair she sat on had been painted yellow, and looked like it had been pulled from the teachers lounge. It was large and padded and too big for such a small girl. She had a footrest and she was adorned with hundreds of candy bracelets and necklaces. Both arms, up to the shoulder, as well as her neck, were covered in the tiny candy beads. All throughout the room there were Children sitting criss cross applesauce, bowing their heads to her in reverence. Three children dressed in all white were walking around slowly, passing out cups of Kool-aid to the masses of praying children.
When I entered, my daughter looked at me with wide eyes. She pulled her feet up to her chest and grabbed her knees. It was then that I realized she had been using Principal Cobb as a footrest. He was on all fours and didn’t seem to notice me at all.
“Young lady,” I started “You are in so much trouble!” My voice echoed inside the gym. “Just you wait until your dad hears about this!”
“But Mom-” She started to whine but couldn’t keep her voice from cracking as tears welled in her eyes.
“No buts! How many times, Jessica, how many times do I have to tell you!? We’re still getting letters from your last school, they think a spaceship is going to come to take them away!” My voice raised several decibels as I yelled at my child.
Jessica began to bawl. I walked up to her throne, some of the children stopped praying to watch me approach her.
“Listen darling, when you’re older, you can start as many cults as you want. Right now you’re just a kid and you can’t take care of all these stupid people. Common, don’t cry, I’ll take you home, we can get some ice cream on the way.” I stroked her hair in an attempt to soothe her.
Jessica's tears let up at the mention of ice cream. I picked her up and started to walk towards the exit.
By the time we got to the double doors, there were six children fighting over the golden throne. Several of the children who had drunk the Kool-Aid were foaming at the mouth and collapsing. The Principal of the school stayed exactly where he was, waiting for the children to determine his new leader.
“This looks like a really nice cult sweetie. You did a good job.” I whispered to her on the way out. “I give it an ‘A’ with seven pluses.”
“It’s my seventh cult.” She said, smiling. “My eighth will be better.”
“Just promise to wait until middle school” I said.
“Fifth Grade.” She bargained, a cheshire grin bubbling onto her face.
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"Mr. Chat-Tully," he started, butchering my name. Everyone does. "We felt it was necessary to bring you in. I tried to handle this in-house, as it seemed like an innocent joke. But it's been a week, and it's just keeps growing. It started with a few kids drawing symbols on their arms, but now we're starting to worry."
"And there was the incident this morning," Cathy Lou's science teacher cut in.
"Yes, absolutely. I might have held off calling, but this morning, when Ms. Humboldt was setting up for class, she heard chanting from down the hall. A group of twelve kids surrounding...how did you put it?"
"A devil circle."
I held my face blank and gave a small nod. I doubted it was for a devil, but it'd be a mess to explain that to them.
"We don't even know where they got the robes," the principal said, trying to fill the silence.
"And where are the kids now?"
"In class," he answered. "We weren't really sure how to respond."
"Well, I'll have a talk with her tonight, see if I can sort this mess out. Just let me know right away if you see her doing anything else like this."
Darn kid had probably been sneaking down to the basement. She was always a little too curious.
"Thank you, we really appreciate the understanding."
"Hey, out of curiosity, what were they chanting?"
"I missed most of it. Sounded like nonsense words, but I thinking I heard 'fat tagging' a couple times."
*Fhtagn*, I thought, but didn't bother correcting it allowed. Yep, brat had been in the basement. I'd have to talk to her about keeping these things out of school. And probably her pronunciation to. Still, a dozen converts in a week. I couldn't have been prouder of my little girl.
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[WP] Write a short story about the nicest, humblest person in the world. Then make them the most fucked up person in the world in the last sentence.
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One more, I must save one more , he exclaimed from his death bed. He’d spent his entire fortune saving lives and on his death bed 122 was not enough he wanted to save 123.
His assistant rushed in the room , there’s a child in Mississippi who can’t afford a heart procedure that...
Say no more pay it in full! Said the man as he closed his eyes for good.
He then stood in front of god
123 lives
Yea sir
The pleasure you took is what makes this decision easy
sir
The joy those 123 lives gave you
But sir
I can’t let you in
But sir you see , to make up for it, I also SAVED 123 lives
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[Morbid/Gruesome]
He always had a smile on his face.
He had invented the secret of immortality, and accepted the nobel prize for medicine at the cemmetary where his brother was buried.
He had always said that he didn't deserve the glory.
As he climbed to the stage, he said to the crowd:
"I want you all to know, I'm only able to release the formula for immortality because my brother is already dead, I took his research notes and finished them myself."
He stood atop the stage.
"And the key ingredient? His blood."
He leapt from the forty-foot stage head-first, cackling all the way down.
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[WP] Write a short story about the nicest, humblest person in the world. Then make them the most fucked up person in the world in the last sentence.
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One more, I must save one more , he exclaimed from his death bed. He’d spent his entire fortune saving lives and on his death bed 122 was not enough he wanted to save 123.
His assistant rushed in the room , there’s a child in Mississippi who can’t afford a heart procedure that...
Say no more pay it in full! Said the man as he closed his eyes for good.
He then stood in front of god
123 lives
Yea sir
The pleasure you took is what makes this decision easy
sir
The joy those 123 lives gave you
But sir
I can’t let you in
But sir you see , to make up for it, I also SAVED 123 lives
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Johnny Demoise was probably the nicest person I have ever met. He woke up everyday and made me breakfast, as well as the whole neighborhood. He was the type of guy you always wanted to be around. He made you smile when you were sad, and was always completly understanding of your emotions. He was never overbearing about how nice he was, and always acted like a normal man. Johnny Demoise is who you want to be, and who you want your kids to be. If the entire world was made of Johnny Demoise's, I dont think anyone would ever die.
So this Tuesday, I woke up, as usual to delicious breakfast from Johhny Demoise. Pancakes and eggs with a hint of what tasted like chopped almonds. I wonder how he makes time in his day to be this amazing. I wonder what his motives are. Why he is the way he is. I wonder why we cant all be this way. Is it possible? It was an interesting question from a physciological point of view. Could we all be this great? I wonder. I took another bite of the pancakes, a little bitter tasting. Well, I guess everyone cant be perfect. I found a shriveled up piece of paper in my pancake. The hell is up with Johnny today.
>Cyanide, motherfuckers.
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[WP] Humans have evolved and everyone has superpowers. Telepaths are hunted to near extinction by the government that wish to keep their dark secrets unknown. They have a telepath employed as a hunter, spotting other telepaths. You are a telepath and have to keep yourself hidden from him in a diner.
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I'm busy tearing into my burger when I feel the all-too familiar presence of the hunter. God, I hate this idiot. I can't enjoy my food in peace at this point, so I'll just have to leave. What a shame, it was a pretty tasty burger.
I cautiously begin to look out the windows, and notice the telltale signs of government agents. They're incredibly obvious, and I don't even need to read their minds to know it. Bunch of incompetent morons. They all got so lazy thanks to the hunter.
I sigh. Knowing that I can't use my powers with the hunter around unless I want him to find me, I continue eating my burger. I'll have to hope for the best and think about the utterly mundane. It's a good thing he hasn't actually seen my face. You'd think the government would hold records of that sort of thing... and they would have. 30 years ago.
I motion over for the waiter, and ask for a newspaper. I've never seen this trick actually applied, but I think it'll be fun, even if I end up getting killed in the end because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Hell, I'm practically ready for death after all this time being hunted by this prick.
The waiter slips a newspaper in front of me. I give her my thanks, and open it up. I get one last glance out of the diner, and see that the hunter is at the door now. All right... gotta steel my mind here. I can't think about anything that isn't utterly normal.
Hmm, I wonder what my mom is up to. She said she was going to take my brother to school, but considering he's sick, that must have changed her plans for today. Maybe she's going to the doctor instead?
Oh, let's see... the polls are interesting this year. President Smith is doing quite well in terms of approval ratings since the telepaths had been nearly finished off. Creeps. Kinda makes me paranoid that someone is reading my mind right now.
I'm tapped on the shoulder. I look over, and a man in a well-dressed suit has approached me.
"Sir, have you seen anything out of the ordinary lately?" he asks. What, am I getting interrogated by the cops for having a burger and reading the paper? I guess that wouldn't shock me much. They've been really on edge lately. They keep claiming that there's a serial killer from the next state over that just arrived here, and have been very paranoid about it.
"Nah. Nothin' strange, mister," I state.
The man squints his eyes at me.
"What, you got a problem, buddy?"
He shakes his head. "No. No, I'm fine. Sorry to bother you."
I shrug. I pull my newspaper back up, and continue to read. Oh wow, it seems that the military has gained a foothold in the Arctic. Ever since ruins were found there containing indescribable technology, we've been trying to take the entire area over. I think that's how we've all got powers now.
Huh, that makes me think about what humanity was like before this whole age of superpowers. No one was perfect. No one has become perfect thanks to these things, as much as some would like to believe. It's all kinda just a crapshoot. What good is it going to do now that criminals can turn bulletproof? I wish we'd evolved into an age of cyborgs instead.
I glance to the right. Look back. Check the front entrance. Check the back entrance.
They're gone. Oh my God, that worked. I can't believe it. I give myself a pat on the back, pay for my food, and then get the hell out. I blend into a large crowd - telepaths have a *very* hard time distinguishing people in a crowd, even if they're shouting exactly what they want to hear. The voices can't be drowned out. Not like it matters, though. The hunter is an idiot anyways. I just stayed hidden from him using the dumb newspaper trick.
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The slightly aged waitress who thought she once really had a shot at being a pop star? Damned if she didn't suddenly find the motivation to give a command performance live from the counter next to the register.
The creepy middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and more memories of pornography than he should have had hours of life to watch it began acting out some of his favorite scenes in interpretive dance.
The preacher suddenly felt inspired to praise the word of God. The local city council member began giving his favorite speech. The handful of school-kids decided this would be the perfect moment to engage a food fight.
Meanwhile I grabbed a few twenties from the unattended register. Not a lot, just...services rendered, really. As I made it out the back I turned around just long enough to see the one hunting me peel a buttered pancake from his glasses. Some day I'd probably be sitting in a cold, lonely room enduring his "interrogations."
Not today, though.
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[WP] You are a demigod and you attend a school with other demigods from various pantheons. You cannot let your class mates know who your divine parent is, it's way too embarrassing.
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Everyone knew me as the as the dark haired kid who sulked in the corners with my hood drawn up. Everyone thought for certain I was a child of Hades, since I sure looked like one. Every kid of Hades was short after all, I mean, look at Napoleon Bonaparte. But really, it wasn't true. I was grateful for the misdirect, as my real parents would shock the entire school.
Not literally, mind you. I'm not a child of Zeus, that really wouldn't be that shocking. The dude boned everything. I mean, why is he the god of lightning? shouldn't he be the god of fertility or something? I mean, then there'd be less overlap with Thor and Set and such.
Regardless, Hades kids usually had a bad rap, meaning most people kept their distance from me, except for the most annoying person in the world. Her name was Rose, and despite being a descendant of Ares on her father's side and Athena on her mother's, she was a pacifist and rather vocal about her ideologues. She was particularly popular until she started hanging around me for no reason.
Things were annoying, but okay, until she followed me home one day. I unlocked the front door and heard her behind me.
"So this is where you live."
I started, "Wha- why are you here?!"
Her crimson eyes met mine, "Well, I'm worried about you. I thought you were warming up to me, but you've closed yourself off recently."
I sighed. Rose was always frank, she didn't seem to have the ability to use a facade or lie. "Yeah, because you keep following me around. It's weird. No one has ever wanted to hang around me."
"you're pretty narcissistic, huh?"
"Please don't mention that guy."
She leaned in, "you're not a son of Hades, are you?"
I stiffened involuntarily, "well, I can't hide it from you can I? But I don't know if you can keep a secret."
She flashed a grin, "of course I can!"
It wasn't very reassuring. "Yeah, please don't try and figure it out you-"
She suddenly reached out and pulled up my bangs. "What the- get away!" I pushed her back.
"I knew it! Your mom is-"
I clasped a hand over her mouth, "Shh! Don't say it out loud!" I let her go and then sighed, "Listen, just come inside."
I opened the door and she followed me in quietly, but I could still feel her excitement. For what child of Athena wasn't excited when they figured out a puzzle. I watched her as she entered the room and her face widened in surprise. I reached for the hair clip on the coffee table and pulled off my hoodie.
"Are you-" she gently touched one of the many mechanical inventions scattered around the room.
"Yep," I clipped my hair up revealing my all-too handsome face, "I'm one of the few legitimate children of Aphrodite and Hephaestus."
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It started the first time I bailed Eric Aresson out of jail. Everyone was so surprise, which surprised me considering it was only twenty thousand dollars.
&#x200B;
Turns out most gods don't have that kind of cash these days. There just aren't enough neo-pagans to go around, and Zeus's child support bill is a thing to be feared. Of course us new gods don't have the same problem, but that only fueled speculation on exactly who's daughter I was, especially when it became clear that I wasn't talking.
&#x200B;
And I was perfectly happy that way. A bit of mysterious goes a long way, and the idea of the information getting out was enough to give me nightmares. Mysterious enough to get me pretty far with Veronica daughter of Aphrodite beneath the bleachers, but not enough to get anyone to actually dig up my mom's name.
&#x200B;
I kept thinking that all the way up until someone did.
&#x200B;
Owen, son of the hacker god, couldn't keep the smug grin off his face. "Its a damn shame that you've never put that power of yours to proper use. Tonight you will, or everybody is gonna know."
&#x200B;
I used my power all right. The power of cash. It didn't take more than a quarter million to get Mnemosyne's kids on my side, and after that he could barely remember how to tie his own shoelaces, let alone hack computer records.
&#x200B;
All in all? Having the goddess of blowjobs for a mother ain't too bad.
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[WP] You are a demigod and you attend a school with other demigods from various pantheons. You cannot let your class mates know who your divine parent is, it's way too embarrassing.
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Everyone knew me as the as the dark haired kid who sulked in the corners with my hood drawn up. Everyone thought for certain I was a child of Hades, since I sure looked like one. Every kid of Hades was short after all, I mean, look at Napoleon Bonaparte. But really, it wasn't true. I was grateful for the misdirect, as my real parents would shock the entire school.
Not literally, mind you. I'm not a child of Zeus, that really wouldn't be that shocking. The dude boned everything. I mean, why is he the god of lightning? shouldn't he be the god of fertility or something? I mean, then there'd be less overlap with Thor and Set and such.
Regardless, Hades kids usually had a bad rap, meaning most people kept their distance from me, except for the most annoying person in the world. Her name was Rose, and despite being a descendant of Ares on her father's side and Athena on her mother's, she was a pacifist and rather vocal about her ideologues. She was particularly popular until she started hanging around me for no reason.
Things were annoying, but okay, until she followed me home one day. I unlocked the front door and heard her behind me.
"So this is where you live."
I started, "Wha- why are you here?!"
Her crimson eyes met mine, "Well, I'm worried about you. I thought you were warming up to me, but you've closed yourself off recently."
I sighed. Rose was always frank, she didn't seem to have the ability to use a facade or lie. "Yeah, because you keep following me around. It's weird. No one has ever wanted to hang around me."
"you're pretty narcissistic, huh?"
"Please don't mention that guy."
She leaned in, "you're not a son of Hades, are you?"
I stiffened involuntarily, "well, I can't hide it from you can I? But I don't know if you can keep a secret."
She flashed a grin, "of course I can!"
It wasn't very reassuring. "Yeah, please don't try and figure it out you-"
She suddenly reached out and pulled up my bangs. "What the- get away!" I pushed her back.
"I knew it! Your mom is-"
I clasped a hand over her mouth, "Shh! Don't say it out loud!" I let her go and then sighed, "Listen, just come inside."
I opened the door and she followed me in quietly, but I could still feel her excitement. For what child of Athena wasn't excited when they figured out a puzzle. I watched her as she entered the room and her face widened in surprise. I reached for the hair clip on the coffee table and pulled off my hoodie.
"Are you-" she gently touched one of the many mechanical inventions scattered around the room.
"Yep," I clipped my hair up revealing my all-too handsome face, "I'm one of the few legitimate children of Aphrodite and Hephaestus."
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You'd think being Zeus' grandson would be cool. I mean wouldn't it? But you have to remember that Zeus had around 90 children, and most of those children had children. Considering that, being Zeus' actual son wasn't really anything special, so being his grandson? Even less so.
At my school, nobody cared if you were Zeus' grandson, seeing as most of us were. It was all about who your father was. In my class was the son of Perseus, daughter of Hercules, son of Ares, son of Hermes, daughter of Apollo, etc. The list goes on of kids with exceptional family lineage.
Unfortunately, my father was Dionysus. The drunken man-slut who wobbled about at parent-teacher events, making everyone, including me, uncomfortable.
I spent most of my formative years homeschooled, all the way through 8th grade. Though 'homeschool' is the wrong word. My parents were just always so drunk they forgot to send me to school. When I finally went to school in 9th grade, I tried to keep my lineage a secret for as long as possible, but once kids started showing off their demi-god abilities... that was it.
When it was my turn, I complained that I couldn't show off at school, but eventually gave in, and spawned enough wine for an entire festival. Of course, I got suspended for bringing alcohol on school grounds, and dear old dad had to come pick me up.
After that there was no hiding it. Now everyone comes to me when they're having a party, and I either get roped into going and supplying drinks, or get called an asshole.
Thanks Dad. Thanks for being a freaking God of wine. FML SMH
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[WP] Awakened in the middle of the night by a ferocious knocking sound, you decide to check the door to find nobody there. After searching for the source of the noise, you discover your reflection in a mirror desperately trying to get your attention. The reflection urges you to not answer the phone.
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I groaned and rubbed my eyes as knocking invaded my dreams. A few strands of my bangs got tangled around my fingers and I made a face as I tried to detangle them. More knocking echoed in the small apartment as I struggled to wake up enough to untangle my fingers from the wild black and blue curls that were my hair and get up to answer the door. It took two minutes to wake up and another two to get my fingers free.
Finally I rolled out of bed and zombie shuffled out of my bedroom and over to the front door. I checked the peep hole. No one I could see. I frowned and undid the chain before unlocking the deadbolt and the lock in the doorknob. I twisted the knob and opened the door inwards a smidge, just enough to look outside. The hallway was empty, no drunk and stumbling neighbors, no one locked out and needing a hand. I closed the door and locked up again.
I frowned and looked over at the clock above my couch in my living/dining area. 11:45. I needed to get back to bed, it was almost midnight and my grandmother's voice was echoing in my sleep addled brain about being off the floor at midnight or else. I thought about bed for a minute or two before my bladder protested the thought. Guess bed could wait five minutes. I shuffled back to my room and into the ensuite bathroom. After finishing my business and washing my hands the knocking started again. I looked to the bathroom door and furrowed my eyebrows.
The knocking sounded desperate. I sighed and dried my hands and then went back into the bedroom. I was not going to answer the door. It was too close to being midnight. I crawled back into bed and looked around the room. That's when I knew where the knocking was coming from. In the mirror on my closet door my reflection was pounding away at the glass. She was wide eyed and looked panicked. Once she noticed I was gawking at her she looked relieved.
I did not share her relief. I was quietly panicking. What the hell was going on?! My reflection had never done anything like this before! She started signing to me in the very basic sign language that I knew but, she was going to fast for me to read it. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her. She started pounding on the mirror again. I barely opened my eyes as she started signing again. She was slower this time and I could read what she was trying to say.
'Do... not... answer... the... phone.'
Over and over again she was signing it. I frowned. What was she talking about? The fifth time she signed it my cell phone, which was resting on my nightstand, started to ring. I nearly fell out of bed and my reflection flew into a panicked flurry of pounding on the glass and shaking her head and trying to keep me from answering the phone.
I righted myself and picked up the slim hunk of metal and looked down. I didn't recognize the number on the screen and the clock on the phone read 00:00. Midnight. I looked back at my reflection as the phone kept ringing in my hand. She was frantic, shaking her head and shouting soundlessly at me. She was crying too and I looked back at my phone. It should have stopped ringing and gone to voice mail by now but it hadn't. I frowned at the device and moved to set it back down on the night stand when the damn thing slipped in my hand. My palm slid across the smooth glass surface and I heard the click of the phone signaling that I had answered the call on accident.
My reflection pounded desperately on the glass of the mirror. I gulped and turned the phone over in my hand, staring aprihensively at the screen. I moved to hang up the phone when I heard a nice that was not my panicked reflection, my racing heart, or anything normal. It was a low growling sound. It didn't come from the silent phone that was giving me radio silence. I looked up and felt my body lock down in terror at the figure that stood in my doorway. I couldn't look away, I couldn't move and I couldn't find my voice to scream as the figure walked into my bedroom. The last thing I heard as my world went black so the being advanced, was my reflection trying to break out of the mirror.
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What the fuck?
This is some bad trip. I'm not awake, I'm not really awake, please don't be awake.
Ah fuck, he's still there. I'm still there? No, that can't be me. Can't be me.
Can't be me. Is that the phone?
*don't listen*
That
must
be
the
phone
*shake,shake,shake*
I've tried banging my head on the wall, on the wall. One! Two! Three! Won't work, won't work, it's not working. I'm still there. Smiiiiiiiilliiiiinnnnnggggggggg
Okay.
Please stop.
I won't answer it. I won't answer it. I won't answer it.
*Where are you going?*
Answeransweransweranswer
answeransweransweranswer
answeransweransweranswering
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For example: A painting of New York hanging in London would teleport you to New York when stepping through it. Then when turning around and looking at the second painting (in New York), you'd see a painting of the place you just were at in London.
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[WP] A world where artists create portals by making two realistic paintings of the places they want to connect.
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I took a deep breath, taking in the wonderful scent of pine, the woody aroma cutting through the sharp coldness of early winter. I stood halfway up a mountain, looking out over a valley full of dark greens and browns, and whites. Taller mountains towered above me in the distance, and I spent some time admiring the beautiful scenery. It all just seemed to pure, so splendid... so... just delightful, especially the trees.
Those happy little trees.
I turned around to continue, but only made it a few steps before something off to the right of the path caught my eye. I turned, and found myself looking at an easel. The wooden, three-legged stand had a canvas painting on it, but all it pictured was a dimly lit room with a black curtain in the background. I saw a small table with some painting supplies, but other than that the room was empty. Wondering what a random painting could possibly be doing halfway up a mountain, I stepped closer to investigate. A patch of ice covered the stone before me, and unfortunately, I didn't see it until it was too late. I slipped, my momentum jutting forewords, and I stumbled uncontrollably towards the painting. "No!" I cried to myself, worried both for my bodily well-being and for the poor soul whose painting I was about to obliterate with my stumbling existence. I put my hands up as I fell, but instead of colliding with the canvas, they passed through, and I continued falling. My waist hit the bottom edge of the painting, and I flipped forewords, body inverted, legs flying over me, and I landed flat on my back in a dimly lit studio.
I groaned once, and rolled over onto my stomach, then slowly pushed myself to my feet. I heard a soft, curious voice come from behind the curtain.
"Well goodness, what could that have been?" the voice asked.
"Uhh... just me," I called back. Didn't want to surprise the fellow. "Just uh, kinda dropped in. Didn't mean to disturb you."
The curtain swung back as a man stepped through a break in the fabric. The late-middle aged man didn't appear frightened by my arrival. "Why hello there!" he exclaimed pleasantly. Then he looked to the side, and spoke. "It looks like we've got ourselves a guest!" I followed his gaze and spotted a video camera set up on a tripod, recording the small studio. I also saw a painting behind me of a beautiful early-winter mountain-scape; the exact place I'd been not a minute ago. I turned back to the man, and he held out his hand and smiled. "I'm Bob Ross. Welcome to my painting show."
|
We really thought art phasing would bring about a new era for peace and prosperity, at first only few knew about the portals and it was used to do a great many good deeds. 1000 saved by mysterious portal in Atlanta, 20000 people evacuated in yemen, cat instantly appears in Owners house next to a beautiful portrait of a tree.
These were the news titles for a few years, we all thought it was God answering our prayers or Angel's coming to display God mercy. Unfortunately, our government seized the few people who knew about the secret and immediately seized those who knew it. We were already had their feet on our necks by the time we figured out what was going on.
The government had been recruiting artists from schools all over our nations, abducting them and training them to become spies, before you knew it, they had them in every country. It only took 4 weeks, but before you knew it, order 988 was complete All nukes worldwide had already been deactivated and the ones that managed to get lift off were absorbed into aerial paintings supported by drones.
Locations that's the government already knew may not be disabled. Life changed after order 988 was initiated... we couldn't do anything at all, but raise our new flag and begin learning the new states anthem and language. The reeducation centers helped us truly understand why order 988 was the best thing to ever happen, the best thing to ever happen to us all.....
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[removed]
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[WP] My dad just died. Can you write me some happy stories about fathers or anything happy.
|
“YEAH?! WELL, FORGET YOU TOO, YOU...YOU STUPID BUTTHEADS!”
Alistair harrumphed and stormed off, kicking pebbles off the playground lot as he went, feeling a sick sort of pleasure at having used the most devastating insult in his arsenal. He read the word ‘buttheads’ a few days ago in one of the library chapter books. Though he had no idea how such a thing would be even possible, he was sure Barry and his gang would be feeling the after affects for days to come.
They had always run the playground, as far as his six-year-old mind could remember. Once school let out, they would flock to the slide structure, standing atop of it and fiercely defending the lot from anyone deemed ‘uncool’ enough.
Alistair always just happened to fall within the ‘uncool’ lot, and so, as per usual he retreated to the library.
“‘Sup, You old crow.” He called, pushing open the clasped doors, and throwing up a hand in greeting. He made his way back where the comics were, without a backwards glance.
“Oh, hello.” A gravely, wizened voice responded. “You must be referring to Ms. Jessica. She isn’t here today. I’ll be filling in for her.”
Alistair swiveled so quickly, he nearly caught his leg against the corner of a reading table. There, behind the counter, was the most peculiar man, Alistair had ever seen. An elderly man dressed in a monk-like, striped robe with half-moon spectacles perched on a long, angular nose sat in Ms. Jessica’s usual chair. His legs were kicked up the usually-pristine table, with a laptop sitting snugly in his lap and he wore a soft smile.
Alistair stood there for a moment, flabbergasted at the man’s unusual appearance and comparing it to Ms. Jessica’s tight-lipped, stony-faced visage and vomit-colored cardigan and skirt.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man quirked an eyebrow, but his smile remained fixed on his face. “I’m just a librarian.”
“Yeah, but what’s your name?”
"My name?" His smile never wavered. Alistair was starting to hate that smile.
"Yeah, my name's Alistair. What's yours?"
The man shut his laptop, but not before Alistair saw a odd, dynamic spreadsheet that seemed to be flipping through sheets seconds apart. The man placed it on the table and turned to face Alistair properly. He easily dwarfed the space Ms. Jessica usually occupied, nearly reaching the top shelves with just his head from where he sat.
"My name is John Kent. You can call me, John."
Alistair was surprised that the man allowed him to use his first name. Adults never allowed him to use his first name. However, he quickly schooled his face into one of arrogant confidence, and crossed his arms. He stared up at the man's massive frame as he responded.
"John, huh? Well, *John*, what was on the laptop?"
The man shrugged. "Things."
"What kinda things?"
"Stuff." The man, responded helpfully. That *goddamn* smile never wavered, though it seemed to grow a bit larger with each word. Alistair was peeved.
"What kinda stuff?" He asked, an eyebrow twitching.
"Things."
Oh, this man was going to get it.
\_\_\_\_\_
This story is for you my friend, and unfinished though it is, I hope this along with all the other stories on this thread bring you some form of happiness and joy during this difficult time.
All the best, NexusQuiga.
|
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[WP] My dad just died. Can you write me some happy stories about fathers or anything happy.
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*Today is the day! The day of the play!*
“Emily! Time to wake up!”
As soon as I heard Mom's voice calling me, I sat up with uncontainable excitement. The day I'd been looking forward to for *WEEKS* was finally here! I swung my legs off my bed, planting them firmly on the floor.
*Time to get dressed!*
I grabbed some clean clothes to wear. What I picked out now didn't matter too much. After all, when school was over, I was going to take it off and put on a really pretty dress!
I left my room and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. My mom was bringing my plate to the table. Looking around the table, I saw my older brother Steven sitting in his seat, but...
“Where's Dad?” I asked.
“Your dad is really sick today,” Mom said. “He's in bed. He won't be going to work today.”
I looked back and forth between Mom and Steven. I turned and ran to Dad's bedroom and went to stand by his bedside. They had a big bed so I had to look up a little to see him.
“Dad! Are you okay?”
My dad slowly lifted his head. He looked really tired, but he smiled when he saw me.
“Hey there, kiddo. Don't worry about me, I just caught a bad cold, that's all.”
He gave my head a little rub. *I love when he does that,* I thought.
"What about my play today?"
Dad looked away.
“I’m sorry kiddo. I probably won’t make it. Your mom will be there, though!”
My heart sank.
“But… I want you to see it,” I said. “I have a really nice dress and everything…”
“Sorry… Now, you don’t want to be late for school, do you? You should go eat breakfast.”
“Okay…” I replied.
I turned and plodded out of the room, walked to the kitchen, and thumped down onto my chair. I didn’t really want to eat breakfast anymore.
“C’mon, Emily. Eat,” my mom said, in a gentle voice. “You don’t want to be late.”
I ate my food without saying anything. I got my things ready and went to the door.
“Have a good day. See you after school! I love you!” Mom said.
“I love you, too… Bye…”
We hugged, and I left.
I was still looking forward to the play, but not nearly as much as before. That whole day I was pretty miserable. Even at lunch, when Alison sat next to me and was talking about the play, I could only nod and listen.
School finally finished. It was time.
We made our way to the classroom next to the gym. We put on our costumes, and some of them were practising their lines. Not me, though. I worked really hard and already memorized all of my lines.
We entered the gym to make our way to the stage at the back. The gym was already full of parents. Seeing them all made me a little nervous. As the line of students slowly made their way to the back, my breathing became a little short.
*I practised a lot. Calm down, everything will be fine.*
I looked around the crowd to find my mom. After a bit of looking around, I saw her. And, next to my mom, in a very thick sweater and wearing one of those doctor masks you wear when you’re sick… was my dad.
I smiled and waved enthusiastically. I couldn’t see his mouth behind the mask but I could tell from his eyes that he smiled, and he gave me a small wave back.
I turned and continued walking, this time with a bounce in my step.
The play went by really nicely, except for when Tommy forgot his lines and a lot of people tried not to laugh.
After the play was over, I went to get changed back into my normal clothes, and I ran to my parents.
“Dad! You made it!”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, kiddo. You did great! How about we go celebrate with some ice cream?”
I smiled. *My dad is the best!*
---
If you liked what you read, feel free to check out /r/SecretWinter, though my other stories are quite different from this.
Really sorry to hear about your loss, OP. For you to post here, he obviously meant a lot, and in a way, I'm sure he would be happy to see how much of an impact he has had. I hope you find it in you to become happy again one day.
*Hugs*
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[WP] My dad just died. Can you write me some happy stories about fathers or anything happy.
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Bobby and George decided to be ranch hands one day. The didn't have any experience but the rancher decided to give them a try. He told them to first go up to the hay loft and throw down some hay while the horses were in the pasture. Bobby and George climbed up and up and up the rickety ladder to the hay loft. Just as they got up there George sneezed and kicked back knocking down the ladder. Bobby shouted, "Hey!" George said, "yes, that's why I sneezed."
Bobby and George were trying to figure out how to get down from the dizzy height of the hay loft. Bobby found a flashlight and came up with a brilliant idea. "George, It's shady on this side of the stable,see. I'll shine the flashlight down and you can slide down the beam." George replied, "No way! Do you think I'm a moron? I'll get halfway down and you'll turn it off."
Just then George spied a mud puddle on the ground. He told Bobby that he was sure they could land in it. Bobby shut his eyes while George went first He heard a big thump and called out, "are you all right, George?" "Yeah," George said. Bobby asked, "how deep is the mud/" "Only up to my ankles," George replied. Bobby jumped and landed in the mud up to his neck. He shouted at his brother that he thought he said it was only up to his ankles. "Oh, you jumped, I dived," George said.
As Bobby and George came sliding muddily around the stable the rancher came up to see how they were doing. And as the brothers had forgotten to throw any hay down in their plight they were soon on their way home. When they got there their Dad asked Bobby and George where they'd been and why they were so muddy. After they told their Dad their tale he laughed and said, " I could have told you boys not to be ranch hands you don't even like ranch dressing."
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[WP] My dad just died. Can you write me some happy stories about fathers or anything happy.
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“YEAH?! WELL, FORGET YOU TOO, YOU...YOU STUPID BUTTHEADS!”
Alistair harrumphed and stormed off, kicking pebbles off the playground lot as he went, feeling a sick sort of pleasure at having used the most devastating insult in his arsenal. He read the word ‘buttheads’ a few days ago in one of the library chapter books. Though he had no idea how such a thing would be even possible, he was sure Barry and his gang would be feeling the after affects for days to come.
They had always run the playground, as far as his six-year-old mind could remember. Once school let out, they would flock to the slide structure, standing atop of it and fiercely defending the lot from anyone deemed ‘uncool’ enough.
Alistair always just happened to fall within the ‘uncool’ lot, and so, as per usual he retreated to the library.
“‘Sup, You old crow.” He called, pushing open the clasped doors, and throwing up a hand in greeting. He made his way back where the comics were, without a backwards glance.
“Oh, hello.” A gravely, wizened voice responded. “You must be referring to Ms. Jessica. She isn’t here today. I’ll be filling in for her.”
Alistair swiveled so quickly, he nearly caught his leg against the corner of a reading table. There, behind the counter, was the most peculiar man, Alistair had ever seen. An elderly man dressed in a monk-like, striped robe with half-moon spectacles perched on a long, angular nose sat in Ms. Jessica’s usual chair. His legs were kicked up the usually-pristine table, with a laptop sitting snugly in his lap and he wore a soft smile.
Alistair stood there for a moment, flabbergasted at the man’s unusual appearance and comparing it to Ms. Jessica’s tight-lipped, stony-faced visage and vomit-colored cardigan and skirt.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man quirked an eyebrow, but his smile remained fixed on his face. “I’m just a librarian.”
“Yeah, but what’s your name?”
"My name?" His smile never wavered. Alistair was starting to hate that smile.
"Yeah, my name's Alistair. What's yours?"
The man shut his laptop, but not before Alistair saw a odd, dynamic spreadsheet that seemed to be flipping through sheets seconds apart. The man placed it on the table and turned to face Alistair properly. He easily dwarfed the space Ms. Jessica usually occupied, nearly reaching the top shelves with just his head from where he sat.
"My name is John Kent. You can call me, John."
Alistair was surprised that the man allowed him to use his first name. Adults never allowed him to use his first name. However, he quickly schooled his face into one of arrogant confidence, and crossed his arms. He stared up at the man's massive frame as he responded.
"John, huh? Well, *John*, what was on the laptop?"
The man shrugged. "Things."
"What kinda things?"
"Stuff." The man, responded helpfully. That *goddamn* smile never wavered, though it seemed to grow a bit larger with each word. Alistair was peeved.
"What kinda stuff?" He asked, an eyebrow twitching.
"Things."
Oh, this man was going to get it.
\_\_\_\_\_
This story is for you my friend, and unfinished though it is, I hope this along with all the other stories on this thread bring you some form of happiness and joy during this difficult time.
All the best, NexusQuiga.
|
"Wanna hear a joke about a roof?!" Daaad enough with the bad jokes.. please I'm gonna die from the cringe." "That's okay it'd go over your head!" "Ahhhhhhhhg!!!!" "Get dunked on!" Ben called from the hallway "Ayyyyy" "Ayyyy!!" "Ben you too!?" "Know what tickles my funny bone?" "And the jacket oh god no please stop I can't take this cringe!" "Oh but ya can read eight hundred six(806) of the same boring stuff?" "I'm telling you if you learn about the characters it's different! If it's a good author anyway and tomatoes is the best I've found tomatoes are evil but tomatoes is a great author." "I say we make ketchup out of him." "Oh gotta go Jack make sure to work on your project for the science fair" "some kid with a paper machete volcano will win anyway." "Do it anyway!" "What's the WiFi password?" "You, you little punk can play the dinosaur game." "YOUR NOT BEING NICE DAAAAD!" "Is at work." "WAHH" "cut it out your scaring the dog" "hmmph"
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[WP] Humanity finally discovers FTL travel, but the first ship they send out abruptly gets pulled over by a galactic law enforcement officer for speeding.
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"IN THE NAME OF OF THE STELLAR UNION, STOP."
The voice echoed throughout the ship, and Markus realized that he was directly facing what seemed like a starfish made of metal surrounded by massive ships of varying sizes coming and going. He opened his comm, and spoke.
"I am Markus Atkins, astronaut of the United States of America, to whom am I speaking?"
"YOU HAVE VIOLATED STELLAR LAW 1120: ALL SHIPS TRAVELLING AT FTL BETWEEN STAR SYSTEMS MUST RETAIN A SPEED LESSER THAN EIGHT TIMES THE SPEED OF LIGHT. YOU HAVE TRAVELLED AT ONE HUNDRED TIMES THE SPEED OF LIGHT. YOU ARE BY LAW OBLIGED TO EITHER FINANCIAL COMPENSATION TO US OR 1 LOCAL YEAR IN PRISON. YOUR CHOICE."
Markus sat in silence for a moment, before opening a comm link to the United States Space Command.
"Houston, we have a problem."
"What is it, Markus?"
"I seem to have crossed into a system occupied by an alien race. They call themselves the Stellar Union, and I appearently broke the law by going too fast. They're asking for either financial compensation or a local year in prison."
"A year!? For speeding!? They sound like communists, it's even in the name! Stellar Union, more like Soviet! Tell them that if they even think about going near you, we'll be sending our own ships to rain death and shit fire on them! That'll teach them not to fuck with America! God bless her!"
"Sir, I don't think that'll be very effective. I mean, what's the largest ship we have? The USS *Trump*? It's only a mile long, and I'm seeing ships here which the computer tells me are well beyond that length. The station itself is, holy space, a HUNDRED FRAKING MILES LONG! I don't think we should mess with these guys."
"Is that fear I hear, Markus? You're an American, fer God's sake! You know no fear!"
"It's not fear, sir, just reason. I'm gonna ask them wether they'll accept the iridium I have in storage. *Speeder* out."
"MA-"
***
*BREAKING NEWS: The American starship* Speeder*, presumed lost while exploring the faraway Fomalhaut system, had returned to Sol while guiding a four-mile ship behind it. The ship's pilot, Markus Atkins, had appearently broken a speeding law of the political entity which controls that system, the so-called 'Stellar Union', but has managed to keep things civil by giving the alien authorities a load of iridium. It was only during the transaction that the Union authorities realized they were not dealing with a run-of-the-mill vagrant, but an entirely new species. The following cultural exchange went well, and the governments of the United Nations of Earth have been recognized by the Stellar Union. And now, our daily special: will America's unchecked colonial expansion result in a wave of interstellar American revolutions?*
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“What the hell is that flashing light? John, go check the the rear-view camera’s display.”
John walks to the back of the ship.
“Sir, the source seems to be a spherical red object. And sir-” John abruptly pauses. “It seems to be getting closer.”
John eagerly squints as he tracks the object zigzagging in the dark oblivion behind them. Suddenly, an audible siren comes into range. The object propels itself to exactly an arms-length away from the ship. “John! What is happening back there?”
The captain’s exclamation echoes throughout the ship. There is no response. “John?”
Still no response. “Cindy, put the hydraulics on neutral and go check on John.”
Cindy instantaneously leaves her station and follows the captain’s orders. The siren is now making the ship vibrate. John is staring at the display in awe. “John, what’s wrong with you? The captain was shouting your name.”
John taps the screen. “Cindy, look.”
“Cindy! John! What in the world is happening back there?”
The captain hands his station over to his second in-command and beelines to the back of the ship. There, John and Cindy are perched over the screen displaying the rear-view camera’s view. All that can be heard is the sound of the siren and a slight buzzing from the ventilation on the ship. The captain walks in between the two and looks at the screen. He is in a state of consternation. A glowing red sphere made out of a semi-translucent glass material which the captain has trouble recognizing is tailing the ship. But the material of the glass-like sphere is the least of his concerns. There is something sitting inside the glass sphere and it does not look happy.
One thing the captain had never encountered in all his years of space travel was an extraterrestrial. Anything outside of Earth and Mars that was neither a human nor microscopic organism, was considered a mythological creature by the standards of space travelers. Yet, now there was a light-green - and considerably large - organism staring into the rear-view camera of his ship. The organism holds up a device which is reminiscent of a megaphone and exclaims in a Midwestern accent, “Sir, I’m going to need you to pull over so I can board your ship.”
The organism takes a sip of his coffee. He glances at the captain who is still trembling two hours after reluctantly allowing the organism to board his ship. “Hi, I’m George.” the organism says in a composed tone. “Sir, I am going to have to see some license and registration. I am sure you are aware of Spacetime law B7-C35. Traveling faster than light has been prohibited since the Andromeda Space Raid five thousand years ago. I’m going to have to give you a ticket. License and registration, please.”
The captain whispers in a timid voice, “We don’t have any licenses or registration.”
George lets out a deep sigh and whimpers, “Not this again. Sir, it is a serious legal offense to be traveling without your license and registration. I am sorry, but I’m going to have to impound your vehicle. Please, collect your essential belongings and arrange for a vehicle to transport you to where you need to be. You can pick up your vehicle at your local DSV in about a week or so. Just make our lives easier and have your license and registration with you next time.
George makes his way back into his glowing sphere and calls his wife. “Honey, I just caught another vehicle traveling over the speed limit without any license and registration on-board. And guess what? It was humans again. That stubborn species never learns.” George and his wife exchange a few derogatory remarks about humans. George finally breaks the cycle of ripping on humanity and asks, “So what’s for dinner?” The glowing sphere drifts off into the dark abyss of space as the crew on the ship slowly begin to regain consciousness.
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[WP] Humanity finally discovers FTL travel, but the first ship they send out abruptly gets pulled over by a galactic law enforcement officer for speeding.
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"Do you know how fast you were going?"
"No but I know where I am." The human replied.
"Look at that John. We have ourselves a comedian." It said from 3 of its 9 tentacles.
"Fucking delinquent. Looks to be from some backwater part of the galaxy. Mars I'm guessing, Tim." John spat.
"No couldn't be Mars we executed them. Galactic tax evasion 3 billion years ago."
"You know I don't keep up with current events Tim."
"Look gentlemen I was just following the speed of traffic." The human replied.
"Oh shoot. John, I think we got ourselves one of those hairless monkeys from Earth."
"Apes, Tim."
"What?"
"They're apes not monkeys. I'm starting to think your a speciesist. Bigoted towards aliens, Tim."
"Fuck off! In what way?"
"Remember yesterday we pulled over that Tralfamadorian? You asked him if he had the time. Then you ticketed him for having an open container of vodka in the vehicle. You pointed to the sack of potatoes and said something about time being relative."
Tim tilted his ink sack backwards and roared with laughter. "Right. Right. The fellas at the station had a good laugh at that. Anyway how am I supposed to know he's an ape? I'm not a cryptozoologist."
"Xenobiologist, Tim. Cryptozoologists study mythical creatures like the big tentacles."
"Big tentacles?"
"You know, the Sasquid. Large hairy squid roams the oceans, posing for blurry pics."
"Sasquid is real, Tim. My uncle Greg saw one once."
"Your uncle Greg the alcoholic?"
"Why'd you have to bring that up." Tim stopped and looked around. "Wait the humans fucking gone."
"Yeah he left Tim."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"You told me to never interrupt you when you're riffing. My therapist says we have issues with codependency when it comes to witty banter."
"The fuck does Sheila know. Well where is he then?"
"I don't know. But I know how fast he was going." John said, tentacles smiling from ears to ears.
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“Ummmmm... Houston, we have a problem”
“What? Readouts look good except you’ve turned off the FTL burners. Why have you stopped?”
“Yeah... about that... We - ”
“About What Captain?!”
“We have limited time, they’ve said we have the one phone call until tomorrow. We’re goin’ to be needing some legal aid.”
“Wha...”
“Apparently we’ve broken interstellar law by going FTL. We’ve been arrested by an organisation called the IU... they said we ignored all signs stating local speed limits. It’s set at 1FTL. We were going 3FTL.”
“The IU?”
“Yes, the Interstellar Union”
“Well tell them that they don’t know who they’re dang dealing with. We’re the U - S of A, and if they don’t let you go tell them we’ll deliver those space commies some freedom at the end of a rifle!”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t think that gonna wash here sir”
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[WP] You are a dog who loves his owner to no end. But when gangsters break in and kill him, you will stop at nothing to bring them hell. You are John Lick.
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I am the best boy. That was what he said in the moments that my master left that shell of himself behind. This can not be forgiven. I knew my master was a very capable human, I smelled the blood of his prey on him many times. Unfortunately, I am just the best boy and I can not do what he did.
I wandered through the city looking for the smell of the man that was on most of the ones that came into my home and took my master from me. I knew he was the one responsible and after looking for so long, I finally found him. I smelled him coming closer, it was the smell of alcohol, cigars and cologne that no self-respecting human should ever wear. Finally, my plan was coming together.
As he came closer I picked up my hind leg and started limping towards him. I could smell his concern for me and I knew this would work. I was a beagle, I knew this because so many said I was a beautiful beagle. Which meant there were many others that looked like me. I also knew that being cute could be used to my advantage along with my previous masters.
He stopped in front of me and picked me up to look at me, I had to keep going. I licked his nose and never felt more like a bad boy than I did in that moment. But I knew I was a good boy, my master told me I was. "You look like the same type of dog that pathetic fool had that my men killed a while back." The horrible smelling man said. "I think I will call you John Lick." His laugh let all of the stench from his mouth come out in waves.
He let me in his home and fed me the finest foods. Meats from all different creatures. One he called a lion, another he named a bear. If not for the circumstances, this might have been the best time of my life. Instead I was forced to play along. Finally he brought me into his room and I got to sleep at the foot of his bed. This went on for a few weeks and finally my chance had come, he was passed out from drinking too much alcohol. I bit his foot to see if he would wake and he did not. I crept up to where I could reach his neck and chewed my way into him, he never even woke up but I knew he was dead. I sat next to him and waited for his servants to come. I was a good boy so I sat there through the night. His blood dried into my hair.
As she entered the room she began screaming and it was then I knew that it was time. The men entered with those vial things that they used to end my masters life. It wouldn't be much longer and I could go. They looked between me and the man on the bed next to me. One of them raised his weapon towards me. I never heard the sound, but in those final moments I knew I was going to be with my master again.
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Did u heard about the guy who had his master killed? I heard he is just a kid and of smaller size too. Wonder what he is gonna do?
The husky asked St. Barnard.
U mean the one with long ears? St. Barnard asked.
Did u know his ancestors used to hunt those long beak freaks who could swim AND walk AND fly?? I pity the killers.
We don't call those long ears "BaBa YaGa" for nothing.
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[WP] You have two wounds that resemble USB ports. You try and plug in a keyboard and mouse.
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"Let me get this straight" my doctor said as he sanitised a pair of tweezers. "When you discovered the puncture wounds, your first instinct was to see if they'd interface with your computer peripherals?"
I winced in pain as he pulled out another frazzled bit of copper. "I'm telling you doc, they looked exactly like USB ports!"
"I can't prescribe you any depressants or anti-psychotics, but I'll refer you to someone who can"
"Goddammit doc, you have to believe me. I felt the drivers install and everything."
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The Razer gear prompted me to insert a disc to install extra features including key-binding and light modification. I went and fetched the disc, but was unsure about where to insert it. Mouth? Eyes? After fumbling around with the disc, by trial and error, I inserted it successfully into my left armpit. An installation bar with an estimate of five minutes appeared before my eyes. Awesome. I could not wait to try playing myself.
By completion I had lost the natural mind-body connection that originally enabled me to move around by thought. I had also lost the natural and unconscious function enabling individuals to breath. All bodily functions had transferred to an inbuilt hotbar residing inside my brain, a hotbar that was only accessible through key-presses on the mechanical keyboard.
The mouse controlled where I looked. Also, there was a difference between left and right click. Left click being for action, and right click for inspection. I had become a character in my own game, and I thought it was awesome until I realized how much work it required to maintain a body. My breath, hearth, digestion, were all functions under my conscious control, and I do not believe anyone knows how much work that is.
Only few days passed before I started searching for bots that could possibly automate the functions. I located some decent versions on the darker parts of the interwebz as it turned out that I was not the only one plugged up to machinery. The hard part was to distinguish bad bots from the good. Some had malware. Some were too expensive. Others lagged the desired automation.
I had searched for hours when I stumbled upon a 'Human-Machine Forum' - a place dedicated to people like me. A forum with threads consisting of debates, love, strategy and life in general. One section of threads were devoted to the discussion of bots and automation. Those threads attracted mostly people who had already automated the vital-functions, but had a further interest in deeper automation and 'machine-tweaking'. It was the 'human-machine' version of pimp my ride. Sometimes 'newbs' like me would stop by and ask for 'beginner-bots' tasked with automating breath and hearth, and often we were directed to a website called, 'automate-the-boring-stuff-with-bots'.
It was a beginner friendly website, and I quickly found what I was looking for. An 'ALO09' from the 'newb-section'. A bot taking care of vital-functions. The bot arrived soon after purchase via a link in the mail section of my hotbar. The process was easy:
1. Locate the bot-link.
2. Install
3. Enjoy.
I was happy with their service, rated them with a five, installed the bot, skipped the instructions, and the part prompting me - *'We can not identify the software. It might not me safe. Are you sure you want to install?'* I clicked yes.
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[WP] You are at the playground with your five year old son. Nearing sixty years yourself, you have to sit down on a bench and watch him play, as you catch your breath and contemplate. You love the kid, but with every passing day, it worries you more, that he hasn't aged for the last thirty years.
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“Eric.”
“Eric!”
“ERIC!” Dan shouted. The young, blond boy finally turned around, bestowing on his father the gift of a young child’s undivided attention. “Watch yourself on the monkey bars, yeah? What did we talk about? Last time you got your knees all bloodied.” For a second, Eric’s whole face scrunched up. Dan was sure that Eric was deciding whether or not to cry. Then, Eric blurted:
“Okay, Dad.” Then, Eric ran towards the swing set. Dan sighed in relief at the narrow aversion of a child meltdown and settled into his bench. As much as he wiggled his butt, he couldn’t seem to get the bench to be as comfortable as it used to be. But coming to the same park for thirty years can do that to a man.
“We always long for the past,” Dan muttered to nobody in particular, as if announcing his thoughts aloud would lend them more credibility. His breath frosted in the air as he drove his hands deeper into his pockets. It was January—too cold to be at a playground, which was understandably empty except for the man and the boy. But this park was Dan and Eric’s refuge. They had always come here, and they would continue to come here, weather be damned, as far as Dan was concerned. The wife might disapprove, especially because of "the illness". But it was a good to be outside, a perfect way to toughen up the boy. A little cold never killed anyone.
Speaking of the boy. Dan drew his attention back to Eric, who was waddling about, having changed his mind about the swing set and instead settled on the slide. “Hey! Careful on the ladder! Watch for ice, boy!” Dan grunted.
“Right, pops,” Eric responded. Then he skipped a particularly risky looking rung and pulled himself up to the top of the slide. At the top, Eric paused, pondering the great depths below.
Dan let his mind wander. Eric would think about the drop for a long time—that was his way. 30 years, and Eric had never aged past five. Suffice to say, Dan had a pretty good grip on his son’s tendencies. He knew he had a few minutes to just think.
Dan breathed out, watching the fog of his breath swirl in front of his face. It seemed like now a days, with his increasing age, it was getting harder and harder to find time to let himself just think. Life was difficult for him, more now than ever before. Dan thought of all the time he spent caring for his son, and how, with his increasing age, the tasks only seemed to be getting harder. 30 years of “the illness”. Well, after all they told him, all the fear, all the tests, all the medication, his son was just as healthy as ever. Dan was proud of that. As far as he was concerned, everyone who ever doubted him could stick it up their ass.
“Stick it right up their ass,” Dan said. Then he pulled his attention back to Eric, who had decided to take the leap into the great beyond and descend down the slide. Suddenly, Eric was sitting at the bottom, a large smile on his face signaling complete success. Eric hopped off the slide and moved to take a step forward. In slow motion, Dan saw Eric’s left foot plant down on the shoelace of his right foot, which was obscured from Eric’s vision by his dastardly massive coat. The woodchips stopped Eric’s fall, but they failed to contain his shriek.
Catastrophe. Cries rung out in the air.
Dan shook off the aches in his joints and walked over to his son, who had scraped his gloveless hands. With one motion, Dan leaned over, scooped up Eric, and carried him back towards his bench, with Eric screaming all the way. Dan plopped down on the bench with Eric settled firmly on his lap. Dan said nothing; he only waited as Eric’s sobs shortened, and then eventually ceased outright.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dan asked the little boy that meant more to him than anything else in the world.
“I fell,” Eric responded.
“Why did you fall?”
“My…my shoelace was untied.”
“So next time, what are we going to do?”
“Ummm…tie it?”
“That’s my boy. Now show me those hands.” Eric lifted his hands towards his father’s face. There were three small cuts on one and two on the other, but they weren’t bleeding. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah. It stings.”
“Do you need me to get you some new ones? I can chop them your hands off right now, if you want.”
“No, Daddy, no,” Eric said, lips lifting into a smile. With that smile, Dan knew his joke had been successful. The fall had been forgotten. Dan lifted Eric up and plopped him down next to him. The man and the boy sat together on the bench in silence, pondering the cool afternoon in the empty park. After an eternal 2 minutes, Eric finally broke the silence.
“Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s going to happen when you get older?” Eric asked, looking up at Dan’s greying beard.
“Now, don’t you worry about that, Eric. I think you are a little young to worry about that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that, eventually, I’m going to have to take care of you, right?” Dan hesitated, surprised at the seriousness in his son's voice.
“I suppose.”
“I dunno…that could be hard. With “the illness”, and all.” Eric’s head drooped.
“What have I told you a thousand times, Eric?” Dan asked, turning the boy’s face towards him in order to look directly into his eyes. Eric said nothing. “That you are—”
“That I am just fine the way I am,” Eric said, repeating the mantra his Dad had instilled in him for as long as he could remember. Dan couldn’t help but hesitate. Eric’s voice seemed lower than usual, as if this topic had a new, added weight.
“Well, I am too. So don’t worry about me,” Dan said, trying to assure his little boy.
“But Pops,” Eric muttered, still looking down, voice lowering all the while, letting his implications linger in the air. Dan paid him no heed.
“I have taken care of you for all this time so far, haven’t I?”
“But Dad. You know this isn’t about me. It’s about you. The illness. Be serious.” For some reason, Dan was sure the Eric’s voice had lowered again. As if Eric was aging before his eyes.
“I’m fine! I’m fine! All this hullabaloo, they said I wouldn’t be able to take care of you, but 30 years later and you turned out just fine! Just because you haven’t aged…Just because you’re still a little on the young side…” Dan paused, suddenly uncertain of his surroundings.
“What?” Eric asked, voice as low as ever. “Dad, what did you just say?” Dan turned towards his little boy, but in his place, he only saw a middle-aged man.
“Who…Where is my son?” Dan asked him.
“Dad, I am your son,” the man responded. “Oh, Jesus Christ. This is exactly what I was talking about. Exactly what I feared. It’s starting, the confusion, the mixing up of memories. We should have had this conversation years ago. We don't even have a plan. How am I going to take care of you?” The man paused, and returned his focus to the old man sitting next to him on the bench. The problem at hand. “Pops. Do you know where we are right now?” Dan, confused, checked his surroundings. The park remained permanent.
“We are in the park, my park. Our park. The park where I always take my son…”
“Ok. Ok. I’m okay. I can handle this,” the man said, sucking in a desperate breath. “Dad, it’s me, it’s Eric. I’m your son. I’m going to take you home, okay? You’re sick. You have an illness, but it’s going to be okay. I’ll find a way to take care of you.” Eric spoke slowly and clearly, trying to hold his father’s attention. Dan swiveled his head, trying to uncloud his thoughts, searching for his little boy with the scraped-up hands in vain. Eric grabbed his father’s hand and helped him to his feet.
“I’m going to find a way to take care of you,” Eric repeated. “Just like you took care of me, 30 years ago. Now, come on. It’s cold out here. Mom will be waiting.” The two men started towards home.
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"Nice day Billy isn't it" the man turned and aimed the question at the man next to him on the bench, who was too busy staring and chuckling at the sight of his young son trying to reach the monkey bars to acknowledge Henry at first. Eventually he gave a reply, "Yeah it is, perfect weather to bring the young ones down to play isn't it." It wasn't a question, it was undeniable, there were still some clouds in the sky but somehow the sun was shooting directly through them, making it so the metal parts of the bench were best avoided, and after Billy's son managed to finally wrap his hand around one of the steel poles, he quickly pulled his hand away since it was just too hot to grip like that."I remember when you used to come here and do the same, in fact I remember when my boy and you used to fight all the time, feels just like yesterday"
"It was 36 years ago."
"Yeah but you know what I mean, its like my boy's not even grown since then."
"I mean, he hasn't."
He was right, it had been 30 years since Henry's son had last aged, he'd certainly aged mentally, in fact he had a PhD in Medicine, he'd made it his life goal to try to find a way to change the effect of still being 5. In Henry's son hated coming to the park, but it was his only choice, he wasn't old enough to sign up to a gym or anything, so this is where he had to go to get his workouts, currently Henry's son was doing press-ups on the middle part of a seesaw two other kids were playing on. He'd push himself up as he tilted backwards, and move back down as he tilted forward, he said it was easier to keep balance that way.
"Its hard you know" Henry sighed "to take care of someone just cause they look like they're 5"
"Oh trust me I know, a few years back me and some friends asked him if he wanted to come to a party with us. It was fun to try to explain in the police station the next morning."
"Oh trust me it gets harder when you're this old to be his father, I'm 62 now you know? Taking him to the park or getting him in the car nowadays feels like I'm 2 steps away from being on To Catch A Predator."
Billy chuckled to himself.
"I mean it has its perks though doesn't it? I'm sure kids clothes are cheap."
"I don't buy his damn clothes for him Billy he's 37, though its not like he has much choice when it comes to clothes anyway."
Henry had become disillusioned, after 30 years he just wanted a break. It was hard to deal with what his son had to deal with, constantly being belittled because he was little, but he knew it wasn't that bad for him, he knew his son had it much worse. In the moment, unable to find the words, he just let out a sigh and lightly shook his head.
"Though I suppose it all depends on perspective" said Billy out of nowhere, "I'm sure there are people out there that would kill for what you have. Never having to deal with all the moody teenage years, never having to worry about them out on their own. I mean hell, its not like he's not had a good life is it? He's sure got a better career than me."
"I guess so" agreed Henry, "besides, its not exactly if he hates it too, deep down, I think he likes it."
Over in the playground Henry's son was now talking to a gaggle of other kids, the centre of attention, blowing everyone's mind by telling everyone about how the body works, there were gasps, laughs, and a few confused faces, but stretched across Henry's Son's face was a giant grin, one Henry hadn't seen in years.
He sat back and finally relaxed on the bench, staring on at the fun that his son was having, with an equally cheesy grin on his face. He sat there for hours, smiling, with the hot summer sun shining down on his face.
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[WP] Every time you sneezed, your parents said a god's name and bless you. Now, when in danger, all those blessings effects kick in
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"Everone get down! On the ground! On the ground!" Three men in business suits and overcoats with hockey masks rush into the room, whipping assault rifles up from under their coats. Some of the people start screaming, including a very viking-looking body builder at the teller's desk. The first robber, a slightly shorter man than the other two, hops up onto the counter and kicks my partially-completed savings deposit slip away from my hands. The second leaps over the tellers desk with an impressive feat of athleticism and herds the tellers away from the counter.
&#x200B;
"Wallets and purses in the bag!" I see the third pull a large canvas duffel bag out and start collecting the customers' personal items. It's all a blur, a whirlwind. I lay on my stomach in the floor and pull out my wallet, setting it on the ground in front of myself. One of the men walks by and picks it up. For a moment, I stare down the barrel of the assault rifle, that second lasts longer than the entire robbery.
&#x200B;
The robbers keep shouting, tellers hurry to load the cash from the registers. The customers react in a dozen different ways, cussing under their breath, crying, or - like me - just stunned.
&#x200B;
"Get it all, yeah, that's right," That shakes me out of my shock.
&#x200B;
Before I came here today, I was browsing through my wife's dropbox collection looking for pictures for a romantic slideshow for our anniversary dinner. I'd just come back from a 3-month business trip to Europe, and wanted to do something extra special for our 5th anniversary. What I found was a nightmare. An entire folder labeled "Special Stuff", and in that folder dozens of videos of my wife with a masquerade mask and a man with a hockey mask... and nothing else. It only took 10 seconds of exposure for me to start vomiting. I guess that's what the combination of disappointment, shock, and rage can do to you. While I was vomiting, I remember clearly hearing that same voice, those same words. "Get it all, yeah, that's right."
&#x200B;
My thoughts were interrupted by a woman in the corner sneezing.
&#x200B;
"Tempus bless you," I replied out of habbit. My parents were huge D&D nerds, I was a huge D&D nerd, I'd played since I was 5. It was a weird family quirk, blessing sneezes in the name of Tempus.
&#x200B;
Suddenly, the exterior doors exploded inwards in a torrent of glass and metal.
&#x200B;
An 8-foot tall figure glad in medieval plate armor and a flowing white cloak leapt into the bank. He lifted his hand behind himself just before the brick from the front of the bank collapsed down and sealed the gaping hole where the doors once stood.
&#x200B;
"What the... what a whacko," my wife's entertainer mumbles in response. The robbers turned toward him in unison, and started firing at the figure. He held his hand up toward the robbers and a burst of flame erupted, then solidified into a red steel shield. On that shield was a vertical broadsword over an image of flames. The bullets curved into the shield and evaporated on contact, like vape smoke blown against a mirror in tiny bursts.
&#x200B;
The robbers reload, fumbling at their clips in shock. The armored character stands completely upright, then looks directly at me. Holding out his right hand, a sword materializes out of the air, it looks very similar to images I had drawn as my D&D characters' swords.
&#x200B;
"Fight for honor," his voice shakes the walls and makes my ears ring, but he tosses the sword onto the floor in front of me, then makes a backhanding gesture, and the other two robbers and all three assault rifles fly into - and stick to - the cieling.
&#x200B;
I stand and grab the sword. Run straight towards the man who visited my wife while I was out of town, and hit him in the head with the hilt of the sword. He falls to the ground like a blanket.
&#x200B;
The other two fall from the ceiling, and the fictional character flips his hand, the granite counter top seems to melt or reform or something. Somehow it wraps around all three men. The bullets suddenly safely eject from the chambers of the guns and dissolve into small melted piles of metal and powder.
&#x200B;
I turn back to the figure and hand the sword back towards him. Instead, he hands me a hilt. He removes his helmet and reduces in size to just over 6 feet tall. His hair radiates with golden light. He speaks slowly, with a huge smile, and slaps a heavy gauntlet on my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"Long have your parents blessed you in my name," he says to me.
&#x200B;
"I thought that was a joke, a pop-culture reference." I laugh hard and stumble to stay standing up for a moment. "If I sneezed, they would say 'Tempus bless you'. I thought they were just crazy nerds who loved D&D."
&#x200B;
"Faith is an interesting thing," He just. Doesn't. Stop. Smiling. "Your father made an oath to me when he became a doctor. He asked for my assistance protecting you when you were born. Your mother made an oath to me when she started working as an government accountant. They both blessed you countless times through your life in my name. Now in the moment when fate would have ended you, you have instead become the victor."
&#x200B;
I don't know what do say, I just stand there, still enraged over what my wife did, what this guy did.
&#x200B;
"Tempus, I can't do what I feel the urge to do... to avenge my betrayal, their infidelity." I tear up a little bit, but out of rage. My anger squeezed all the sadness out of me like wet rag.
&#x200B;
"I know," He nods, and snaps his fingers. I look around. Every customer, and teller, is gone. The bank is gone. All that's left are the robbers, but now they're inside cages, in a field, and there's a fourth cage. My wife... that traitorous whore.
&#x200B;
"In your dreams, you will be brought to this plane," A battleaxe materializes in his hand. "In this plane, things are as real as they were there."
&#x200B;
He touches my head, and I feel a surge of ... peace? A plan. A battle plan. Report missing persons, explain that my wife ran away with her boyfriend. I have the evidence ready to collect. Then in my dreams, I deliver justice. Then I pursue my law degree, and honor Tempus by becoming a divorce attorney.
&#x200B;
"Tempus, I don't know what to say."
&#x200B;
He squints his eyes and tilts his head a bit. "Oh, but you do... I thank you," he says, a look of expectation on his face.
"And I thank... Tempus." I respond.
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&#x200B;
I'm constantly sneezing and I don't understand why, could be an allergy. I left my house to get groceries. I was walking down the street to my tram stop when a masked man approaches me, he grabs my shoulder, and pulled me into an alley. I knew what he wanted. I said "*I don't have any money, just my tram ticket",* he got angry with me and pulled out a knife, and said "*Give me whatever you have",* I pull my phone out of my pocket when he pulls me in really fast, my life flashes before my eyes, time slows, I can see his knife flying through the air, but I'm helpless. I see his grip loosen and his wrist bends at a weird angle, as if he hit a wall, his arm shoots back, and the rest of his body follows, he flew a good 10 meters before hitting the ground, then sliding another 2 . People saw and went to check on him, he was still alive but seriously injured. I boarded my tram, and saw an ambulance going the opposite direction.
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[WP] You were desperate and drank someone else's half-drunk soda you found in the fridge at work. You then see a company wide email that says "Whoever drank my soda, find me immediately, before it's too late."
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Legs shaking, I rushed across the hospital campus back to the IT department. I’d been in the middle of resetting yet another doctor’s password when Carla’s email went out. He wasn’t pleased, but I promised to send someone else over right away. I would’ve rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been freaking out.
I felt nauseous as I sprinted down the administrative halls. Oh god, what had I consumed? Was it something experimental that someone had left in the fridge by accident? Did it contain an industrial-strength laxative? Had someone peed in it? What was going to happen to me?
When I got back to our building, I punched the button for the elevator, but quickly lost patience waiting and dashed into the stairwell. I scrambled up the stairs to the fifth floor in record time, bursting into cubicle-world with my chest heaving. Heads turned as I passed each cubicle in my now-sweat-drenched clothes. Carla’s office was all the way at the other end of the floor – who the hell designed this building?
“Carla,” I panted, opening the door as I knocked. The Informatics director swiveled toward me as I collapsed into a chair and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. “Carla, it was me, I drank your soda. What do I do? What’s going to happen?”
“Oh, it was you,” Carla said, nodding. She steepeled her fingers, her eyes laser-focused on me. “I’m glad you made it over here so quickly, Matt. If left untreated, the effects could be disastrous.”
“Effects? What effects?” I asked, my heart rate rocketing.
“Well, it starts with hair loss.” She held up a hand and began ticking the items off on her fingers. “It’ll come out in clumps within the hour. Then your bones will begin to disintegrate, which will be accompanied by paralyzing dehydration. Finally, renal failure will set in, but by then you’d be catatonic anyway.”
Panic wracked my body. I was barely able to get the words out.
“Wh-what do I do? How do I s-stop it? Oh god, am I going to die? Carla, please –”
But then Carla laughed, which cut through the seriousness of the situation like a knife. I froze, staring at her as she collapsed onto her desk with laughter, pounding the wood with her fists. When she finally got herself under control and wiped away tears of mirth, she cleared her throat and sat back.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, because I made all of that up.”
The gears in my mind ground to a halt. The email, the urgency, the symptoms – none of it was real?
“It…it was just soda?” I asked.
“Yup.”
Realization dawned as Carla swiveled back toward her computer and began typing away.
“So…you just wanted me to suffer.”
Carla didn’t swivel back toward me as she responded.
“Yup. Don’t be a bitch who drinks other people’s stuff. Now get the hell out of my office. That doctor still needs a password reset.”
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I sat in the room. Or was it a room? I couldn’t tell. Why was I in a suit? I can’t answer that either. And I’m in this mess because of what, a soda?
It was just a regular afternoon. Literally nothing interesting was happening. I was filling my company’s taxes, my coworkers were doing jackshit, probably jerking off or something. I couldn’t take it though. The heat, it was horrible. I felt like taking an airplane to antarctica and living there. But now wasn’t the time for that. I needed something. Ice. Cold.
I reached into the fridge. Nothing. It was all just a pile of leftovers from company parties. Wait...wasn’t that one from last year? Nevermind that. My eyes scoured around the fridge, and soon I found the gold. It was a generic aluminium can, but without any label, weird but I was desperate. I grabbed it and poured it’s contents down my throat. Huh. Generic coke. Yet somehow, I felt more energized.
And the next day, I already regretted my decision. The entire company received an email, demanding the culprit who drank the soda to meet our boss. This was nothing like her though. She was always calm and collected, but this mail she sent made her sound mad, crazy, and even...desperate.
I walked into the office, and there she was, the young gal who somehow managed to get the position of boss. Pacing frantically, she yelled “Asbel! You drank it? Why? When? How? Where?” I took my time explaining. After all, I had finished every task she had given me. For the next 2 months. “And you’re saying you’ve finished the reports? The outline? The template? The (etc...)?””Yup” was all I could reply. She sighed. “No, the genes, the contract, darn it all” she muttered.
“Im sorry asbel, but bear with me a while.”
I felt a jolt in my arm. Then fainted.
And here I am. I can hear the sounds of wedding...bells? Heavy footsteps approach the door. I don’t know whats gonna happen, but I can somewhat guess
What have I gotten myself into
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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My watch reads 11:30. "It's only been 30 minutes?" I ask myself, incredulously, while pulling my sleeve down, back over its face. Usually, I have a good feeling for how much time has passed in *meetings*, like these. But this is ridiculous. Thirty minutes, bah,...feels closer to 3 hours. Complaining is only a slight reprieve from the warm, humid air of the auditorium, made worse by the spotlights, illuminating the stage. However, as uncomfortable as this is, I must suffer silently. Such is the life of the Leader's Secret Service.
According to the briefing, this gathering is for the induction of the Zorphax into the galactic community. A coalition of all the sentient races of the galaxy, focused on the promotion of peace and spread of knowledge. The Zorphax themselves are an interesting bunch. Insectoids, but with humanoid bodies and a face only a mother could love.
Quickly scanning the audience, there are many different alien races, most of which I don't know the names of, yet. Some humanoid, some quadruped, some even look like they are straight out of an Hollywood movie from the 20th century. The cat-like Teklet, who came before we humans, and the Ledarians, who came before the them, and in my opinion look way too much like the Martian aliens of old.
I shake my head, as I realize that I'm becoming distracted. Instead of being on alert, looking for threats, I'm losing my thoughts in all of the strange faces. It also doesn't help that humans appear to be the only race that can actually give away its intentions, with just facial expressions. Every other race is like trying to read the face of a stuffed animal.
Amidst the drone of the welcoming speeches and gift giving, a sign of friendliness, my radio crackles slightly in my ear. "We might have a situation. Standby." a familiar voice states. I straighten in my seat, preparing for the worst. "All agents, prepare to evac your package." the voice returning, almost soothing, betraying the potential urgency of the situation. Before I can even finish that thought, the shrill pulsing shriek of the fire alarm fills the building, echoing down the halls from other rooms.
I immediately jump up and rush to the Zorphax delegate and her translator. "Come with me." I say, as I wrap my arm around her torso. And you, "Stick close." as I point to the translator.
We are some of the first out the auditorium door, and behind me I hear "--CKLY AND CALMLY EXIT THE BUIL--" over the loudspeakers.
In the hall, the smell of smoke is heavy. The acridness bringing tears to my eyes and burning my nose and lungs. No time to think, just get to the door I tell myself. Moving swiftly down the wide white-tiled hallway, that bifurcates the building, several firefighters, in full reflective and respiratory gear, run past.
A few moments later, as we breach the front doors, the mild air feels refreshing as it hits my skin, but my ears and eyes are no longer assaulted by the alarm, but not it's the wail of sirens, accentuated by the blasts of air horns and the flashing lights of emergency response vehicles, as a couple police cruisers and another firetruck arrive adding to the one that was already on scene. A few people are directing us, and other evacuees, to a safe area that has been cordoned off already, in case of such an event. Glancing back at the building, a plume of black smoke grows ever thicker, reaching for the sky.
Once we are able to catch our breaths, inside the safe area, the Zorphax leader makes clicking and gnashing sounds to the her translator. The translator turns to me and with a chirping undertone asks "Who robot men?"
"Robot men?" I repeat quizzically.
"Yes, robot men." the translator reaffirms while acting as though he is wearing heavy gear."Oh! You mean the firefighters!"A quick exchange between the 2 Zorphax ensues."What mean fire*fighters*?" the translator asked. "No can fight fire. Is not possible.""People are firefighters and the stuff you saw them wearing was gear and technology that allows us to keep the firefighters safer, as well as allowing them to find others who might be in danger from the fire."
"Look, watch the door." I point towards the building. After a several moments, 2 firefighters exit the building each carrying a body that is blackened with ash and soot. As other first responders rush to their aid, they gently set them down at the bottom of the stairs, turn around, and rush back into the building.
"Fire not scare them?" the translator asked. "Fire big scary!""They are very scared, but their drive to help others in need, is stronger, even if they might die."
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The humans have arrived at the international space summit. Kodo, did they bring the ones that do not fear the flames? Yes they did sir. The ones we call flamespren are known as firefighters. Bring them in quickly so we can honor them. As the firefighters enter the room, head of the space summit looks at kodo, WTF is this? A bunch of drunk Irishmen stop the flames? How is this possible. "It's called Jameson ya bloody green bastards. Also known as liquid courage"
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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"LET 'ER DOWN EASY!"
The human's voice echoes throughout the dropping bay. Five Arstreopods, tentacles waving nervously, tighten their grip upon the red motorised vehicle the Fighters of the Flame brought with them. The fore-pod clicks his beak, no doubt ashamed of his team's lack of care.
"No, no punishment," the human growls, "Just keep at it. SLOWLY now."
An inch at a time, the "Fire Engine" is lowered into the pod. Finally, the Arstreopods release it and a swarm of humans descend, fixing it in place with thousands of buckles, the impact resistant floor swaying under their feet. The final touch are four huge pistons that latch onto the roof of the vehicle. The combination of stabilisation from above and below means the vehicle should be able to survive almost any impact. Yeechan and human technology in tandem, the first of its kind.
&#x200B;
"Hey, Yeechan!" a voice from behind me. I turn to see Fire Chief Ambrose Revant striding towards me. Strange things these humans. Taller by at least half a frant (or as they would call it, 65 centimetres) than the average Yeechan, yet only four limbs! Not to mention that bizarre method of combating overheating they employed, releasing liquids from their skin? Madness truly, but effective and certainly superior to our biology in some ways. Being "Cold Blooded" as they called it has some real drawbacks.
"You have four arms and you can't use even two of them to make a coffee?" The strange hairs on the human's face distract me from what he asks.
"Ahem, ssssorry Chief, I wasn't aware you needed to imbibe thiss beverage constantly. I sssshould ssset up a drip whilst your people ssssssleep? Can your body ssstore thisss Caffeine you sssssspeak of?"
He seems confused. Or aroused. It can be hard to tell with the fleshy species. If only they'd evolved to change colour.
"No, er, don't do that. Just wondered why you were hanging out here by the machine. Wouldn't mind a latte right now. " He seems to be stifling a yawn,
"Its been a long night."
"Yessss, perhapsss you should ressst sssoooon human. We approach my planet." I see his eyes widen in alarm.
"I thought you said we wouldn't be there for days?"
I cough with amusement, before realising that I really should have been more clear with my instructions. This is no coughing matter, any mistakes that arise from this mission will be on me. The high council's appetite for those who fail is insatiable. Literally.
"Ah yesss. Perhaps human, I should have been a little more clear: a day for usssss issss no more than three of your Earth hourss."
His alarm appears to be growing. I must reassure him of in some manner. These fleshies are emotional.
"I believe all your equipment issss loaded. There isss nothing more you can do my friend. Sssimply wait for us to arrive."
His mouth moves in what I know to be a smile, but it appears strained.
"Remind of what we can expect when we arrive? Your planet is like earth yes?"
"Ahhh, yesss and no. The higher oxygen levels means that you will have to stay in the suits your people have brought. However, you will be sssadly unable to appreciate my planetsss many wondersss. The first thing you will see is fire. A huge foresst fire has been raging for 10 days now, however fortunately it has not chosen to attack any settlements. That time has passssed and itsss mercy isss at an end. There is a city in its path where I believe you will be landing: I beg you, hold back the flame. There are thoussands living there."
His smile now seems genuine.
"Its what we do, now give me that coffee. I don't think I'll be sleeping now I know whats coming."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Flame. Unbearable heat. A building collapses to my right and my litter-mate screams. Our young, trailing behind him have been wailing for a long time now. They cannot bear the heat, dying on the inside, no way to cool down. My mate grasps two of the slower ones and drags them behind him as we turn a corner, the flames creeping after us, devouring all like a swarm of red insects. Innumerable. Unstoppable.
Now, surrounding us.
Other litters stumble from the streets around, some of them clearly barely hatched, their parents coughing, doing their best to herd them from the fire that consumes our district. But there is no escaping it. The wall of smoke rises, blocking out all sight of the rest of the city, smothering us beneath waves of ash as the weakest among us begin to collapse. My mate looks at me and I see in his hand, a large Kruhl knife. He looks anxiously at our litter, still wailing and watching the flames grow closer. Barely hatched. Our first.
They say there's no death more painful than being taken by the flames.
But look. There in the sky, a burning light drawing ever closer. Some new pain ready to be inflicted upon us, no doubt. But perhaps it will be faster.
"Ssstay your hand," I whisper to my mate, "the asssh will make usss sssleep."
The colour drains from him and he hugs our litter close. I step in to join.
"I love you all."
A glance at the sky reveals that the object is almost upon us and a gasp ripples through the Yeechans gathered as a huge object slams into a building to our left. Its impact alone shakes the ground beneath our feet and blasts the fire back by at least twenty frants. The huge egg shaped container, twenty frants in diameter expends four huge limbs, which dig into the ground. Then from ducts all over it, it sprays a clear liquid. The fire dies where this liquid touches, in a way I have never seen. Where it touches us it cools, I hear cries of joy and relief from all those around me.
Then, one side of the eggs drops forward and a figure strides out. Taller than our largest male, wearing a strange yellow and black garb and a helmet. Its face is pinkish and without scales and it carries a strange kind of tube. It glances at us for a moment as a huge red vehicle trundles out of the egg behind it. Then it turns and unleashes a powerful spray of liquid at the nearest burning building, completely extinguishing the fire that engulfed it. The machine is driving up another street, other figures disembarking from it, carrying more long tubes, apparently attached to the vehicle.
As I turn to my mate with relief, a deafening siren begins ringing, so loud that many cover their auditory holes. But not me.
To me its the best sound I've ever heard.
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The humans have arrived at the international space summit. Kodo, did they bring the ones that do not fear the flames? Yes they did sir. The ones we call flamespren are known as firefighters. Bring them in quickly so we can honor them. As the firefighters enter the room, head of the space summit looks at kodo, WTF is this? A bunch of drunk Irishmen stop the flames? How is this possible. "It's called Jameson ya bloody green bastards. Also known as liquid courage"
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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Burning Man was weird that year. That was when The Korka came, and announced themselves to Humanity.
They were on a survey mission. Having detected our radio transmissions for years before, they knew there was life here.
But they were surprised when they saw the fires. They were drawn to the Playa.
At first, the participants thought that the Korka shuttle was just another Art Car. A freaky looking craft lit up with pretty lights. The Korka themselves were thought to be well costumed and stoned out of their minds. Fascinated with the flames of the final burn.
Turns out that the Korka are fire worshippers. Drawn like moths to flame. Not that they looked like moths. Under their suits they look more like flexible stone. Roughly humanoid in shape.
Without going into all the mumbo jumbo, they eventually learned how to speak basic English, Russian, and Chinese. They came as friends. Everyone at the highest levels had been made aware of the premise of 'To Serve Man'. Turns out the Korka were the real deal. A benevolent species who wanted to help humanity with technology and unlimited energy. No cookbooks to speak of.
To the Korka we were like brothers at first. Any species who wanted to light a fire, a big fire, and dance in front of it were all-right to them.
Of course people started calling them The Burning Men, due to their worship of fire. Once they adapted to our atmosphere, they could be found at any given time out in the desert staring at the sun, you could almost see their rock like skin smoking.
The Burning Man Playa became a hallowed ground for them. The holiest sanctum away from their homeworld.
Nobody could have anticipated what would have happened at the San Bernardino fire the next year.
They were drawn to it. Some say they started it. The leader was there, they were all there walking ahead of the flames as they spread. Some say they were in the flames. One survivor said that the Korka were the flames.
Then the first firetruck arrived.
More later... have to get back to work....
&#x200B;
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Our ships we're only docked for 2 hours before the alarm went off. There was a power surge in their control panel, and a small zero-g blaze started. The Hersic on duty seemed to lose hope when the small fire started, however, the security officer on duty, Gomez, grabbed the extinguisher and quelled the flames before they spread to anything else. Within 5 minutes he was surrounded by the tiny humanoids, each reaching out to touch Gomez. Since the incident they keep repeating a single word, grun-wäld. Our translators believe it means "death of flame." Gomez seems to be adjusting to his new found hero status and requested one of the translation chits when they are complete.
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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“So... you fight the inevitable. Forces of nature. Hurricanes, wild fires, earthquakes, despite the losses this causes to human life?”
“The idea is to minimize the loss of human life. And yes, why wouldn’t we? You can’t let perfection be the enemy of good,” said the head ambassador with an air of importance and put-upon wisdom.
The Borozy chancellor’s expression contorted, a mask of sheer confusion, universally recognizable despite the vast differences in morphology between the many diplomats present.
“But you do nothing about the changes to your climate which you *can* control?”
The meeting erupted into laughter as the head ambassador’s face flushed a mottled red and purple. The United Representatives of Earth stood and quietly exited the hall.
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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Fascinating... Those human life forms have a way to end the fire’s frightening power. To think such basic level thinking has its way to save what is utterly being destroyed. Maybe our way of evolution has rendered us useless to such simple means of protection. Many of our people would’ve let the fire persist and those caught up in it would meet their fate, but these humans would risk their lives to go and save those in distress.
They seem to care a lot about the people, the animals, and even the environment. Putting their lives on the line to save what is hopeless, you might say is... idiotic, but seeing it in full view it’s... well... I don’t know. But they’ve accomplished what we couldn’t and to say that we’re more evolved than they are is meaningless. Maybe they are the so called “aliens” sure they see us as different, but they’ve really shown a lot more things “alien” to us and these “fire fighters”are one of them.
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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Humanity had spent centuries looking to the stars for some signs of life. The most hopeful - and painful - stretch of recorded human history, at least to date. We'd seen nothing. Heard nothing. Knew nothing of the wars that raged between the stars, the vast fortunes of conquerors and conquered turning over and over in the black. Not the slightest inkling that our own solar system had been known since the time of the pyramids by three different names to three different species quite unlike our own, the second having eradicated the first around the time of the Renaissance, and the third having having wreaked such economic devastation on the second that ours and two dozen other systems had been traded away in a bid for peace as our first artificial satellites settled into high orbit around Earth. Those most recent claimants had established colonies on the bones of their predecessors, sprawling across the plains of Pluto and Charon and spreading among the sparse halo of rocky detritus making up the Kuiper belt beyond.
-
Our first meeting was one of almost startling coincidence; we and they, both testing the limits of our technological means in an unintentionally synchronous push to the asteroid Ceres. It was an exercise in existential dread for the both of us. Neither armed, neither prepared. Though no strangers to unfamiliar sapient life, they'd never seen our like. It gave us common ground. It gave us something to talk about, once the means of doing so was puzzled through.
-
We learned much from them; that the galaxy was full of life at least as advanced as ourselves, and that it always seemed to develop along one of two very distinct evolutionary pathways. Genes of silicon and sluggish hydrocarbons were the norm, representing the vast majority of catalogued life. Our new neighbors - their initial claims of ownership quickly discarded in favor of the far greater intellectual bounty that peace offered - were of this type. Clusters of crystalline organs tumbling across each other beneath a clear amoeboid skin, pressed tight within a second and equally clear artificial skin that served the same purpose as our own bulky space suits. The others, the rarer breed, were bipedal and somewhat humanoid in form. Their genes were things of sulfur and beryllium, and though known to our new friends no member of any such species had ever been encountered by them. Not personally, at least - they commanded a significant presence in scientific and commercial circles. Just not a physical one. We fit neither mould. It explained much. We'd been looking for life as we knew it, and so had everyone else. They'd found what they were looking for. We hadn't.
-
It was disheartening at first - by all external measures our Earth was both uninhabitable and without economic value. Too hot for our new friends, too close to its parent star, too saturated with iron and oxygen compounds to be of any real value. For the others - the ones so unlike them, and us - the entire solar system was a write-off. Even the crushing pressure and heat on Venus' surface were too mild an environment for them to consider making even a temporary home of it.
-
Our vaunted adaptability was objectively lesser than either of the extremes occupied by life as they knew it, but as we shared our knowledge it became apparent that this was a greater gift than we could have possibly imagined. There was a vast middle ground between those two poles, and it was all ours. Over a quarter of the galaxy had been meticulously catalogued - filled almost beyond counting with little atmosphere-bearing rocks that they could neither colonize nor make meaningful use of. Our Goldilocks Zone was their No Man's Land. As our relationship strengthened we found a great deal of cultural similarities between our peoples, even allowing for our vastly divergent physical forms. The standout exception was buried in our creation myths. The persistent echoing across cultural epochs of their allegorical stories of origin seemed to forecast our own distant future, but with one notable absence. They had no Prometheus, no Icarus. *No written word for fire.* For us, though - for humanity - it is the very soul of our being. The free-standing flame. Controlled and controlling, all-consumimg essence of Man. We are Icarus. We are Prometheus. Thieves and porters and lovers of flame. In our oldest myths we'd stolen it away from the gods.
-
We make preparations now to give it back.
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
The sky was red and black over the turquoise hills of the Eastern Ridge. Massive billows of dark smoke shot through with flickers of golden flame danced across the sky. A faint crackling and roaring could be heard as the wildfire marched implacably towards the settlement.
Kieran O’Reilly wiped sweat from his brow as the all-terrain rover turned down Hopeward Drive. The inferno was bearing down on Quadrant Five, assigned to the human colonists, and he was doing his damnedest to ensure none of the men, woman or children under his care would perish. New colonies always had their hazards. The giant wasps of Harvey’s World, the spore-slime of New Lyons, or the neo-pumas of St Justinians, there was always a hazard humans had never dealt with before.
But wildfires? That was a menace man knew well. His thoughts slithered to a stop as the incongruity of the sight ahead of him penetrated.
A small family of Torettas was carrying something *into* one of the multi-species living pods. Two of the larger quadrupeds, and three smaller ones. *Robbers? Vandals? No.* The aliens were almost stupidly pacifistic with an iron-hard honorable conduct code. They’d never ransack a place.
“Hey! HEY!”
The largest Toretta juggled a box awkwardly and flexed one of its upper arms – an equivalent to a human wave.
“HEY! Mandatory Evac order! You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Why?” The simple question was a long sonorous drawn out whistle.
“Why? Because of the damned fire!”
“It consumes. We will be consumed at peace”
“I don’t care. I’m supervisor for this block, and I’m saying you get your scaly asses out to the Landing Field. Right Now!”
“It will take us many hours to pack our goods again”
“*I Do Not Care! Drop everything and Go! Go go go!*”
The Torettas hooted a wailing call at the pod, and the rest of it’s – *herd? family?* - slowly trotted out and began moving towards their vehicle. But slowly, ever so slowly.
“C’MON PEOPLE! MOVE!”
His chivvying got the aliens finally moving off, eliciting a disgusted shake of the head at their languid pace. The fire couldn’t be more than an hour away – they would’ve died.
“Chief? It’s Johnson at Central”
“Go ahead”
“Sir, somethings not right here. All the other aliens are…acting weird. There’s no evac co-ordination going on, the Siriellians keep asking when we’re going to ‘accept’, and I can’t find out about any teams on the fire. It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Brody’s got his team out by Venture, and he’s asking for more assistance…. but I can’t find any to send him”.
“Shit. Alright. Pull Brody and his guys back from the line. No point if they’re the only ones working. Get Tania and…the new girl, the redhead. Get them to set up flights out. Commandeer commercial if you have to.”
“Yes Sir.”
Kieran swung the rover in a tight turn and accelerated back down the road, his wrathful fury at the sheer incompetence of the emergency response almost as intense as the inferno boiling downslope towards him.
The vehicle radio snapped on with a Colony Alert chime. *Finally!*
“Siblings of all species. We come confronted with the greatest of all the dangers. We know that one day our lives will end in fire, and for us, today is that day. We prepare as our ancestors across ten worlds once did, as we bow to the inevitability of the flame. Be at peace as we meet our end in the warmth of the Final Flam-"
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Was the whole damned colony some sort of death-cult? How could any species get to space travel, with the whole ‘strap astronauts to the top of a fuel tank and set it on fire’ thing, if they were so bloody eager to fling themselves into oblivion at the first sign of a forest fire?
He turned down another road, the Colony Alert still spouting it’s bewildering and confusing message, and then screeched to a stop outside a cube-shaped building.
Kieran strode into the comms transmitter. The human workers had already departed, but a Sirellian still manned his station, one of two pseudopods caressing a small object – a familial scent globe. The colony broadcast was repeating from the small comm the alien wore.
“I need an alpha priority channel. Supervisor Override.”
“You wish/to say/farewells to/loved ones?”
“No. Get me the nearest Solarian cruiser”
---
Captain Jean Wilson stared at the map projection on the viewscreen.
“And you’re telling me that there is *no* containment efforts going on down there?”
“Pretty much, Captain. The leadership down here is…they’ve either gone crazy or they’re some sort of weird fire-worshipping cult. They won’t evac, they won’t fight it and they won’t *listen*! It’s like the whole bloody lot of them *want* to die in a fire.”
“Very well, Supervisor. We’ll see what we can do. Wilson out.”
With the channel cut, Jean turned to her equally bewildered officers.
“Suggestions, people?”
The grizzled colonel of the ship’s military contingent studied the map, and grinned suddenly.
“We can deploy engineering teams under Commander Morgan. She’s got experience from the California superfires. But none of my Marines are trained firefighters. We’re better at setting things on fire than putting something that size out.”
“Colonel Oswin has a point, Ma’am. We can’t put firefighters on the ground in high enough quantities to damp that, but we do have some additional options. The particle lances should be effective at cutting a firebreak.”
“Mr Thurston. You want to use anti-capital weaponry on a ground target? A civilian ground target?”
“They’re going to cause some overheat spillage, Ma’am, but not as much as that fire is going to do. But we can slice along those two hill curves to shield the colony. A partial power shot should dig one hell of a trench. We can then put the Colonel’s engineers on the ground, organize the local fire efforts.”
“Doesn’t sound like they’ve got much in the way of local effort down there. Although, we can probably re-rig one of the Marine Landers as a monsoon tanker. The Mark 17’s are rated for submersible use, as well as having vertical drop tubes. My boys can rip out the launching mechanism, and we’d have a sort of jury-rigged tanker. Wouldn’t be fast, and I hate to think what the brass is going to say about it, but do-able.”
“Engineering reports they’ve got two Disaster Pods ready for use. They’ve got firefighting gear in them – smaller scale stuff, but survival cocoons, retardant gel spray and hotspot detection gear should still be useful.”
“Alright people. We’ve got some ideas here, and limited time. Lets get it done.”
---
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
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######[](#dropcap)
A polyharmonic scream pierced the air of the Klatsu-District. The buzzing ululation sang out from the center of the public park where a petrified Klatsu Matriarch, clutching her cretchlings close within her several breast sacs, stood with all four mouths agape.
Her cloudy eyes were fixed on a small point on the ground and with her free digit she pointed down accusingly at it. All around other passing Klatsu spun in response to the warning call. Soon enough hundreds of feeble Klatsu eyes began scanning the ground in desperate search.
Eventually one of the diminutive Klatsu males confirmed the terrible discovery. His two small mouths wrenched open and a staccato warning began to clack from them into the air, joining with the first matriarch's call.
It only took a few moments then before the entire district, nearly fifteen thousand Klatsu immigrants, joined in the terrible chorus. Each added a new and profoundly alien sound until the ground itself echoed beneath the otherwordly weight of their voices.
This was a Klatsu death call - a mourning certainty of imminent doom, reserved only for those most horrible moments when no hope existed for salvation.
As the cacaphony of suffering aliens raged on, another sound struggled to pierce the tidal wave of noise. It began as a distant whine and crescendoed as it grew nearer.
As the Klatsu at the periphery of the district saw it approach, the tone of their song changed subtly - from the song of despair to the song of fleeting, impossible hope. The announcement of potential salvation grew in volume with the approaching siren until it too took over the district.
In the plaza a large red fire truck came to a screeching halt, honking its horn ferociously, wielding the noise like a sonic cudgel to force the nearly catatonically afraid Klatsu out of the way.
Before the truck even came to a full stop several heavily suited human men began leaping off its side. Together, ears plugged in preparation for the emergency response into the Klatsu sector, they worked in tandem silence. In a well rehearsed ballet of concerted effort, the firemen began preparing their hose, seeking out the nearest hydrant and opening all the necessary valves on the truck. They worked with practiced certainty, moving efficiently and in unison even though unable to communicate verbally in the sound storm of Klatsu panic.
As the men worked, one of them began looking around the plaza for the source of the commotion. However for the life of him he couldn't see a fire of any kind.
Finally the man walked over to the precise gps location of the original caller, tracking his location using an optical implant over his right retina. Parsing through the paralyzed Klatsu singers made it difficult to focus or make way, but eventually, pushing and shoving, the fireman made it to the original caller. When he did, standing there beside the Klatsu matriarch who started the singing, the fireman looked around and quickly saw the source of the district wide commotion.
On the cement of the plaza floor a small brown paper bag was burning. The fire had mostly gone out and now mostly just smoldered. Nonetheless the matriarch, and all the nearby Klatsu, stared at the bag in abject horror, their song still one hundred percent certain doom was inevitable.
The fireman sighed and began waving toward his other crewmates, giving them the pre-arranged signal for "false alarm." They knew the signal well, seeing as they were all assigned to the Klatsu district and made calls like this at least three times a week.
This was probably the work of some human teenagers playing a practical joke. The fireman made a vain if cursory effort to find the little shits in the plaza, wherever they were snickering to themselves. Then he stepped over to the paper bag and stomped the fire out in a couple of heavy steps of his rubber boots.
The Klatsu went momentarily silent. The original matriarch who called the fire in slowly shut her mouths and turned her evolutionarily weak eyeballs towards the fireman, filled with utter amazement. After a few seconds more a new song emanated from her mouths - this one high pitched and tone perfect, like four voices dancing with each other in an expression of pure joy.
The other Klatsu took up the call, the males clomping triumphantly, keeping an incredibly complex beat behind the female chorus, until the air trembled with their cumulative relief.
Beneath the glorious aura of this otherwordly song the firemen loaded up the truck once again and filed back inside. Siren off, lights blaring, the truck began to inch its way back toward the fire house, slowly making it through the hordes of grateful alien forms.
Inside the truck, now sealed from the outside sound by specially designed windows and doors, the fireman unplugged their ears. The man who stomped out the fire just shook his head and raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"Fucking Klatsu, amirite?"
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
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"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
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[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
Humanity had spent centuries looking to the stars for some signs of life. The most hopeful - and painful - stretch of recorded human history, at least to date. We'd seen nothing. Heard nothing. Knew nothing of the wars that raged between the stars, the vast fortunes of conquerors and conquered turning over and over in the black. Not the slightest inkling that our own solar system had been known since the time of the pyramids by three different names to three different species quite unlike our own, the second having eradicated the first around the time of the Renaissance, and the third having having wreaked such economic devastation on the second that ours and two dozen other systems had been traded away in a bid for peace as our first artificial satellites settled into high orbit around Earth. Those most recent claimants had established colonies on the bones of their predecessors, sprawling across the plains of Pluto and Charon and spreading among the sparse halo of rocky detritus making up the Kuiper belt beyond.
-
Our first meeting was one of almost startling coincidence; we and they, both testing the limits of our technological means in an unintentionally synchronous push to the asteroid Ceres. It was an exercise in existential dread for the both of us. Neither armed, neither prepared. Though no strangers to unfamiliar sapient life, they'd never seen our like. It gave us common ground. It gave us something to talk about, once the means of doing so was puzzled through.
-
We learned much from them; that the galaxy was full of life at least as advanced as ourselves, and that it always seemed to develop along one of two very distinct evolutionary pathways. Genes of silicon and sluggish hydrocarbons were the norm, representing the vast majority of catalogued life. Our new neighbors - their initial claims of ownership quickly discarded in favor of the far greater intellectual bounty that peace offered - were of this type. Clusters of crystalline organs tumbling across each other beneath a clear amoeboid skin, pressed tight within a second and equally clear artificial skin that served the same purpose as our own bulky space suits. The others, the rarer breed, were bipedal and somewhat humanoid in form. Their genes were things of sulfur and beryllium, and though known to our new friends no member of any such species had ever been encountered by them. Not personally, at least - they commanded a significant presence in scientific and commercial circles. Just not a physical one. We fit neither mould. It explained much. We'd been looking for life as we knew it, and so had everyone else. They'd found what they were looking for. We hadn't.
-
It was disheartening at first - by all external measures our Earth was both uninhabitable and without economic value. Too hot for our new friends, too close to its parent star, too saturated with iron and oxygen compounds to be of any real value. For the others - the ones so unlike them, and us - the entire solar system was a write-off. Even the crushing pressure and heat on Venus' surface were too mild an environment for them to consider making even a temporary home of it.
-
Our vaunted adaptability was objectively lesser than either of the extremes occupied by life as they knew it, but as we shared our knowledge it became apparent that this was a greater gift than we could have possibly imagined. There was a vast middle ground between those two poles, and it was all ours. Over a quarter of the galaxy had been meticulously catalogued - filled almost beyond counting with little atmosphere-bearing rocks that they could neither colonize nor make meaningful use of. Our Goldilocks Zone was their No Man's Land. As our relationship strengthened we found a great deal of cultural similarities between our peoples, even allowing for our vastly divergent physical forms. The standout exception was buried in our creation myths. The persistent echoing across cultural epochs of their allegorical stories of origin seemed to forecast our own distant future, but with one notable absence. They had no Prometheus, no Icarus. *No written word for fire.* For us, though - for humanity - it is the very soul of our being. The free-standing flame. Controlled and controlling, all-consumimg essence of Man. We are Icarus. We are Prometheus. Thieves and porters and lovers of flame. In our oldest myths we'd stolen it away from the gods.
-
We make preparations now to give it back.
|
Fascinating... Those human life forms have a way to end the fire’s frightening power. To think such basic level thinking has its way to save what is utterly being destroyed. Maybe our way of evolution has rendered us useless to such simple means of protection. Many of our people would’ve let the fire persist and those caught up in it would meet their fate, but these humans would risk their lives to go and save those in distress.
They seem to care a lot about the people, the animals, and even the environment. Putting their lives on the line to save what is hopeless, you might say is... idiotic, but seeing it in full view it’s... well... I don’t know. But they’ve accomplished what we couldn’t and to say that we’re more evolved than they are is meaningless. Maybe they are the so called “aliens” sure they see us as different, but they’ve really shown a lot more things “alien” to us and these “fire fighters”are one of them.
|
|
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
The sky was red and black over the turquoise hills of the Eastern Ridge. Massive billows of dark smoke shot through with flickers of golden flame danced across the sky. A faint crackling and roaring could be heard as the wildfire marched implacably towards the settlement.
Kieran O’Reilly wiped sweat from his brow as the all-terrain rover turned down Hopeward Drive. The inferno was bearing down on Quadrant Five, assigned to the human colonists, and he was doing his damnedest to ensure none of the men, woman or children under his care would perish. New colonies always had their hazards. The giant wasps of Harvey’s World, the spore-slime of New Lyons, or the neo-pumas of St Justinians, there was always a hazard humans had never dealt with before.
But wildfires? That was a menace man knew well. His thoughts slithered to a stop as the incongruity of the sight ahead of him penetrated.
A small family of Torettas was carrying something *into* one of the multi-species living pods. Two of the larger quadrupeds, and three smaller ones. *Robbers? Vandals? No.* The aliens were almost stupidly pacifistic with an iron-hard honorable conduct code. They’d never ransack a place.
“Hey! HEY!”
The largest Toretta juggled a box awkwardly and flexed one of its upper arms – an equivalent to a human wave.
“HEY! Mandatory Evac order! You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Why?” The simple question was a long sonorous drawn out whistle.
“Why? Because of the damned fire!”
“It consumes. We will be consumed at peace”
“I don’t care. I’m supervisor for this block, and I’m saying you get your scaly asses out to the Landing Field. Right Now!”
“It will take us many hours to pack our goods again”
“*I Do Not Care! Drop everything and Go! Go go go!*”
The Torettas hooted a wailing call at the pod, and the rest of it’s – *herd? family?* - slowly trotted out and began moving towards their vehicle. But slowly, ever so slowly.
“C’MON PEOPLE! MOVE!”
His chivvying got the aliens finally moving off, eliciting a disgusted shake of the head at their languid pace. The fire couldn’t be more than an hour away – they would’ve died.
“Chief? It’s Johnson at Central”
“Go ahead”
“Sir, somethings not right here. All the other aliens are…acting weird. There’s no evac co-ordination going on, the Siriellians keep asking when we’re going to ‘accept’, and I can’t find out about any teams on the fire. It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Brody’s got his team out by Venture, and he’s asking for more assistance…. but I can’t find any to send him”.
“Shit. Alright. Pull Brody and his guys back from the line. No point if they’re the only ones working. Get Tania and…the new girl, the redhead. Get them to set up flights out. Commandeer commercial if you have to.”
“Yes Sir.”
Kieran swung the rover in a tight turn and accelerated back down the road, his wrathful fury at the sheer incompetence of the emergency response almost as intense as the inferno boiling downslope towards him.
The vehicle radio snapped on with a Colony Alert chime. *Finally!*
“Siblings of all species. We come confronted with the greatest of all the dangers. We know that one day our lives will end in fire, and for us, today is that day. We prepare as our ancestors across ten worlds once did, as we bow to the inevitability of the flame. Be at peace as we meet our end in the warmth of the Final Flam-"
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Was the whole damned colony some sort of death-cult? How could any species get to space travel, with the whole ‘strap astronauts to the top of a fuel tank and set it on fire’ thing, if they were so bloody eager to fling themselves into oblivion at the first sign of a forest fire?
He turned down another road, the Colony Alert still spouting it’s bewildering and confusing message, and then screeched to a stop outside a cube-shaped building.
Kieran strode into the comms transmitter. The human workers had already departed, but a Sirellian still manned his station, one of two pseudopods caressing a small object – a familial scent globe. The colony broadcast was repeating from the small comm the alien wore.
“I need an alpha priority channel. Supervisor Override.”
“You wish/to say/farewells to/loved ones?”
“No. Get me the nearest Solarian cruiser”
---
Captain Jean Wilson stared at the map projection on the viewscreen.
“And you’re telling me that there is *no* containment efforts going on down there?”
“Pretty much, Captain. The leadership down here is…they’ve either gone crazy or they’re some sort of weird fire-worshipping cult. They won’t evac, they won’t fight it and they won’t *listen*! It’s like the whole bloody lot of them *want* to die in a fire.”
“Very well, Supervisor. We’ll see what we can do. Wilson out.”
With the channel cut, Jean turned to her equally bewildered officers.
“Suggestions, people?”
The grizzled colonel of the ship’s military contingent studied the map, and grinned suddenly.
“We can deploy engineering teams under Commander Morgan. She’s got experience from the California superfires. But none of my Marines are trained firefighters. We’re better at setting things on fire than putting something that size out.”
“Colonel Oswin has a point, Ma’am. We can’t put firefighters on the ground in high enough quantities to damp that, but we do have some additional options. The particle lances should be effective at cutting a firebreak.”
“Mr Thurston. You want to use anti-capital weaponry on a ground target? A civilian ground target?”
“They’re going to cause some overheat spillage, Ma’am, but not as much as that fire is going to do. But we can slice along those two hill curves to shield the colony. A partial power shot should dig one hell of a trench. We can then put the Colonel’s engineers on the ground, organize the local fire efforts.”
“Doesn’t sound like they’ve got much in the way of local effort down there. Although, we can probably re-rig one of the Marine Landers as a monsoon tanker. The Mark 17’s are rated for submersible use, as well as having vertical drop tubes. My boys can rip out the launching mechanism, and we’d have a sort of jury-rigged tanker. Wouldn’t be fast, and I hate to think what the brass is going to say about it, but do-able.”
“Engineering reports they’ve got two Disaster Pods ready for use. They’ve got firefighting gear in them – smaller scale stuff, but survival cocoons, retardant gel spray and hotspot detection gear should still be useful.”
“Alright people. We’ve got some ideas here, and limited time. Lets get it done.”
---
|
Fascinating... Those human life forms have a way to end the fire’s frightening power. To think such basic level thinking has its way to save what is utterly being destroyed. Maybe our way of evolution has rendered us useless to such simple means of protection. Many of our people would’ve let the fire persist and those caught up in it would meet their fate, but these humans would risk their lives to go and save those in distress.
They seem to care a lot about the people, the animals, and even the environment. Putting their lives on the line to save what is hopeless, you might say is... idiotic, but seeing it in full view it’s... well... I don’t know. But they’ve accomplished what we couldn’t and to say that we’re more evolved than they are is meaningless. Maybe they are the so called “aliens” sure they see us as different, but they’ve really shown a lot more things “alien” to us and these “fire fighters”are one of them.
|
|
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
The sky was red and black over the turquoise hills of the Eastern Ridge. Massive billows of dark smoke shot through with flickers of golden flame danced across the sky. A faint crackling and roaring could be heard as the wildfire marched implacably towards the settlement.
Kieran O’Reilly wiped sweat from his brow as the all-terrain rover turned down Hopeward Drive. The inferno was bearing down on Quadrant Five, assigned to the human colonists, and he was doing his damnedest to ensure none of the men, woman or children under his care would perish. New colonies always had their hazards. The giant wasps of Harvey’s World, the spore-slime of New Lyons, or the neo-pumas of St Justinians, there was always a hazard humans had never dealt with before.
But wildfires? That was a menace man knew well. His thoughts slithered to a stop as the incongruity of the sight ahead of him penetrated.
A small family of Torettas was carrying something *into* one of the multi-species living pods. Two of the larger quadrupeds, and three smaller ones. *Robbers? Vandals? No.* The aliens were almost stupidly pacifistic with an iron-hard honorable conduct code. They’d never ransack a place.
“Hey! HEY!”
The largest Toretta juggled a box awkwardly and flexed one of its upper arms – an equivalent to a human wave.
“HEY! Mandatory Evac order! You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Why?” The simple question was a long sonorous drawn out whistle.
“Why? Because of the damned fire!”
“It consumes. We will be consumed at peace”
“I don’t care. I’m supervisor for this block, and I’m saying you get your scaly asses out to the Landing Field. Right Now!”
“It will take us many hours to pack our goods again”
“*I Do Not Care! Drop everything and Go! Go go go!*”
The Torettas hooted a wailing call at the pod, and the rest of it’s – *herd? family?* - slowly trotted out and began moving towards their vehicle. But slowly, ever so slowly.
“C’MON PEOPLE! MOVE!”
His chivvying got the aliens finally moving off, eliciting a disgusted shake of the head at their languid pace. The fire couldn’t be more than an hour away – they would’ve died.
“Chief? It’s Johnson at Central”
“Go ahead”
“Sir, somethings not right here. All the other aliens are…acting weird. There’s no evac co-ordination going on, the Siriellians keep asking when we’re going to ‘accept’, and I can’t find out about any teams on the fire. It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Brody’s got his team out by Venture, and he’s asking for more assistance…. but I can’t find any to send him”.
“Shit. Alright. Pull Brody and his guys back from the line. No point if they’re the only ones working. Get Tania and…the new girl, the redhead. Get them to set up flights out. Commandeer commercial if you have to.”
“Yes Sir.”
Kieran swung the rover in a tight turn and accelerated back down the road, his wrathful fury at the sheer incompetence of the emergency response almost as intense as the inferno boiling downslope towards him.
The vehicle radio snapped on with a Colony Alert chime. *Finally!*
“Siblings of all species. We come confronted with the greatest of all the dangers. We know that one day our lives will end in fire, and for us, today is that day. We prepare as our ancestors across ten worlds once did, as we bow to the inevitability of the flame. Be at peace as we meet our end in the warmth of the Final Flam-"
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” Was the whole damned colony some sort of death-cult? How could any species get to space travel, with the whole ‘strap astronauts to the top of a fuel tank and set it on fire’ thing, if they were so bloody eager to fling themselves into oblivion at the first sign of a forest fire?
He turned down another road, the Colony Alert still spouting it’s bewildering and confusing message, and then screeched to a stop outside a cube-shaped building.
Kieran strode into the comms transmitter. The human workers had already departed, but a Sirellian still manned his station, one of two pseudopods caressing a small object – a familial scent globe. The colony broadcast was repeating from the small comm the alien wore.
“I need an alpha priority channel. Supervisor Override.”
“You wish/to say/farewells to/loved ones?”
“No. Get me the nearest Solarian cruiser”
---
Captain Jean Wilson stared at the map projection on the viewscreen.
“And you’re telling me that there is *no* containment efforts going on down there?”
“Pretty much, Captain. The leadership down here is…they’ve either gone crazy or they’re some sort of weird fire-worshipping cult. They won’t evac, they won’t fight it and they won’t *listen*! It’s like the whole bloody lot of them *want* to die in a fire.”
“Very well, Supervisor. We’ll see what we can do. Wilson out.”
With the channel cut, Jean turned to her equally bewildered officers.
“Suggestions, people?”
The grizzled colonel of the ship’s military contingent studied the map, and grinned suddenly.
“We can deploy engineering teams under Commander Morgan. She’s got experience from the California superfires. But none of my Marines are trained firefighters. We’re better at setting things on fire than putting something that size out.”
“Colonel Oswin has a point, Ma’am. We can’t put firefighters on the ground in high enough quantities to damp that, but we do have some additional options. The particle lances should be effective at cutting a firebreak.”
“Mr Thurston. You want to use anti-capital weaponry on a ground target? A civilian ground target?”
“They’re going to cause some overheat spillage, Ma’am, but not as much as that fire is going to do. But we can slice along those two hill curves to shield the colony. A partial power shot should dig one hell of a trench. We can then put the Colonel’s engineers on the ground, organize the local fire efforts.”
“Doesn’t sound like they’ve got much in the way of local effort down there. Although, we can probably re-rig one of the Marine Landers as a monsoon tanker. The Mark 17’s are rated for submersible use, as well as having vertical drop tubes. My boys can rip out the launching mechanism, and we’d have a sort of jury-rigged tanker. Wouldn’t be fast, and I hate to think what the brass is going to say about it, but do-able.”
“Engineering reports they’ve got two Disaster Pods ready for use. They’ve got firefighting gear in them – smaller scale stuff, but survival cocoons, retardant gel spray and hotspot detection gear should still be useful.”
“Alright people. We’ve got some ideas here, and limited time. Lets get it done.”
---
|
On mobile. Bear with my formatting.
*edit* I'll write more when I wake up. It's 5am and I'm sleepy
*edit 2* Part 2 is up.
-------------------------------
The High Scholar inhaled as he eyed the data slab incredulously.
"Variks, tell me more of what you saw. Tell me more of these... *Flame Enders*"
"By the first pack, High Scholar, I have never seen anything like it. These... Humans... These *Savages* think themselves high enough to tamper and impede on the will of the Flames!"
The gaze of High Scholar Mahak listed over to the description of the blasphemous *Flame Enders*
"Variks, in your report, you stated that these... *Flame Enders* were coated in some sort of polymerized canvass environmental coverings?"
"Yes High Scholar, the lower Scholars and I theorize that the bright colors and markings on these covers are for identification of pack bonds and mating capability. It appears as though this pack of Humans mates within the fire and the extinguishes them afterwards... There is no other explanation as to why a sentient creature would enter a burning building or range of trees willingly."
High Scholar Mahak sighed.
"You mean to tell me that this race *fornicates* within the Eternal Power of Flame and then *quells it when they finish* ? I do not believe I need to tell you how idiotic that sounds"
"Yes.. High Scholar. I shall look into the habits of these *savag-*"
"Humans"
Prompted Mahak.
"Yes. Apologies, Great One. I shall research these... *Humans* in greater detail. I shall take one and ask them of their *Flame Ending* Pack."
Standing and placing the dataslate down, High Scholar Mahak spoke with a commanding tone: "I shall be the one to speak with the Human. I wish there to be no miscommunication due to a lower status scholar making a mistake. Leave and recover a specimen at once, I shall be in my study."
|
|
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
######[](#dropcap)
A polyharmonic scream pierced the air of the Klatsu-District. The buzzing ululation sang out from the center of the public park where a petrified Klatsu Matriarch, clutching her cretchlings close within her several breast sacs, stood with all four mouths agape.
Her cloudy eyes were fixed on a small point on the ground and with her free digit she pointed down accusingly at it. All around other passing Klatsu spun in response to the warning call. Soon enough hundreds of feeble Klatsu eyes began scanning the ground in desperate search.
Eventually one of the diminutive Klatsu males confirmed the terrible discovery. His two small mouths wrenched open and a staccato warning began to clack from them into the air, joining with the first matriarch's call.
It only took a few moments then before the entire district, nearly fifteen thousand Klatsu immigrants, joined in the terrible chorus. Each added a new and profoundly alien sound until the ground itself echoed beneath the otherwordly weight of their voices.
This was a Klatsu death call - a mourning certainty of imminent doom, reserved only for those most horrible moments when no hope existed for salvation.
As the cacaphony of suffering aliens raged on, another sound struggled to pierce the tidal wave of noise. It began as a distant whine and crescendoed as it grew nearer.
As the Klatsu at the periphery of the district saw it approach, the tone of their song changed subtly - from the song of despair to the song of fleeting, impossible hope. The announcement of potential salvation grew in volume with the approaching siren until it too took over the district.
In the plaza a large red fire truck came to a screeching halt, honking its horn ferociously, wielding the noise like a sonic cudgel to force the nearly catatonically afraid Klatsu out of the way.
Before the truck even came to a full stop several heavily suited human men began leaping off its side. Together, ears plugged in preparation for the emergency response into the Klatsu sector, they worked in tandem silence. In a well rehearsed ballet of concerted effort, the firemen began preparing their hose, seeking out the nearest hydrant and opening all the necessary valves on the truck. They worked with practiced certainty, moving efficiently and in unison even though unable to communicate verbally in the sound storm of Klatsu panic.
As the men worked, one of them began looking around the plaza for the source of the commotion. However for the life of him he couldn't see a fire of any kind.
Finally the man walked over to the precise gps location of the original caller, tracking his location using an optical implant over his right retina. Parsing through the paralyzed Klatsu singers made it difficult to focus or make way, but eventually, pushing and shoving, the fireman made it to the original caller. When he did, standing there beside the Klatsu matriarch who started the singing, the fireman looked around and quickly saw the source of the district wide commotion.
On the cement of the plaza floor a small brown paper bag was burning. The fire had mostly gone out and now mostly just smoldered. Nonetheless the matriarch, and all the nearby Klatsu, stared at the bag in abject horror, their song still one hundred percent certain doom was inevitable.
The fireman sighed and began waving toward his other crewmates, giving them the pre-arranged signal for "false alarm." They knew the signal well, seeing as they were all assigned to the Klatsu district and made calls like this at least three times a week.
This was probably the work of some human teenagers playing a practical joke. The fireman made a vain if cursory effort to find the little shits in the plaza, wherever they were snickering to themselves. Then he stepped over to the paper bag and stomped the fire out in a couple of heavy steps of his rubber boots.
The Klatsu went momentarily silent. The original matriarch who called the fire in slowly shut her mouths and turned her evolutionarily weak eyeballs towards the fireman, filled with utter amazement. After a few seconds more a new song emanated from her mouths - this one high pitched and tone perfect, like four voices dancing with each other in an expression of pure joy.
The other Klatsu took up the call, the males clomping triumphantly, keeping an incredibly complex beat behind the female chorus, until the air trembled with their cumulative relief.
Beneath the glorious aura of this otherwordly song the firemen loaded up the truck once again and filed back inside. Siren off, lights blaring, the truck began to inch its way back toward the fire house, slowly making it through the hordes of grateful alien forms.
Inside the truck, now sealed from the outside sound by specially designed windows and doors, the fireman unplugged their ears. The man who stomped out the fire just shook his head and raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"Fucking Klatsu, amirite?"
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
On mobile. Bear with my formatting.
*edit* I'll write more when I wake up. It's 5am and I'm sleepy
*edit 2* Part 2 is up.
-------------------------------
The High Scholar inhaled as he eyed the data slab incredulously.
"Variks, tell me more of what you saw. Tell me more of these... *Flame Enders*"
"By the first pack, High Scholar, I have never seen anything like it. These... Humans... These *Savages* think themselves high enough to tamper and impede on the will of the Flames!"
The gaze of High Scholar Mahak listed over to the description of the blasphemous *Flame Enders*
"Variks, in your report, you stated that these... *Flame Enders* were coated in some sort of polymerized canvass environmental coverings?"
"Yes High Scholar, the lower Scholars and I theorize that the bright colors and markings on these covers are for identification of pack bonds and mating capability. It appears as though this pack of Humans mates within the fire and the extinguishes them afterwards... There is no other explanation as to why a sentient creature would enter a burning building or range of trees willingly."
High Scholar Mahak sighed.
"You mean to tell me that this race *fornicates* within the Eternal Power of Flame and then *quells it when they finish* ? I do not believe I need to tell you how idiotic that sounds"
"Yes.. High Scholar. I shall look into the habits of these *savag-*"
"Humans"
Prompted Mahak.
"Yes. Apologies, Great One. I shall research these... *Humans* in greater detail. I shall take one and ask them of their *Flame Ending* Pack."
Standing and placing the dataslate down, High Scholar Mahak spoke with a commanding tone: "I shall be the one to speak with the Human. I wish there to be no miscommunication due to a lower status scholar making a mistake. Leave and recover a specimen at once, I shall be in my study."
|
|
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
######[](#dropcap)
A polyharmonic scream pierced the air of the Klatsu-District. The buzzing ululation sang out from the center of the public park where a petrified Klatsu Matriarch, clutching her cretchlings close within her several breast sacs, stood with all four mouths agape.
Her cloudy eyes were fixed on a small point on the ground and with her free digit she pointed down accusingly at it. All around other passing Klatsu spun in response to the warning call. Soon enough hundreds of feeble Klatsu eyes began scanning the ground in desperate search.
Eventually one of the diminutive Klatsu males confirmed the terrible discovery. His two small mouths wrenched open and a staccato warning began to clack from them into the air, joining with the first matriarch's call.
It only took a few moments then before the entire district, nearly fifteen thousand Klatsu immigrants, joined in the terrible chorus. Each added a new and profoundly alien sound until the ground itself echoed beneath the otherwordly weight of their voices.
This was a Klatsu death call - a mourning certainty of imminent doom, reserved only for those most horrible moments when no hope existed for salvation.
As the cacaphony of suffering aliens raged on, another sound struggled to pierce the tidal wave of noise. It began as a distant whine and crescendoed as it grew nearer.
As the Klatsu at the periphery of the district saw it approach, the tone of their song changed subtly - from the song of despair to the song of fleeting, impossible hope. The announcement of potential salvation grew in volume with the approaching siren until it too took over the district.
In the plaza a large red fire truck came to a screeching halt, honking its horn ferociously, wielding the noise like a sonic cudgel to force the nearly catatonically afraid Klatsu out of the way.
Before the truck even came to a full stop several heavily suited human men began leaping off its side. Together, ears plugged in preparation for the emergency response into the Klatsu sector, they worked in tandem silence. In a well rehearsed ballet of concerted effort, the firemen began preparing their hose, seeking out the nearest hydrant and opening all the necessary valves on the truck. They worked with practiced certainty, moving efficiently and in unison even though unable to communicate verbally in the sound storm of Klatsu panic.
As the men worked, one of them began looking around the plaza for the source of the commotion. However for the life of him he couldn't see a fire of any kind.
Finally the man walked over to the precise gps location of the original caller, tracking his location using an optical implant over his right retina. Parsing through the paralyzed Klatsu singers made it difficult to focus or make way, but eventually, pushing and shoving, the fireman made it to the original caller. When he did, standing there beside the Klatsu matriarch who started the singing, the fireman looked around and quickly saw the source of the district wide commotion.
On the cement of the plaza floor a small brown paper bag was burning. The fire had mostly gone out and now mostly just smoldered. Nonetheless the matriarch, and all the nearby Klatsu, stared at the bag in abject horror, their song still one hundred percent certain doom was inevitable.
The fireman sighed and began waving toward his other crewmates, giving them the pre-arranged signal for "false alarm." They knew the signal well, seeing as they were all assigned to the Klatsu district and made calls like this at least three times a week.
This was probably the work of some human teenagers playing a practical joke. The fireman made a vain if cursory effort to find the little shits in the plaza, wherever they were snickering to themselves. Then he stepped over to the paper bag and stomped the fire out in a couple of heavy steps of his rubber boots.
The Klatsu went momentarily silent. The original matriarch who called the fire in slowly shut her mouths and turned her evolutionarily weak eyeballs towards the fireman, filled with utter amazement. After a few seconds more a new song emanated from her mouths - this one high pitched and tone perfect, like four voices dancing with each other in an expression of pure joy.
The other Klatsu took up the call, the males clomping triumphantly, keeping an incredibly complex beat behind the female chorus, until the air trembled with their cumulative relief.
Beneath the glorious aura of this otherwordly song the firemen loaded up the truck once again and filed back inside. Siren off, lights blaring, the truck began to inch its way back toward the fire house, slowly making it through the hordes of grateful alien forms.
Inside the truck, now sealed from the outside sound by specially designed windows and doors, the fireman unplugged their ears. The man who stomped out the fire just shook his head and raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"Fucking Klatsu, amirite?"
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
'The Conquerors of Fire'
&#x200B;
During the Annual Galactic Meeting of the year 2096, a special announcement was about to take place. The President of the meeting stepped forward onto the podium and announced the following:
"I would like to welcome you to the Annual Galactic Meeting. Today is a unique day because a new race have been discovered, and have accepted our invitation to become a member of the Galactic Community! Please welcome, the Humans!"
The different galactic races stood up and started applauding the humans as they walked through the crowd. This was a historic moment for the humans as they have not only, finally, made contact with space beings, but they also established a positive relationship with them. This was truly the epitome of accomplishments.
The humans sat next to the other races and the leader of the human race sat alongside the other leaders. For some reason, after the initial introduction took place, the humans' facial expression began to change. They looked confused as if there was something that did not sit right. They all seemed to look up at the ceiling of the arena, around the walls, and alongside their path. There were flames burning. Fire everywhere. The arena was very hot and very bright. The other races did not seem bothered by it, but the humans were uncomfortable for a while before they adjusted.
The President of the meeting stood up again and said, "Please welcome the leader of the humans, John!" The arena stood silent as John approached the podium.
"Dearly beloved citizens of the galaxy, we came here today in peace. We came to explore what have never been explore before. We are here for the sake of science, humanity, and love. We are here to help and assist, and to be helped and assisted. We are students of life and we are here to learn".
John stopped a bit then said, "... I would also like to address the situation of fire in this arena. I believe it is decorative? I also believe this is a great fire hazard and would threaten the lives of many lovely citizens in here. I would love it if we start this wonderful relationship by having our firefighters come in here and secure the area from any fire hazards. This would be our token of friendship and love to you, citizens of the galaxy!"
There was a moment of silence, and confusion. Gasps were heard all around the arena. The President of the meeting stood up and walked towards John and asked him in front of everyone, "Firefighters? You mean, you have people who kill fire?" "Well yes of course! Fire could be useful, but it is also harmful", replied John. The people around the arena seemed to be confused, scared, but curious. "We, as the people of the galaxy, have always seen fire to be a symbol of strength and determination. Nothing seems to stop fire, and fire eats everything. It is the closest thing we have to an undying power! Those who control the fire can control the universe!", said the President. John was very intrigued by that explanation and replied, "Well fire could be put out by water, and even smaller flames could be blown off! Would you like me to demonstrate?" "... You mean now? You? As a single human individual, can take out this magnificent beast? I could not believe it even if I see it!", answered the President of the meeting. "Here, let me show you," replied John as he walks off the platform and approached the smallest flame in the room. The arena stood up to take a better look at what was going on. This must be madness they thought. This could not be possible!
John, slowly, approached the flame and gently blew at it. The flame was gone. Fire has been defeated. Not a single noise came from the crowd.
"Here, see! Very easy!" John said happily. Then, as he turned around, he saw the entire crowd and their leaders on their knees. They were bowing down to John and to the human race. Their new gods. The new and magnificent protectors of the universe. The conquerors of fire. And that was how the human race conquered the universe.
&#x200B;
EDIT1: WHOOPSSSS!!!! Can’t believe I made that mistake! I know LY are a measure of distance! hahaha to be fair it was 3 am when I wrote it! I deleted that bit anyway.
Also, to be fair now that i’m reading it again there is some flow mistakes, i did rush it because i wanted to sleep though! Thank you all for your feedback! 🤗🤗
|
|
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
"What are thek little nozzles in thek ceiling for?" the mandibles giving the insectoid's speech a unique clicking quality.
"Oh, that's for the water," replies the human offhandedly.
"Youk drink from them?"
"Oh course not! That's to put out the fires if they occur."
Suddenly Kryaxis starts rapidly clicking and pointing at the nozzle, his fellow insectoid replying in their rapid clicking speech. Kira is standing awkwardly, not quite sure what to do for the minute while the cacophony is going on. Finally the aliens calm down.
"Youk feed thek rare and precious water intok thek all consuming flame! Why?" Kryaxis angrily shouts.
Kira takes a step back, the question taking her off guard, but rapidly composes herself. "To put out the fire of course."
At this point Kira remembers that the insectoids come from a dry desert world, where water is only gained from metabolic processes, and without access to the vast oceans of a terran planet like Earth.
"Anyways, we can just recoup the steam from the environmental vents after the fire is gone out."
At this point the insects are just staring at Kira, compound eyes bugging out of their exoskeleton more than usual, their chitinous nostrils flaring slightly as they breath in anger. Kira is getting more nervous by the second, both from a potential intergalactic incident and for her life.
Attempting to defuse the situation she hesitantly asks, "W-what do you do?"
As if on cue the insectoids calm down and Kryaxis speaks, "Well, thek sensible thing of course. Wek vent thek contents of thek affected areak tok space. No fuel. No fire."
Kira stands there, dumbstruck with disbelief. Kryaxis stares at her, a look of alien smugness on his mandibles.
"But what of your people that might be trapped?" Kira blurts out.
Kryaxis looks confused at this remark, "Well, wek breed more of course."
Kira is again stunned, trying to fathom the gulf of culture between the two civilisations. Insectoids were just so ready to throw lives away over something as trivial as a fire. Automated fire suppression systems were a vehicle staple long before humans even made it out of the solar system. Kira, as ambassador to the Insectoid people has to think fast, the insectoid impatience was legendary among the few races the humans had already met. Then she grins.
"How about, we trade you a million cubic microns of water, and you can see how our fire suppression systems work, and for the low price of only a hundred microns of uranium."
Kryaxis suddenly rears back in shock, mad clicking noises coming from his companions. "Youk liek! That is more water than has ever been in one place! Explain this betrayal!"
Kira's grin widens, "Oh, this is no betrayal, scan our storage holds if you wish proof. My offer is as solid at titanium and I await your response. Thank you for your hospitality."
Kira bows very politely with her arms crossed to her insectoid hosts, careful to follow their odd customs, while their click-filled discussion decays into chaos. As she turns to return to her vessel her grin finally vanishes. High quality uranium fuel for a few thousand gallons of water. This was going to be far easier than she expected!
|
'The Conquerors of Fire'
&#x200B;
During the Annual Galactic Meeting of the year 2096, a special announcement was about to take place. The President of the meeting stepped forward onto the podium and announced the following:
"I would like to welcome you to the Annual Galactic Meeting. Today is a unique day because a new race have been discovered, and have accepted our invitation to become a member of the Galactic Community! Please welcome, the Humans!"
The different galactic races stood up and started applauding the humans as they walked through the crowd. This was a historic moment for the humans as they have not only, finally, made contact with space beings, but they also established a positive relationship with them. This was truly the epitome of accomplishments.
The humans sat next to the other races and the leader of the human race sat alongside the other leaders. For some reason, after the initial introduction took place, the humans' facial expression began to change. They looked confused as if there was something that did not sit right. They all seemed to look up at the ceiling of the arena, around the walls, and alongside their path. There were flames burning. Fire everywhere. The arena was very hot and very bright. The other races did not seem bothered by it, but the humans were uncomfortable for a while before they adjusted.
The President of the meeting stood up again and said, "Please welcome the leader of the humans, John!" The arena stood silent as John approached the podium.
"Dearly beloved citizens of the galaxy, we came here today in peace. We came to explore what have never been explore before. We are here for the sake of science, humanity, and love. We are here to help and assist, and to be helped and assisted. We are students of life and we are here to learn".
John stopped a bit then said, "... I would also like to address the situation of fire in this arena. I believe it is decorative? I also believe this is a great fire hazard and would threaten the lives of many lovely citizens in here. I would love it if we start this wonderful relationship by having our firefighters come in here and secure the area from any fire hazards. This would be our token of friendship and love to you, citizens of the galaxy!"
There was a moment of silence, and confusion. Gasps were heard all around the arena. The President of the meeting stood up and walked towards John and asked him in front of everyone, "Firefighters? You mean, you have people who kill fire?" "Well yes of course! Fire could be useful, but it is also harmful", replied John. The people around the arena seemed to be confused, scared, but curious. "We, as the people of the galaxy, have always seen fire to be a symbol of strength and determination. Nothing seems to stop fire, and fire eats everything. It is the closest thing we have to an undying power! Those who control the fire can control the universe!", said the President. John was very intrigued by that explanation and replied, "Well fire could be put out by water, and even smaller flames could be blown off! Would you like me to demonstrate?" "... You mean now? You? As a single human individual, can take out this magnificent beast? I could not believe it even if I see it!", answered the President of the meeting. "Here, let me show you," replied John as he walks off the platform and approached the smallest flame in the room. The arena stood up to take a better look at what was going on. This must be madness they thought. This could not be possible!
John, slowly, approached the flame and gently blew at it. The flame was gone. Fire has been defeated. Not a single noise came from the crowd.
"Here, see! Very easy!" John said happily. Then, as he turned around, he saw the entire crowd and their leaders on their knees. They were bowing down to John and to the human race. Their new gods. The new and magnificent protectors of the universe. The conquerors of fire. And that was how the human race conquered the universe.
&#x200B;
EDIT1: WHOOPSSSS!!!! Can’t believe I made that mistake! I know LY are a measure of distance! hahaha to be fair it was 3 am when I wrote it! I deleted that bit anyway.
Also, to be fair now that i’m reading it again there is some flow mistakes, i did rush it because i wanted to sleep though! Thank you all for your feedback! 🤗🤗
|
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