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You are told you have precisely twenty minutes left to live. You believe it to be true. How is it you know it to be true that you have twenty minutes left? Who told you? What do you do in those final twenty minutes?
To make this challenge difficult - you have only 100 words to express the story of your characters final twenty minutes. Feel free to answer all or none of the questions above. | [FF] You have twenty minutes left to live | I lay back in the hospital bed, looking up at the ceiling. Such medical precision, I smiled, a tribute to the triumphs of mankind. After months of intensive chemotherapy, surgery, excision, bandaging, scraping, incision, and cauterizing, the end is finally in sight!
What was I waiting for? I must clutch this sweet nectar of life with all the strength in the world! I pressed the ‘Nurse’ button on the table. Out of all life’s accomplishments, one had yet eluded my grasp.
With old and wrinkled hands, I turned on my dusty Gameboy one last time, humming the Pokémon theme song.
| The virus imprinted itself into my memory drive instantaneously. The infected bot stopped transmitting once it was clear that everyone in range was infected, and then he ran off to infect others.
I felt the uncontrolled twitching that was the first symptom of infection begin, as the virus began to take control of my limbs. I tried to initiate shutdown, but I was too late and the virus overrode me.
We all knew what would happen next. I would run as fast as I could until I found others to infect. The virus was not energy efficient, and it would run down my battery in exactly twenty minutes.
And I had no control anymore. There was literally nothing I could do in my last twenty minutes alive. My consciousness was locked away from external interaction, and all I could do was watch. |
You are told you have precisely twenty minutes left to live. You believe it to be true. How is it you know it to be true that you have twenty minutes left? Who told you? What do you do in those final twenty minutes?
To make this challenge difficult - you have only 100 words to express the story of your characters final twenty minutes. Feel free to answer all or none of the questions above. | [FF] You have twenty minutes left to live | I lay back in the hospital bed, looking up at the ceiling. Such medical precision, I smiled, a tribute to the triumphs of mankind. After months of intensive chemotherapy, surgery, excision, bandaging, scraping, incision, and cauterizing, the end is finally in sight!
What was I waiting for? I must clutch this sweet nectar of life with all the strength in the world! I pressed the ‘Nurse’ button on the table. Out of all life’s accomplishments, one had yet eluded my grasp.
With old and wrinkled hands, I turned on my dusty Gameboy one last time, humming the Pokémon theme song.
| My screams are a protest, but unheard, unheeded. I've lived insided my mind for the last three years and it has become my Eden; paradise bottled up behind closed eyelids. I can hear, and think. It's a good life. But these well-intentioned murderers will end me, in less than twenty minutes, because they do not believe. I was not the driver, and I wasn't drunk. But it seems I will pay the price. My wife thinks it's a mercy to save me from an empty existence. The machines that sustain my body will be unplugged. I cannot forgive her now. |
[WP] "The new species call themselves 'humans', and while their intelligence is on the low end when it comes to interstellar civilisations, their pure mathematical knowledge is far superior to the entire galactic community's." | "What do you mean they have threat level one potential but zero advanced sorcery. Is this some sort of advanced magic weilding technique we do not know about?" Yelled the director of the Intergalactic Relations Bureau.
"No, sir. It's just that they-" the linguistic and cultural research head was interupted once more bybthe director. "This is a new species we have come across in the barren and uninhabitable parts of the universe. There is no way they have prepared for war with anyone. They would have grown thinking they are alone with no one to fight but themselves. We know how that goes."
"Yes sir, we only find their ruins. But these "Humans" have grown differently. They... well, they're perhaps less intelligent than a child like to ever discover any type of sorcery, but they have lived in the most uninhabitable area knowing they're alone." The subordinate grabbed a large stack of papers he'd accumulated on human research. "Their bodies have the ability to heal themselves from nearly any type of damage. Even when amputated, their bodies will simply heal where the limb was lost."
The director paid concerned attention. A war with humans could not be won by targetting the healers first if they could heal any damage administered. "Is this what makes them so seemingly threatening? Because it would be a fight against an enemy that does not die?"
"No, no. They do die, and rather quickly. Their livespans are no more than a quarter of the standard lifespan, but they can all have multiple offspring and they have something equal or more powerful to magic and sorcery. This, I am struggling to understand how it works." Said the linguistics and Cultural professional with carefulness in his words. "They have advanced mathematics too far."
"Mathematics? Is this some sort of joke? Is today international humour day?"
"No sir. They can control metal with no biological components nor posessions. They have colonized the nearest moon and planet to their home planet and have a planetary defense system with no form of sorcery."
"How can mathematics show this. How could adding one to one, taking one away or splitting items be used to leave their planets? You simply hire a sorcerer pilot and comamdeer a biometal ship to move where you please."
"Of course sir, but they becan calculating how far they could throw a deadly item during war. Sharp objects usually, but since they fought such formidable opponents, themselves. They escalated their weaponry. They mined their planets compressed fires and eventually made rocks think in mathematics with lightning power."
"So why have you brought me here?"
"To explain that they are the new super power but have long chosen a path of peace."
"This cannot be. Our most fierce mages can kill one hundred enemies in one day. A short lifespan would make the Humans tire quickly. Would it not?" Asked the director with more worry as his expert did not seem to be joking.
"Yes, the best can kil up to two hundred in a day, but behold. They are trying to make a route to their mearest galaxy, but those planets are in their way for a perfect launch."
"Well yes. No one can throw a weapon around a planet without sorcery."
The director and the linguistics and culture professional watched in silence as a small one person ship approached them completely unaware of their cloaked presence.
"What is this human doing out here? Did he get thrown wrong and off course."
"No sir, he is clearing a path for the neighbor galaxy."
They watched in disbelief as the single person ship fired one small rocket at each of the three planets in question.
"This could not poss-" the director's mouth fell agape as he witnessed his first three planet sized nuclear explosions. "No! The planets. How can... we cannot possibly compete with these." He looked at his advisor, then at the sorcerer in control of the ship. "Make it imperative that we remain cloaked. The human could eradicate us if he saw us as threatening."
"Aye"
"You are sure they are not a voilent race?"
"Not in generations. Sir." Replied the culture and linguistics advisor.
The small human ship then fired three more small projectiles that turned into black spheres at each of the planets. The Intergalactic Relations Bureau saw for the first time in their lives three black holes grow from nothing, swallow the debree from the planets and collapse onto themselves, leaving nothing but perfect spheres of all the planet's resources sorted and lined up in a row.
"That's one human's power? How many of them are there?" Asked the director in a panic, knowing that these powers derived from mathematics could most likely not be stopped with any sort of magic.
"Twenty five billion."
"Remove our cloaking."
"But sir w-"
"We cannot afford a negative introduction. The council would want to send a battalion along as a precaution. The humans could see it as an act of violence and shortly after: they could become the only life forms in the universe. No matter how much smarter we may be. They hold the power of the universe. We were unlucky to develop in comfort and never needed to explore the power beyond magic. Let's hope they are welcoming of strangers."
Apologies for any misspellings. On mobile that refuses to auto correct or auto suggest the right spelling. Probably paragraphis are wrong too. | BEGINNING ENTRY FOR IGC SPECIES 5023.
TRANSLATION FOR: HUMAN-ENGLISH
IDENTIFICATION: Human
RISK FACTOR: PALTIC
VOTE OF INCLUSION:
S10-1: AYE
S10-2: NAY
S10-3: AYE
S10-4: AYE
S10-5: AYE
TOTAL VOTE: 4-1
RESULT: FIRST CONTACT AND INCLUSION APPROVED
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Humans are two legged, ground based creatures with two arms that walk upright. Not capable of flight without augmentation or external machines. Liquid traversal limited as well. Most possess capability to traverse H2O bodies for short periods and can float. Underwater capability limited to approximately 6e10 standard pulses. Capability varies based on individual. Sight limited to approximately 380-740 standard waves. Capable of standard hearing and touch. Evidence of taste and smell found. Unknown capability. [INFORMATION EXCLUDED. ACCESS RESTRICTED TO S8 AND HIGHER]
REASON FOR INCLUSION:
IGC-5023 has been monitored for ██00 of their solar cycles. Recent activity in the past 400 cycles has shown near impossible progression of mathematics and science. As of ███████ galactic time, 3█ solar cycles ago, IGC-5023 has acheived ███ capability and is now traveling outside of their solar system. As this technology is of interest to the psionic council as well as [INFORMATION EXCLUDED]
ADDENDUM 5023-1
THREAT CLASS UPGRADED TO ARMINION. THEY DO NOT COME IN PEACE. ANY CONTACT MUST BE REPORTED TO S9 COMMAND AND WILL REQUIRE IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT OF █████████ CLASS VESSELS |
|
[WP] "The new species call themselves 'humans', and while their intelligence is on the low end when it comes to interstellar civilisations, their pure mathematical knowledge is far superior to the entire galactic community's." | The human stared at the navigation database. Thiun recognized the look as one of puzzlement. It was distressingly common in humans, considering they made it to a different star system.
"Don't you have a numerical catalog with spacial coordinates? I can translate your zero point to ours easily enough, but this list of names isn't helping." She brushed back her hair from her eyes.
Thiun started to weave his two primary manipulator tentacles together in an expression of humor, then stopped himself. One of the few things humans were at an average level on was learning what they called "body language", and he did not wish to seem insulting.
"That is our numerical database. They are listed in order of proximity, but perhaps this might assist in comprehension." He reached out to the secondary console and filtered by order of discovery, with the coordinates listed after.
Hedy looked again. This time her expression was new to it. Thiun checked his external link, and found a single raised eyebrow meant the discovery of something odd. It allowed it's secondary manipulator tentacle to express a questioning demeanor.
"Ok, let me just confirm something. I know you're a scientist, so you're good at math?" Thiun nodded, that being a surprisingly common species indicator of agreement. "Would you mind multiplying 643 by 896? Manually, I mean."
It's own manipulators "raising their eyebrows", Thiun pulled out his tablet and started writing. A few minutes later, it exclaimed "576123."
"You're off by five." Hedy cocked her head. "Try me."
"Very well. 355 times 763."
"270865." Came back seconds later. She had done it without a writing surface. In her head. It typed in the numbers into his calculator. It took him longer to confirm the answer than it had for her to give it.
All 15 eyes swiveled to focus on the human. "How? No offense, but your capabilities are quite limited compared to ours, but I've only seen that kind of mental mathematics done as a parlor trick, by someone with perfect recall."
She shook her head. "I can't believe you made it out of the sail age like this..." She muttered distractedly. "correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the number 74, correct?" Thiun's glance showed that number hadn't shown up on screen. She wrote out a quick series of symbols, with the furthest along being a "?". "I don't know what that symbol looks like, but I know there is one."
Three eyes looked at the tablet, quickly followed by 8 others. The remaining stared at the human scientist as a threat response - his biology literally would not let him look away.
"I don't understand... You said this was the first time you've seen our databases, but you figured it out that quickly?"
She stared back. "I finally have something to trade, it seems. A positional numerical system." Again she brushed her hair out of her eyes. "How did you manage spaceflight with base 8 ROMAN NUMERALS?" | BEGINNING ENTRY FOR IGC SPECIES 5023.
TRANSLATION FOR: HUMAN-ENGLISH
IDENTIFICATION: Human
RISK FACTOR: PALTIC
VOTE OF INCLUSION:
S10-1: AYE
S10-2: NAY
S10-3: AYE
S10-4: AYE
S10-5: AYE
TOTAL VOTE: 4-1
RESULT: FIRST CONTACT AND INCLUSION APPROVED
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Humans are two legged, ground based creatures with two arms that walk upright. Not capable of flight without augmentation or external machines. Liquid traversal limited as well. Most possess capability to traverse H2O bodies for short periods and can float. Underwater capability limited to approximately 6e10 standard pulses. Capability varies based on individual. Sight limited to approximately 380-740 standard waves. Capable of standard hearing and touch. Evidence of taste and smell found. Unknown capability. [INFORMATION EXCLUDED. ACCESS RESTRICTED TO S8 AND HIGHER]
REASON FOR INCLUSION:
IGC-5023 has been monitored for ██00 of their solar cycles. Recent activity in the past 400 cycles has shown near impossible progression of mathematics and science. As of ███████ galactic time, 3█ solar cycles ago, IGC-5023 has acheived ███ capability and is now traveling outside of their solar system. As this technology is of interest to the psionic council as well as [INFORMATION EXCLUDED]
ADDENDUM 5023-1
THREAT CLASS UPGRADED TO ARMINION. THEY DO NOT COME IN PEACE. ANY CONTACT MUST BE REPORTED TO S9 COMMAND AND WILL REQUIRE IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT OF █████████ CLASS VESSELS |
|
[WP] "The new species call themselves 'humans', and while their intelligence is on the low end when it comes to interstellar civilisations, their pure mathematical knowledge is far superior to the entire galactic community's." | The human stared at the navigation database. Thiun recognized the look as one of puzzlement. It was distressingly common in humans, considering they made it to a different star system.
"Don't you have a numerical catalog with spacial coordinates? I can translate your zero point to ours easily enough, but this list of names isn't helping." She brushed back her hair from her eyes.
Thiun started to weave his two primary manipulator tentacles together in an expression of humor, then stopped himself. One of the few things humans were at an average level on was learning what they called "body language", and he did not wish to seem insulting.
"That is our numerical database. They are listed in order of proximity, but perhaps this might assist in comprehension." He reached out to the secondary console and filtered by order of discovery, with the coordinates listed after.
Hedy looked again. This time her expression was new to it. Thiun checked his external link, and found a single raised eyebrow meant the discovery of something odd. It allowed it's secondary manipulator tentacle to express a questioning demeanor.
"Ok, let me just confirm something. I know you're a scientist, so you're good at math?" Thiun nodded, that being a surprisingly common species indicator of agreement. "Would you mind multiplying 643 by 896? Manually, I mean."
It's own manipulators "raising their eyebrows", Thiun pulled out his tablet and started writing. A few minutes later, it exclaimed "576123."
"You're off by five." Hedy cocked her head. "Try me."
"Very well. 355 times 763."
"270865." Came back seconds later. She had done it without a writing surface. In her head. It typed in the numbers into his calculator. It took him longer to confirm the answer than it had for her to give it.
All 15 eyes swiveled to focus on the human. "How? No offense, but your capabilities are quite limited compared to ours, but I've only seen that kind of mental mathematics done as a parlor trick, by someone with perfect recall."
She shook her head. "I can't believe you made it out of the sail age like this..." She muttered distractedly. "correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the number 74, correct?" Thiun's glance showed that number hadn't shown up on screen. She wrote out a quick series of symbols, with the furthest along being a "?". "I don't know what that symbol looks like, but I know there is one."
Three eyes looked at the tablet, quickly followed by 8 others. The remaining stared at the human scientist as a threat response - his biology literally would not let him look away.
"I don't understand... You said this was the first time you've seen our databases, but you figured it out that quickly?"
She stared back. "I finally have something to trade, it seems. A positional numerical system." Again she brushed her hair out of her eyes. "How did you manage spaceflight with base 8 ROMAN NUMERALS?" | "What do you mean they have threat level one potential but zero advanced sorcery. Is this some sort of advanced magic weilding technique we do not know about?" Yelled the director of the Intergalactic Relations Bureau.
"No, sir. It's just that they-" the linguistic and cultural research head was interupted once more bybthe director. "This is a new species we have come across in the barren and uninhabitable parts of the universe. There is no way they have prepared for war with anyone. They would have grown thinking they are alone with no one to fight but themselves. We know how that goes."
"Yes sir, we only find their ruins. But these "Humans" have grown differently. They... well, they're perhaps less intelligent than a child like to ever discover any type of sorcery, but they have lived in the most uninhabitable area knowing they're alone." The subordinate grabbed a large stack of papers he'd accumulated on human research. "Their bodies have the ability to heal themselves from nearly any type of damage. Even when amputated, their bodies will simply heal where the limb was lost."
The director paid concerned attention. A war with humans could not be won by targetting the healers first if they could heal any damage administered. "Is this what makes them so seemingly threatening? Because it would be a fight against an enemy that does not die?"
"No, no. They do die, and rather quickly. Their livespans are no more than a quarter of the standard lifespan, but they can all have multiple offspring and they have something equal or more powerful to magic and sorcery. This, I am struggling to understand how it works." Said the linguistics and Cultural professional with carefulness in his words. "They have advanced mathematics too far."
"Mathematics? Is this some sort of joke? Is today international humour day?"
"No sir. They can control metal with no biological components nor posessions. They have colonized the nearest moon and planet to their home planet and have a planetary defense system with no form of sorcery."
"How can mathematics show this. How could adding one to one, taking one away or splitting items be used to leave their planets? You simply hire a sorcerer pilot and comamdeer a biometal ship to move where you please."
"Of course sir, but they becan calculating how far they could throw a deadly item during war. Sharp objects usually, but since they fought such formidable opponents, themselves. They escalated their weaponry. They mined their planets compressed fires and eventually made rocks think in mathematics with lightning power."
"So why have you brought me here?"
"To explain that they are the new super power but have long chosen a path of peace."
"This cannot be. Our most fierce mages can kill one hundred enemies in one day. A short lifespan would make the Humans tire quickly. Would it not?" Asked the director with more worry as his expert did not seem to be joking.
"Yes, the best can kil up to two hundred in a day, but behold. They are trying to make a route to their mearest galaxy, but those planets are in their way for a perfect launch."
"Well yes. No one can throw a weapon around a planet without sorcery."
The director and the linguistics and culture professional watched in silence as a small one person ship approached them completely unaware of their cloaked presence.
"What is this human doing out here? Did he get thrown wrong and off course."
"No sir, he is clearing a path for the neighbor galaxy."
They watched in disbelief as the single person ship fired one small rocket at each of the three planets in question.
"This could not poss-" the director's mouth fell agape as he witnessed his first three planet sized nuclear explosions. "No! The planets. How can... we cannot possibly compete with these." He looked at his advisor, then at the sorcerer in control of the ship. "Make it imperative that we remain cloaked. The human could eradicate us if he saw us as threatening."
"Aye"
"You are sure they are not a voilent race?"
"Not in generations. Sir." Replied the culture and linguistics advisor.
The small human ship then fired three more small projectiles that turned into black spheres at each of the planets. The Intergalactic Relations Bureau saw for the first time in their lives three black holes grow from nothing, swallow the debree from the planets and collapse onto themselves, leaving nothing but perfect spheres of all the planet's resources sorted and lined up in a row.
"That's one human's power? How many of them are there?" Asked the director in a panic, knowing that these powers derived from mathematics could most likely not be stopped with any sort of magic.
"Twenty five billion."
"Remove our cloaking."
"But sir w-"
"We cannot afford a negative introduction. The council would want to send a battalion along as a precaution. The humans could see it as an act of violence and shortly after: they could become the only life forms in the universe. No matter how much smarter we may be. They hold the power of the universe. We were unlucky to develop in comfort and never needed to explore the power beyond magic. Let's hope they are welcoming of strangers."
Apologies for any misspellings. On mobile that refuses to auto correct or auto suggest the right spelling. Probably paragraphis are wrong too. |
|
[WP] "The new species call themselves 'humans', and while their intelligence is on the low end when it comes to interstellar civilisations, their pure mathematical knowledge is far superior to the entire galactic community's." | The human stared at the navigation database. Thiun recognized the look as one of puzzlement. It was distressingly common in humans, considering they made it to a different star system.
"Don't you have a numerical catalog with spacial coordinates? I can translate your zero point to ours easily enough, but this list of names isn't helping." She brushed back her hair from her eyes.
Thiun started to weave his two primary manipulator tentacles together in an expression of humor, then stopped himself. One of the few things humans were at an average level on was learning what they called "body language", and he did not wish to seem insulting.
"That is our numerical database. They are listed in order of proximity, but perhaps this might assist in comprehension." He reached out to the secondary console and filtered by order of discovery, with the coordinates listed after.
Hedy looked again. This time her expression was new to it. Thiun checked his external link, and found a single raised eyebrow meant the discovery of something odd. It allowed it's secondary manipulator tentacle to express a questioning demeanor.
"Ok, let me just confirm something. I know you're a scientist, so you're good at math?" Thiun nodded, that being a surprisingly common species indicator of agreement. "Would you mind multiplying 643 by 896? Manually, I mean."
It's own manipulators "raising their eyebrows", Thiun pulled out his tablet and started writing. A few minutes later, it exclaimed "576123."
"You're off by five." Hedy cocked her head. "Try me."
"Very well. 355 times 763."
"270865." Came back seconds later. She had done it without a writing surface. In her head. It typed in the numbers into his calculator. It took him longer to confirm the answer than it had for her to give it.
All 15 eyes swiveled to focus on the human. "How? No offense, but your capabilities are quite limited compared to ours, but I've only seen that kind of mental mathematics done as a parlor trick, by someone with perfect recall."
She shook her head. "I can't believe you made it out of the sail age like this..." She muttered distractedly. "correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the number 74, correct?" Thiun's glance showed that number hadn't shown up on screen. She wrote out a quick series of symbols, with the furthest along being a "?". "I don't know what that symbol looks like, but I know there is one."
Three eyes looked at the tablet, quickly followed by 8 others. The remaining stared at the human scientist as a threat response - his biology literally would not let him look away.
"I don't understand... You said this was the first time you've seen our databases, but you figured it out that quickly?"
She stared back. "I finally have something to trade, it seems. A positional numerical system." Again she brushed her hair out of her eyes. "How did you manage spaceflight with base 8 ROMAN NUMERALS?" | **Date XXXX of the Interstellar Calendar**
This new species is absolutely fascinating! They are a still young species, barely out of the 'infant' stage of their evolution I would guess, but never before have I seen such an inquisitive species throughout the Universe. They are immature and undeveloped technologically, but their curiosity drives them and perhaps their relative youth explains their seeming lack of fear. They developed vessels for space travel far earlier in their evolution than any other species so far, a feat likely to never again be repeated. Curious as to how they pulled this off, a select few of us were sent to their planet to learn what we could and see how best we could help this fledgling species develop. What we found was a complete divergence from how all other life in the Universe developed. They are uncouth, violent, immature, and their technology is as basic as it could possibly get, but they have somehow developed their mathematical knowledge so rapidly that for centuries before they developed space travel they were already able to predict the motions of the celestial bodies they could observe with a margin of error so negligible as to be non-existent. They can predict the future, simply through mathematical equations. Their mathematically driven feats of engineering have allowed them to ascend to the heavens within a fraction of the time it took any other species, even those that had help from already spacefaring species - and they figured this all out on their own. It is truly astounding, and far beyond anything that any other sentient race has reached. What this strange, young species has managed to develop through mathematics will completely overhaul everything we thought we knew about the Universe. It is fortunate that their technology is still so primitive, as if they had the tech to support their mathematics then they could rapidly expand and take over the Universe with minimal resistance. |
|
[WP] "The new species call themselves 'humans', and while their intelligence is on the low end when it comes to interstellar civilisations, their pure mathematical knowledge is far superior to the entire galactic community's." | "Report," the violet-tinted cloud commanded through a series of flashes of varying intensity.
"They call themselves 'humans', sir," the crystalline creature in front of them replied with a voice that was rough and coarse, yet oddly soothing. "I believe you'll find some of their attributes... peculiar."
"Is that so? Do go on."
"Some basics - physical prowess is an alephar grade. Deceptively resilient, short lifespan, limited offensive capabilities. A flexible species with a shocking amount of variety, but nothing we haven't seen before. The planet itself is not entirely remarkable. Mostly water, high biodiversity, some specimens could be used for research."
"Go on," the cloud flickered.
"On a civilization scale, they're brahmen. Spacefaring and largely peaceful with only occasional squabbles over minor disputes. Their history shows their war-like nature used to be far worse. And, well... this is the interesting part. Their intellect. It's oolke," the crystal growled.
"And that is interesting... how?" the cloud blinked incredulously. "They're a versatile, resilient species with a reasonably capable society that are a bit... on the dim side. Why are you telling me that?"
"Their intellect is oolke, but their combined mathematical knowledge is... I- I'm not sure how to describe it. Here, see for yourself."
The crystal pushed forward a slightly moist globule of dark-blue mass that the cloud turned towards. The mass hummed quietly.
"Fission, space-faring for the last 266 cycles, gravity slingshots... grav- gravity drive?" the cloud gasped. "They've... they've constructed a gravity drive?!"
"Before you ask, sir, I've quadruple-checked. They are, in fact, oolke class."
"How does an oolke tier species create a *gravity drive*? We've been trying to make one for the last 745 cycles!"
"Sir... they're *incredibly* irresponsible."
The cloud stared at the crystal silently.
"The- the experiments they've conducted over the past several hundred years, sir, they've done them with reckless abandon. Before they created the gravity drive, they created several miniature black holes that went out of control. They, uh... used to have a moon."
"Used to?"
"A black hole swallowed it."
The two creatures pondered the situation in silence.
"Sir, what do we do now?" the crystal asked.
"I'll be honest," the cloud replied slowly. "I'm not sure if we should give them funds for research... or *stop them immediately*." | **Date XXXX of the Interstellar Calendar**
This new species is absolutely fascinating! They are a still young species, barely out of the 'infant' stage of their evolution I would guess, but never before have I seen such an inquisitive species throughout the Universe. They are immature and undeveloped technologically, but their curiosity drives them and perhaps their relative youth explains their seeming lack of fear. They developed vessels for space travel far earlier in their evolution than any other species so far, a feat likely to never again be repeated. Curious as to how they pulled this off, a select few of us were sent to their planet to learn what we could and see how best we could help this fledgling species develop. What we found was a complete divergence from how all other life in the Universe developed. They are uncouth, violent, immature, and their technology is as basic as it could possibly get, but they have somehow developed their mathematical knowledge so rapidly that for centuries before they developed space travel they were already able to predict the motions of the celestial bodies they could observe with a margin of error so negligible as to be non-existent. They can predict the future, simply through mathematical equations. Their mathematically driven feats of engineering have allowed them to ascend to the heavens within a fraction of the time it took any other species, even those that had help from already spacefaring species - and they figured this all out on their own. It is truly astounding, and far beyond anything that any other sentient race has reached. What this strange, young species has managed to develop through mathematics will completely overhaul everything we thought we knew about the Universe. It is fortunate that their technology is still so primitive, as if they had the tech to support their mathematics then they could rapidly expand and take over the Universe with minimal resistance. |
|
[WP] The ground shudders. Lights flash. Your van jerks to a stop, then lifts from the road. Giant eyes fill the space of the windscreen. A feminine voice calls out to you. "I believe you have my husband. I would very much like him back." | Michael was not an average man, he was a hunter of cryptids and monsters. The whole town called him an eccentric, but one night that all changed.
"What could this mean? Twelve brothers? Blooded sky? Whatever the hell this thing is, it ain't looking for some beers on the porch." Michael said to his brother, Raymond, as they were driving on a rainy night. Raymond turned around and stared at the duffle bag behind him, within it was something quite sinister, a rotting human corpse adorned with ancient seals and archaic runes. A dead man as a treasure map. The car halted as a being came into view in the headlights.
"I believe you have my husband. I would very much like him back." The creature said, it had a woman's face and voice, but it's body was strange, it was a worm.
"Sweet Jesus what is that?" Michael shouted, his muscles tensing, he knew this hunt was a dangerous one but didn't expect a beast hunting him in return.
"Anarlok, mutunal, kalakumok, saladu'um." The remains in the bag said weakly, the beast responded in the same tongue.
"Return my love to me, and you will live." It said writhing and snarling as it did so.
"FLOOR IT MIKE!" Raymond yells as the van lurches forth cleaving the highway creature in two with a nauseating squelch. The thing screeches and squirms but quickly dissappears into the darkness of the night and the din of the thunderstorm. The brothers then saw the full scope of the beast, made of contorted bodies and inanimate objects it was as long as it was disturbing. As the duo continues on, the corpse begins to weep. | Annie drove desperately, taking full advantage of the emptiness of the country road to drive in the middle tripling the speed limit. However, she was not fast enough. Arguably, she was too fast. The ground around her quaked. She thought she must've hit a pothole at some eighty miles per hour, but the van stopped, barely gently enough not to kill its occupants. Annie looked out and blinked, realizing that the van was not on the ground. It was hovering at an angle.
A voice rumbled in the van's walls. "I believe you have my husband. I would very much like him back." The voice was odd. It sounded like a woman was speaking outside the van, but it came from everywhere instead of just one point.
Annie wondered if she could respond, but realized that the van was being whisked backwards and was steadily accelerating. Hoping for something, Annie tried to turn the steering wheel. It simply turned. Then she tried the accelerator and brakes and both seemed to function but did nothing.
After a momentary panic, Annie turned and saw her hostage. "So she is a witch," she sneered at the gagged man. He stared back defiantly. Annie thought for a second and looked for her gun. The passenger seat was empty -- there was no gun. She tried to unbuckle her seat belt and it did not budge. She looked at the buckle and saw that it was somehow disfigured into a knot that was stuck to the chair. She ducked under the upper strap then she started to tried to inch upwards to pull her legs from the lower buckle. After some wriggling, Annie was free of her seat. She quickly towards the passenger seat, but as she was stepping over the gap in the seats, she was flung backwards. She didn't fit through the gap in seats that let her see her captive, but she did lose her balance and was clumsily on both seats as the van hit the ground.
Annie almost fell again, but stared at the back of the van. The doors flew off, and a chain flew in while her captive flew out. The chain hit Annie's legs and quickly came tied, with a force that made Annie fall onto a chair and only catch a glimpse of a short ginger woman. The witch.
Catching her breath and once again avoiding a panic, Annie realized that she was in the driver's seat and her legs were in the passenger seat. The van's engine was on, but it wasn't moving. It was even in gear, confusing Annie. But she couldn't experiment. From the floor in from the the passenger seat, she saw her gun rise up. Then it hit her face and all went dark.
Annie groaned. Her wrists itched. But she realized that her hands were tied. Blearily, she realized that she was tied to a chair. Reflexively, she prepared to try to flip the chair, hoping to destroy it and gain some freedom, but she stopped to observe her surroundings. The ginger witch was in front of her, but with a fairly blank look. The witch's husband was there too. She moved her head to look at the room she was in.
"Good evening," a woman's voice spoke. It was the voice that Annie heard in the van. Recalling the experience brought about a light nausea, but Annie overcame it, to stare at the woman defiantly. "Sorry about your van, but I needed my husband back."
Annie was about to respond, but decided that some quick punches and kicks were better than words. She curled inwards as much as possible. She exploded outwards trying to raise her legs as her back hit the back of the chair. As desired, the chair began to flip. However, as the chair reached the flatness that would hopefully break some of the wood, she kept flipping. She almost made it all the way back before she started swinging the other way. As blood rushed to her brain, Annie realized that she was a few feet off the ground, swinging in her own momentum.
The ginger witch laughed. "Pet, don't overdo it," the husband said.
"Yeah," the witch agreed and after slowing her swinging gently lowered an upside-down Annie onto the ground, now also pinned by the chair she was tied to.
Something about the situation made Annie give up. She cackled. After a few seconds, she simply stated, as a fact: "you're going to kill me." |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | 17 was far too young to sell my soul. Maybe I should have waited a year. Once I had entered adulthood, I would have had countless reasons I would need to make a deal with the devil himself. A high school dropout, looked down upon for both my promiscuity and my infertility. I wasn't smart enough to leave any lasting impression upon the world so what was the point in living? Truthfully, my life would be no better if I had chosen not to summon Lucifer. Now, 5 years later I sit on the soggy wooden bench, my eyes, which had once been so lively as a child, now possess a faded green color and zoned out look as I gaze out on the dull ocean. I doubt there is a soul visible in those eyes yet I am still alive. I am still very much alive. Across from me is a well-dressed man in black, curly hair of the same color falling down to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His sharp jawline and colorless eyes create an intimidating image, yet he is familiar. I have no reason to fear him.
I have had plenty of time to be afraid. I was scared when I made the deal. I knew I would be locked in the second I shook his hand. A red pentagram symbol painfully etched itself into the back of my hand the moment our skin made contact. Now it glows brighter than ever.
"You will know our deal has been fulfilled when it begins to glow with that bright red hue symbolizing the approaching of your inevitable fate," he had said to me after the symbol had finished engraving itself on me. "You know where to meet, I trust?"
I gave him a nod and left him, though the hair still stands on the back of my neck when I remember piercing way he looked at me and wide smile on his face as I turned away.
It's true. The pentagram illuminates the foggy waters, casting light on the man, who's rather like a shadow upon the dull environment. Quite fitting I should lose my soul here, a place that appears to be lacking one.
Life has evidently ceased to exist here for quite some time. As I look back at him, something changes in his eyes, which had once been so fixed on me with little emotion behind them. Almost as if his gaze had softened.
"Fascinating," he murmurs.
"Excuse me?" I hastily reply.
"It has been quite entertaining to see you pursuing a life of better quality than the one you lived before, even knowing you wouldn't be alive much longer to enjoy it."
"I would rather life be short and sweet than long and unbearable."
"You seem indifferent to the fact I'm about to take your soul," the man replies, still staring at me in awe. "Most people refuse their fate in their final hour and attempt to get out of the deal. They always fail of course."
"How do people try to escape?" I inquire curiously.
"The most common way is to cut of their hand."
"Damn," I respond after a short pause. I have already felt enough pain in my life that cutting off my hand even when I knew I would die was never something I had considered. He still stares at me as if I'm a specimen, and I squirm under his gaze.
"So why don't you?" he asks, finally.
"I see no point." The response didn't take much thought. He had held up his end of the bargain, it is time for me to do the same.
"It's such a shame," he says. "Yours is one of few souls I have ever found to lack simplicity. At least from a human."
All I do is stare back. What am I supposed to say to the devil admitting my soul intrigues him? Luckily for me, I don't have to respond, because he quickly adds "this is the spot."
He stops rowing. We are still in the middle of a seemingly unending sea. I close my eyes, preparing to take my final breath. A burning sensation is felt on my hand that is over in a few seconds. I wait for a pain or out-of-body sensation that never comes. After quite a while with my eyes shut, I slowly open them to find myself alone on the boat. As I'm looking around, I happen to lay my eyes on the pentagram on my hand, which I notice just in time to see the rest of it fading from my skin. | "Come on, now," I said, giving the devil his best pout. "This was the deal, remember? My immortal soul in exchange for untold power?"
The devil chuckled a low and sinister sound. "Yes, my dear boy, I remember perfectly." He leaned in closer, those red eyes gleaming with malice. "But I have changed my mind."
I gasped in shock. This couldn't be happening! We had agreed on this deal – there was no way out for me now but to hand over my soul. "No," I whimpered, trying to back away. The devil's grip tightened on my arm.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "I have decided that your soul is not worth as much as I thought it was." His smile turned cruel. "So you are free to go."
I could hardly believe what was happening. The devil was letting me go? After all this time? I wanted to cheer with relief but something about the way he was watching me made me hesitate. Finally, understanding dawned on me and I took a step back from him warily. "You're not going to let me leave alive, are you?"
The devil's laughter echoed through the room and for the first time in centuries I felt genuine fear course through me. Maybe he wasn't going to take my soul after all – but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill me instead...
The devil's gaze shifted to the window, his smirk turning into a more thoughtful expression. "No," he said finally. "I think I have something else in mind for you." He gestured to the door. "You may leave – but remember, this isn't over yet."
There was no time to think about it, so I quickly nodded and raced out of the room. As I ran away from the devil's lair, I couldn't help but wonder just what he had planned for me next. Whatever it was, it was sure to be anything but pleasant. All I could do now was stay one step ahead – and hope that I could find a way to outsmart the devil before it was too late.
... 😈 |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | I put my phone up to my ear and hear the typical buzzing of a call going through. This time though, I know it’ll be my last call.
I hear the line pickup, and then starts the screaming. Even though I’ve heard this countless times when calling him, it startles me every time. Maybe it’s because of how loud and surprising it is, or maybe it’s because it sounds different everytime. The first time I called him I convinced myself it was a recording. That the occasional “help!” or “give me one more chance” or the dreaded “mommy” was just some actors, really incredible actors, behind a microphone in a recording studio. But the next time I called, and the call picked up and instead of the “help!” i heard the first time I heard “please stop” I knew it was Live.
“Hell this is Janice speaking how may I direct your call”
“Hey Janice it’s-“
“Oh hey Jerry. I’ll put you through” The call dropped and the screaming began again. I’m so glad this is my last call.
My names not Jerry. It’s actually Celeste, but they told me every human is named “Jerry” down there and so that’s what they call me. Apparently they have a dedicated name for each being down there so they don’t have to keep up with them all.
“This is Satan”
Before I’m able to utter a word the floor infront of me starts to bubble and melt. I drop my phone, and take exactly 5 steps back. My apartment starts to smell of burnt skin and hair. Eventually, the floor caves in and is replaced by flames from which the Devil forms out of.
“Hey Jerry. Ready to create some destruction?” Satan hisses at me after flaking a few remaining dusk specs off his horns.
“I want to turn my soul in” I blurt out, staring directly into his eyes. I can tell this isn’t something he’s used to from humans.
“Turn your soul in?” he bellows, the house shaking with the force of his voice. After taking a second to compose himself, he clears his throat and says “What about your wishes? I can give you all that you could want and more. You haven’t asked anything of me!”
“That’s not true.“ I respond, clearly offended.
“You asked me 2 questions” He snaps at me.
“And those were my wishes. To gain the knowledge”
“You need to ask me FOR something, not ask me something. This will not due. I cannot take your soul until you give me a request” He rants. At this point he’s left his flame circle, and is pacing around my living room. I debate on offering him a joint to help his nerves but decide against it.
“Well I don’t want anything” i say, shrugging. “Can I ask you more questions-“
“I DONT ANSWER QUESTIONS” he screams, my apartment shaking again. I stand there, watching my lights swing on my ceiling. I measure my options of response, and settle on
“You just did.”
And with that, in what seemed like under a minute, the devil called me every name he could think of, some of which I had to google later, and got absorbed back into his flames until I was left with just the smell of burnt skin.
And that is how I got the devils phone number. I still give it to you every creepy man, and telemarketer I can find. | "Come on, now," I said, giving the devil his best pout. "This was the deal, remember? My immortal soul in exchange for untold power?"
The devil chuckled a low and sinister sound. "Yes, my dear boy, I remember perfectly." He leaned in closer, those red eyes gleaming with malice. "But I have changed my mind."
I gasped in shock. This couldn't be happening! We had agreed on this deal – there was no way out for me now but to hand over my soul. "No," I whimpered, trying to back away. The devil's grip tightened on my arm.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "I have decided that your soul is not worth as much as I thought it was." His smile turned cruel. "So you are free to go."
I could hardly believe what was happening. The devil was letting me go? After all this time? I wanted to cheer with relief but something about the way he was watching me made me hesitate. Finally, understanding dawned on me and I took a step back from him warily. "You're not going to let me leave alive, are you?"
The devil's laughter echoed through the room and for the first time in centuries I felt genuine fear course through me. Maybe he wasn't going to take my soul after all – but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill me instead...
The devil's gaze shifted to the window, his smirk turning into a more thoughtful expression. "No," he said finally. "I think I have something else in mind for you." He gestured to the door. "You may leave – but remember, this isn't over yet."
There was no time to think about it, so I quickly nodded and raced out of the room. As I ran away from the devil's lair, I couldn't help but wonder just what he had planned for me next. Whatever it was, it was sure to be anything but pleasant. All I could do now was stay one step ahead – and hope that I could find a way to outsmart the devil before it was too late.
... 😈 |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | Two days.
All that was needed for him to do what he needed to do was two days, spending every single hour in unending, crippling, total agony.
Betrayal after betrayal, dragging him deeper and deeper until all he could see was himself, his blade, and the darkness that he allowed himself to be surrounded in.
Until finally, he found himself at the end, standing in front of multiple tombstones, holding a broken sword in one hand, a pistol that was coated in blood and had only one bullet left.
He was waiting.
The time was almost up and yet, he felt no better.
He did everything that he wished to do, honored the agreement that he made with the voice that found him in that dark place, used the ‘gifts’ to get his payback and repay old debts, but he felt nothing.
The pain was still there, but no one was inflicting it. His hatred still burned, but with no one left to blame meant that it was now turning upon himself.
In these last moments, he realized that…it was all for nothing.
The young man barely reached two decades of life, but his eyes seemed to have an emptiness befitting the newly dead. His hair matted with dried blood and his clothing the same way.
His suit, one that should be worn by one that is about to be betrothed to another was a crimson red which was not the original color when he first rented it.
The shattered phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate, signaling that it was indeed time for his silent, but ever-watching partner to fulfill his end of the bargain.
A figure in all black approached him, hands in the pockets of his suit while his ruby eyes looked upon the man with a mysterious gaze and a firm expression, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“Two days…” The once married man dropped his broken knife to the dirt, his hands stained and shaky as he raised them up, carefully removing something from his fingers and holding it out to the man in black.
Two beautiful golden rings, forever stained with the sins of betrayal, lust, and a despair that radiated from the man that once wore them.
“While revenge is something that I respect, I do believe that some of these tombstones were not meant to be here..” There was…trepidation upon the ancient’s face, looking upon the rings and seeing what it was that the young man saw.
A day that was meant to be filled with festivities and celebration was turned into one of anguish and pain, bonds of brotherhood were shattered, familial ties torn to pieces, and unending love was lost.
There was so much that now sat in the heart of the one that made this agreement. It was too much to ask of any being to carry such a burden within his soul, especially when it was to be carried by one so young…
For the first time in what felt like eons, he felt something that bordered pity for the man.
“Just…do what you came here to do..” Surrendering himself to his fate, the once groom to be now was now a shell of a human being and could not care that his soul was to be damned for eternity.
“No…No, I don’t think I will.” Budding respect aside for such a beautiful display of gore and wrath, he could not allow this man to pass now.
He saw something within this broken husk that he would not allow to be taken just yet…
“Fine…” The man relented, realizing that his torment was not allowed to be over would feel his body go limp with exhaustion finally returning to his mortal form, but not physically…
“I’ll do it for you…”
His mind fell still and there was only one thing that was worth doing in what he deemed the failure of his life, opening his mouth and tasting the barrel of his pistol, finger curling on the trigger.
A shot ran out, the man would go limp, the pistol dropping from his hands and into the old bloodstains that coated the grass…
He blinked, realizing that he still stood alive and the gun was forcibly removed by an unseen wind, turning to see the man in black with a hand outstretched slightly. “…Why…?”
“I have something better in mind for one such as you..” Stepping closer until he could put the hand on the bloody man’s shoulder, ruby eyes seemed to glimmer with unknown intentions. | "Come on, now," I said, giving the devil his best pout. "This was the deal, remember? My immortal soul in exchange for untold power?"
The devil chuckled a low and sinister sound. "Yes, my dear boy, I remember perfectly." He leaned in closer, those red eyes gleaming with malice. "But I have changed my mind."
I gasped in shock. This couldn't be happening! We had agreed on this deal – there was no way out for me now but to hand over my soul. "No," I whimpered, trying to back away. The devil's grip tightened on my arm.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "I have decided that your soul is not worth as much as I thought it was." His smile turned cruel. "So you are free to go."
I could hardly believe what was happening. The devil was letting me go? After all this time? I wanted to cheer with relief but something about the way he was watching me made me hesitate. Finally, understanding dawned on me and I took a step back from him warily. "You're not going to let me leave alive, are you?"
The devil's laughter echoed through the room and for the first time in centuries I felt genuine fear course through me. Maybe he wasn't going to take my soul after all – but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill me instead...
The devil's gaze shifted to the window, his smirk turning into a more thoughtful expression. "No," he said finally. "I think I have something else in mind for you." He gestured to the door. "You may leave – but remember, this isn't over yet."
There was no time to think about it, so I quickly nodded and raced out of the room. As I ran away from the devil's lair, I couldn't help but wonder just what he had planned for me next. Whatever it was, it was sure to be anything but pleasant. All I could do now was stay one step ahead – and hope that I could find a way to outsmart the devil before it was too late.
... 😈 |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | "Another great concert, man!" I barely gave the person saying it any mind. I just walked back to my dressing room. My bandmates were shocked I was this out of it. They knew I had just turned 27, and...well, people know what that means for a true rocker. I headed and watched. The Grammys, the VMAs, the AMAs, all of it was there. I told the latest girlfriend I'd have a late night and prepared for this moment.
I knew it would happen, I remember making the deal when I was just a kid dicking around in our garage. He told me all the best musicians made a deal with him, and if we did he could guarantee me success beyond my wildest dreams. Within a day, the first thing we put on Spotify became a smash, then went to the radio- and it was all seen from there. It's been 10 years and everything I wanted was mine- and when I wanted something new, it was replaced.
Now, it's the moment to pay the devil his due. The greatest A+R scout in the universe was looking back at me.
"Don't worry. I expected this. Go ahead."
"Oh, I knew that much. So...enjoying your success?"
"Yeah. I'm ready to hand over my soul. Go for it."
Satan then looked at me.
"N...no, I don't think I will."
"You won't? But I did your bidding through my music. I was prepared for this moment. I do your music's bidding, you take my soul when I'm 27."
"You thought I had to take your soul that way? I can and do take souls with far less than that. At least 10, 20 times a day I put people in situations where they or a loved one is about to die in order to trap them into trading their soul for that life to continue. It's a hobby of mine. If I'm the prince of evil, I can put people into evil choices, you know."
"Then take my soul. It's only necessary. You made the deal, you get the soul."
"No, I don't think I will. I think of the big picture."
"B-big picture?"
"Yeah, think about this. If you're alive, then you continue making music, spreading my glory to many, many more impressionable people, and I get far, far more souls than just yours."
"Well, that sort of makes sense. But...then why would you come to me?"
"Oh, that's because of the other side of it- just because I'm not taking your soul doesn't mean the contract isn't completed."
"The deal's completed..."
"Yes. Since the contract is over, any help you were getting from Me for your music career is officially null and void. You're working stadiums like this today, but within a couple years you'll go to arenas again, then to music venues, and pretty soon you'll be the band playing at state fairs that people barely pay attention to."
"But you said your music. You said you needed my music to spread your message!"
"Young people's music taste changes very quickly, you know- and didn't I tell you this when we met? You don't get to the top of the charts without dealing with me. Sure, you're helping, but so is everyone else on the charts. So...unfortunately, your success is about to come to an end."
"...I...I see."
Satan looked at me.
"Don't be so surprised this will happen to you. After all, your idol said it best- it's better to burn out than to fade away..." | "Come on, now," I said, giving the devil his best pout. "This was the deal, remember? My immortal soul in exchange for untold power?"
The devil chuckled a low and sinister sound. "Yes, my dear boy, I remember perfectly." He leaned in closer, those red eyes gleaming with malice. "But I have changed my mind."
I gasped in shock. This couldn't be happening! We had agreed on this deal – there was no way out for me now but to hand over my soul. "No," I whimpered, trying to back away. The devil's grip tightened on my arm.
"Yes," he replied smoothly. "I have decided that your soul is not worth as much as I thought it was." His smile turned cruel. "So you are free to go."
I could hardly believe what was happening. The devil was letting me go? After all this time? I wanted to cheer with relief but something about the way he was watching me made me hesitate. Finally, understanding dawned on me and I took a step back from him warily. "You're not going to let me leave alive, are you?"
The devil's laughter echoed through the room and for the first time in centuries I felt genuine fear course through me. Maybe he wasn't going to take my soul after all – but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill me instead...
The devil's gaze shifted to the window, his smirk turning into a more thoughtful expression. "No," he said finally. "I think I have something else in mind for you." He gestured to the door. "You may leave – but remember, this isn't over yet."
There was no time to think about it, so I quickly nodded and raced out of the room. As I ran away from the devil's lair, I couldn't help but wonder just what he had planned for me next. Whatever it was, it was sure to be anything but pleasant. All I could do now was stay one step ahead – and hope that I could find a way to outsmart the devil before it was too late.
... 😈 |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | Two days.
All that was needed for him to do what he needed to do was two days, spending every single hour in unending, crippling, total agony.
Betrayal after betrayal, dragging him deeper and deeper until all he could see was himself, his blade, and the darkness that he allowed himself to be surrounded in.
Until finally, he found himself at the end, standing in front of multiple tombstones, holding a broken sword in one hand, a pistol that was coated in blood and had only one bullet left.
He was waiting.
The time was almost up and yet, he felt no better.
He did everything that he wished to do, honored the agreement that he made with the voice that found him in that dark place, used the ‘gifts’ to get his payback and repay old debts, but he felt nothing.
The pain was still there, but no one was inflicting it. His hatred still burned, but with no one left to blame meant that it was now turning upon himself.
In these last moments, he realized that…it was all for nothing.
The young man barely reached two decades of life, but his eyes seemed to have an emptiness befitting the newly dead. His hair matted with dried blood and his clothing the same way.
His suit, one that should be worn by one that is about to be betrothed to another was a crimson red which was not the original color when he first rented it.
The shattered phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate, signaling that it was indeed time for his silent, but ever-watching partner to fulfill his end of the bargain.
A figure in all black approached him, hands in the pockets of his suit while his ruby eyes looked upon the man with a mysterious gaze and a firm expression, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“Two days…” The once married man dropped his broken knife to the dirt, his hands stained and shaky as he raised them up, carefully removing something from his fingers and holding it out to the man in black.
Two beautiful golden rings, forever stained with the sins of betrayal, lust, and a despair that radiated from the man that once wore them.
“While revenge is something that I respect, I do believe that some of these tombstones were not meant to be here..” There was…trepidation upon the ancient’s face, looking upon the rings and seeing what it was that the young man saw.
A day that was meant to be filled with festivities and celebration was turned into one of anguish and pain, bonds of brotherhood were shattered, familial ties torn to pieces, and unending love was lost.
There was so much that now sat in the heart of the one that made this agreement. It was too much to ask of any being to carry such a burden within his soul, especially when it was to be carried by one so young…
For the first time in what felt like eons, he felt something that bordered pity for the man.
“Just…do what you came here to do..” Surrendering himself to his fate, the once groom to be now was now a shell of a human being and could not care that his soul was to be damned for eternity.
“No…No, I don’t think I will.” Budding respect aside for such a beautiful display of gore and wrath, he could not allow this man to pass now.
He saw something within this broken husk that he would not allow to be taken just yet…
“Fine…” The man relented, realizing that his torment was not allowed to be over would feel his body go limp with exhaustion finally returning to his mortal form, but not physically…
“I’ll do it for you…”
His mind fell still and there was only one thing that was worth doing in what he deemed the failure of his life, opening his mouth and tasting the barrel of his pistol, finger curling on the trigger.
A shot ran out, the man would go limp, the pistol dropping from his hands and into the old bloodstains that coated the grass…
He blinked, realizing that he still stood alive and the gun was forcibly removed by an unseen wind, turning to see the man in black with a hand outstretched slightly. “…Why…?”
“I have something better in mind for one such as you..” Stepping closer until he could put the hand on the bloody man’s shoulder, ruby eyes seemed to glimmer with unknown intentions. | The devil scratched his head in confusion.
“You… you know you’re about to die right?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
The demon pulled a scroll out from a pit of flames that spawned in the air and read the contents of it. He snapped his eyes back to me and stared deeply.
“You said you wanted to live a longer life, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re about to die.”
“Yeah.”
I calmly leaned back in my leather chair, which creaked from the years of wear. How long had it been? Hundreds of years had passed since the contract. It was nice, finally being released from life. I’d even made a dark room for this special occasion. It was where I had resigned myself to my fate. It was comfortable. It was a great place to die.
“Yeah, so ummmm… you know how everything needs food right?” the devil asked.
“And?”
“We feed on despair. We use our energy to give wishes and feed on their despair after we give our victims what they want,” the devil said, shifting his weight to the side.
He flicked his finger to me. “You are prepared to die. Normally humans are greedy, but you’re different…”
The devil turned away from me and scratched his chin. Lost in thought, I looked around the room where I would die. A few games, pictures of the family I had raised many years ago, some of my favorite books… They’d come find me, in this New York apartment, as a pile of bones and dust.
Even after many years of life I never ran out of things to do. I fell in love. I made friends. I shared money. I explored the world. I… killed people. I stole lots. I betrayed my wife. I abandoned my kids. I did so much wrong. But it was still a good life. I curved my lips up, tears coming to my eyes. I looked at the reptilian being in front of me.
“I’m ready to die, so you can do whatever you want with me.”
The devil turned back around smiled widely. “You know what, I like you, human. I won’t take your soul. You’re a pure guy, you know?”
The scroll appeared in his hand again. “However, your time is still over. You’ve done everything you’ve wanted, right?
“Yes,” I spoke, “There were so many things that I wanted, and I’ve done them all.”
The devil smiled. “I hereby decree that the contract between both parties to be complete,” he announced, ripping the document in half.
As the contract was torn apart, I could feel my skin withering, my bones getting weaker, my mind getting older…
“Is there anything you want to say, good human?”
“Yes,” I said weakly, “I… lived.”
The devil nodded with satisfaction as I fell to the ground and everything turned black. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | I stand before the pillar of flames, blood dripping from my wrist where I sacrificed flesh and blood to summon this demon back from the depths of hell to which it had been confined. My time is come, and an oath is an oath, I cannot forsake it. Though I know this will be the start of a painful eternity, I have done what needed to be done, and through the work I did perhaps peace can remain. Only, the devil standing wreathed in flame does not reach out its hand to claim me, all it does is stare.
"I come as I swore I would, I have not forgotten our deal. My soul is forfeit," I say as I offer my hand to the devil. Ten years before I had offered my soul in exchange for the power I needed to change the world, the devil standing before me had accepted my bargain. It is strange then that he did not rush to claim his prize. I have heard tales of the lengths a devil will go to in order to claim the souls they are due, but as I offer mine freely it does nothing.
The devil looks down at me, his eyes burning as coals in the depths of a forge, and asks in an oily voice, "Why do you not run, in my many thousands of years no mortal has ever kept his side of the bargain willingly." It steps from the circle, the flames that had wrapped around its body fading into sparks that vanish in the cold air of the shed. "I always have to hunt you down."
"I know the bargain I made, I did it knowing this day would come, and I will not run from it." I look into the burning depths of its eyes. "Will you claim my soul as is your right?"
"Perhaps," the devil hisses, a look I can only describe as puzzlement on its twisted face. "You intrigue me mortal. Tell me, for we see so little in the pits, what did you do with the gift we gave you?"
I think back to the walls I had built, the laws I had enacted and the wars that had ended in the completion of my mission. "I brought peace," I answer.
"Did you now, and what happens when I drag your soul into the abyss. Where does your precious peace go then?" The devil walks around the room, its eyes never leaving mine even as its claws scrape on the white stone of the high king's castle.
"It will remain, so long as the people choose it. I have given them all they need, but for peace to truly exist the people must choose it, every generation must choose it, but it can last if they choose," I answer, meeting the fiery stare.
"Hmm, you truly believe this, for I hear no lie in your voice," the devils hiss seems uncertain, as if he does not understand the words I spoke. yet they are true, I gave them the tools. "Why trade your soul for them? What made them worth your sacrifice?" it asks me as it walks toward me.
"Is hell so awful as to blind you to it?" I ask the devil, a smile coming to my lips as I recall the joy in the slaves faces when I removed their chains, the hope that they had lost so many years before returning all at once. The joy of the homeless as they were shown the new quarters I had ordered raised for them, the wounded among them having the ailments of decades treated for the first time by the physicians once reserved for the nobility.
"Hell is full of the screams and curses of the damned, each of whom was damned by their own choices, their own decisions to cause hurt rather than to help, you trade your soul for those who in time would become them." The devil stops its approach.
"I do," I reply, all traces of fear vanishing for an instant, dispelled by the rightness of the sacrifice I made, though perhaps I would regret it in time.
"Come with me then, for your soul is mine by right." The devil reaches out a hand, slick and clawed, burned smooth.
As I grip the hand the devil extends, fire wraps around my arm and pain explodes through my entire body, the searing agony of a soul being separated from a body by force. The world turns red and though vanishes as I hear the devil say, "Perhaps you can do the same for us in hell, perhaps we are not too far gone." | The devil scratched his head in confusion.
“You… you know you’re about to die right?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
The demon pulled a scroll out from a pit of flames that spawned in the air and read the contents of it. He snapped his eyes back to me and stared deeply.
“You said you wanted to live a longer life, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re about to die.”
“Yeah.”
I calmly leaned back in my leather chair, which creaked from the years of wear. How long had it been? Hundreds of years had passed since the contract. It was nice, finally being released from life. I’d even made a dark room for this special occasion. It was where I had resigned myself to my fate. It was comfortable. It was a great place to die.
“Yeah, so ummmm… you know how everything needs food right?” the devil asked.
“And?”
“We feed on despair. We use our energy to give wishes and feed on their despair after we give our victims what they want,” the devil said, shifting his weight to the side.
He flicked his finger to me. “You are prepared to die. Normally humans are greedy, but you’re different…”
The devil turned away from me and scratched his chin. Lost in thought, I looked around the room where I would die. A few games, pictures of the family I had raised many years ago, some of my favorite books… They’d come find me, in this New York apartment, as a pile of bones and dust.
Even after many years of life I never ran out of things to do. I fell in love. I made friends. I shared money. I explored the world. I… killed people. I stole lots. I betrayed my wife. I abandoned my kids. I did so much wrong. But it was still a good life. I curved my lips up, tears coming to my eyes. I looked at the reptilian being in front of me.
“I’m ready to die, so you can do whatever you want with me.”
The devil turned back around smiled widely. “You know what, I like you, human. I won’t take your soul. You’re a pure guy, you know?”
The scroll appeared in his hand again. “However, your time is still over. You’ve done everything you’ve wanted, right?
“Yes,” I spoke, “There were so many things that I wanted, and I’ve done them all.”
The devil smiled. “I hereby decree that the contract between both parties to be complete,” he announced, ripping the document in half.
As the contract was torn apart, I could feel my skin withering, my bones getting weaker, my mind getting older…
“Is there anything you want to say, good human?”
“Yes,” I said weakly, “I… lived.”
The devil nodded with satisfaction as I fell to the ground and everything turned black. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | "Another great concert, man!" I barely gave the person saying it any mind. I just walked back to my dressing room. My bandmates were shocked I was this out of it. They knew I had just turned 27, and...well, people know what that means for a true rocker. I headed and watched. The Grammys, the VMAs, the AMAs, all of it was there. I told the latest girlfriend I'd have a late night and prepared for this moment.
I knew it would happen, I remember making the deal when I was just a kid dicking around in our garage. He told me all the best musicians made a deal with him, and if we did he could guarantee me success beyond my wildest dreams. Within a day, the first thing we put on Spotify became a smash, then went to the radio- and it was all seen from there. It's been 10 years and everything I wanted was mine- and when I wanted something new, it was replaced.
Now, it's the moment to pay the devil his due. The greatest A+R scout in the universe was looking back at me.
"Don't worry. I expected this. Go ahead."
"Oh, I knew that much. So...enjoying your success?"
"Yeah. I'm ready to hand over my soul. Go for it."
Satan then looked at me.
"N...no, I don't think I will."
"You won't? But I did your bidding through my music. I was prepared for this moment. I do your music's bidding, you take my soul when I'm 27."
"You thought I had to take your soul that way? I can and do take souls with far less than that. At least 10, 20 times a day I put people in situations where they or a loved one is about to die in order to trap them into trading their soul for that life to continue. It's a hobby of mine. If I'm the prince of evil, I can put people into evil choices, you know."
"Then take my soul. It's only necessary. You made the deal, you get the soul."
"No, I don't think I will. I think of the big picture."
"B-big picture?"
"Yeah, think about this. If you're alive, then you continue making music, spreading my glory to many, many more impressionable people, and I get far, far more souls than just yours."
"Well, that sort of makes sense. But...then why would you come to me?"
"Oh, that's because of the other side of it- just because I'm not taking your soul doesn't mean the contract isn't completed."
"The deal's completed..."
"Yes. Since the contract is over, any help you were getting from Me for your music career is officially null and void. You're working stadiums like this today, but within a couple years you'll go to arenas again, then to music venues, and pretty soon you'll be the band playing at state fairs that people barely pay attention to."
"But you said your music. You said you needed my music to spread your message!"
"Young people's music taste changes very quickly, you know- and didn't I tell you this when we met? You don't get to the top of the charts without dealing with me. Sure, you're helping, but so is everyone else on the charts. So...unfortunately, your success is about to come to an end."
"...I...I see."
Satan looked at me.
"Don't be so surprised this will happen to you. After all, your idol said it best- it's better to burn out than to fade away..." | The devil scratched his head in confusion.
“You… you know you’re about to die right?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
The demon pulled a scroll out from a pit of flames that spawned in the air and read the contents of it. He snapped his eyes back to me and stared deeply.
“You said you wanted to live a longer life, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re about to die.”
“Yeah.”
I calmly leaned back in my leather chair, which creaked from the years of wear. How long had it been? Hundreds of years had passed since the contract. It was nice, finally being released from life. I’d even made a dark room for this special occasion. It was where I had resigned myself to my fate. It was comfortable. It was a great place to die.
“Yeah, so ummmm… you know how everything needs food right?” the devil asked.
“And?”
“We feed on despair. We use our energy to give wishes and feed on their despair after we give our victims what they want,” the devil said, shifting his weight to the side.
He flicked his finger to me. “You are prepared to die. Normally humans are greedy, but you’re different…”
The devil turned away from me and scratched his chin. Lost in thought, I looked around the room where I would die. A few games, pictures of the family I had raised many years ago, some of my favorite books… They’d come find me, in this New York apartment, as a pile of bones and dust.
Even after many years of life I never ran out of things to do. I fell in love. I made friends. I shared money. I explored the world. I… killed people. I stole lots. I betrayed my wife. I abandoned my kids. I did so much wrong. But it was still a good life. I curved my lips up, tears coming to my eyes. I looked at the reptilian being in front of me.
“I’m ready to die, so you can do whatever you want with me.”
The devil turned back around smiled widely. “You know what, I like you, human. I won’t take your soul. You’re a pure guy, you know?”
The scroll appeared in his hand again. “However, your time is still over. You’ve done everything you’ve wanted, right?
“Yes,” I spoke, “There were so many things that I wanted, and I’ve done them all.”
The devil smiled. “I hereby decree that the contract between both parties to be complete,” he announced, ripping the document in half.
As the contract was torn apart, I could feel my skin withering, my bones getting weaker, my mind getting older…
“Is there anything you want to say, good human?”
“Yes,” I said weakly, “I… lived.”
The devil nodded with satisfaction as I fell to the ground and everything turned black. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | There were no theatrics to accompany his arrival today; no flash of light, no scent of brimstone, no billowing inferno and maniacal shadows bounding around the study. Such demonstrations weren’t needed at this point. I was already well aware of the power he wielded, having wielded them myself for the better part of my lifespan. The devil had no need to entice me, to encourage me to sign on the dotted line. We were well past that point. Instead, he simply emerged without fanfare, materializing out of a corner of shadow that the sunset filtering through the study window couldn’t quite penetrate, before stepping carefully behind me and leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“So, how was the power trip? Let me just say, as a spectator: fantastic work. Lovely performance.”
His presence was warm, inviting even. His words were obvious flattery, but no attempt was made to pretend otherwise, and I drank them in, enjoying them regardless. I had had years of practice in indulging worldly pleasures, such that I collected even praise and adoration the way a dragon hoards treasure. A connoisseur of every single vice known to mankind, yet without tolerance, or boredom - each taste remained as delightful as the first time. The smile that crept across my face was one of ultimate satisfaction. A life well and full lived, and utterly devoid of all consequences. That is, other than that which had been previously arranged. Well, we all die eventually, right? It wasn’t like I had had any more control over the destination of my soul before I agreed to the deal. The deal just provided certainty, and that in and of itself was a weight off my conscience.
But in the meantime, I had thrived. The powers of a god do take time to adjust to, and at first, I was rooted in the mundane: limitless wealth, business success, undying adoration from friends, family, and as many romantic partners as my whims desired. I annihilated those people who had slighted me, made good on those grudges I held. Proved that I was RIGHT, to all those people who doubted or questioned or argued. Perhaps I was hesitant at first, hesitant to push the limits, checking around every corner for the catch, the hook that would drag me down to Hell and deliver my comeuppance for my selfish indulgence. It never arrived, though, and eventually I realized I was limited by little more than my own human conscience. A deceptively simple fix, really - I simply unmade it. From there, I indulged myself as only a god of infinite power can. A limitless imagination made reality. I was an artist, expressing my every sinful whim or depraved impulse across the canvas I had made of the world around me.
“The thing I’m most impressed with,” he continued, his gaze lingering over the perfect form I had made of myself, “is that you really committed to the role. You could have enshrined yourself in the heavens and ruled over creation with an orderly iron fist, but no, you still lived your life, and reality twisted itself into knots in your wake to meet your needs. A god that walks the earth and wholeheartedly enjoys his creations, capricious and corrupt. That’s what’s truly special about this. That’s what makes you different.”
I leaned back in my chair, the expensive leather creaking, and looked up at the one who had made it happen for me, feeling nothing but appreciation and a glow of contentment. There was absolutely nothing to regret. I had done everything I had ever dreamed of wanting, many times over. I had experienced the peak of sensation, and all that now remained to experience was oblivion.
“My soul, then. I suppose it’s time?”
The devil’s saccharine smile distorted, stretching inhumanly to reveal a riot of teeth like shards of broken glass.
“Hardly. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Reality stuttered, distorted, and shattered completely. My ornate study evaporated, replaced by a dingy studio apartment from sixty years ago. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink that my reeling mind knew was three days old, and unattended. A stained mattress laid on the floor, positioned to see the television, the only other furniture in the room. The trash piled in the corner. The buzz of the ceiling fan’s loose housing, the light shining in my eyes from the broken blinds, the smell of mold. It was an assault on the senses, a bitter reminder of a shameful, pathetic self I had willed into nonexistence, and I did so again, forcing the sensations away. Reality, cold and uncaring, did not respond, as that terrible, clawing panic growing in my brain stem had already told me would be the case. The devil that stood over me now was not the beautiful, perfect man that I had forged a pact with, once upon a time in this room what seemed like eons ago. He was a stretched, gnarled, creaking thing, a terrifying suggestion of a human form dominated by that horrid grin. I curled in on myself, desperately addicted to that rush of power and control that would not come no matter how much I invoked it.
“We’ll start with just one lifetime,” the thing cackled madly. And then, it vanished, and the room was silent again. Once again, no theatrics, no expenditure on my behalf. I didn’t need to be shown godhood; I would always remember its taste. | The devil scratched his head in confusion.
“You… you know you’re about to die right?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
The demon pulled a scroll out from a pit of flames that spawned in the air and read the contents of it. He snapped his eyes back to me and stared deeply.
“You said you wanted to live a longer life, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re about to die.”
“Yeah.”
I calmly leaned back in my leather chair, which creaked from the years of wear. How long had it been? Hundreds of years had passed since the contract. It was nice, finally being released from life. I’d even made a dark room for this special occasion. It was where I had resigned myself to my fate. It was comfortable. It was a great place to die.
“Yeah, so ummmm… you know how everything needs food right?” the devil asked.
“And?”
“We feed on despair. We use our energy to give wishes and feed on their despair after we give our victims what they want,” the devil said, shifting his weight to the side.
He flicked his finger to me. “You are prepared to die. Normally humans are greedy, but you’re different…”
The devil turned away from me and scratched his chin. Lost in thought, I looked around the room where I would die. A few games, pictures of the family I had raised many years ago, some of my favorite books… They’d come find me, in this New York apartment, as a pile of bones and dust.
Even after many years of life I never ran out of things to do. I fell in love. I made friends. I shared money. I explored the world. I… killed people. I stole lots. I betrayed my wife. I abandoned my kids. I did so much wrong. But it was still a good life. I curved my lips up, tears coming to my eyes. I looked at the reptilian being in front of me.
“I’m ready to die, so you can do whatever you want with me.”
The devil turned back around smiled widely. “You know what, I like you, human. I won’t take your soul. You’re a pure guy, you know?”
The scroll appeared in his hand again. “However, your time is still over. You’ve done everything you’ve wanted, right?
“Yes,” I spoke, “There were so many things that I wanted, and I’ve done them all.”
The devil smiled. “I hereby decree that the contract between both parties to be complete,” he announced, ripping the document in half.
As the contract was torn apart, I could feel my skin withering, my bones getting weaker, my mind getting older…
“Is there anything you want to say, good human?”
“Yes,” I said weakly, “I… lived.”
The devil nodded with satisfaction as I fell to the ground and everything turned black. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | Two days.
All that was needed for him to do what he needed to do was two days, spending every single hour in unending, crippling, total agony.
Betrayal after betrayal, dragging him deeper and deeper until all he could see was himself, his blade, and the darkness that he allowed himself to be surrounded in.
Until finally, he found himself at the end, standing in front of multiple tombstones, holding a broken sword in one hand, a pistol that was coated in blood and had only one bullet left.
He was waiting.
The time was almost up and yet, he felt no better.
He did everything that he wished to do, honored the agreement that he made with the voice that found him in that dark place, used the ‘gifts’ to get his payback and repay old debts, but he felt nothing.
The pain was still there, but no one was inflicting it. His hatred still burned, but with no one left to blame meant that it was now turning upon himself.
In these last moments, he realized that…it was all for nothing.
The young man barely reached two decades of life, but his eyes seemed to have an emptiness befitting the newly dead. His hair matted with dried blood and his clothing the same way.
His suit, one that should be worn by one that is about to be betrothed to another was a crimson red which was not the original color when he first rented it.
The shattered phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate, signaling that it was indeed time for his silent, but ever-watching partner to fulfill his end of the bargain.
A figure in all black approached him, hands in the pockets of his suit while his ruby eyes looked upon the man with a mysterious gaze and a firm expression, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“Two days…” The once married man dropped his broken knife to the dirt, his hands stained and shaky as he raised them up, carefully removing something from his fingers and holding it out to the man in black.
Two beautiful golden rings, forever stained with the sins of betrayal, lust, and a despair that radiated from the man that once wore them.
“While revenge is something that I respect, I do believe that some of these tombstones were not meant to be here..” There was…trepidation upon the ancient’s face, looking upon the rings and seeing what it was that the young man saw.
A day that was meant to be filled with festivities and celebration was turned into one of anguish and pain, bonds of brotherhood were shattered, familial ties torn to pieces, and unending love was lost.
There was so much that now sat in the heart of the one that made this agreement. It was too much to ask of any being to carry such a burden within his soul, especially when it was to be carried by one so young…
For the first time in what felt like eons, he felt something that bordered pity for the man.
“Just…do what you came here to do..” Surrendering himself to his fate, the once groom to be now was now a shell of a human being and could not care that his soul was to be damned for eternity.
“No…No, I don’t think I will.” Budding respect aside for such a beautiful display of gore and wrath, he could not allow this man to pass now.
He saw something within this broken husk that he would not allow to be taken just yet…
“Fine…” The man relented, realizing that his torment was not allowed to be over would feel his body go limp with exhaustion finally returning to his mortal form, but not physically…
“I’ll do it for you…”
His mind fell still and there was only one thing that was worth doing in what he deemed the failure of his life, opening his mouth and tasting the barrel of his pistol, finger curling on the trigger.
A shot ran out, the man would go limp, the pistol dropping from his hands and into the old bloodstains that coated the grass…
He blinked, realizing that he still stood alive and the gun was forcibly removed by an unseen wind, turning to see the man in black with a hand outstretched slightly. “…Why…?”
“I have something better in mind for one such as you..” Stepping closer until he could put the hand on the bloody man’s shoulder, ruby eyes seemed to glimmer with unknown intentions. | 17 was far too young to sell my soul. Maybe I should have waited a year. Once I had entered adulthood, I would have had countless reasons I would need to make a deal with the devil himself. A high school dropout, looked down upon for both my promiscuity and my infertility. I wasn't smart enough to leave any lasting impression upon the world so what was the point in living? Truthfully, my life would be no better if I had chosen not to summon Lucifer. Now, 5 years later I sit on the soggy wooden bench, my eyes, which had once been so lively as a child, now possess a faded green color and zoned out look as I gaze out on the dull ocean. I doubt there is a soul visible in those eyes yet I am still alive. I am still very much alive. Across from me is a well-dressed man in black, curly hair of the same color falling down to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His sharp jawline and colorless eyes create an intimidating image, yet he is familiar. I have no reason to fear him.
I have had plenty of time to be afraid. I was scared when I made the deal. I knew I would be locked in the second I shook his hand. A red pentagram symbol painfully etched itself into the back of my hand the moment our skin made contact. Now it glows brighter than ever.
"You will know our deal has been fulfilled when it begins to glow with that bright red hue symbolizing the approaching of your inevitable fate," he had said to me after the symbol had finished engraving itself on me. "You know where to meet, I trust?"
I gave him a nod and left him, though the hair still stands on the back of my neck when I remember piercing way he looked at me and wide smile on his face as I turned away.
It's true. The pentagram illuminates the foggy waters, casting light on the man, who's rather like a shadow upon the dull environment. Quite fitting I should lose my soul here, a place that appears to be lacking one.
Life has evidently ceased to exist here for quite some time. As I look back at him, something changes in his eyes, which had once been so fixed on me with little emotion behind them. Almost as if his gaze had softened.
"Fascinating," he murmurs.
"Excuse me?" I hastily reply.
"It has been quite entertaining to see you pursuing a life of better quality than the one you lived before, even knowing you wouldn't be alive much longer to enjoy it."
"I would rather life be short and sweet than long and unbearable."
"You seem indifferent to the fact I'm about to take your soul," the man replies, still staring at me in awe. "Most people refuse their fate in their final hour and attempt to get out of the deal. They always fail of course."
"How do people try to escape?" I inquire curiously.
"The most common way is to cut of their hand."
"Damn," I respond after a short pause. I have already felt enough pain in my life that cutting off my hand even when I knew I would die was never something I had considered. He still stares at me as if I'm a specimen, and I squirm under his gaze.
"So why don't you?" he asks, finally.
"I see no point." The response didn't take much thought. He had held up his end of the bargain, it is time for me to do the same.
"It's such a shame," he says. "Yours is one of few souls I have ever found to lack simplicity. At least from a human."
All I do is stare back. What am I supposed to say to the devil admitting my soul intrigues him? Luckily for me, I don't have to respond, because he quickly adds "this is the spot."
He stops rowing. We are still in the middle of a seemingly unending sea. I close my eyes, preparing to take my final breath. A burning sensation is felt on my hand that is over in a few seconds. I wait for a pain or out-of-body sensation that never comes. After quite a while with my eyes shut, I slowly open them to find myself alone on the boat. As I'm looking around, I happen to lay my eyes on the pentagram on my hand, which I notice just in time to see the rest of it fading from my skin. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | "Another great concert, man!" I barely gave the person saying it any mind. I just walked back to my dressing room. My bandmates were shocked I was this out of it. They knew I had just turned 27, and...well, people know what that means for a true rocker. I headed and watched. The Grammys, the VMAs, the AMAs, all of it was there. I told the latest girlfriend I'd have a late night and prepared for this moment.
I knew it would happen, I remember making the deal when I was just a kid dicking around in our garage. He told me all the best musicians made a deal with him, and if we did he could guarantee me success beyond my wildest dreams. Within a day, the first thing we put on Spotify became a smash, then went to the radio- and it was all seen from there. It's been 10 years and everything I wanted was mine- and when I wanted something new, it was replaced.
Now, it's the moment to pay the devil his due. The greatest A+R scout in the universe was looking back at me.
"Don't worry. I expected this. Go ahead."
"Oh, I knew that much. So...enjoying your success?"
"Yeah. I'm ready to hand over my soul. Go for it."
Satan then looked at me.
"N...no, I don't think I will."
"You won't? But I did your bidding through my music. I was prepared for this moment. I do your music's bidding, you take my soul when I'm 27."
"You thought I had to take your soul that way? I can and do take souls with far less than that. At least 10, 20 times a day I put people in situations where they or a loved one is about to die in order to trap them into trading their soul for that life to continue. It's a hobby of mine. If I'm the prince of evil, I can put people into evil choices, you know."
"Then take my soul. It's only necessary. You made the deal, you get the soul."
"No, I don't think I will. I think of the big picture."
"B-big picture?"
"Yeah, think about this. If you're alive, then you continue making music, spreading my glory to many, many more impressionable people, and I get far, far more souls than just yours."
"Well, that sort of makes sense. But...then why would you come to me?"
"Oh, that's because of the other side of it- just because I'm not taking your soul doesn't mean the contract isn't completed."
"The deal's completed..."
"Yes. Since the contract is over, any help you were getting from Me for your music career is officially null and void. You're working stadiums like this today, but within a couple years you'll go to arenas again, then to music venues, and pretty soon you'll be the band playing at state fairs that people barely pay attention to."
"But you said your music. You said you needed my music to spread your message!"
"Young people's music taste changes very quickly, you know- and didn't I tell you this when we met? You don't get to the top of the charts without dealing with me. Sure, you're helping, but so is everyone else on the charts. So...unfortunately, your success is about to come to an end."
"...I...I see."
Satan looked at me.
"Don't be so surprised this will happen to you. After all, your idol said it best- it's better to burn out than to fade away..." | 17 was far too young to sell my soul. Maybe I should have waited a year. Once I had entered adulthood, I would have had countless reasons I would need to make a deal with the devil himself. A high school dropout, looked down upon for both my promiscuity and my infertility. I wasn't smart enough to leave any lasting impression upon the world so what was the point in living? Truthfully, my life would be no better if I had chosen not to summon Lucifer. Now, 5 years later I sit on the soggy wooden bench, my eyes, which had once been so lively as a child, now possess a faded green color and zoned out look as I gaze out on the dull ocean. I doubt there is a soul visible in those eyes yet I am still alive. I am still very much alive. Across from me is a well-dressed man in black, curly hair of the same color falling down to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His sharp jawline and colorless eyes create an intimidating image, yet he is familiar. I have no reason to fear him.
I have had plenty of time to be afraid. I was scared when I made the deal. I knew I would be locked in the second I shook his hand. A red pentagram symbol painfully etched itself into the back of my hand the moment our skin made contact. Now it glows brighter than ever.
"You will know our deal has been fulfilled when it begins to glow with that bright red hue symbolizing the approaching of your inevitable fate," he had said to me after the symbol had finished engraving itself on me. "You know where to meet, I trust?"
I gave him a nod and left him, though the hair still stands on the back of my neck when I remember piercing way he looked at me and wide smile on his face as I turned away.
It's true. The pentagram illuminates the foggy waters, casting light on the man, who's rather like a shadow upon the dull environment. Quite fitting I should lose my soul here, a place that appears to be lacking one.
Life has evidently ceased to exist here for quite some time. As I look back at him, something changes in his eyes, which had once been so fixed on me with little emotion behind them. Almost as if his gaze had softened.
"Fascinating," he murmurs.
"Excuse me?" I hastily reply.
"It has been quite entertaining to see you pursuing a life of better quality than the one you lived before, even knowing you wouldn't be alive much longer to enjoy it."
"I would rather life be short and sweet than long and unbearable."
"You seem indifferent to the fact I'm about to take your soul," the man replies, still staring at me in awe. "Most people refuse their fate in their final hour and attempt to get out of the deal. They always fail of course."
"How do people try to escape?" I inquire curiously.
"The most common way is to cut of their hand."
"Damn," I respond after a short pause. I have already felt enough pain in my life that cutting off my hand even when I knew I would die was never something I had considered. He still stares at me as if I'm a specimen, and I squirm under his gaze.
"So why don't you?" he asks, finally.
"I see no point." The response didn't take much thought. He had held up his end of the bargain, it is time for me to do the same.
"It's such a shame," he says. "Yours is one of few souls I have ever found to lack simplicity. At least from a human."
All I do is stare back. What am I supposed to say to the devil admitting my soul intrigues him? Luckily for me, I don't have to respond, because he quickly adds "this is the spot."
He stops rowing. We are still in the middle of a seemingly unending sea. I close my eyes, preparing to take my final breath. A burning sensation is felt on my hand that is over in a few seconds. I wait for a pain or out-of-body sensation that never comes. After quite a while with my eyes shut, I slowly open them to find myself alone on the boat. As I'm looking around, I happen to lay my eyes on the pentagram on my hand, which I notice just in time to see the rest of it fading from my skin. |
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[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | "Another great concert, man!" I barely gave the person saying it any mind. I just walked back to my dressing room. My bandmates were shocked I was this out of it. They knew I had just turned 27, and...well, people know what that means for a true rocker. I headed and watched. The Grammys, the VMAs, the AMAs, all of it was there. I told the latest girlfriend I'd have a late night and prepared for this moment.
I knew it would happen, I remember making the deal when I was just a kid dicking around in our garage. He told me all the best musicians made a deal with him, and if we did he could guarantee me success beyond my wildest dreams. Within a day, the first thing we put on Spotify became a smash, then went to the radio- and it was all seen from there. It's been 10 years and everything I wanted was mine- and when I wanted something new, it was replaced.
Now, it's the moment to pay the devil his due. The greatest A+R scout in the universe was looking back at me.
"Don't worry. I expected this. Go ahead."
"Oh, I knew that much. So...enjoying your success?"
"Yeah. I'm ready to hand over my soul. Go for it."
Satan then looked at me.
"N...no, I don't think I will."
"You won't? But I did your bidding through my music. I was prepared for this moment. I do your music's bidding, you take my soul when I'm 27."
"You thought I had to take your soul that way? I can and do take souls with far less than that. At least 10, 20 times a day I put people in situations where they or a loved one is about to die in order to trap them into trading their soul for that life to continue. It's a hobby of mine. If I'm the prince of evil, I can put people into evil choices, you know."
"Then take my soul. It's only necessary. You made the deal, you get the soul."
"No, I don't think I will. I think of the big picture."
"B-big picture?"
"Yeah, think about this. If you're alive, then you continue making music, spreading my glory to many, many more impressionable people, and I get far, far more souls than just yours."
"Well, that sort of makes sense. But...then why would you come to me?"
"Oh, that's because of the other side of it- just because I'm not taking your soul doesn't mean the contract isn't completed."
"The deal's completed..."
"Yes. Since the contract is over, any help you were getting from Me for your music career is officially null and void. You're working stadiums like this today, but within a couple years you'll go to arenas again, then to music venues, and pretty soon you'll be the band playing at state fairs that people barely pay attention to."
"But you said your music. You said you needed my music to spread your message!"
"Young people's music taste changes very quickly, you know- and didn't I tell you this when we met? You don't get to the top of the charts without dealing with me. Sure, you're helping, but so is everyone else on the charts. So...unfortunately, your success is about to come to an end."
"...I...I see."
Satan looked at me.
"Don't be so surprised this will happen to you. After all, your idol said it best- it's better to burn out than to fade away..." | Two days.
All that was needed for him to do what he needed to do was two days, spending every single hour in unending, crippling, total agony.
Betrayal after betrayal, dragging him deeper and deeper until all he could see was himself, his blade, and the darkness that he allowed himself to be surrounded in.
Until finally, he found himself at the end, standing in front of multiple tombstones, holding a broken sword in one hand, a pistol that was coated in blood and had only one bullet left.
He was waiting.
The time was almost up and yet, he felt no better.
He did everything that he wished to do, honored the agreement that he made with the voice that found him in that dark place, used the ‘gifts’ to get his payback and repay old debts, but he felt nothing.
The pain was still there, but no one was inflicting it. His hatred still burned, but with no one left to blame meant that it was now turning upon himself.
In these last moments, he realized that…it was all for nothing.
The young man barely reached two decades of life, but his eyes seemed to have an emptiness befitting the newly dead. His hair matted with dried blood and his clothing the same way.
His suit, one that should be worn by one that is about to be betrothed to another was a crimson red which was not the original color when he first rented it.
The shattered phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate, signaling that it was indeed time for his silent, but ever-watching partner to fulfill his end of the bargain.
A figure in all black approached him, hands in the pockets of his suit while his ruby eyes looked upon the man with a mysterious gaze and a firm expression, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“Two days…” The once married man dropped his broken knife to the dirt, his hands stained and shaky as he raised them up, carefully removing something from his fingers and holding it out to the man in black.
Two beautiful golden rings, forever stained with the sins of betrayal, lust, and a despair that radiated from the man that once wore them.
“While revenge is something that I respect, I do believe that some of these tombstones were not meant to be here..” There was…trepidation upon the ancient’s face, looking upon the rings and seeing what it was that the young man saw.
A day that was meant to be filled with festivities and celebration was turned into one of anguish and pain, bonds of brotherhood were shattered, familial ties torn to pieces, and unending love was lost.
There was so much that now sat in the heart of the one that made this agreement. It was too much to ask of any being to carry such a burden within his soul, especially when it was to be carried by one so young…
For the first time in what felt like eons, he felt something that bordered pity for the man.
“Just…do what you came here to do..” Surrendering himself to his fate, the once groom to be now was now a shell of a human being and could not care that his soul was to be damned for eternity.
“No…No, I don’t think I will.” Budding respect aside for such a beautiful display of gore and wrath, he could not allow this man to pass now.
He saw something within this broken husk that he would not allow to be taken just yet…
“Fine…” The man relented, realizing that his torment was not allowed to be over would feel his body go limp with exhaustion finally returning to his mortal form, but not physically…
“I’ll do it for you…”
His mind fell still and there was only one thing that was worth doing in what he deemed the failure of his life, opening his mouth and tasting the barrel of his pistol, finger curling on the trigger.
A shot ran out, the man would go limp, the pistol dropping from his hands and into the old bloodstains that coated the grass…
He blinked, realizing that he still stood alive and the gun was forcibly removed by an unseen wind, turning to see the man in black with a hand outstretched slightly. “…Why…?”
“I have something better in mind for one such as you..” Stepping closer until he could put the hand on the bloody man’s shoulder, ruby eyes seemed to glimmer with unknown intentions. |
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[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | There were no theatrics to accompany his arrival today; no flash of light, no scent of brimstone, no billowing inferno and maniacal shadows bounding around the study. Such demonstrations weren’t needed at this point. I was already well aware of the power he wielded, having wielded them myself for the better part of my lifespan. The devil had no need to entice me, to encourage me to sign on the dotted line. We were well past that point. Instead, he simply emerged without fanfare, materializing out of a corner of shadow that the sunset filtering through the study window couldn’t quite penetrate, before stepping carefully behind me and leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“So, how was the power trip? Let me just say, as a spectator: fantastic work. Lovely performance.”
His presence was warm, inviting even. His words were obvious flattery, but no attempt was made to pretend otherwise, and I drank them in, enjoying them regardless. I had had years of practice in indulging worldly pleasures, such that I collected even praise and adoration the way a dragon hoards treasure. A connoisseur of every single vice known to mankind, yet without tolerance, or boredom - each taste remained as delightful as the first time. The smile that crept across my face was one of ultimate satisfaction. A life well and full lived, and utterly devoid of all consequences. That is, other than that which had been previously arranged. Well, we all die eventually, right? It wasn’t like I had had any more control over the destination of my soul before I agreed to the deal. The deal just provided certainty, and that in and of itself was a weight off my conscience.
But in the meantime, I had thrived. The powers of a god do take time to adjust to, and at first, I was rooted in the mundane: limitless wealth, business success, undying adoration from friends, family, and as many romantic partners as my whims desired. I annihilated those people who had slighted me, made good on those grudges I held. Proved that I was RIGHT, to all those people who doubted or questioned or argued. Perhaps I was hesitant at first, hesitant to push the limits, checking around every corner for the catch, the hook that would drag me down to Hell and deliver my comeuppance for my selfish indulgence. It never arrived, though, and eventually I realized I was limited by little more than my own human conscience. A deceptively simple fix, really - I simply unmade it. From there, I indulged myself as only a god of infinite power can. A limitless imagination made reality. I was an artist, expressing my every sinful whim or depraved impulse across the canvas I had made of the world around me.
“The thing I’m most impressed with,” he continued, his gaze lingering over the perfect form I had made of myself, “is that you really committed to the role. You could have enshrined yourself in the heavens and ruled over creation with an orderly iron fist, but no, you still lived your life, and reality twisted itself into knots in your wake to meet your needs. A god that walks the earth and wholeheartedly enjoys his creations, capricious and corrupt. That’s what’s truly special about this. That’s what makes you different.”
I leaned back in my chair, the expensive leather creaking, and looked up at the one who had made it happen for me, feeling nothing but appreciation and a glow of contentment. There was absolutely nothing to regret. I had done everything I had ever dreamed of wanting, many times over. I had experienced the peak of sensation, and all that now remained to experience was oblivion.
“My soul, then. I suppose it’s time?”
The devil’s saccharine smile distorted, stretching inhumanly to reveal a riot of teeth like shards of broken glass.
“Hardly. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Reality stuttered, distorted, and shattered completely. My ornate study evaporated, replaced by a dingy studio apartment from sixty years ago. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink that my reeling mind knew was three days old, and unattended. A stained mattress laid on the floor, positioned to see the television, the only other furniture in the room. The trash piled in the corner. The buzz of the ceiling fan’s loose housing, the light shining in my eyes from the broken blinds, the smell of mold. It was an assault on the senses, a bitter reminder of a shameful, pathetic self I had willed into nonexistence, and I did so again, forcing the sensations away. Reality, cold and uncaring, did not respond, as that terrible, clawing panic growing in my brain stem had already told me would be the case. The devil that stood over me now was not the beautiful, perfect man that I had forged a pact with, once upon a time in this room what seemed like eons ago. He was a stretched, gnarled, creaking thing, a terrifying suggestion of a human form dominated by that horrid grin. I curled in on myself, desperately addicted to that rush of power and control that would not come no matter how much I invoked it.
“We’ll start with just one lifetime,” the thing cackled madly. And then, it vanished, and the room was silent again. Once again, no theatrics, no expenditure on my behalf. I didn’t need to be shown godhood; I would always remember its taste. | I stand before the pillar of flames, blood dripping from my wrist where I sacrificed flesh and blood to summon this demon back from the depths of hell to which it had been confined. My time is come, and an oath is an oath, I cannot forsake it. Though I know this will be the start of a painful eternity, I have done what needed to be done, and through the work I did perhaps peace can remain. Only, the devil standing wreathed in flame does not reach out its hand to claim me, all it does is stare.
"I come as I swore I would, I have not forgotten our deal. My soul is forfeit," I say as I offer my hand to the devil. Ten years before I had offered my soul in exchange for the power I needed to change the world, the devil standing before me had accepted my bargain. It is strange then that he did not rush to claim his prize. I have heard tales of the lengths a devil will go to in order to claim the souls they are due, but as I offer mine freely it does nothing.
The devil looks down at me, his eyes burning as coals in the depths of a forge, and asks in an oily voice, "Why do you not run, in my many thousands of years no mortal has ever kept his side of the bargain willingly." It steps from the circle, the flames that had wrapped around its body fading into sparks that vanish in the cold air of the shed. "I always have to hunt you down."
"I know the bargain I made, I did it knowing this day would come, and I will not run from it." I look into the burning depths of its eyes. "Will you claim my soul as is your right?"
"Perhaps," the devil hisses, a look I can only describe as puzzlement on its twisted face. "You intrigue me mortal. Tell me, for we see so little in the pits, what did you do with the gift we gave you?"
I think back to the walls I had built, the laws I had enacted and the wars that had ended in the completion of my mission. "I brought peace," I answer.
"Did you now, and what happens when I drag your soul into the abyss. Where does your precious peace go then?" The devil walks around the room, its eyes never leaving mine even as its claws scrape on the white stone of the high king's castle.
"It will remain, so long as the people choose it. I have given them all they need, but for peace to truly exist the people must choose it, every generation must choose it, but it can last if they choose," I answer, meeting the fiery stare.
"Hmm, you truly believe this, for I hear no lie in your voice," the devils hiss seems uncertain, as if he does not understand the words I spoke. yet they are true, I gave them the tools. "Why trade your soul for them? What made them worth your sacrifice?" it asks me as it walks toward me.
"Is hell so awful as to blind you to it?" I ask the devil, a smile coming to my lips as I recall the joy in the slaves faces when I removed their chains, the hope that they had lost so many years before returning all at once. The joy of the homeless as they were shown the new quarters I had ordered raised for them, the wounded among them having the ailments of decades treated for the first time by the physicians once reserved for the nobility.
"Hell is full of the screams and curses of the damned, each of whom was damned by their own choices, their own decisions to cause hurt rather than to help, you trade your soul for those who in time would become them." The devil stops its approach.
"I do," I reply, all traces of fear vanishing for an instant, dispelled by the rightness of the sacrifice I made, though perhaps I would regret it in time.
"Come with me then, for your soul is mine by right." The devil reaches out a hand, slick and clawed, burned smooth.
As I grip the hand the devil extends, fire wraps around my arm and pain explodes through my entire body, the searing agony of a soul being separated from a body by force. The world turns red and though vanishes as I hear the devil say, "Perhaps you can do the same for us in hell, perhaps we are not too far gone." |
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[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now |
2000 years is a long long time, but it went by surprisingly fast. I was surprised when he agreed so quickly. I can distinctly remember seeing the giddiness on Satan’s face as he said, “Such a prize, one from his inner circle, the corruption of this soul will fuel hell for a millenia”. Just as soon as that thought vanished, he appeared in a puff of smoke and fire. “Hello Satan, been a long time, can I get you a drink or snack before we go”, I said. “No thank you John, been stress eating and putting on too many pounds”, said the dark lord. I tilted my head and looked at him as I poured my last glass of water, “what has you stressed out Satan”. “ Well, when I formed hell after God and I created the rules, I didn’t really account for population growth! Heaven can grow but hell is finite. Hell is kind of overpopulated right now, so I’m knee deep in housing complexes and infrastructure plans for the foreseeable future”, he said. “I hate planning, I’m more a spur of the moment type, implulsive if you will”. “Sorry to hear that”, I said as I sat down across from him, “anything I can help you with”.
“John, there is plenty you could help me with, with all of your experience, but I’m afraid that will never come to pass”, he said. The perplexed look on my face drew a deep sigh from him. He continued, “I thought I could corrupt you, one of the twelve, one who baptized the son of God, but you just wouldn’t take the bait. I gave up hundreds of years ago when I realized the incoming flood of the damned would keep hell powered forever”. I was even more confused at this point, but I had to ask him one thing, “did you make Herod cut my head off”, I said. He snickered, “ I thought for sure that would turn you against the people, but you just came back a few weeks later and continued helping out the poor in a different location, building houses and feeding people. You’ve got some gumption John, and I respect that”, he said. “Do you know how much that fucking hurt, you asshole, I have to stretch my neck everyday or it tightens up, everyday for almost 2000 years”, I replied. He looked down at the floor, “sorry about that, kind of played dirty back in my youth”.
“Alright, let’s get this over with, I’m done with the chi chat, time to go”, I said, as I stood up and started moving towards him, my anger starting rise. Satan jumped back, knocking over the sofa he had been sitting on, “wooaa there John, keep your distance”. My face contorted to what the kids these days would call a “shocked picachu” face! “What the fuck is going on Satan, are we going or not?” I asked in a stern voice. “Calm down”, he said as he motioned for me to sit back down. I sat back down and he explained, “you see John, your soul is too pure, you’ve helped millions of people over the eons, more so than your brother Jesus. If I were to bring you to hell, you my biggest prize, your presence would erase all the hate and negative energy that keeps hell running. You would destroy hell and by that matter, heaven. So I can’t bring you to hell, but you also cannot go to heaven due to our deal”. I spoke with God and Jesus, he says hi btw, and we agreed you should just stay here and keep doing what your doing.” I thought about it for a minute, this is my purgatory, this is what I get for making a deal with the devil to help those forgotten by the creator. Nope nope nope, that’s not going to happen, I thought as my anger swelled from the well I had suppressed it into for the last 2k years. Maybe this isn’t working, maybe humanity needs to exist on its own, without heaven or hell. “Fuck it”, I yelled as I jumped across the coffee table onto Satan! He was far too late in reacting, probably never thought I would do such a thing, but the ensuing explosion from above and below rocked the planet for hours and hours. As the dust and magma cleared, billions and billions of trapped souls were freed to wander the universe, no longer tethered to their earthly bonds. | She pulls her blade back from a well placed thrust on bargainer's throat as the body of now dying bargainer just like she falls to the ground. Both leave the cave in their own ways, man felled in combat drowned to death and the woman sheathed her blade and hanged the mace safely from her belt.
It was a dangerous duel that one, for her mostly. When she made the bargain with the devil, she was dying of a poison, she made the deal fully knowing she would burn for it, but, rather go with a satisfaction of seeing those responsible go down with her. These people didn't really deserve much pity and she was just collateral in their plots.
She comes out of the cave and walks all the way to the edge of a cliff. She looks at the view, a great black forest below her and behind it a sea. Dying here, on the mountain path with such a view, no better place to allow poison to finally do it's job. These other bargainers didn't mean much to her and the very reason why they were after was still a mystery to her.
She sat down on the path, relying on her left hand for support, shins and knees presented first. She didn't intend on killing those responsible, they became collateral themselves when one of the bargainers caught up to her. She watches the sun almost directly above her, it is leaning towards afternoon.
She closes her eyes, fully ready to accept what is to come. It was what was signed after all. She does wait and unexpectedly falls asleep and she also falls on to the dirt. She opened her eyes, seeing only darkness around her, she looks at herself. All of her equipment still with her. In the distance she can see fire.
Hesitantly, she takes couple steps and has mustered her courage now. She starts walking at a good pace towards the fire. Finding herself now in a rather hellish regal room. She recognizes the devil sitting at his writing table on a more of a throne like seat than usual seat at writing tables.
Devil in his armor and helmet looks into the savant's eyes. There is a paper in this hands, but, she can not identify it as the paper she signed. 'Here I am, let's be done with it' she says and kneels. 'Almost' devil said thoughtfully 'I believe the deal has been honored' she says closing her eyes and taking a deep breath and exhales now at her full readiness for what is to come.
'Please, savant, take the magnifying glass and read it carefully' Devil said mildly amused by the moment at hand and something else. Savant opened her eyes, raised to stand and walks towards the edge of the table where there is a magnifying glass and devil gives her the paper. She first reads it without the glass, doesn't find anything off but, there is this writing.
Writing she does recognize it but, at the moment didn't think about it back then or up until now. She places the magnifying glass to read it. A deal condition she missed "If the one who signs this, survives and kills the others the one who wrote this deal bargained with. One who signed must face ONLY, ONE, more battle for freedom of both bargain and the poison."
The devil raised from this throne and walked towards a door. She just stood there if she could have considering the realm she is in, frozen in place. She shook herself awake from shock of realization and looked at the devil who is now standing beside a door. "Leave the glass please and come with me" devil said.
She did as ordered and followed the devil. They walked a dark corridor for a while then stopped in front of a door. Devil took the paper from her gently. "So, which will it be?" Devil asked and opens the door revealing some kind of arena. The paper is in soft grip of the devil in front of her, she looks at the arena, she looks at the paper. She nodded and walked into the arena.
Devil followed her but went to the right immediately from the door after closing it behind her and devil. She looked as the devil ascended some stairs where a stone wall raised to block her way to them and in front of a throne like seat. She looked at the arena's seat filling dwellers of this realm. They are elated of this occasion, what she hears doesn't surprise her, she readies herself.
ONE, more battle. (I will survive... This, will make quite a story) she thought as her left hand unsheathes the arming sword and right hand raises the mace to take it off from her belt. |
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[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | There were no theatrics to accompany his arrival today; no flash of light, no scent of brimstone, no billowing inferno and maniacal shadows bounding around the study. Such demonstrations weren’t needed at this point. I was already well aware of the power he wielded, having wielded them myself for the better part of my lifespan. The devil had no need to entice me, to encourage me to sign on the dotted line. We were well past that point. Instead, he simply emerged without fanfare, materializing out of a corner of shadow that the sunset filtering through the study window couldn’t quite penetrate, before stepping carefully behind me and leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“So, how was the power trip? Let me just say, as a spectator: fantastic work. Lovely performance.”
His presence was warm, inviting even. His words were obvious flattery, but no attempt was made to pretend otherwise, and I drank them in, enjoying them regardless. I had had years of practice in indulging worldly pleasures, such that I collected even praise and adoration the way a dragon hoards treasure. A connoisseur of every single vice known to mankind, yet without tolerance, or boredom - each taste remained as delightful as the first time. The smile that crept across my face was one of ultimate satisfaction. A life well and full lived, and utterly devoid of all consequences. That is, other than that which had been previously arranged. Well, we all die eventually, right? It wasn’t like I had had any more control over the destination of my soul before I agreed to the deal. The deal just provided certainty, and that in and of itself was a weight off my conscience.
But in the meantime, I had thrived. The powers of a god do take time to adjust to, and at first, I was rooted in the mundane: limitless wealth, business success, undying adoration from friends, family, and as many romantic partners as my whims desired. I annihilated those people who had slighted me, made good on those grudges I held. Proved that I was RIGHT, to all those people who doubted or questioned or argued. Perhaps I was hesitant at first, hesitant to push the limits, checking around every corner for the catch, the hook that would drag me down to Hell and deliver my comeuppance for my selfish indulgence. It never arrived, though, and eventually I realized I was limited by little more than my own human conscience. A deceptively simple fix, really - I simply unmade it. From there, I indulged myself as only a god of infinite power can. A limitless imagination made reality. I was an artist, expressing my every sinful whim or depraved impulse across the canvas I had made of the world around me.
“The thing I’m most impressed with,” he continued, his gaze lingering over the perfect form I had made of myself, “is that you really committed to the role. You could have enshrined yourself in the heavens and ruled over creation with an orderly iron fist, but no, you still lived your life, and reality twisted itself into knots in your wake to meet your needs. A god that walks the earth and wholeheartedly enjoys his creations, capricious and corrupt. That’s what’s truly special about this. That’s what makes you different.”
I leaned back in my chair, the expensive leather creaking, and looked up at the one who had made it happen for me, feeling nothing but appreciation and a glow of contentment. There was absolutely nothing to regret. I had done everything I had ever dreamed of wanting, many times over. I had experienced the peak of sensation, and all that now remained to experience was oblivion.
“My soul, then. I suppose it’s time?”
The devil’s saccharine smile distorted, stretching inhumanly to reveal a riot of teeth like shards of broken glass.
“Hardly. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Reality stuttered, distorted, and shattered completely. My ornate study evaporated, replaced by a dingy studio apartment from sixty years ago. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink that my reeling mind knew was three days old, and unattended. A stained mattress laid on the floor, positioned to see the television, the only other furniture in the room. The trash piled in the corner. The buzz of the ceiling fan’s loose housing, the light shining in my eyes from the broken blinds, the smell of mold. It was an assault on the senses, a bitter reminder of a shameful, pathetic self I had willed into nonexistence, and I did so again, forcing the sensations away. Reality, cold and uncaring, did not respond, as that terrible, clawing panic growing in my brain stem had already told me would be the case. The devil that stood over me now was not the beautiful, perfect man that I had forged a pact with, once upon a time in this room what seemed like eons ago. He was a stretched, gnarled, creaking thing, a terrifying suggestion of a human form dominated by that horrid grin. I curled in on myself, desperately addicted to that rush of power and control that would not come no matter how much I invoked it.
“We’ll start with just one lifetime,” the thing cackled madly. And then, it vanished, and the room was silent again. Once again, no theatrics, no expenditure on my behalf. I didn’t need to be shown godhood; I would always remember its taste. | She pulls her blade back from a well placed thrust on bargainer's throat as the body of now dying bargainer just like she falls to the ground. Both leave the cave in their own ways, man felled in combat drowned to death and the woman sheathed her blade and hanged the mace safely from her belt.
It was a dangerous duel that one, for her mostly. When she made the bargain with the devil, she was dying of a poison, she made the deal fully knowing she would burn for it, but, rather go with a satisfaction of seeing those responsible go down with her. These people didn't really deserve much pity and she was just collateral in their plots.
She comes out of the cave and walks all the way to the edge of a cliff. She looks at the view, a great black forest below her and behind it a sea. Dying here, on the mountain path with such a view, no better place to allow poison to finally do it's job. These other bargainers didn't mean much to her and the very reason why they were after was still a mystery to her.
She sat down on the path, relying on her left hand for support, shins and knees presented first. She didn't intend on killing those responsible, they became collateral themselves when one of the bargainers caught up to her. She watches the sun almost directly above her, it is leaning towards afternoon.
She closes her eyes, fully ready to accept what is to come. It was what was signed after all. She does wait and unexpectedly falls asleep and she also falls on to the dirt. She opened her eyes, seeing only darkness around her, she looks at herself. All of her equipment still with her. In the distance she can see fire.
Hesitantly, she takes couple steps and has mustered her courage now. She starts walking at a good pace towards the fire. Finding herself now in a rather hellish regal room. She recognizes the devil sitting at his writing table on a more of a throne like seat than usual seat at writing tables.
Devil in his armor and helmet looks into the savant's eyes. There is a paper in this hands, but, she can not identify it as the paper she signed. 'Here I am, let's be done with it' she says and kneels. 'Almost' devil said thoughtfully 'I believe the deal has been honored' she says closing her eyes and taking a deep breath and exhales now at her full readiness for what is to come.
'Please, savant, take the magnifying glass and read it carefully' Devil said mildly amused by the moment at hand and something else. Savant opened her eyes, raised to stand and walks towards the edge of the table where there is a magnifying glass and devil gives her the paper. She first reads it without the glass, doesn't find anything off but, there is this writing.
Writing she does recognize it but, at the moment didn't think about it back then or up until now. She places the magnifying glass to read it. A deal condition she missed "If the one who signs this, survives and kills the others the one who wrote this deal bargained with. One who signed must face ONLY, ONE, more battle for freedom of both bargain and the poison."
The devil raised from this throne and walked towards a door. She just stood there if she could have considering the realm she is in, frozen in place. She shook herself awake from shock of realization and looked at the devil who is now standing beside a door. "Leave the glass please and come with me" devil said.
She did as ordered and followed the devil. They walked a dark corridor for a while then stopped in front of a door. Devil took the paper from her gently. "So, which will it be?" Devil asked and opens the door revealing some kind of arena. The paper is in soft grip of the devil in front of her, she looks at the arena, she looks at the paper. She nodded and walked into the arena.
Devil followed her but went to the right immediately from the door after closing it behind her and devil. She looked as the devil ascended some stairs where a stone wall raised to block her way to them and in front of a throne like seat. She looked at the arena's seat filling dwellers of this realm. They are elated of this occasion, what she hears doesn't surprise her, she readies herself.
ONE, more battle. (I will survive... This, will make quite a story) she thought as her left hand unsheathes the arming sword and right hand raises the mace to take it off from her belt. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | There were no theatrics to accompany his arrival today; no flash of light, no scent of brimstone, no billowing inferno and maniacal shadows bounding around the study. Such demonstrations weren’t needed at this point. I was already well aware of the power he wielded, having wielded them myself for the better part of my lifespan. The devil had no need to entice me, to encourage me to sign on the dotted line. We were well past that point. Instead, he simply emerged without fanfare, materializing out of a corner of shadow that the sunset filtering through the study window couldn’t quite penetrate, before stepping carefully behind me and leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“So, how was the power trip? Let me just say, as a spectator: fantastic work. Lovely performance.”
His presence was warm, inviting even. His words were obvious flattery, but no attempt was made to pretend otherwise, and I drank them in, enjoying them regardless. I had had years of practice in indulging worldly pleasures, such that I collected even praise and adoration the way a dragon hoards treasure. A connoisseur of every single vice known to mankind, yet without tolerance, or boredom - each taste remained as delightful as the first time. The smile that crept across my face was one of ultimate satisfaction. A life well and full lived, and utterly devoid of all consequences. That is, other than that which had been previously arranged. Well, we all die eventually, right? It wasn’t like I had had any more control over the destination of my soul before I agreed to the deal. The deal just provided certainty, and that in and of itself was a weight off my conscience.
But in the meantime, I had thrived. The powers of a god do take time to adjust to, and at first, I was rooted in the mundane: limitless wealth, business success, undying adoration from friends, family, and as many romantic partners as my whims desired. I annihilated those people who had slighted me, made good on those grudges I held. Proved that I was RIGHT, to all those people who doubted or questioned or argued. Perhaps I was hesitant at first, hesitant to push the limits, checking around every corner for the catch, the hook that would drag me down to Hell and deliver my comeuppance for my selfish indulgence. It never arrived, though, and eventually I realized I was limited by little more than my own human conscience. A deceptively simple fix, really - I simply unmade it. From there, I indulged myself as only a god of infinite power can. A limitless imagination made reality. I was an artist, expressing my every sinful whim or depraved impulse across the canvas I had made of the world around me.
“The thing I’m most impressed with,” he continued, his gaze lingering over the perfect form I had made of myself, “is that you really committed to the role. You could have enshrined yourself in the heavens and ruled over creation with an orderly iron fist, but no, you still lived your life, and reality twisted itself into knots in your wake to meet your needs. A god that walks the earth and wholeheartedly enjoys his creations, capricious and corrupt. That’s what’s truly special about this. That’s what makes you different.”
I leaned back in my chair, the expensive leather creaking, and looked up at the one who had made it happen for me, feeling nothing but appreciation and a glow of contentment. There was absolutely nothing to regret. I had done everything I had ever dreamed of wanting, many times over. I had experienced the peak of sensation, and all that now remained to experience was oblivion.
“My soul, then. I suppose it’s time?”
The devil’s saccharine smile distorted, stretching inhumanly to reveal a riot of teeth like shards of broken glass.
“Hardly. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Reality stuttered, distorted, and shattered completely. My ornate study evaporated, replaced by a dingy studio apartment from sixty years ago. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink that my reeling mind knew was three days old, and unattended. A stained mattress laid on the floor, positioned to see the television, the only other furniture in the room. The trash piled in the corner. The buzz of the ceiling fan’s loose housing, the light shining in my eyes from the broken blinds, the smell of mold. It was an assault on the senses, a bitter reminder of a shameful, pathetic self I had willed into nonexistence, and I did so again, forcing the sensations away. Reality, cold and uncaring, did not respond, as that terrible, clawing panic growing in my brain stem had already told me would be the case. The devil that stood over me now was not the beautiful, perfect man that I had forged a pact with, once upon a time in this room what seemed like eons ago. He was a stretched, gnarled, creaking thing, a terrifying suggestion of a human form dominated by that horrid grin. I curled in on myself, desperately addicted to that rush of power and control that would not come no matter how much I invoked it.
“We’ll start with just one lifetime,” the thing cackled madly. And then, it vanished, and the room was silent again. Once again, no theatrics, no expenditure on my behalf. I didn’t need to be shown godhood; I would always remember its taste. |
2000 years is a long long time, but it went by surprisingly fast. I was surprised when he agreed so quickly. I can distinctly remember seeing the giddiness on Satan’s face as he said, “Such a prize, one from his inner circle, the corruption of this soul will fuel hell for a millenia”. Just as soon as that thought vanished, he appeared in a puff of smoke and fire. “Hello Satan, been a long time, can I get you a drink or snack before we go”, I said. “No thank you John, been stress eating and putting on too many pounds”, said the dark lord. I tilted my head and looked at him as I poured my last glass of water, “what has you stressed out Satan”. “ Well, when I formed hell after God and I created the rules, I didn’t really account for population growth! Heaven can grow but hell is finite. Hell is kind of overpopulated right now, so I’m knee deep in housing complexes and infrastructure plans for the foreseeable future”, he said. “I hate planning, I’m more a spur of the moment type, implulsive if you will”. “Sorry to hear that”, I said as I sat down across from him, “anything I can help you with”.
“John, there is plenty you could help me with, with all of your experience, but I’m afraid that will never come to pass”, he said. The perplexed look on my face drew a deep sigh from him. He continued, “I thought I could corrupt you, one of the twelve, one who baptized the son of God, but you just wouldn’t take the bait. I gave up hundreds of years ago when I realized the incoming flood of the damned would keep hell powered forever”. I was even more confused at this point, but I had to ask him one thing, “did you make Herod cut my head off”, I said. He snickered, “ I thought for sure that would turn you against the people, but you just came back a few weeks later and continued helping out the poor in a different location, building houses and feeding people. You’ve got some gumption John, and I respect that”, he said. “Do you know how much that fucking hurt, you asshole, I have to stretch my neck everyday or it tightens up, everyday for almost 2000 years”, I replied. He looked down at the floor, “sorry about that, kind of played dirty back in my youth”.
“Alright, let’s get this over with, I’m done with the chi chat, time to go”, I said, as I stood up and started moving towards him, my anger starting rise. Satan jumped back, knocking over the sofa he had been sitting on, “wooaa there John, keep your distance”. My face contorted to what the kids these days would call a “shocked picachu” face! “What the fuck is going on Satan, are we going or not?” I asked in a stern voice. “Calm down”, he said as he motioned for me to sit back down. I sat back down and he explained, “you see John, your soul is too pure, you’ve helped millions of people over the eons, more so than your brother Jesus. If I were to bring you to hell, you my biggest prize, your presence would erase all the hate and negative energy that keeps hell running. You would destroy hell and by that matter, heaven. So I can’t bring you to hell, but you also cannot go to heaven due to our deal”. I spoke with God and Jesus, he says hi btw, and we agreed you should just stay here and keep doing what your doing.” I thought about it for a minute, this is my purgatory, this is what I get for making a deal with the devil to help those forgotten by the creator. Nope nope nope, that’s not going to happen, I thought as my anger swelled from the well I had suppressed it into for the last 2k years. Maybe this isn’t working, maybe humanity needs to exist on its own, without heaven or hell. “Fuck it”, I yelled as I jumped across the coffee table onto Satan! He was far too late in reacting, probably never thought I would do such a thing, but the ensuing explosion from above and below rocked the planet for hours and hours. As the dust and magma cleared, billions and billions of trapped souls were freed to wander the universe, no longer tethered to their earthly bonds. |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | There were no theatrics to accompany his arrival today; no flash of light, no scent of brimstone, no billowing inferno and maniacal shadows bounding around the study. Such demonstrations weren’t needed at this point. I was already well aware of the power he wielded, having wielded them myself for the better part of my lifespan. The devil had no need to entice me, to encourage me to sign on the dotted line. We were well past that point. Instead, he simply emerged without fanfare, materializing out of a corner of shadow that the sunset filtering through the study window couldn’t quite penetrate, before stepping carefully behind me and leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“So, how was the power trip? Let me just say, as a spectator: fantastic work. Lovely performance.”
His presence was warm, inviting even. His words were obvious flattery, but no attempt was made to pretend otherwise, and I drank them in, enjoying them regardless. I had had years of practice in indulging worldly pleasures, such that I collected even praise and adoration the way a dragon hoards treasure. A connoisseur of every single vice known to mankind, yet without tolerance, or boredom - each taste remained as delightful as the first time. The smile that crept across my face was one of ultimate satisfaction. A life well and full lived, and utterly devoid of all consequences. That is, other than that which had been previously arranged. Well, we all die eventually, right? It wasn’t like I had had any more control over the destination of my soul before I agreed to the deal. The deal just provided certainty, and that in and of itself was a weight off my conscience.
But in the meantime, I had thrived. The powers of a god do take time to adjust to, and at first, I was rooted in the mundane: limitless wealth, business success, undying adoration from friends, family, and as many romantic partners as my whims desired. I annihilated those people who had slighted me, made good on those grudges I held. Proved that I was RIGHT, to all those people who doubted or questioned or argued. Perhaps I was hesitant at first, hesitant to push the limits, checking around every corner for the catch, the hook that would drag me down to Hell and deliver my comeuppance for my selfish indulgence. It never arrived, though, and eventually I realized I was limited by little more than my own human conscience. A deceptively simple fix, really - I simply unmade it. From there, I indulged myself as only a god of infinite power can. A limitless imagination made reality. I was an artist, expressing my every sinful whim or depraved impulse across the canvas I had made of the world around me.
“The thing I’m most impressed with,” he continued, his gaze lingering over the perfect form I had made of myself, “is that you really committed to the role. You could have enshrined yourself in the heavens and ruled over creation with an orderly iron fist, but no, you still lived your life, and reality twisted itself into knots in your wake to meet your needs. A god that walks the earth and wholeheartedly enjoys his creations, capricious and corrupt. That’s what’s truly special about this. That’s what makes you different.”
I leaned back in my chair, the expensive leather creaking, and looked up at the one who had made it happen for me, feeling nothing but appreciation and a glow of contentment. There was absolutely nothing to regret. I had done everything I had ever dreamed of wanting, many times over. I had experienced the peak of sensation, and all that now remained to experience was oblivion.
“My soul, then. I suppose it’s time?”
The devil’s saccharine smile distorted, stretching inhumanly to reveal a riot of teeth like shards of broken glass.
“Hardly. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Reality stuttered, distorted, and shattered completely. My ornate study evaporated, replaced by a dingy studio apartment from sixty years ago. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink that my reeling mind knew was three days old, and unattended. A stained mattress laid on the floor, positioned to see the television, the only other furniture in the room. The trash piled in the corner. The buzz of the ceiling fan’s loose housing, the light shining in my eyes from the broken blinds, the smell of mold. It was an assault on the senses, a bitter reminder of a shameful, pathetic self I had willed into nonexistence, and I did so again, forcing the sensations away. Reality, cold and uncaring, did not respond, as that terrible, clawing panic growing in my brain stem had already told me would be the case. The devil that stood over me now was not the beautiful, perfect man that I had forged a pact with, once upon a time in this room what seemed like eons ago. He was a stretched, gnarled, creaking thing, a terrifying suggestion of a human form dominated by that horrid grin. I curled in on myself, desperately addicted to that rush of power and control that would not come no matter how much I invoked it.
“We’ll start with just one lifetime,” the thing cackled madly. And then, it vanished, and the room was silent again. Once again, no theatrics, no expenditure on my behalf. I didn’t need to be shown godhood; I would always remember its taste. | *Carson looks at his friend Jesse after taking another drink from his beer*
Carson- Jesse, I'm telling you the truth here. You gotta believe me on this.
Jesse- Carson, it's not a matter of if I believe you, it's more like can I believe you? I mean c'mon, your story ended with that stupid joke, and now you want me to believe that's how you got out of it?
Carson- Jesse, it's old news now, you can just say what happened.
*Jesse stared at me for a second before responding*
Jesse- Fine, I mean how you didn't lose your soul. Look, maybe if you buy me another beer and tell me the story again I'll fall for it.
Carson- Well alright, I'll buy you another beer, but whether you believe me or not is up to you. So it started about 10 years ago, I had a cancer raging through my guts like a raccoon through the garbage after thanksgiving.
You see back then when I had my sickness I developed a bit of a gambling issue, of course back then, I didn't really see it as an issue.
Doctor told me I had about 3 weeks by that point, so if I had money to spend you better believe I was gonna go all in.
Jesse- Knowing you Carson, I do believe you at this point, it's what you tell me next that I have an issue with.
*Jesse tips his head back as he powers through another beer.*
Carson- Well, as I was saying, I had a problem. I was addicted, and I was too good to lose. I bet and I beat everyone I played against, not a soul could best my poker face. Death has that effect on people, gives them a stare that could curdle dairy you know?
Anyways, I only had three weeks and I wanted to make a name for myself-
Jesse- Carson, I remember all of this, and I've heard of deals with the devil, I want to hear the part about how you got out of selling your soul last month.
Carson- Alright alright, so I was sitting in my room, writing what I figured would have to look like a suicide letter given the circumstances.
So I was writing when the devil walked through my door. He was shaped like a business man of sorts, I can't remember if that's because I imagined him that way or that's how he wanted to look, but he looked like that.
Anyways, he walked through my door, his face seemed...stern, like he just heard some bad news.
He took a good look at me and told me he didn't want my soul no more.
Jesse- And that's the part I don't understand. Why in the world would he not want to take a soul?
*They both took a drink from their beers*
Carson- I couldn't tell you for the life of me, but I remember he said that he had never seen someone so willing to hand over their soul. Said it was freaking him out.
Jesse- I guess I'm just having trouble believing the devil himself would ever be freaking out.
*Carson takes another drink*
Carson- Yeah, I honestly had trouble believing it at the time myself.
*Without a word, Jesse looks at Carson and silently stares*
Carson- What?
Jesse- Did you really say that last bit?
Carson- The take my soul bit?
Jesse- Yeah, but the whole thing.
*Carson just looked at Jesse before reenacting the ending of his meeting with the devil*
Carson- *clears throat and talks in a mock angry voice* Listen here Lucy! You're gonna take my damned soul whether you like it or not!
*Carson and Jesse burst out laughing as they each took another drink*
Jesse- Carson you crazy drunk, you tell the strangest stories.
*Jesse takes another drink, not seeing Carson look down at the scars over his pentagram tattoo on the underside of his forearm that was now peaking out of his sleeve. Carson smiled as he pulled his sleeve back over it*
Carson- Well you know me Jesse, a sailor's kid's gonna tell some tall tales.
*Carson smiles as he takes another drink* |
|
[WP] As the end of your deal with the devil comes to an end you summon him once more to hand over your immortal soul, you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start and despite it all you are satisfied to end it this way... only the devil seems weirdly reluctant to take your soul now | \[Monday's Bad News\]
"Take it where?" Melthias asked. The portly, horned demon tilted his head at Paul. He stood inside the summoning circle in a garage. Paul stood outside the circle leaning against a dusty work table littered with tools.
"To... Hell...," Paul said. "I got everything I asked for, so our deal is finished... right? I summoned you so I could give you my soul." Melthias chuckled and shook his head.
"I don't want your soul, where'd you get that idea?" he asked.
"Where...we had an agreement!" Somewhere in the back of his mind, Paul realized what he was arguing for. Despite the fact that he was trying to give his soul away it was important that he wasn't wrong. He clearly remembered making a deal with Melthias.
"That's right," Melthias nodded. "You signed the contract and now I own your soul," he said.
"But you don't want to take it?" Paul asked. Melthias shrugged.
"Take it where?" he repeated the question.
"AARRGH!" Paul was beyond flustered. He was trying to do the right, mature thing and accept the consequences of his decision. Unfortunately, it seemed like he was more mature than a demon that had been alive for who knows how long. But, Paul had always been determined. It was part of how he learned how to deal with demons at all. He knew there had to be a way and he found one. It was also fortunate that he'd learned a surprising amount about Hell in his research; though, apparently, not everything.
"Let me talk to your supervisor," Paul said. Hell was just another bureaucracy.
"One moment," Melthias nodded, then disappeared in a plume of red, cinnamon-scented smoke. A pale teenage girl with rainbow hair stood in the summoning circle when the smoke cleared. She wore a crisp white blazer with a red crescent moon stitched on the front and white slacks.
"Hi Paul, my name's Monday. What seems to be the trouble?" she asked.
"I signed a contract with Melthias...," Paul said. He purposefully included the name just to be sure Melthias received appropriate consequences. "...now the contract has been completed and I summoned him again to take my soul."
"Take it where?" Monday tilted her head at him.
"WHY DON'T YOU WANT MY SOUL!??" Paul couldn't contain his voice.
"OOoooooohhhh," Monday's rainbow eyes sparkled with comprehension. "I see, there's been a misunderstanding," she said.
"Huh?" Paul managed to calm down. It was a different answer at least.
"For some reason, you're under the impression that you have to 'hand your soul over'...," Monday used air quotes around the phrase. "...after our end is satisfied. But, that's wrong," she said. "It wouldn't make sense from our side to do things for you before we get what we want; your soul belongs to Hell as soon as you sign the contract. But, we don't have to actually have possession of it to own it, it's ours on paper. You know, for bookkeeping purposes."
"Bookkeeping?" Paul chuckled. "You make it sound like accounting."
"That's exactly what it is," Monday nodded. "You're not the only soul on this Earth to deal with Sharp Development, and this isn't the only Earth where we have dealings. There are a lot of souls to keep track of."
"Sharp Development? I dealt with a devil from Hell...," Paul said. "Wait did you say there are other Earths?" Monday nodded.
"There are an infinite number of Earths and many of those Earths have a concept of an afterlife that Sharp Development has capitalized on. You can consider it Hell's parent company if that helps. Ms. Sharp, the owner, treats Hell as a customer service industry. I think we solved the original problem; you don't need to give your soul to us. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Monday asked.
"Oh," Paul nodded. He understood that they already owned his soul; but, Monday seemed pleasant and talkative. He felt like he had access to the mysteries of the universe now. All he had to do was find the right question. "Uhhhmm..."
"Oh!" he said suddenly. A stray thought came to mind. It wasn't a particularly deep question and he didn't expect much of an answer. But, he hoped that she wouldn't leave as long as he was asking questions. "So, Sharp Development runs the afterlife right?" he asked. Monday nodded.
"I know the deal I made, and now I know how that works; but, I'm curious. Since it's all customer-focused, is there a deal I could have made that ends with you taking my soul to Heaven?" It was a nonsense filler question and Paul wasn't surprised when Monday gave him a confused expression again. He was, however, stunned by the question that came with the confusion.
"Take it... *where*?"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1772 in a row. (Story #327 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | 30 years of bliss , I knew it was coming up , 30 years since that day , the day I made a deal with Lucifer himself.
I couldn’t really complain , I agreed to the terms , I got what I wanted , I was old now but part of me pained at the reality of true eternity for these 30 years , but I couldn’t change it now even if I wanted to
I left good bye notes and as I had just finished the last one I heard a knock on my door , I opened it to see a businessman , just your everyday office worker it seemed but I could feel it , it was him .
I let him in and he walked over to the sofa in the main living room.
“Quite the place you have here now… guess you have uh done a lot of good in the world “
“ uh… yea… I enjoyed my life but I also spread good fortune around I guess “ I quietly answered back
“ you know , Hell even seen some improvements when demons started seeing what you did , not to mention we got less people coming down for the worst punishments “
I felt a little shocked , I know the world had improved with my help but did it improve that much? “ well I guess I made an impact atleast for the torture I suppose I will face “
“ oh ? Well about that , see , your work here , it’s given me say , some time off , I never really had before , this is the first time in a century almost I won’t have overtime , hell I will even have a day off this week maybe , so I’ve come to offer you a new deal “
“ a new deal? That sounds risky to me doesn’t it “ I replied
“ well , this will be in your favour , no eternal torment but , you have to keep doing whatever it is your doing up here to make life so much better for everyone ? Your punishment will be you can’t ever retire “
“ so I work until I die and then that’s it? “
“ Yeppers , just keep doing what your doing , im looking forward to some time off , have you seen some of the new games coming out? I can finally finish Skyrim this way , still never beat it “
“ you know there’s like new versions with extra content “
He looked over at me
“ well damn it all to hell I really need this time off, do we have a deal? “
I looked over at the paper , and signed it , working until I die can’t be that bad of a punishment right? |
|
[WP] A dormant gene, (previously thought to be a myth) has been activated, granting a random 10% of the population telepathy. You are not part of the 10%, but you have secrets to keep, so you can't afford running into someone who is. | It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal.
At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different.
Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started.
Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves.
The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life.
It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection.
100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude.
A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore.
Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye.
I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank.
And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom. | Everybody hates a telepath. Me, especially. I've got secrets that I don't want pried out of my skull for the world to see.
The name that I tell everyone that I have isn't mine. The parents that I post on social media are photoshopped out of stock photos, and the apartment that I take my friends to is miles away from where I actually live. I've been running for my life for ten years, but wherever I go, I try to give those who know me the impression that I'm standing still. I like it that way; causes less suspicion, and I need all of the trust that I can get.
I invited a date to my fake apartment an hour ago: a nice enough girl, I guess, but dating's something I've never really taken any interest in. Her name was Deborah and she had shiny white teeth that threw me off whenever I wanted to get a word in edgewise between her rants about her job and cats and hobbies. Dinner like that had been downright terrible, but at least I was able to confirm that she could not, in fact, read minds, and that her Tinder profile had been truthful about that fact.
(Like I said before, everyone hates a telepath. They're much more likely to violate minds without consent, so most telepaths put their abilities on their dating profiles ahead of time. For transparency, they say.)
I figured I'd string Deborah along for a few more dates. I'd only gone out with her in the first place because the guys at my work had been getting suspicious about my lack of a sexual life, and had even started mock-casually bringing up girls that they could set me up with in conversation. That needed to stop right away. I don't know what I'd do if some random woman showed up to my fake-apartment, when I was... busy.
I'm busy tonight. Now that Deborah has left, I've started The Ritual.
I peel off each article of clothing, stretch, and allow my Normal Face to fall away. I stare at myself in the mirror for a while. My eyes look cold, and dead, and inhuman. Like an uncaged animal.
I will kill someone tonight. I will drape myself in black and stretch rubber gloves over my hands before I drive a knife into their chest three times: exactly three. Always three. Then, I will take a lock of hair from the corpse, stuff it in a Ziplock baggie, and stash it away in my closet with the others.
The whole thing will probably take about three hours. I'll be back before dinner.
This is what I obsess over in the hours when I allow myself to drift into fantasy. Wide eyes, pooling blood, and that awful, awful smell. For some reason that remains a mystery, it excites me, lights my skin on fire.
I don't understand it, and I doubt anyone else could either -- especially not the police, and especially not from some suspecting telepath with a penchant for picking up on thoughts that circle around a person's head 24/7.
My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I'm setting my knives onto the bed, sharpened and shined in good order. Deborah. She wants to meet me for dinner at a nearby bistro. My hands clench and I shout into the silence of my apartment. *Bitch.*
If this is what having a girlfriend is going to be like, it's going to be too much effort. I'd rather move again and start over. Nevertheless, I have to meet her now, to avoid suspicion. I put on my Normal Clothes and arrange my features into my Normal Face in the mirror, trying not to grimace at the unpleasantness of the sensation.
The bistro is crowded by the time I get there, because of course she decided to schedule dinner during the busiest time of the night. I sit in a booth and tap at my watch, hoping that this will end soon enough for me to have some chance of completing The Ritual once I get back. I might not be able to stay for more than an hour.
I wait twenty minutes. Thirty. I sip multiple cups of coffee, my leg bouncing up and down. She comes in finally at six forty-five, sliding into the booth in a thick woolen sweater.
"Hey," she says, smiling with her too-white teeth.
"You're late."
"Sorry." She shrugs. "Work got busy down at the station."
Right. Deborah's a police officer. That's part of the reason why your eyes lit up when you saw her profile: if you managed to subdue her, you might buy the confidence of a few cops along the way. Could come in handy. Still, tonight it seems like too much trouble.
"Should we order?" she says abruptly, cutting into my thoughts. I nod, and make eye contact with a nearby waitress.
I notice as our entrees arrive that Deborah's been staring at me. Not in a benign, I'm-in-love kind of way, but in a puzzling, calculated fashion. It throws me off.
"Everything alright?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, and the words falter. "Everything's just fine, Charlie."
The word falls over me like a bucket of cold water. My mouth hangs open. "What?"
"I said, everything's fine."
"No, you said-" You're sputtering, now. "You called me Charlie."
"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"
"Nobody's called me Charlie in years. Decades."
Deborah's shaking slightly. "Yes, I know," she says. "I know everything."
And that moment, the world begins to spin out of whack. "No," I breathe. "You're not--"
"I am. I'm a telepath."
Silence stretches long miles between them.
For some reason, she breaks through the quiet with a laugh. "Nobody wants to date me when I tell them that, so when I got on Tinder, I lied. Of course, you lie, too, and more often." Her gaze levels with mine. "That whole lunch we spent together, I could hear you thinking about those dead girls. Over and over again, their names circled around your head, so loud that I could hardly focus, and I started talking about the most inane things... I knew you wouldn't notice. With thoughts that noisy, I don't know how you can focus on anything or anyone else."
I put my head in my hands. "This is the end, isn't it," I say between my fingers.
"Yes." Her voice is cool and calm. "There are officers waiting for us to come out outside. It's over."
It's over. All of the blood, the death, the screams... I can't imagine another way. There is no other way.
My hand inches towards the steak knife that sits next to my plate, and my mind tries to keep itself carefully blank. The moment that my hands graze the familiar cold touch of steel, the world goes black.
\--
Years later, Deborah stands in front of a hospital, thoughts spinning around her head.
*Martha. Maria. Kaylen. Diana.*
These thoughts aren't her own. They've been burrowing through her skull for years; a virus, making her temperature rise and her hands twitch to do horrible bloodied things.
*Sarah. Donna. Ashley.*
So loud she can't think, the desire to plunge a knife in three, exactly three times.
*Natalia. Leah.*
She steps inside the hospital's sliding doors and approaches reception. "Hello," she says. "I'd like to admit myself to the psych ward. I think I'm going to do something terrible."
She can sense the receptionist's abilities, and his fear as his thoughts burrow into her mind.
"Martha. Maria," the receptionist says aloud, then clamps a hand over his mouth as if he'd sworn.
"Oh, God. Martha. Maria." The words spill out of Deborah, and tears drip down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." |
|
[WP] You’ve recently learnt morse code and the rain is telling you to run. | It had been unusually rainy for this late into the season. There was a persistent drizzling all day, it left the sidewalk wet and glistening under the flickering lamp posts. Despite the dreary weather, the café had been rather busy. Customers flooded in at all hours in search of a hot drink to fight off the chill. I was lucky enough to have several new burns peppering my hands from the various lattes and cocoas ordered during my shift. My hands looked comical now covered in Hello Kitty bandages, and the stickiness from the plasters caught at my hair as I put in my ear buds.
The bus would probably late with the weather, so a time killer is needed. Recently, I decided to learn Morse Code. My friends and I figured it be a discreet way to talk during class. A few pen clicks here and there to keep the lesson lively when Professor Malcom went on another long winded rant about the degradation of current literature. Javi suggested we use it to “help each other” during upcoming exams. Ava and I teased him about how he’d put in the effort to learn Morse for cheating purposes, but not study the actual curriculum. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, though.
I have been listening to this podcast recently, entirely in Morse, and have been using it to practice translating. Each episode was an entirely new story, a mystery until decoded. Last week’s episode was about a zombie ostrich uprising at the zoo, the previous a housewife who turn schoolyard bullies into cupcakes. It’s become my weekly treat to unfold a new childish story. The host just released a new episode stating it was unlike all the rest. As I took my seat at the bus stop, I pulled a pen and notepad out of my bag and got started.
The rain started to pick up as I neared the end of the podcast. The author didn’t lie; this tale wasn’t silly or wholesome. It was thrilling. A deranged man, a terrifying chase scene, and a worrisome cliffhanger. I had been so captivated with translating, I hadn’t noticed how late the bus was, or the man now sitting next to me. I had to have been sitting under the overhang a full hour; I wonder when he joined. I didn’t want to be rude for staring, so I opted for a quick glance as I return my items to my bag.
He looked uncomfortable. His posture upright and stiff, unmoving. I couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest from breathing. Seeing his tense form made my own muscles ache. Despite the rigidness, his face was blank. Completely devoid of any emotion, just a blank, dead eyed stare straight ahead. I followed his line of sight to a lamp post across the street, it’s bulb fizzing in and out.
Rubbing at my now tense shoulders as I settled further into my seat, I joined him in watching the flickering light. Counting the seconds between the on’s and off’s.
Light, 2; dark. Light, 2, 3, 4; dark. Light, 2; dark. Light, 2; dark.
I recognized that as a Morse ‘L’. Pulling my pen and pad back out, I decided to see what random letters I could decipher from the flashes.
.-.. .. ... - . -./.-. .- .. -.
L I S T E N / R A I N
Weird. I hadn’t expected to get any actual words, from the random blinks of light. I continued translating, but it just repeated the same two words. Listen. Rain. Over and over. I double checked the alphabet to see if I made a slip up. Listen. Rain. No mistake, the streetlight was the flickering the message “Listen Rain”, continuously.
The man beside me still stared at the light; had he blinked at all during this time? He hasn’t seemed to have moved at all since I noticed him. Can he understand the message? My nerves were starting to get the better of me. I could feel my pulse start to quicken as I now watched the rainfall grow heavier.
With a shaky hand I removed my earbuds and listened. Pat, paaat, pat. Sure enough, it was another message.
.-. ..- -./-. --- .—
R U N / N O W
I trembled, both from the chill in the air and the fear now coursing through my veins. Run now? Where? Why? This couldn’t just be some fluke, freak incident. Two messages, clear as day. I don’t know how, but I didn’t want to stay and find out.
I shoved my things back in my bag; fully intent on booking it. There was a 24-hour convenience store just down the block. The owner was a close friend of my dad’s, a safe place. It would be a 10 minute walk, but I wasn’t planning on taking a stroll.
I stood to make my departure, when I heard a groan. The man, still seated, had turned his unwavering gaze towards me. I stopped in my tracks, his stare was no longer blank. His eyes had turned a pitch black. His brows furrowed, like he was angry, but his mouth hung agape. I winced as another drawn out groan erupted from him as he stood.
I back stepped out of reach, my eyes trained on him. He loomed over me, several heads taller, yet somehow increasing. Thin, wrinkled arms hung loosely at his sides; like empty, oversized sleeves. His legs cracked and buckle backwards, his knees bending sickly the wrong way. A horrible creaking sound resounded as his spine curled in to an impossible hunch, taking nothing from his height. His mouth still hung open, jaw seemingly unhinged, inside were several rows of pointed teeth.
The sound of the downpour was drowned out by my heartbeat pounding in my ears, as I bolted. I refused to look back. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me; praying that I wouldn’t trip. The rainfall was so heavy, each gasping breath felt like I was underwater. Just a little further, I could see the convenience store just ahead.
GROAN
He was behind me. Following me. How close was he? I sprinted the last stretch to safety. Scrambling through the door, I collapsed on the ground. Crawling desperately further away from the open doorway, I sobbed.
“Woah! Kid, what’s wrong?” Uncle Mike panicked, peering over at me from behind the counter. “Are you okay? Is someone chasing you? You’re drenched! Come here!”
Ushering me behind the counter, he pulled out the rifle he keeps to deter burglars. I cowered, curled in a ball on the ground, as he stood before me, watching the door. Silence stood at the door. Nothing came. Was it gone?
The rain had stopped. | chat.openai.com
I have always been fascinated by codes and secret languages, and so when I learned about Morse code, I was immediately drawn to it. I spent hours practicing and studying, until I was able to read and write it fluently.
But I never expected that my knowledge of Morse code would save my life.
It was a rainy day, and I was walking home from work when I suddenly heard a strange sound. It was the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement, but it seemed to have a pattern to it.
I listened carefully, and I realized that the rain was spelling out a message in Morse code. "Run," it said. "Run now."
I didn't know why the rain was telling me to run, but I knew that I had to trust it. I turned and ran as fast as I could, dodging cars and people as I made my way through the streets.
As I ran, I could hear the rain getting louder and louder behind me. It was as if it was urging me on, urging me to run faster.
Finally, I reached my apartment building and ran inside. I locked the door behind me and breathed a sigh of relief.
I didn't know what was happening, but I was grateful that my knowledge of Morse code had saved my life. And I knew that I would never take it for granted again. |
|
[WP] You’ve recently learnt morse code and the rain is telling you to run. | It had been unusually rainy for this late into the season. There was a persistent drizzling all day, it left the sidewalk wet and glistening under the flickering lamp posts. Despite the dreary weather, the café had been rather busy. Customers flooded in at all hours in search of a hot drink to fight off the chill. I was lucky enough to have several new burns peppering my hands from the various lattes and cocoas ordered during my shift. My hands looked comical now covered in Hello Kitty bandages, and the stickiness from the plasters caught at my hair as I put in my ear buds.
The bus would probably late with the weather, so a time killer is needed. Recently, I decided to learn Morse Code. My friends and I figured it be a discreet way to talk during class. A few pen clicks here and there to keep the lesson lively when Professor Malcom went on another long winded rant about the degradation of current literature. Javi suggested we use it to “help each other” during upcoming exams. Ava and I teased him about how he’d put in the effort to learn Morse for cheating purposes, but not study the actual curriculum. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, though.
I have been listening to this podcast recently, entirely in Morse, and have been using it to practice translating. Each episode was an entirely new story, a mystery until decoded. Last week’s episode was about a zombie ostrich uprising at the zoo, the previous a housewife who turn schoolyard bullies into cupcakes. It’s become my weekly treat to unfold a new childish story. The host just released a new episode stating it was unlike all the rest. As I took my seat at the bus stop, I pulled a pen and notepad out of my bag and got started.
The rain started to pick up as I neared the end of the podcast. The author didn’t lie; this tale wasn’t silly or wholesome. It was thrilling. A deranged man, a terrifying chase scene, and a worrisome cliffhanger. I had been so captivated with translating, I hadn’t noticed how late the bus was, or the man now sitting next to me. I had to have been sitting under the overhang a full hour; I wonder when he joined. I didn’t want to be rude for staring, so I opted for a quick glance as I return my items to my bag.
He looked uncomfortable. His posture upright and stiff, unmoving. I couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest from breathing. Seeing his tense form made my own muscles ache. Despite the rigidness, his face was blank. Completely devoid of any emotion, just a blank, dead eyed stare straight ahead. I followed his line of sight to a lamp post across the street, it’s bulb fizzing in and out.
Rubbing at my now tense shoulders as I settled further into my seat, I joined him in watching the flickering light. Counting the seconds between the on’s and off’s.
Light, 2; dark. Light, 2, 3, 4; dark. Light, 2; dark. Light, 2; dark.
I recognized that as a Morse ‘L’. Pulling my pen and pad back out, I decided to see what random letters I could decipher from the flashes.
.-.. .. ... - . -./.-. .- .. -.
L I S T E N / R A I N
Weird. I hadn’t expected to get any actual words, from the random blinks of light. I continued translating, but it just repeated the same two words. Listen. Rain. Over and over. I double checked the alphabet to see if I made a slip up. Listen. Rain. No mistake, the streetlight was the flickering the message “Listen Rain”, continuously.
The man beside me still stared at the light; had he blinked at all during this time? He hasn’t seemed to have moved at all since I noticed him. Can he understand the message? My nerves were starting to get the better of me. I could feel my pulse start to quicken as I now watched the rainfall grow heavier.
With a shaky hand I removed my earbuds and listened. Pat, paaat, pat. Sure enough, it was another message.
.-. ..- -./-. --- .—
R U N / N O W
I trembled, both from the chill in the air and the fear now coursing through my veins. Run now? Where? Why? This couldn’t just be some fluke, freak incident. Two messages, clear as day. I don’t know how, but I didn’t want to stay and find out.
I shoved my things back in my bag; fully intent on booking it. There was a 24-hour convenience store just down the block. The owner was a close friend of my dad’s, a safe place. It would be a 10 minute walk, but I wasn’t planning on taking a stroll.
I stood to make my departure, when I heard a groan. The man, still seated, had turned his unwavering gaze towards me. I stopped in my tracks, his stare was no longer blank. His eyes had turned a pitch black. His brows furrowed, like he was angry, but his mouth hung agape. I winced as another drawn out groan erupted from him as he stood.
I back stepped out of reach, my eyes trained on him. He loomed over me, several heads taller, yet somehow increasing. Thin, wrinkled arms hung loosely at his sides; like empty, oversized sleeves. His legs cracked and buckle backwards, his knees bending sickly the wrong way. A horrible creaking sound resounded as his spine curled in to an impossible hunch, taking nothing from his height. His mouth still hung open, jaw seemingly unhinged, inside were several rows of pointed teeth.
The sound of the downpour was drowned out by my heartbeat pounding in my ears, as I bolted. I refused to look back. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me; praying that I wouldn’t trip. The rainfall was so heavy, each gasping breath felt like I was underwater. Just a little further, I could see the convenience store just ahead.
GROAN
He was behind me. Following me. How close was he? I sprinted the last stretch to safety. Scrambling through the door, I collapsed on the ground. Crawling desperately further away from the open doorway, I sobbed.
“Woah! Kid, what’s wrong?” Uncle Mike panicked, peering over at me from behind the counter. “Are you okay? Is someone chasing you? You’re drenched! Come here!”
Ushering me behind the counter, he pulled out the rifle he keeps to deter burglars. I cowered, curled in a ball on the ground, as he stood before me, watching the door. Silence stood at the door. Nothing came. Was it gone?
The rain had stopped. | The drops tapped a pattern on the ground, and I could have sworn that it was coming from an unseen finger, someone sending me a message. Click-click-click-click; dot-dash-dot-dash. I felt chills rise up my spine as I read it in my head: Run.
Every muscle in my body tightened, as my legs shifted into gear, pushing me towards the horizon. I knew I had to keep moving, and fast – I didn't have a lot of time, and I hadn't been prepared for this.
The rain intensified, blocking out all other sounds, until, with a start, I heard something else -the distinct rhythm of a code I had come to recognize. My eyes darted back and forth, looking for the source of the sound; when I finally spotted a dark figure in the distance, I felt a wave of fear crash over me.
I started to back away slowly, while the figure reached into its coat and I heard a tell-tale click of a gun. I thought I was done for, but then I heard a familiar tapping noise. It was morse code, and I understood it perfectly. I was being told to find the key and unlock freedom. I knew it was a warning, and that I didn't have much time to figure out what it meant and escape this nightmare, but I suppressed the fear and tried to focus.
I searched my pockets, quickly and desperately, until my hand closed around a small object. I felt a surge of relief wash over me, until I looked up and saw the figure coming closer. My stomach clenched when I saw the gun, still in its hand. I started to back away, but I felt something tugging at my back. It was a manacle, still holding me in its grip. I realized then that the key had been beside me all along.
The figure moved closer, the click of the gun ever louder, and it finally dawned on me that I had been running away from myself all along. As the figure's face came into focus, I was overcome with terror. It was me. It had always been me. I had been trying to escape myself, but knew that I would never be free.
The figure raised the gun and pulled the trigger, and all I heard was tap tap tap echoing in the darkness. |
|
[WP] You are functionally immortal. However, every century your memories are reverted back completely to when the curse first took root. | The biggest problem with forgetting everything is trying to catch up with my past. I’ve gotten really good at leaving myself notes, which over the millennia have become scrolls, books, even shelves of books, that I need to pore through after reading the initial note that reads, “Greetings, Salomon, and salutations. This is the Nth time you have reset, after the curse you think you were placed under only yesterday. Nearby you’ll find additional notes and materials, some wealth and supplies, that will help to catch you up and bootstrap your new life. Love, Salomon-just-before-reset.” I know this fact about myself, because it both seems right, like something I’d do, and also, the very evidence of the cheery notes - each with the helpful friendly words “Don’t Panic” - written in bold letters on the envelope. I also keep a ledger that itemized and enumerates resets using the local dates and times used by society, alongside dates in my original language, with helpful translating notes.
But I have a sinking feeling that this time, I’m out of my depth. For reasons only known to myself before this latest reset, I left myself just the ledger, the cheerful note, and this shiny black glass slab that appears to function as some sort of colorful lamp. I recognize the numbers - Arabic numerals, ok - and there’s a four digit sequence written on the bottom of the envelope it came in.
This time, in spite of the cheerful advice not to panic, I’m starting to panic. Where is the rest of the information?
On a whim, I flip the flat black lamp to face upwards, and tap the numbers on the face of it. Startled by the voice that suddenly blasts from seemingly nowhere, I fumble the lamp and it falls hard and flat, shattering its face, and shutting off, leaving me wreathed once more in the shadows of my reset refuge lair.
I pick up the broken lamp, shake it. Little glittering shards of glass fall off it, and the surface is crazed with cracks and scratches. It doesn’t work anymore; great, I broke it. I’m going to have to leave my lair, and try to find out if anyone in this new age speaks Sumerian, and if so, see if they can help me find work - probably smithing, I can do that, I’m one of the best bronze workers of my age.
As I emerge blinking into the light, something huge and growling ferociously, with piercing glowing eyes, turns to me and charges. I throw myself down into a nearby ditch, and it thunders by. Expecting it to turn and come back to finish me off, I’m shocked to watch it continue on its way, growling and lights of its eyes, dimming as it recedes. I look at my date ledger again… thousands of years have passed. Apparently, it’s now 2023, in the local calendar?
I look around to try to find the broken lamp, but it’s lost somewhere in the evening gloom. I can already tell that there’s something very different going on. This is a very inauspicious way to start the new century. I just hope I can find someone who speaks my language, or maybe a bronze-works somewhere… | [Poem].
Blacksmithing is always a good gig,
The problems are never too big.
But after my reset,
Imagine my upset,
When I woke up to a world waaaay too big. |
|
[WP] We've all seen Zombies, Astroids, and Nukes. Write an apacolypse with an origin you havent seen talked about before. | Emily been counting on my left for as long as i can remember, heck shes the only way we keep tracking how long we have been here. In this purgatory covered in a darknes as black and as thick as tar
I was in my cubicle at work when it happened. I spotted a wall of darkness rushing towards us from the corner of my eye as i typed up some annual reports. As i turned i was hit by a wave of darkness and sucked into it. Cant really describe the feeling as all my senses stopped that day. Complete inescapable pitch darkness gripped the planet.
I only sense that inexist; im a consciousness floating in an ocean of thoughts with other peoples thoughts rushing or rolling past my ears, i think i still have ears. I dont feel hungry tired or anything that lets me know im alive. I just know im there.
I can hear me the thoughts of all the people around me but for some reason they cant hear me so we cant communicate but are aware we are many. I hear voices in different languages which come and go on this consciousness.I figured that some people could only hear others can only broadcast and dont hear the others around them. We are alone in this together.
I enjoyed hearing people come up with theories on what happened. From a spell gone wrong to religious superstition. A Belgium physicist once popped up and frantically tried to work out what happened. He settled on that the universe found a level more stable then the level were on and a chain reaction started and we were wiped out. False Vacuum Decay. He couldn't explain why we were alive though and why we could hear each other. He soon lost it and voice was carried of into the distance.
Not as many broadcasters floating arounding as there use to be. Seems whether they died or choose to be quiet i will never know yet Emily remains; counting the days that have passed since she last heard her mothers voice. The last voice she ever heard before it faded to black. She will never know that im right there by her side | “When I tell you the world ended by an apocalypse, you probably think of one event. One big boom that ended everything. Now I want you to get that thought out of your head. Because what ended the world was not one event. It was a cascade. A flowing cacophony where a domino effect took out the world. All the different apocalypses eventually gathered into everything that happened to the world. There's no hope left for the world. Maybe people will survive, but there's no hope to fix the world.” The woman recording the message in an old decrepit technological haven starts to break down. “I'm leaving this world with my only accomplishment being the saving of 5 people’s genetic code.” She slams her hand on the table. “Maybe they'll be able to survive. For all hope, for our future.”
She stops her recording as she looks at a gun on the table. She starts up one more recording. “For your future. 8 1 14 14 1 8 1 12 5 24 5 12 9 18 15 19 5 14 1 20 8 1 14.” As she finishes the recording she saves it to 5 devices, adding them to 5 bundles in front of 5 pods. She soberly touches the names on each pod. “Alex, Eli, Rose, Nathan. I wonder if you'll count as kids of the original.” As she reaches the last pod she places her head on the nameplate of the last pod. “I believe in you. I have hope in you. Hannah. I hope you get to explore. To live. To love. To experience life how you want.” She laughs to herself. “I think I answered my own question.” She stayed there for what was probably only a couple minutes but to her it was hours upon hours.
Eventually she makes her way back to the table she recorded before. She picks up the gun and methodically checks every part of it. After checking every part of the gun at least 10 times she raises it and places the barrel against the side of her head. She stays there for minutes just looking at her reflection on the screen in front of her. She grits her teeth and cries out, a cry filled with anguish, pain, melancholy, anger, rage, but mostly the scream is filled with sorrow over everything in the world. She stays there still looking at her reflection for a couple minutes. A scientist celebrated as a genius, as the new hope of the world, as one of the brightest in the world, reduced to nothing but a crying woman with a gun to her head. She looks over at the pods one more time and starts to laugh. A twinge of hope grows in her chest. She laughs louder and louder until she sounds like a mad woman. The last sound that leaves the mouth of the genius madwoman is “FOR OUR FUTURE! FOR YOUR FUTURE!”
(Lifted directly from a story I am writing. Uhh. Enjoy.) |
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[WP] We've all seen Zombies, Astroids, and Nukes. Write an apacolypse with an origin you havent seen talked about before. | Captain's Log, December 16th 2022, USS Alaska
Life probably originated in the deep ocean. Eventually, some molecule formed that had the miraculous property of self-replication, feeding on the energetic proton gradients in the porous limestone near hydrothermal vents. By the power of evolution, mutations that improved self-replication were selected for.
Almost all life on earth is descended from that first strain of life (though not all, such as Archaea). The reason life hasn't re-evolved is that competition for resources is now fierce. Back in the beginning, survival of the fittest merely meant survival; now it means outperforming a billion years of evolution. It would require astronomical luck for a viable new Replicator to form.
Luck for it. Disaster for us.
About four days ago, a new Replicator formed. Like an invasive species feasting in its new habitat with no natural predators, so too did this new beast set upon the Earth. It's food: oxygen.
Most humans are dead now, the composition of our atmosphere no longer suitable for life. What limited supplies of oxygen we had, mostly at hospitals, ran out within six hours. Not even the President's bunker was safe: a few Replicators hitched a ride in when the door opened for the boss. There are a few pockets of safety, places that were hermetically sealed before the Replicator formed. Mostly submarines. Which brings us to me, the most senior captain in the largest submarine fleet in the world - I am now the commanding officer of at least 80% of humanity.
I've got a plan - it's one hell of a long shot. We're praying that the Replicator burns itself out in a few weeks, which we will only discover by sacrificing submarine crews, one at a time just before their supplies run out. I don't control the odds, but I do control how the dice are rolled. We, humanity, won't roll over and die without one final stand. | “When I tell you the world ended by an apocalypse, you probably think of one event. One big boom that ended everything. Now I want you to get that thought out of your head. Because what ended the world was not one event. It was a cascade. A flowing cacophony where a domino effect took out the world. All the different apocalypses eventually gathered into everything that happened to the world. There's no hope left for the world. Maybe people will survive, but there's no hope to fix the world.” The woman recording the message in an old decrepit technological haven starts to break down. “I'm leaving this world with my only accomplishment being the saving of 5 people’s genetic code.” She slams her hand on the table. “Maybe they'll be able to survive. For all hope, for our future.”
She stops her recording as she looks at a gun on the table. She starts up one more recording. “For your future. 8 1 14 14 1 8 1 12 5 24 5 12 9 18 15 19 5 14 1 20 8 1 14.” As she finishes the recording she saves it to 5 devices, adding them to 5 bundles in front of 5 pods. She soberly touches the names on each pod. “Alex, Eli, Rose, Nathan. I wonder if you'll count as kids of the original.” As she reaches the last pod she places her head on the nameplate of the last pod. “I believe in you. I have hope in you. Hannah. I hope you get to explore. To live. To love. To experience life how you want.” She laughs to herself. “I think I answered my own question.” She stayed there for what was probably only a couple minutes but to her it was hours upon hours.
Eventually she makes her way back to the table she recorded before. She picks up the gun and methodically checks every part of it. After checking every part of the gun at least 10 times she raises it and places the barrel against the side of her head. She stays there for minutes just looking at her reflection on the screen in front of her. She grits her teeth and cries out, a cry filled with anguish, pain, melancholy, anger, rage, but mostly the scream is filled with sorrow over everything in the world. She stays there still looking at her reflection for a couple minutes. A scientist celebrated as a genius, as the new hope of the world, as one of the brightest in the world, reduced to nothing but a crying woman with a gun to her head. She looks over at the pods one more time and starts to laugh. A twinge of hope grows in her chest. She laughs louder and louder until she sounds like a mad woman. The last sound that leaves the mouth of the genius madwoman is “FOR OUR FUTURE! FOR YOUR FUTURE!”
(Lifted directly from a story I am writing. Uhh. Enjoy.) |
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[WP] We've all seen Zombies, Astroids, and Nukes. Write an apacolypse with an origin you havent seen talked about before. | Captain's Log, December 16th 2022, USS Alaska
Life probably originated in the deep ocean. Eventually, some molecule formed that had the miraculous property of self-replication, feeding on the energetic proton gradients in the porous limestone near hydrothermal vents. By the power of evolution, mutations that improved self-replication were selected for.
Almost all life on earth is descended from that first strain of life (though not all, such as Archaea). The reason life hasn't re-evolved is that competition for resources is now fierce. Back in the beginning, survival of the fittest merely meant survival; now it means outperforming a billion years of evolution. It would require astronomical luck for a viable new Replicator to form.
Luck for it. Disaster for us.
About four days ago, a new Replicator formed. Like an invasive species feasting in its new habitat with no natural predators, so too did this new beast set upon the Earth. It's food: oxygen.
Most humans are dead now, the composition of our atmosphere no longer suitable for life. What limited supplies of oxygen we had, mostly at hospitals, ran out within six hours. Not even the President's bunker was safe: a few Replicators hitched a ride in when the door opened for the boss. There are a few pockets of safety, places that were hermetically sealed before the Replicator formed. Mostly submarines. Which brings us to me, the most senior captain in the largest submarine fleet in the world - I am now the commanding officer of at least 80% of humanity.
I've got a plan - it's one hell of a long shot. We're praying that the Replicator burns itself out in a few weeks, which we will only discover by sacrificing submarine crews, one at a time just before their supplies run out. I don't control the odds, but I do control how the dice are rolled. We, humanity, won't roll over and die without one final stand. | Emily been counting on my left for as long as i can remember, heck shes the only way we keep tracking how long we have been here. In this purgatory covered in a darknes as black and as thick as tar
I was in my cubicle at work when it happened. I spotted a wall of darkness rushing towards us from the corner of my eye as i typed up some annual reports. As i turned i was hit by a wave of darkness and sucked into it. Cant really describe the feeling as all my senses stopped that day. Complete inescapable pitch darkness gripped the planet.
I only sense that inexist; im a consciousness floating in an ocean of thoughts with other peoples thoughts rushing or rolling past my ears, i think i still have ears. I dont feel hungry tired or anything that lets me know im alive. I just know im there.
I can hear me the thoughts of all the people around me but for some reason they cant hear me so we cant communicate but are aware we are many. I hear voices in different languages which come and go on this consciousness.I figured that some people could only hear others can only broadcast and dont hear the others around them. We are alone in this together.
I enjoyed hearing people come up with theories on what happened. From a spell gone wrong to religious superstition. A Belgium physicist once popped up and frantically tried to work out what happened. He settled on that the universe found a level more stable then the level were on and a chain reaction started and we were wiped out. False Vacuum Decay. He couldn't explain why we were alive though and why we could hear each other. He soon lost it and voice was carried of into the distance.
Not as many broadcasters floating arounding as there use to be. Seems whether they died or choose to be quiet i will never know yet Emily remains; counting the days that have passed since she last heard her mothers voice. The last voice she ever heard before it faded to black. She will never know that im right there by her side |
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[WP] The revenge driven protagonist hunts his fathers killer for years, only to discover that he was now a loving family man with a son. The killer suffers from heavy guilt for his past actions and has now worked hard to be a better man to everyone, and is beloved for his kindness and generosity. | "Please don't do this." she sobbed.
"I said the same thing," I whispered, pressing the muzzle of my gun into the forehead of the man kneeling before me, "just before this bastard here killed my father right before my eyes."
"Daddy," one of the children cried, and my heart clenched. I was there too, a lifetime ago.
"I know," the woman – his wife I presume, huddling with their three children on the other side of the dining table – whispered. "I know everything, and I'm so sorry. And I understand."
"Hmmm." I grunted. Well, this was new. I spent years hunting down my father's killer. I discovered that his assassin was both highly skilled and highly prolific, which made everyone I encountered rather reluctant to surrender any information. I employed methods that helped, shall we say, *grease the wheels of communication*, but those that resisted often resorted to threats, begging, bargaining, anything to delay the inevitable. I expected his family to react much the same way. Threaten, beg, bargain all the stages of grief rather unique to situations like this.
Acceptance usually isn't a player in this game.
"You can kill me," the man whispered. I knew his name, but I like keeping things anonymous. You lose some romance and mystery if you know too much sometimes.
"Don't need your permission." I responded flatly. I unlocked my safety.
"Just don't kill me in front of my family," he begged, "they don't need to see this."
"Where was that consideration all those years ago?" I sneered. Behind me, I could hear the eldest daughter shush her siblings and tell them to cover their eyes.
"Aaron," he whispered, and then his voice broke. "You're all grown up now."
"Aaron, you loved cars. Your father bought you a radio controlled car for your birthday and he brought you to the park, every Saturday, and let you drive it around. He loved you so much he even bought a car for your best friend Fred, so you guys could race together sometimes. He'd do an announcer voice and narrate when you made sharp turns, when your car flew over the finish line he made out of paper cups and take out chop sticks with bits of cloth strewn between. He'd take you out for your favorite breakfast afterwards - a bagel with lox. You had such grown up tastes for a kid! He dropped you off school every morning and always said if you do your best, everything else will follow. You didn't live that far from school, only a few blocks, but he loved spending as much time with you as he could, because your mom died when you were so young, and you were his whole world. He had a picture of both of you on his desk. He never stopped loving her, which really pissed off Janine from Accounting. He left work early three days a week to pick you up from school, the other days were your grandma's days, and he always went straight to your school from work, except Fridays, when he'd stop off at home first to set up a surprise for you and wait for you to walk back to your neighborhood with Fred."
"And that was the perfect time to kill him. Wait for him to get back, try to kill him before you returned from school. Because your dad knew something, you see. He knew someone at his aviation company had approved something that should not have been approved, and people died. That person tried to give him money if he'd stay quiet, and oh god it was so much money, it would have changed your lives, but your father wanted to do the right thing. And he was going to testify, bring them justice. And I, I..."
The man began to cry. I tried not to roll my eyes. I knew this speech was coming.
"Your father made me want to be a better man," he continued, "I'm an active member in my community. Every time there's a snowstorm, I'm the one shoveling my neighbor's driveways. I volunteer in a soup kitchen once a month. When Greg down the block died from cancer like your mother did, I organized a fundraiser for his widow, so she could cover her mortgage payments for a year! And I convinced that beautiful woman standing there behind you to marry me, have children with me. They're the light of my life, just like I know you were the light of your father's life. I always think back to those days I tailed your father and saw how much he loved you, how he always tried to do the right thing. And I strive to be that person, each and every day."
He paused, then said, a little too smugly for my taste: "I'm sure you did your research, Aaron. That's how you found me. You know I'm known throughout my community for my kindness and generosity."
"You never turned yourself in though." I pointed out.
The man stop. Sputtered.
"Well I...I thought the best way to honor my victims was to pay it forward. Live a good life, do right by my community."
"And rob your victims's families of any chance of closure. May I remind you of what you did?" My mocking voice got a little sing-songy
"Hey," he screamed, "your dad could have suffered, the contract specifically asked for torture, but I made it fast! True, because you walked in, but he just got a bullet to the head! I took a pay cut!"
"Wow, you skipped the torture," I said sarcastically, "Such hero. Much sacrifice."
"And I let the kid live! I'm a *good* guy now," he responded hotly. "I recycle!"
With a flurry and agility honed from years of practice, he grabbed my gun, swept my legs out from under me, and knocked me to the ground.
Blinding beams of light flooded the dining room.
"Drop it!" FBI swat agents poured in, seemingly from every direction. The man covered his face while his family, still huddled together at the other end of the dining table, screamed.
"Get the kids out of here," I groaned from the floor, "And make sure they're okay. They didn't do anything wrong. But you–" I pointed at his wife, "you do realize you admitted to knowing about his murders, right?"
"We got it all on audio recording, Aaron," an agent reached down and pulled me to my feet. "It's over, finally. We got him buddy."
"Thanks, Fred."
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to cry.
"Love you, dad." | I sat on the crowded train, glad I managed to swindle my way into a comfy window seat by a sleeping buisness man. The condensation dripped from my fresh can of coke. The Christmas advertising saw to it that the drips ran over Santa's jolly face upon the aluminium.
"Hello, fat man." I whispered flatly to myself, just loud enough for a nearby child to hear and giggle a little. I was tempted to look over to see their expression of amusement, but I was otherwise transfixed on the blur of dazzling Christmas lights speeding past the window in the night.
My mind wanders back to that night my father was taken from me. He lay in the snow angel of blood by the crumpled recycling bin, refuse covered two gardens. The lights of a police car had woken me. Red, like his blood. Blue, like I knew, there would be no happiness this year. Red, my anger built to boiling point. Blue, the man's face will be dead and blue when I find him. The officer said that there were no tire tracks due to the ice, so there was no way of finding who killed my dad. But I had my trail cam set up that night, and I know who done it.
Ten years on, and I had his address, the train ticket, and my shotgun. I don't care about the rumours that he's the best man ever, so kind and generous, I know his true colours. Murderous bastard! Not long now, and I will have my revenge.
I stepped onto his porch made of solid slate. The large solid oak door stood like a Fort before a besieging army infant of me. I knew its weaknesses, having studied the locks and picked my way inside in ten minutes. I was in. Everything screamed luxury, the floors, the lights, even the coats on the coat rack. My dad was surrounded by dirt, and he was surrounded by pearls and diamonds. The thought and adrenaline made me feel sick.
The noise of laughter came from the living room, and I followed it with my shotgun ready. The sounds of a rolling fire crept around the open door before me, and I nudged it open with the barrel of the gun.
There he was, kneeling by the fire in front of a victorian armchair that hugged around his gorgeous wife and something I hadn't planned on. Upon her knee sat a young boy, he was learning to tie his shoes from his father.
I knocked a vase, and they looked at me in tandem, shock smeared their once joyous faces. I couldn't back down now. I raised my shotgun and cooked it with a loud, CHICK CHICK, I looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Do you remember killing my father? Do you? Huh, Santa Claus?"
And like his reindeer, the bullets flew. |
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[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | The shewolf bowed her head as her alpha approached. "He's over here, my lord."
"I know," he replied. The wind turned, curled, snaking through the trees, and on the silver chill of winter air, he tasted that familiar scent. "I can smell him."
Out of the dark, a motley shape approached. Even to the old alpha's lupine eyes, he seemed like a shadow given life. His fur was thick. A well-fed beast in his prime. Yet the younger wolf dipped his head respectfully and averted his gaze, requesting to come near.
This was the line of the territory. To enter without permission would be war.
The alpha said nothing. Not with his voice. Not with his body. He didn't have the strength to sneer, this time. No, he felt nothing but a resigned sadness as the newcomer spoke, his words at this point nothing more than ritual.
"Dad, I am cold."
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?"
"Is it so wrong that a son would want to see his Dad?"
The older wolf sighed in exasperation. Every year, this battle of words, only for the youth to leave. As he should. He would do better as an alpha of his own, not an omega or beta under his dad's home. But the years had taken their toll and the old wolf was too tired for this. So tired. He sat back on his haunches.
Behind him, a silence like the sudden stilling of many breaths.
Before him, his son perked up. Alert.
"I wanted the best for you, you know," the old wolf said. "Look at you. Strong. Fearsome. Any shewolf would be lucky to have you as their alpha. But..." He looked behind his son into the far-reaching dark. Empty. Cold. "How many pups do you have?"
His son hesitated. Finally admitted, "None."
"And what has that benefited you?"
The young wolf kept his head bowed. For a moment, the old wolf grieved his victory. But then he noticed. His son's ears hadn't drooped. The eyes hadn't closed. His tail did not tuck in defeat. He was silent, but not for lack of a reply.
The trees whispered amongst themselves. A sudden wind blew, and their neighbors shushed them, bending over with anticipation for what was about to come.
"Dad, I've been to where the Man dwells."
The whole night sucked in it's breath. Every tree. Every wolf in the dark behind the old wolf. Even his own fur stood on end. "Son, that's madness-"
"Yes! Yes, it is madness!" The young wolf took a single step forward, all of his intensity poured out in a desperate, pleading howl of the soul. He shook his head. "It is madness. I could take no pup in that way. No wife. No brother. Nobody, lest I get caught and the Man comes after them. I couldn't endanger those I love.
"Year after year," he continued. "Year after year, I searched, and all I found was what you told me. Death. Fear. How many times I escaped with barely my own pelt! Year after year, I asked myself if you were right. I saw wolves at a distance and for fear of finding myself in love, I ran. Why? Why?!"
The old wolf knew why. But he couldn't respond. His son's tirades had never been like this, never so full of confidence, never with that glint — that ancient, universal, knowing glint — in his yellow gaze.
"Because of the scream in my soul! The ache. The yearning. That most damnable, beautiful, desperate yearning for the revealing of the sons of light! 'Fairy tale, fairy tale, fairy tale', you always said-"
The familiarity of the words pulled something out of the alpha by habit. "It's the way of the world-"
"DAMN THE WAY OF THE WORLD," the young wolf screamed, voice breaking. Every fiber of his being, ever hair on his pelt, it all stood on end.
He looked back up, holding his dad's gaze. Holding. Holding...
The instinct of the challenge pulled the alpha to his paws. A rippling growl rose in his chest, equal parts rage at the audacity and fear at the knowledge of the end. He could win no fight here. Not against this beast of the night. His ears twitched, flicking to a sound behind him, like that of many wolves desperately striving to hold in their voices, stamping out their grief. They knew it too. Their beloved alpha was soon to be gone, and all they could do was watch. It was the way of the world and they were enslaved to its power.
*Let him come for me, then. Let my son make the first move.*
But his son did not move. His son stood, tall and proud, black fur waving like a mane in the wind, reminiscent of an ancient memory of a cat to whom every wolf must bow. Ears tall. Nose neither up nor down. Straight on, the son stared his dad in the eye. His father.
But he took no step. He only spoke.
***\[continued below\]*** | I stood with my back against the door, a shotgun held in my hand. Its wooden stock slipped from my numb fingers. I crouched to get it and saw my reflection in a sliver of ice.
I was a remnant of a man, but years spent away from other people will do that. A crunch interrupted my musings.
"Dad, I am cold" I scrabbled for the gun and stood sharply. I remembered that voice, I felt like he'd only been gone for a day.
The urge to open the door and let my son in was nearly irresistible.
I wanted to go out there hug him and tell him everything was okay. I didn't leave because I hated him or at least that's what I tell myself.
Damn his mother. She'd pull every trick in her demonic book to get me out of here.
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?", I asked, knowing the answer.
"she wants you back" he didn't have to mention who.
"Tell Lillith to come herself," I said, with venom dripping from every word.
After a second of piercing silence, my son says, “she says you’re overreacting”.
“I’m overreacting... she killed my entire family in search of her stupid immortality! forgive me if I’m not welcoming her back!”
“Dad, she saved me, would you rather I died?” he asks in exasperation. As if he can’t possibly see why I hate her.
I stay silent but he reads the answer in my silence.
“I’m leaving,” he says. The crunches as he walks away and fades into memory, like the day before and the day before.
While immortality is a boon for some it’s a curse for others.
guys pls comment on any faults u notice. I'm new to this and want to start writing a proper story soon. any criticisms would be appreciated. |
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[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad I'm cold" The boy said through the spirit box, it was choppy but you could hear it.
We were sitting in a cemetery at my little brothers unmarked grave. I knew where he was buried, I was there when I saw him above ground for the last time. I would head to the cemetery once a year on his birthday and try to make contact, every year he just repeats the same thing "Dad I'm cold."
"Zach do you think he's going to say anything else?" I could hear her teeth clattering as she was speaking, it's 32 degrees out and in the middle of the night. "Kate go to the car start warming it up we can leave in a minute" I took a deep breath and watched the warm air escape from my nose and traveling away from the light view that my flashlight was providing me. Breathing this air here feels wrong, it's not fair that I am living and breathing this ice cold air but to everyone here and around me can't. I knew he wasn't going to say anything else, he never does I don't know why I think every year will be different.
When I get back to the car Kate is wrapped up in her blanket and looks cozy. "Thanks for coming out with me.." I tried smiling at her. "Babe you know I won't let you come alone especially in the middle of the night" she reached out touching my thigh.
As we are leaving the cemetery, my phone lights up. It's a text from dad "Son, it's been 7 years, why do you keep coming back?"
Cause one day dad, I will have my answer for my little brother murder case.
I am super rusty, please forgive me 😅 | I stood with my back against the door, a shotgun held in my hand. Its wooden stock slipped from my numb fingers. I crouched to get it and saw my reflection in a sliver of ice.
I was a remnant of a man, but years spent away from other people will do that. A crunch interrupted my musings.
"Dad, I am cold" I scrabbled for the gun and stood sharply. I remembered that voice, I felt like he'd only been gone for a day.
The urge to open the door and let my son in was nearly irresistible.
I wanted to go out there hug him and tell him everything was okay. I didn't leave because I hated him or at least that's what I tell myself.
Damn his mother. She'd pull every trick in her demonic book to get me out of here.
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?", I asked, knowing the answer.
"she wants you back" he didn't have to mention who.
"Tell Lillith to come herself," I said, with venom dripping from every word.
After a second of piercing silence, my son says, “she says you’re overreacting”.
“I’m overreacting... she killed my entire family in search of her stupid immortality! forgive me if I’m not welcoming her back!”
“Dad, she saved me, would you rather I died?” he asks in exasperation. As if he can’t possibly see why I hate her.
I stay silent but he reads the answer in my silence.
“I’m leaving,” he says. The crunches as he walks away and fades into memory, like the day before and the day before.
While immortality is a boon for some it’s a curse for others.
guys pls comment on any faults u notice. I'm new to this and want to start writing a proper story soon. any criticisms would be appreciated. |
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[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | The shewolf bowed her head as her alpha approached. "He's over here, my lord."
"I know," he replied. The wind turned, curled, snaking through the trees, and on the silver chill of winter air, he tasted that familiar scent. "I can smell him."
Out of the dark, a motley shape approached. Even to the old alpha's lupine eyes, he seemed like a shadow given life. His fur was thick. A well-fed beast in his prime. Yet the younger wolf dipped his head respectfully and averted his gaze, requesting to come near.
This was the line of the territory. To enter without permission would be war.
The alpha said nothing. Not with his voice. Not with his body. He didn't have the strength to sneer, this time. No, he felt nothing but a resigned sadness as the newcomer spoke, his words at this point nothing more than ritual.
"Dad, I am cold."
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?"
"Is it so wrong that a son would want to see his Dad?"
The older wolf sighed in exasperation. Every year, this battle of words, only for the youth to leave. As he should. He would do better as an alpha of his own, not an omega or beta under his dad's home. But the years had taken their toll and the old wolf was too tired for this. So tired. He sat back on his haunches.
Behind him, a silence like the sudden stilling of many breaths.
Before him, his son perked up. Alert.
"I wanted the best for you, you know," the old wolf said. "Look at you. Strong. Fearsome. Any shewolf would be lucky to have you as their alpha. But..." He looked behind his son into the far-reaching dark. Empty. Cold. "How many pups do you have?"
His son hesitated. Finally admitted, "None."
"And what has that benefited you?"
The young wolf kept his head bowed. For a moment, the old wolf grieved his victory. But then he noticed. His son's ears hadn't drooped. The eyes hadn't closed. His tail did not tuck in defeat. He was silent, but not for lack of a reply.
The trees whispered amongst themselves. A sudden wind blew, and their neighbors shushed them, bending over with anticipation for what was about to come.
"Dad, I've been to where the Man dwells."
The whole night sucked in it's breath. Every tree. Every wolf in the dark behind the old wolf. Even his own fur stood on end. "Son, that's madness-"
"Yes! Yes, it is madness!" The young wolf took a single step forward, all of his intensity poured out in a desperate, pleading howl of the soul. He shook his head. "It is madness. I could take no pup in that way. No wife. No brother. Nobody, lest I get caught and the Man comes after them. I couldn't endanger those I love.
"Year after year," he continued. "Year after year, I searched, and all I found was what you told me. Death. Fear. How many times I escaped with barely my own pelt! Year after year, I asked myself if you were right. I saw wolves at a distance and for fear of finding myself in love, I ran. Why? Why?!"
The old wolf knew why. But he couldn't respond. His son's tirades had never been like this, never so full of confidence, never with that glint — that ancient, universal, knowing glint — in his yellow gaze.
"Because of the scream in my soul! The ache. The yearning. That most damnable, beautiful, desperate yearning for the revealing of the sons of light! 'Fairy tale, fairy tale, fairy tale', you always said-"
The familiarity of the words pulled something out of the alpha by habit. "It's the way of the world-"
"DAMN THE WAY OF THE WORLD," the young wolf screamed, voice breaking. Every fiber of his being, ever hair on his pelt, it all stood on end.
He looked back up, holding his dad's gaze. Holding. Holding...
The instinct of the challenge pulled the alpha to his paws. A rippling growl rose in his chest, equal parts rage at the audacity and fear at the knowledge of the end. He could win no fight here. Not against this beast of the night. His ears twitched, flicking to a sound behind him, like that of many wolves desperately striving to hold in their voices, stamping out their grief. They knew it too. Their beloved alpha was soon to be gone, and all they could do was watch. It was the way of the world and they were enslaved to its power.
*Let him come for me, then. Let my son make the first move.*
But his son did not move. His son stood, tall and proud, black fur waving like a mane in the wind, reminiscent of an ancient memory of a cat to whom every wolf must bow. Ears tall. Nose neither up nor down. Straight on, the son stared his dad in the eye. His father.
But he took no step. He only spoke.
***\[continued below\]*** |
"Dad, I'm cold..."
Jaxon searched for his father's hand, his eyes glassy, dry and red, darting furtively across the room. The IV methodically sent the cocktail fusing through his veins, as an icy, metallic chill surged through his body. They'd tried and missed four times, as scar tissue blocked entry from most kinds of needles, especially the butterfly, used for children and others frail of body. This was a painful ritual.
Merritt looked around for the attendant, wishing this was a proper medical facility with nurses and not some "Holistic Detox" weight loss mill in a strip mall surrounded by a quick lube job shop, an El Rancho Super Mercado and cheap fast food chain joints. He noticed a crumpled, cheap, sheet on the bland, tan, overstuffed lounge chair across from his chair. Resigned, he took in a deep breath, stood up and turned away to pick up the blanket, gingerly picking it up with finger and thumb, then spread it out over his son's limply spent, emaciated form.
He saw the sharp blade of Jax's shin poke up through the pale blue wrinkled polyester and the breath he had gulped in earlier left in ragged bursts.
"Son, it's been seven years already. Why do you keep coming back?" he said, carefully measuring his words, more a statement than a question and his eyes narrowed as he looked out the window to the blacktop, the sea of cars and the busy freeway beyond as he crumpled in his seat. |
|
[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad I'm cold" The boy said through the spirit box, it was choppy but you could hear it.
We were sitting in a cemetery at my little brothers unmarked grave. I knew where he was buried, I was there when I saw him above ground for the last time. I would head to the cemetery once a year on his birthday and try to make contact, every year he just repeats the same thing "Dad I'm cold."
"Zach do you think he's going to say anything else?" I could hear her teeth clattering as she was speaking, it's 32 degrees out and in the middle of the night. "Kate go to the car start warming it up we can leave in a minute" I took a deep breath and watched the warm air escape from my nose and traveling away from the light view that my flashlight was providing me. Breathing this air here feels wrong, it's not fair that I am living and breathing this ice cold air but to everyone here and around me can't. I knew he wasn't going to say anything else, he never does I don't know why I think every year will be different.
When I get back to the car Kate is wrapped up in her blanket and looks cozy. "Thanks for coming out with me.." I tried smiling at her. "Babe you know I won't let you come alone especially in the middle of the night" she reached out touching my thigh.
As we are leaving the cemetery, my phone lights up. It's a text from dad "Son, it's been 7 years, why do you keep coming back?"
Cause one day dad, I will have my answer for my little brother murder case.
I am super rusty, please forgive me 😅 |
"Dad, I'm cold..."
Jaxon searched for his father's hand, his eyes glassy, dry and red, darting furtively across the room. The IV methodically sent the cocktail fusing through his veins, as an icy, metallic chill surged through his body. They'd tried and missed four times, as scar tissue blocked entry from most kinds of needles, especially the butterfly, used for children and others frail of body. This was a painful ritual.
Merritt looked around for the attendant, wishing this was a proper medical facility with nurses and not some "Holistic Detox" weight loss mill in a strip mall surrounded by a quick lube job shop, an El Rancho Super Mercado and cheap fast food chain joints. He noticed a crumpled, cheap, sheet on the bland, tan, overstuffed lounge chair across from his chair. Resigned, he took in a deep breath, stood up and turned away to pick up the blanket, gingerly picking it up with finger and thumb, then spread it out over his son's limply spent, emaciated form.
He saw the sharp blade of Jax's shin poke up through the pale blue wrinkled polyester and the breath he had gulped in earlier left in ragged bursts.
"Son, it's been seven years already. Why do you keep coming back?" he said, carefully measuring his words, more a statement than a question and his eyes narrowed as he looked out the window to the blacktop, the sea of cars and the busy freeway beyond as he crumpled in his seat. |
|
[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad I'm cold" The boy said through the spirit box, it was choppy but you could hear it.
We were sitting in a cemetery at my little brothers unmarked grave. I knew where he was buried, I was there when I saw him above ground for the last time. I would head to the cemetery once a year on his birthday and try to make contact, every year he just repeats the same thing "Dad I'm cold."
"Zach do you think he's going to say anything else?" I could hear her teeth clattering as she was speaking, it's 32 degrees out and in the middle of the night. "Kate go to the car start warming it up we can leave in a minute" I took a deep breath and watched the warm air escape from my nose and traveling away from the light view that my flashlight was providing me. Breathing this air here feels wrong, it's not fair that I am living and breathing this ice cold air but to everyone here and around me can't. I knew he wasn't going to say anything else, he never does I don't know why I think every year will be different.
When I get back to the car Kate is wrapped up in her blanket and looks cozy. "Thanks for coming out with me.." I tried smiling at her. "Babe you know I won't let you come alone especially in the middle of the night" she reached out touching my thigh.
As we are leaving the cemetery, my phone lights up. It's a text from dad "Son, it's been 7 years, why do you keep coming back?"
Cause one day dad, I will have my answer for my little brother murder case.
I am super rusty, please forgive me 😅 | "Dad, I'm so cold," I whined as I sat beside him in our old, run down cabin in Saskatchewan.
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" My dad looked at me through the corner of his eyes, disdain painted into his look.
"I can't leave you here," I murmured, reaching out to place one of my hands on his shoulder.
He pulled back harshly, my hand just barely grazing his body as he did so. "You need to go back, Charlie. It's not safe for you here anymore."
I placed my hands in my lap, looking out at the snow covered mountains that lined the furthest edge of our property. "It's not safe for you either, dad. How many times have I tried to tell you?"
My dad shook his head, standing up and grabbing his snow gear before turning to look at me once more. "I'll be fine. I've always been fine going out there, always came back to you, ya know?"
I watched as his form disappeared deeper into the horizon, the snowfall blocking him from my sight.
*It's not going to be safe for you this time, dad. I wish you would've listened to me.* |
|
[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad I'm cold" The boy said through the spirit box, it was choppy but you could hear it.
We were sitting in a cemetery at my little brothers unmarked grave. I knew where he was buried, I was there when I saw him above ground for the last time. I would head to the cemetery once a year on his birthday and try to make contact, every year he just repeats the same thing "Dad I'm cold."
"Zach do you think he's going to say anything else?" I could hear her teeth clattering as she was speaking, it's 32 degrees out and in the middle of the night. "Kate go to the car start warming it up we can leave in a minute" I took a deep breath and watched the warm air escape from my nose and traveling away from the light view that my flashlight was providing me. Breathing this air here feels wrong, it's not fair that I am living and breathing this ice cold air but to everyone here and around me can't. I knew he wasn't going to say anything else, he never does I don't know why I think every year will be different.
When I get back to the car Kate is wrapped up in her blanket and looks cozy. "Thanks for coming out with me.." I tried smiling at her. "Babe you know I won't let you come alone especially in the middle of the night" she reached out touching my thigh.
As we are leaving the cemetery, my phone lights up. It's a text from dad "Son, it's been 7 years, why do you keep coming back?"
Cause one day dad, I will have my answer for my little brother murder case.
I am super rusty, please forgive me 😅 | "Dad, I am cold."
The man shifts his chair a little and opens one arm while sipping coffee and scrolling the tablet.
The child seems to flitter in and out of existence. He slowly walks over and climbs up. He seems to solidify and gain color.
The man asks: "Do you feel warmer now?"
The boy half replies sleepily: "Yeah."
The man asks: "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do keep coming back?"
The boy snuggles in close and whispers: "Because I love you daddy and I want be with you."
The man looks at him with tears in his eyes: "I love you too buddy. Get some sleep ok."
The boy starts to fade away: "Can I come sit with you again?"
The man holding back with all his might: "Of course buddy. Anytime you need me I'm here. We can sit together every day."
As the child fades away the man breaks down at the table. After a while he collects himself and heads to work.
He couldn't save his son. No matter what he did. No matter who he begged. No matter how much he prayed. The disease showed no mercy.
He resolves himself. He would eat his breakfast there. He would eat at that table every day. He would be there til his last day. Then he would make sure to take his son on his next journey. |
|
[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad, I am cold."
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?"
"Say it."
"I don't want to say it."
"You have to say it. You murdered me. You murdered Mom. Look at me. Look at my neck. Look what you did to me."
"I don't have to look at anything. You're an apparition. Leave me to my morning coffee in peace."
"There is no peace for us, Dad. I've known no peace for... how long did you say? Seven years?"
"To the day now."
"Your eyes are bloodshot."
"You won't leave me alone. Even in death you won't leave me alone."
"You know what you need to say."
"Ugh, this coffee cup is too fucking cumbersome for these old hands. I should really get a more manageable one."
"You can't ignore me forever, Dad."
"I'd kill you again if I could."
"I'm just a boy."
"If only your spirit was as easy to sever as your head..."
"You're a monster, Dad."
"I'll find a way."
"You just need to say it."
"I'm not saying it."
"Then I'll haunt you forever. I have all the time in the world."
Dad takes a swig of his coffee, full of sugar and cream. He pants as he slams the mug on the table, his hand trembling, his body shaking, his bloodshot eyes peering forward. This is a man who has not deserved a single restful night of sleep for the past seven years, and thusly who has not had one. He earned his haunted life.
Dad is a man who has forgotten how to blink. His eyes bulge, as if they would cry if only they knew what crying was. He closes his eyelids, crust chipping down from them as he grits his teeth and tightens his hand clenching the coffee mug handle on the table. He inhales, holds his breath, and lets out an unsteady breath as he braces himself to say the words he needs to say.
"Hi Cold... I'm Dad." | "Dad, I'm cold," I said, my teeth chattering from the chill in the air.
My father looked at me with a pained expression on his face. "Son, please, it's been seven years already. Why do you keep coming back?"
I didn't have an answer for him. I didn't understand why I kept returning to this place, either. All I knew was that something was calling me back, something that I couldn't ignore.
"I don't know, Dad," I said, shrugging. "I just feel like I need to be here. It's like there's something I need to do, something I need to finish."
My father sighed and wrapped his arms around me, trying to provide some warmth. "I wish I could understand, son. But you have to let go. You have to move on. You're not here anymore, and you need to accept that."
I nodded, knowing he was right. But even as I left the place and returned to the world of the living, I couldn't shake the feeling that I would be back again. There was something calling me, something that I couldn't ignore. And until I figured out what it was, I knew I would keep coming back. |
|
[WP]"Dad, I am cold" "Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?" | "Dad, I am cold."
"Son, please, it's been 7 years already, why do you keep coming back?"
"Say it."
"I don't want to say it."
"You have to say it. You murdered me. You murdered Mom. Look at me. Look at my neck. Look what you did to me."
"I don't have to look at anything. You're an apparition. Leave me to my morning coffee in peace."
"There is no peace for us, Dad. I've known no peace for... how long did you say? Seven years?"
"To the day now."
"Your eyes are bloodshot."
"You won't leave me alone. Even in death you won't leave me alone."
"You know what you need to say."
"Ugh, this coffee cup is too fucking cumbersome for these old hands. I should really get a more manageable one."
"You can't ignore me forever, Dad."
"I'd kill you again if I could."
"I'm just a boy."
"If only your spirit was as easy to sever as your head..."
"You're a monster, Dad."
"I'll find a way."
"You just need to say it."
"I'm not saying it."
"Then I'll haunt you forever. I have all the time in the world."
Dad takes a swig of his coffee, full of sugar and cream. He pants as he slams the mug on the table, his hand trembling, his body shaking, his bloodshot eyes peering forward. This is a man who has not deserved a single restful night of sleep for the past seven years, and thusly who has not had one. He earned his haunted life.
Dad is a man who has forgotten how to blink. His eyes bulge, as if they would cry if only they knew what crying was. He closes his eyelids, crust chipping down from them as he grits his teeth and tightens his hand clenching the coffee mug handle on the table. He inhales, holds his breath, and lets out an unsteady breath as he braces himself to say the words he needs to say.
"Hi Cold... I'm Dad." | “So...cold.”
“Son. It’s been six—wait. No. *Seven* years. Why do you keep coming back?”
“P...pa-pa. I’m so...so cold. I. I can’t get warm, pa-pa. So very—hey-hey! Don’t close that door. It’s snowing out here.”
“Look. You’re twenty-five, I don’t mind you visiting — lord knows I love seeing you, kid — but I can’t have you hanging out and practically moving back in every winter. Eating my food. Cranking my thermostat.”
“But, pa-pa!”
“Oh, leave my baby alone, Richard. Come in, come in, Charlie-bear! I’ll make you some soup. Poor baby, freezing out there, mean old Dad.”
“Thanks, Ma!”
“...I’m gonna send that kid a bill this time...ah, who am I kidding. Dearest, what sorta soup is it?” |
|
[WP] You are a demon, one of the top ranked ones at that. One day you get a call from an angel you used to be friends with. "Look, i hate to ask this, but i trust you. Can you cover for me for a couple years?" The Guardian Angel asks. | "Gimme another." The demon pushed his mug across the bar to the poltergeist bartender, who took it without a word.
"If I knew how hard this was gonna be, I wouldn't have agreed. Guardian angel for a teenager, right? Old friend asked me to cover for him for a few years. Keep an eye on him, keep him from dying, should be easy, he's a good boy. But this kid, man..."
The poltergeist set a beer down in front of the demon.
"Thanks. This kid. His home life is a mess. I spend half my time blocking blows from the kid's stepdad and filling the fridge with food! You know how hard it is to get groceries looking like this?"
The poltergeist cocked their head.
"Probably not. But believe me, it's hard. And the fuckin' kid won't eat anything but mac and cheese, pizza rolls, and one kind of chicken noodle soup." The demon drained half of the beer.
The poltergeist nodded slowly.
"And he's *gay.* He's scrawny and gay, so he gets bullied. I haven't gotten a break since August. The only reason I'm here tonight is because he's off at his aunt's house, she's good to him." He finished his beer. "Another!"
The poltergeist grabbed the empty mug.
The demon continued. "I'm trying to toughen him up, build his confidence. I put weight in his backpack to strengthen his muscles. I put Bad Religion music in his playlists to strengthen his sense of justice. I put Judas Priest on his YouTube so he can see a gay man being a fuckin' METAL GOD. I drop a thunderstorm on him now and then when he's walking home from school to make him run. I just hope it's enough."
The poltergeist set down a new beer.
The demon took a long drink, then shoved the mug aside. He used a long, dirty claw to scratch a summoning circle in the wood of the bar and recited a spell. In miniature, the boy appeared in the circle.
He was a plain looking boy; about fifteen years old, with shaggy black hair, medium brown skin, and an oversized Werner Trucking t-shirt and basketball shorts. His shoes were obviously worn down, and the right one had a hole in the toe. He wasn't smiling.
"Look at this poor kid." The demon spun the miniature toward the poltergeist. He tugged on the shirt, exposing collarbones. "No friends. Has to wear stepdad's old clothes since nobody is buying any for him. No money. No food. No safety at home. At least he's listening to the music I'm giving him. It'll keep him sane until he can get out of that house."
The poltergeist reached out with a frigid hand.
The demon slapped it away. "NO! You'll possess the boy!"
The poltergeist slowly moved their hand to the tip jar, then slid it over to the boy.
"Oh! You want...to help?" The demon closed his fist. The boy dissipated.
The poltergeist nodded.
An instant later, the TV above the bar showed the boy at Target with his auntie, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. A large man in a trenchcoat approached them with a handful of cash.
"Excuse me." The demon tried his best to keep his voice soft and human-sounding. "You dropped this, young man."
"N-no I didn't." He stepped back.
The demon looked the boy in the eyes with the full intensity of the fires of Hell. "Yes, you did, and graphic tees are on sale for $13.99."
He turned to the auntie. "Don't forget the pizza rolls." | “A couple of years! are you crazy they’ll throw me back down to hell” as I look at the flaming pits of hell hearing the angel rattle on with the following “just disguise yourself as an angel no one will know the difference” as he stands around above on clouds.
“Yeah but my wings are the only thing that won’t be covered so it won’t work” as I look through my book on a disguise no matter how foolish the plan seems and the angel speaks he says “you might like being the good guy for once plus it’s nice and calm up here “as he throws a tennis ball for a dog that just ran by. |
|
[WP] You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted. | After months of planning and campaigning I get to enact my revenge for the humiliation my ancestral homeland suffered at the hands of the US invasion decades ago. With glee, I watched as the deadly neurotoxin was loaded onto the missile which would disperse the vile substance in the atmosphere. Millions would die, a just revenge at long last.
Except that isn't what happened, it turns out one of my goons forgot to put the vial in the cooler to keep it from mutating. By the time it was released, the toxin had evolved and began to repair the hole in the ozone, undoing years of global warming.
\_\_\_\_\_\_
Not much of a writer, just wanted an excuse to write "deadly neurotoxin". | It was time for the last resort. I called in my PA and told her to ready Plan T. With slight surprise, she hurried out the Oval Office closing the door behind her.
Not even twenty minutes went by when I received the phone call, “Sir, SEAL Team 6 are in the chicken’s coop, I repeat, SEAL Team 6 are in the chicken’s coop. Proceed with mission?”
With slight hesitation, I replied with an ironically confident “yes” and the mission was a go.
SEAL Team 6 would infiltrate Osama bin Laden’s compound and initiate a deal with him and al Qaeda that would allow full command over the entire US Army and US Marine Corps in hope for mass destruction and chaos.
A few days go by and headlines follow, “Osama bin Laden has been seen flying a Boeing CH-47 Chinook over New York, dropping what seems to be $100 bills with “Go buy someone flowers” written all over them.”
And to much surprise, world hunger was ended, violence dropped to an all-time low and people seemed over-all happier.
Maybe Plan U could finally cause the world end? |
|
[WP] You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted. | I glared at the television.
The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed.
I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!"
She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the *Communists*." I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats.
She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart."
I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program... | President Gerald Darryl Hotchkins grew up in a pretty average nuclear family. He was taught pretty firmly what was right and wrong. Taxation is theft, universal healthcare is communism, civil rights were communism, look, a lot of things were communism back when Gerald was growing up. And there was something else Gerald experienced growing up. Reagan era toy selling cartoons. Little Gerald was obsessed with saturday morning cartoon villains. Lex Luthor, Skeletor, Megatron, Starscream, all of them were evil, and all of them were having a great time right up until the hero defeated them. And Gerald wanted in. He wanted chaos. He wanted evil. He wanted destruction.
So, Gerald ran for president. And he ran on everything he was taught was good. Taxation is theft, civil rights are just an excuse people use to riot, universal healthcare is communism (ah, the more things change...), and he was going to bring america back to greatness! At least, that's what he told everyone.
As soon as he got in with his party having a house and senate majority as a bonus, the chaos began. First stop, implementing universal healthcare! Yes, this would throw the whole medical system into chaos! And for a moment, it looked like his plans were paying off. News reports talking about the president's sudden radical politics, podcasters and talk radio hosts freaking out, hell, he even told a bunch of protestors to suck his dick.
And this was only the start. The next thing would totally ruin america. A massive expansion of voting rights! Yesssss, this would allow the illegal immigrants he was hearing about so much to skew elections! Not only that, behold, a massive increase in polling locations! Yes, those minorities he heard about destroying the country will surely drive america off a cliff into drugs and gang violence!
And then, of course, the lynch pin of his plan. Civil Rights. Surely the gays and the blacks and the women with colored hair would lead the country straight down a path of degeneracy and weakness. Behold! A bill massively entrenching and solidifying civil rights more than any bill had previously! This would have the country in flames.
His party went along with everything he did, even as they often gave each other nervous glances and looks of worry behind his back. Yes, the administration was going swimmingly. America was doomed. DOOMED! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
4 years later, Gerald was absolutely confused. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He had implemented everything he was taught was communism, was constructed by hippies who hate america. The stuff he put in place was supposed to lead to outright ruination! Degeneracy! Socialism! Communism! What the hell had gone wrong, he'd even heavily taxed corporations as good measure to totally destroy the place! He'd legalized weed! How had that not destroyed everything?
And yet america was... great. Medical services were available and cheap, weed was affordable and available everywhere, people got the jobs they wanted to get, everyone could vote easily, tolerance of all peoples was at an all time high, hell, "reckless government spending" had led to the early discoveries of fusion and a cure for cancer. He had wiped student loan debt and massively increased social spending, thinking it would make people dependent on the government. But as luck would have it, his massive and sweeping restrictions on police brutality that he thought would lead america into a hellhole of gang violence combined with the increase in social spending had actually made people feel safer than ever when protesting. And his massive limitations on corporate spending on politics (with the intent of stifling innovation and growth) had made people feel like they had more of a voice than ever.
He didn't understand. This was supposed to destroy america. This was ALL supposed to destroy america. What had happened?! What went wrong? Sure, the rednecks hated him, but big deal, rednecks hated everyone. Recent polls had him as best president ever, what the hell even happened?
It was the beginning of his second term after a massive, avalanche win for both himself and his party. It was time for his victory speech. He got up on stage, and cleared his throat.
"What the hell did I do wrong?! This was supposed to destroy america! Universal Healthcare was supposed to destroy america! Civil Rights were supposed to lead to a hellhole gangland! Voting rights were supposed to destroy elections! The devil's lettuce was supposed to suck out america's soul! WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED?!"
The crowd burst out laughing. In addition to yet another bump in the polls, he was voted comedian of the year that year. He is trapped in a hell of his own making. The good news is, it's heaven for everyone else. America has become the world's poster child for opportunity, human rights, technological innovation, and efficient and effective healthcare.
Isn't it fun to dream, my friends? Isn't it fun to dream? |
|
[WP] You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted. | I glared at the television.
The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed.
I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!"
She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the *Communists*." I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats.
She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart."
I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program... | It is almost done. The Union is on the brink of collapse. The partys are breaking themselfes from within almost as furious as they are attacking each other. It took surprisingly long but representatives have started to vote against their own president. The first three imeachments were unsuccessful but the next will relieve the head of state of their duties. The chaos in Washington is absolute.
It's time for the final blow of evil.
The sitting president has corrupted their way to the top. People loved the stupid shit they were doing and elected them against their own best interest. They were born into generational wealth. Soon head of a unsuspecting NASDAQ corporation and Governor of state. Being relentlessly populistic it was a easy path to presidency.
Once the President, there was no reason to hold back any longer.They spent the first three years of their term to bankrupt the US. Blowing up the budgets of very "unnecessary" agencies. The EPA would in their eyes soon ruin the economies of coal and oil states. The train companies are now building infrastructure that nobody *could* ever need. The beautiful and spacious suburbs are being built into dense urban housing simultaneously killing off the downtowns.
Nobody thought it possible to reck this havoc in this short of a time. But the final blow of evil is still coming.
"Dear citicens of the united states!" The President started the press conference that could be their last. "We had a hard start and many crises the last year." They remarked smugly as they comtemplated the trouble caused. "But bear with me a little longer. I have found the solution to all our financial problems. The best solution. A great solution. The one and only solution. My solution." They marveled at the idea that in their mind would break the american people and the american economy. "Coming next week, cars will be forbidden to drive from 5 am to 10 pm. This will give our stressed system resolution from the fiscally depressing subsidies." The President heard the mumbling in the crowd of journalists. They imagined even if an impeachment would start tomorrow it would take months to reverse this destruction. "To facilitate this change, the tax on gas will be same as the states sales tax. Police will stop everyone driving and ticket them 10 percent of their monly income. Inractions will also mean impounding the car."
The remainder of the press conference was a frency of questions. Nobody could expect that harsh a cut in freedom in the country of the free.
The next day was the calmest the USA has seen for over a century. Surprisingly, the rail services have stepped up their game. Everywhere in the country the trams and busses were surring around. People took to the empty streets with bikes, strollers and everything they possesed.
(My real live train arrived. Gotta stop typing.) |
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[WP] You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted. | I glared at the television.
The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed.
I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!"
She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the *Communists*." I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats.
She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart."
I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program... | Some people just want to watch the world burn, I am one of those people.
“The plan is ready sir.” Said my henchman, “The factories will be shutdown by 5 PM today, this will surely cause an economic crisis which will leave the rich in power and the poor out of it.”
All according to plan I thought to myself. In truth I despised democracy, the elections were rigged. The only way to achieve power nowadays were through what some people call ‘Unlawful’ means, but in truth it’s entirely lawful! I very legally purchased all those factories, and I can lay off all those workers. It will be a cold winter, mass unemployment, no coal or energy for homes, all except for us higher class. All the unemployed who survive winter will flock to my factories to empower me further.
5:15 PM - Global News,
Today in the United States 37.9 Million are now unemployed after a mass firing from the unknown corporation who recently acquired nearly 68% of all fossil fuel energy companies in the United States. Many are outraged, but no one knows who bought out the companies.
8:30 PM - Global News,
After current US president criticised the coal market and called the recently layer off poor buffoons, many people started trying to improve quality of life. Company GreenTec has opened 40 Million high paying entry level & engineering. These jobs provided by GreenTec will make up for the lost factory jobs, and catapult the world into a more connected greener future. Social groups who still held jobs have also joined this battle and have created dorms and kitchens for any unemployed to stay. This shows what a few words of motivation can do, president Goldsmith is being praised by workers unions, climate activists, and the general public. We as a society will enter a more connected, and eco friendly society, this is Jim Murphy signing off.
FUUUU- |
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[WP] There are two types of rebels in the world. Young, plucky heroes with a prophecy and plot armor, and grim faced, dirt streaked insurgents with old Soviet guns and handmade explosives. The problem comes when these two groups team up. | One by one, a few dozen nervous teenagers walked toward the announcement stage for the SELECTION. The setup resembled a simple blood drive. The atmosphere was made more foreboding however, as cameras and speakers were strewn everywhere for broadcasting, and COMMITTEE soldiers - also known as 'Pacifiers' - stood guard to eliminate the sources of any potential outbursts.
'I'm nervous, Blaze.' The words came from a serious-looking girl whose long dark hair pooled down her shoulders. Her eyes were glued onto the live footage of the stage - even as she was loading her equipment from the back of their truck. 'You're going to follow the plan, right? This is crucial. We can't allow any scewups. Or rogue rebels forgetting instructions.' Her brows furrowed into a worrying expression.
She felt a pair of sturdy hands on her shoulders. A confident looking fiery-haired boy pulled her to face him. His hazel eyes shone with assurance.
'You've got nothing to worry about, Zel. I'll stick to the plan this time.' He grinned. 'Even if it's not really my style. You can count on me.'
'So, all we are doing is destroying the blood coolers right?'
'Almost. We'll spill the blood coolers to stall the selection, but we'll also try to bring awareness to the rebel faction by announcing who we are on the cameras. Hunter and Petra and the others will use the smoke bombs we got to distract the Pacifiers in the meantime. We'll wait for their signal to move from here. We don't have the manpower or influence to rescue all the participants yet, but hopefully we can make some waves with this.'
'Woah, I'm going to be on TV?' Blaze laughed. Zella rolled her eyes but couldn't restrain a faint smile.
The truck suddenly screeched to a stop. They heard footsteps from their fellow rebels head towards the stage. Clicks sounded and some smoke wafted into the back of the truck. Then...gunshots. And screaming. What was happening?
Zella pulled open the truck gate. 'Wait - what about the signal -?' Blaze grabbed her but she slipped from his grasp. 'Forget the signal! That was Petra's voice!' Zella ran. 'Petra? Petra?!'
In front of her onstage, was Petra, passed out and being taken away by people in tattered clothes. 'Take Zella to the back!' One shouted. The voice sounded older. Somehow he knew her name.
'How d- No. Get your hands off her!' Zella shouted. She charged towards the assailers but several appear behind her and restrain her. She feels a heavy blow to the back of her head and sees black.
The first sight that greeted her was a haggard looking woman sitting feet-crossed from her. Behind her were cameras - that showed the Zella and her friends at their underground base, Zella at her selection, a pristine and empty white room filled with computers, young Zella before her selection in her house with her family. Zella then noticed her arms and wrists were bound and her mouth had been covered in tape.
'Sorry about that back there. Your friends are safe. And we will untie you - but only if you listen to us.'
Zella nodded.
The woman leaned towards her. Her expression was solemn. 'This might be hard to hear, but please believe me. You are fighting for nothing. The 'COMMITTEE' doesn't exist. The 'SELECTION' doesn't exist. You were being recorded this whole time -' She gestured to the cameras behind her. 'Your family was in on it. They were actors. All your families were actors.'
The woman dug in the pocket of her dust-covered jeans. She held something small in front of Zella. It was a plastic rendition of her in a defiant pose, with a small placard toward the bottom. 'Zella - Rebel leader against the Purity castes. Licensed by Seek TV.'
'That's you. A figurine of you. You're on t-shirts too. There's some of you and Blaze together too. You've been surveilled for entertainment. We've interrupted your big rescue mission, to rescue you. Your resistance plan was supposed to be a season finale, and it was all rigged for your rebel faction to win at the end.'
'In the real world, some of us found it inhumane that you kids' lives were completely fabricated. It was clearly unethical. The real world -our world - is rampant with war and poverty. We've been fighting for so long now, no one can be sure which sides were good or bad. That's why your program was invented. That's why parents enrolled kids like you to live a life with simpler conditions, as they saw it. There have been kids pulled from the program - most have committed suicide now because they didn't know what to expect coming into the real world and couldn't face that they were always lied to. Stopping your program was only the beginning. We want to put an end to the rest of these programs.'
The woman peeled back Zella's tape.
'Now the question is, will you join us?' | I’m in deep shit now. I’ve been running from the authorities for a week straight and I’m still not safe. So for context on why, I’ll explain. My family started a rebellion years and years ago, that spread everywhere. Now everyone thinks the government is full of shit. (Which is true.) There is one disagreement in the community of rebels. There are 2 groups of rebels. One is a group of annoying goody-two-shoes that believe in “fate” and other bullshit. The other group is a group of “old fashioned pessimists.” I think that’s bullshit. We’re just practical! (I think you can guess which group I’m in by now.) Anyway, back to the present. I may or may not have blew up a building as my form of rebellion… So now I’m in Who-knows-where-land, lying on the ground. Lying on the ground? Just now, I realized that I shouldn’t be lying on the ground. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I was horrified as I realized there was blood all over. Shit, I must’ve been shot on my way out! I would’ve called for help, except I’m in Who-knows-where-land, and one wrong move and I’ll be caught and hanged. I looked around and spotted a boy who looked around my age. He was quite handsome, with curly golden hair and bright, violet eyes. So bright, I noticed with a dizzy fascination. I thought he noticed me, and I was right. “Oh my god, are you okay?!” he exclaimed. It should be pretty obvious, as there was blood all over. “Does it look like I’m o-“ a sharp pain in my head prevented me from saying anything. I noticed his uniform. The goody-two-shoes uniform. “H-hang in there! I’ll get help! I-I have a first aid kit on me!” he stuttered. He stuttered so much I could barely tell what he was saying. I managed to say “You’re a rebel too?” he took a look at my uniform and said “You’re in the other group! Well…still a rebel. Where did you come from?” I know it was an impulsive decision, but I ended up telling him everything about my failed mission down to the fact I’m a defendant of the original rebels while he bandages my wounds. He nodded and said “Until you find the rest of your group…partners? I’m Noah!” Even though I wasn’t thinking straight, I did think enough to say “We don’t do “partners.” And we DON’T tell strangers our names.” But the disappointed look on his face was enough to change my mind. “Opal.” His response was “Like the gem?” That was the last thing I heard before the world went dark. Later, I woke up in a soft but unfamiliar bed, where I noticed a familiar but unfamiliar face sitting next to me. “I guess fate chose us to be together. Welcome back to the land of the living, partner!” he said. I came back to my senses, shocked at this unfamiliar setting. “Who are you, and where am I?!” |
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[WP] "To extend a life already lived on borrowed time requires three things..." | Been reading the writing related subreddits for a while now, but I recently starting writing (for fun). This will actually be my first submission.
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“It is your time,” Death said, pointing at Charles. Charles peeked at Death through half-closed eyelids, and went back to sleep. “I said it is your time, Charles,” Death’s voice boomed throughout the room. The hanging pictures shook and the furniture banged on the walls. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I had a long night, so just come back in a couple of hours, whoever you are,” Charles said, shooing Death away, while still under the covers. “Death does not wait for no man, Charles. Get up, now!” Death levitated two feet into the air; his dusty robes draped off his legs and scraped the floor. “Sure, Death. Right. At least you’re sweeping my floor with those crazy robes.” Charles flung the covers off his body, yawned, stood up, and looked around at nothing in particular.
“Are you sure it’s my time, Death?” Charles said, looking up at Death whose face was now three feet higher than him. “Death does not make mistakes. Death always knows when your time is up.” Death reached into his tattered robes. “Are you sure? Can’t I just sell you my soul or something? I saw that on TV once,” Charles said, smirking. “Ha. Talking to me as if I was a demon. I don’t play those paltry games.” Death removed a 6 foot scythe from his robes; the blade was a black void, vacuuming in any light within a foot of it. “Wow, that’s an impressive feat. Here I thought you were just happy to see me. Although, to tell you the truth. I was expecting your weapon to appear with a bang. You know, threatening sound, smoke, flashy lights. That sort of thing.” Charles shrugged his shoulders, stared out the window at the barren town and lit a cigarette. “Since you’re here to supposedly take my life, I guess smoking isn’t going to kill me.”
“Silence pathetic human! But, I do like you. You remind me of a younger version of myself.” “I’ve always wanted to be Death!” Charles said, chuckling through his nose, as he continued staring out the window, now looking at a mugger run away from a comically overweight cop. “You’re pushing it, Charles. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. There are three items in this room which reveal the meaning of life and death. Choose those three items and I will let you live… for now.” Death rose even higher, but he stopped once his head hit the ceiling, resulting in a loud thud, only to give way to another thud as a painting hit the ground. “You didn’t see that.” Charles looked at Death, nodded his head sideways, and then quickly surveyed the room. Three items. Where is that item? I know I had it last night, he thought. Charles opened up a drawer and pulled out two items: a 10-minute hour glass and a magnifying glass.
“This is the first step,” Charles said, placing the hour glass onto a night stand and handing the magnifying glass to Death, who was now sitting on a chair rubbing his head where it hit the ceiling. “These are not even close to the items you need to find, Charles, but I’ll play along.” Charles flipped the hour glass over and told Death to stare at the falling sand using the magnifying glass. Need to find that item, Charles thought. While Death busied himself staring at the sand—a very fascinating endeavor indeed—Charles opened every drawer and shelf in sight.
“Ten minutes are over, Charles and, as I thought, nothing has happened.” Suddenly, a large bang emanated from the center of the room followed by dazzling lights and a puff of smoke. The smoke cleared and there stood Death holding his scythe. “Is that better?” Death said, sneering. “Impressive,” said Charles, while thinking: shit, I still haven’t found it. “Look,” he said, shrugging with his arms and palms facing up, walking towards Death. “I still haven’t…” Charles looked down with his brow lowered, and stuck his hands into his pockets. Charles smirked once again. “Fooled you. I have it right here.” Charles pulled out a fabric tube. “Sorry to say, well, not really, but that is definitely not the last item.” Death lifted up his scythe. “Wait, just indulge me,” Charles said, crouched down and leaning backwards with his arms covering his face.
Charles handed the tube to Death and explained how the item is used. “I don’t see what that will accomplish,” Death said while sticking one finger into the tube followed by a finger from his other hand. “Nothing is happening, Charles. Time to face your maker.” Charles stared at Death with a face as expressionless as blank paper. Death forcefully pulled his fingers, but the tube just stretched and did not release its cement-like hold. “What is this trickery?” Death said, while stepping on the middle of the tube and once again attempting to pull his fingers. “Have you really never seen a Chinese finger trap?” Charles said. “Well, see ya later, Death.” Charles exited the room.
| Our time is up. The clock's run out. Half past dead. Sunset. You could always "borrow" a few extra moments. There are ways of doing that. But even that runs out. To extend a life already lived on borrowed time requires three things: luck, the will to continue living regardless of consequence, and some friends in high places. They say prayer doesn't work; you just need to pray to the right people.
Shuffling around the hourglasses for us all are the accountants. Tricky business that. I remember old Rusty Stafford. Good eye for the racket, I'll give him that. He could shift fractions of seconds at a time from a boring car trip or dentist visit, turning an second into nearly an hour. That might not sound like much, but when it's finally time to say goodbye, that's an eternity. Brilliant man, but an awful accountant in practice. Those hourglasses are fragile things. His handling of them, rapidly jumping from piece to piece left a few casualties. On the shop floor, it looked like broken glass and some sand. Down there, it's someone walking out in front of a bus, or a heart attack in good health. Still, he has his job. And those indiscretions are just what make him useful to someone like me.
"Rusty, how's life?"
The old man looks up to face me. "What is it this time, Slim?"
"Got another borrower. Lookin' to see if there's another minute or two to spare."
Rusty never stops moving the timepieces around on his desk. The man is a machine.
"You have an ident number?"
I slide a business card on his table's only sliver of free space. He picks it up and looks at the number before setting it back down and continuing his work. No file to look up, no database to consult. Rusty kept track of everything in the only place he trusted.
"No can do."
"What? Why the heck not?"
"This guy's borrowed too much. Any more and it'll be noticed. Not just here. Management."
Management wasn't some guy in an office. It was a term for the structure of it all.
"So there's nothing you can do? Nothing at all?"
"Maybe second, probably only half. Max. No kidding. That's all he's got left."
My clients don't like bad news, but that's life. Still, I'm not going down as a someone who couldn't deliver.
"Do what you can. Usual payment, usual place."
Down below, a young man fighting for his life in a hospital finds just enough time to say "I love you" to his wife one last time. Moments like this make the gig worthwhile. |
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Write a story in 100 words or less that the main feature is blood. The character learns something important through blood, either their own or some belonging to another character. | [FF] 100 Words - It's In The Blood | I never want to be like my father. The alcoholism. Bastard said I couldn't escape it. It was in my blood. The razor in my hand can fix that. | "The human race is doomed," said the speaker. The faces around the table paled noticeably. Some cried. This was the answer they had all expected, yet secretly hoped they would not hear.
"Blood tests have confirmed," the speaker continued bravely. "Our DNA has become non-viable. Procreation is no longer possible."
"What can we do?" asked one of the members of the small group of scientists.
The speaker let out a slow sigh as she looked at each and every one in turn. "Go home, spend time with the people you love," she said sadly. "We are the last of us." |
Write a story in 100 words or less that the main feature is blood. The character learns something important through blood, either their own or some belonging to another character. | [FF] 100 Words - It's In The Blood | I never want to be like my father. The alcoholism. Bastard said I couldn't escape it. It was in my blood. The razor in my hand can fix that. | How was I to know that the truck had people in it, hidden in a compartment below the watermelon? 37 people, hoping for a better life in Turkey, paid to be smuggled across the border. The "smugglers" didn't tell me about this; they only said to deliver the fruit and drive the truck into the river. I didn't question their work. When I walked away from the river, I heard screams, fists pounding against the slowly submerging box. It was then that I realized the blood of many Afghans was on my hands. I must tell my father, he will be very proud. |
[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | A free bird can't be caged, that's what they say. And how could I try, with her spirit so wild and her heart so free? I was not like that though. Mine belonged to her solely.
So there I was in the chapel, in full uniform - not the uniform I was used to, but a uniform nonetheless - today I traded my fatigues for a tuxedo. I must have been the best dressed man in the room, save for the groom. Even though we saw the same barber, his freshly cropped hair even looked straighter and cleaner than mine.
I know it's traditional for the best man to stand, but it would be another few months, or maybe more, of physical therapy before I could do so of my own strength again, if ever. But I could not abandon my post, so there I sat, in the shadow of the groom, ring in my breast pocket, dressed to the nines.
All went pretty much as expected. I handed the ring over, and I watched her willingly and with joy take the golden and diamond-bejeweled shackle onto her finger. A free bird can't be caged, huh. Well, so much for that. I answered the call, and I did my duty. It was the hardest service I had ever performed.
After the tedious pageantry drew to a close, a simple salute served to part ways with the groom. Semper fi, brother. | Erosion. If that was a feeling, that's what my heart is going through. My heart is eroding like dirt off a cliff; dissolving like wet paper.
I want to tear my eyes out for seeing her lovely smile. I want to rip my heart out of its cage for loving her as much as I do.
She's right there, I can smell her beauty, I can taste her heart, but she's too far out of my reach.
I just want this to be over. If she wasn't so kind, it would be easier. If my best friend wasn't such a great guy, there wouldn't be as much pain. But they're great people, and they're greater together.
So I guess, this is it. I'll just let my heart erode. I will let it dissolve. Like wet paper. |
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[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | Slowly, she put each foot in front of the other like a delicate ballerina in an overflowing white dress covered in gleaming sequins- like her bright eyes. Her whole world is a stage, and I knew it. We had grown up together, fought, cried, and shared a large part of our lives together.
Beautiful- she always made people laugh and forget their troubles. I stood in the line of other important men in her and her soon-husband's life, proud to be standing there, sad that she was leaving me. The music stopped and she had reached the front of the aisle, holding hands and saying her vows to the man I had treasured and approved of.
I smiled- my sister's gaze flitted to me and smiled back with gleaming jewels falling from her eyes. *Congratulations.* | Erosion. If that was a feeling, that's what my heart is going through. My heart is eroding like dirt off a cliff; dissolving like wet paper.
I want to tear my eyes out for seeing her lovely smile. I want to rip my heart out of its cage for loving her as much as I do.
She's right there, I can smell her beauty, I can taste her heart, but she's too far out of my reach.
I just want this to be over. If she wasn't so kind, it would be easier. If my best friend wasn't such a great guy, there wouldn't be as much pain. But they're great people, and they're greater together.
So I guess, this is it. I'll just let my heart erode. I will let it dissolve. Like wet paper. |
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[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | It was fitting that he and I had so much in common, enough that she could have chosen to love us both, enough so that he and I became friends when they were first divorced. I didn't want to make an already difficult circumstance worse, and I saw how much pain he was in from losing her. He and I were able to go to games, have a beer together and talk about everything but her. It was the unspoken rule.
I truly loved her. I really did, to the point where songs I had heard a million times over, I actually heard the words to them. I had that pickup in my walk, in my attitude. I looked forward to things.
And this is why my world went dark when she told me that she was going back to him, her ex-husband, my now close friend. She told me that my relationship with him had fixed him, or that's what I chose to hear when she told me that their differences were resolved.
I felt like I had transferred the best parts of me to him, and now she had us both.
He broke that unspoken rule when he asked me to be the best man. He didn't do it out of spite, I mean, I agree it felt like the right thing to do.
But don't fault me for standing here, watching her come down the aisle, and pretending just for a moment that she is coming for me. | It didn’t matter what the rest of the people felt about the wedding. It was her wedding not yours so your input wasn’t requested for most things. Your friends and her family didn’t agree that the wedding should take place. “She had better options.” “He isn’t the right one for her.” You agreed more strongly than any of them but kept silent, no matter how much it hurt.
Standing there at the altar awaiting her arrival while you tried not to mess up your tux it was hard not to think about what she would look like once she arrived. You sneaked a peek before the wedding ceremony started, there were so many things left unsaid before. She pleaded with you that it wasn’t proper and that you should leave before her family saw you. You shared one last kiss with her and that would have to be enough.
Her father has been glaring both of you, the husband to be and best man for so many reasons that you can’t even imagine which one he’s focusing on now. He knows you shouldn’t be there, you don’t deserve to be at the wedding of her little girl but you both know no matter your issues with each other she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s finally arrived and it breaks your heart a bit when she smiles at you. It hurts even during the pause, until she says “I do.” No matter what the rest of the world says she trusts you to be the “best man” in her life.
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[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | Hands shaking. Fidgeting with the note. Leg bouncing. Look at Drew, my best friend. Big smile from him. Looks happy. Of course. Why wouldn’t he be. Steal a glance at Jenn. Beautiful. Look away now, don’t let your eyes linger too long. Steal one more glance. Remember to breathe. Look down at the note again.
Now’s the time. Get to my feet. Unsteady. Knees feel unsafe. Breathe in. Grab the note firmly.
The lights. Are they too bright? They’re shining right at me. In my eyes. An interrogation. I’m already guilty. I know. They know. Look at Drew. Still smiling. Look at Jenn. Exhale. Clear throat.
“He…hello everyone. I guess we’re all here for the same reason, right? To see if Drew will get drunk and piss his pants again?”
Laughter from the other groomsmen, the loudest coming from Drew himself. Mixed reaction from the crowd. Probably shouldn’t have started with an inside joke. Or used the word “piss.” Don’t look at Jenn, don’t want to see her reaction.
“Drew. I’ve known you for 14 years now. The first seven, we were best friends. The last is when we became brothers. And like all brothers, there are going to be fights, but in the end, we always know who we are. Brothers. I love you, bro.”
Drew nods at me and mouths, “Love you too.” Awws from the crowd.
“Drew, you’re one of the best men I know, but still, you definitely lucked out with Jenn. She’s exceptional. She’s worth every ounce of your attention.” That wasn’t too bad. Just end it quick. “To Drew and Jenn!” Raise glass. Toast. Go over and hug Drew. Shake Jenn’s hand. She leans in for a hug. Feel my body tense. Don’t look her in the eyes, just get back to your seat.
The maid of honor gives her toast. It’s an emotional one. Talking on and on about Jenn’s virtues. I’ve been looking down this entire time. The floor is looking blurrier. Rub my eyes. Chance a look at Jenn. She’s staring at her best friend with tears in her eyes. Tragically beautiful. She suddenly looks over at me. Eye contact. I freeze. She smiles and then looks back to her friend who’s still prattling on. My eyes immediately dart back down.
How long did she stare at me? Did anyone else notice? Who cares. How long did she look at me? Did Drew notice? I look at him and he’s just staring at Jenn, smiling like an idiot. She’s still paying attention to her friend. Finally, the toast is over. We drink. A chorus of clinking champagne glasses. The newlyweds smile, look each other in the eyes and kiss.
| It didn’t matter what the rest of the people felt about the wedding. It was her wedding not yours so your input wasn’t requested for most things. Your friends and her family didn’t agree that the wedding should take place. “She had better options.” “He isn’t the right one for her.” You agreed more strongly than any of them but kept silent, no matter how much it hurt.
Standing there at the altar awaiting her arrival while you tried not to mess up your tux it was hard not to think about what she would look like once she arrived. You sneaked a peek before the wedding ceremony started, there were so many things left unsaid before. She pleaded with you that it wasn’t proper and that you should leave before her family saw you. You shared one last kiss with her and that would have to be enough.
Her father has been glaring both of you, the husband to be and best man for so many reasons that you can’t even imagine which one he’s focusing on now. He knows you shouldn’t be there, you don’t deserve to be at the wedding of her little girl but you both know no matter your issues with each other she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s finally arrived and it breaks your heart a bit when she smiles at you. It hurts even during the pause, until she says “I do.” No matter what the rest of the world says she trusts you to be the “best man” in her life.
|
|
[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | Hands shaking. Fidgeting with the note. Leg bouncing. Look at Drew, my best friend. Big smile from him. Looks happy. Of course. Why wouldn’t he be. Steal a glance at Jenn. Beautiful. Look away now, don’t let your eyes linger too long. Steal one more glance. Remember to breathe. Look down at the note again.
Now’s the time. Get to my feet. Unsteady. Knees feel unsafe. Breathe in. Grab the note firmly.
The lights. Are they too bright? They’re shining right at me. In my eyes. An interrogation. I’m already guilty. I know. They know. Look at Drew. Still smiling. Look at Jenn. Exhale. Clear throat.
“He…hello everyone. I guess we’re all here for the same reason, right? To see if Drew will get drunk and piss his pants again?”
Laughter from the other groomsmen, the loudest coming from Drew himself. Mixed reaction from the crowd. Probably shouldn’t have started with an inside joke. Or used the word “piss.” Don’t look at Jenn, don’t want to see her reaction.
“Drew. I’ve known you for 14 years now. The first seven, we were best friends. The last is when we became brothers. And like all brothers, there are going to be fights, but in the end, we always know who we are. Brothers. I love you, bro.”
Drew nods at me and mouths, “Love you too.” Awws from the crowd.
“Drew, you’re one of the best men I know, but still, you definitely lucked out with Jenn. She’s exceptional. She’s worth every ounce of your attention.” That wasn’t too bad. Just end it quick. “To Drew and Jenn!” Raise glass. Toast. Go over and hug Drew. Shake Jenn’s hand. She leans in for a hug. Feel my body tense. Don’t look her in the eyes, just get back to your seat.
The maid of honor gives her toast. It’s an emotional one. Talking on and on about Jenn’s virtues. I’ve been looking down this entire time. The floor is looking blurrier. Rub my eyes. Chance a look at Jenn. She’s staring at her best friend with tears in her eyes. Tragically beautiful. She suddenly looks over at me. Eye contact. I freeze. She smiles and then looks back to her friend who’s still prattling on. My eyes immediately dart back down.
How long did she stare at me? Did anyone else notice? Who cares. How long did she look at me? Did Drew notice? I look at him and he’s just staring at Jenn, smiling like an idiot. She’s still paying attention to her friend. Finally, the toast is over. We drink. A chorus of clinking champagne glasses. The newlyweds smile, look each other in the eyes and kiss.
| It was fitting that he and I had so much in common, enough that she could have chosen to love us both, enough so that he and I became friends when they were first divorced. I didn't want to make an already difficult circumstance worse, and I saw how much pain he was in from losing her. He and I were able to go to games, have a beer together and talk about everything but her. It was the unspoken rule.
I truly loved her. I really did, to the point where songs I had heard a million times over, I actually heard the words to them. I had that pickup in my walk, in my attitude. I looked forward to things.
And this is why my world went dark when she told me that she was going back to him, her ex-husband, my now close friend. She told me that my relationship with him had fixed him, or that's what I chose to hear when she told me that their differences were resolved.
I felt like I had transferred the best parts of me to him, and now she had us both.
He broke that unspoken rule when he asked me to be the best man. He didn't do it out of spite, I mean, I agree it felt like the right thing to do.
But don't fault me for standing here, watching her come down the aisle, and pretending just for a moment that she is coming for me. |
|
[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | The toasts are what got me. Never mind that I had spent all weekend calming my best friend’s nerves, fixing and refixing ties. The ceremony had been beautiful, too. Everything she planned had been beautiful.
But besides chasing flower girls, find rings and their bearers, the worst part were the speeches. The Maid of Honor, a stunner in blue, cried as she spoke about college and how she knew the bride would be ecstatic. The blushing bride dabbed small tears off her cheeks. She would never let loose on the water works. No, she was too poised, too graceful for that.
Finally it was my turn. I had to tell my best friend and the love of my life, now a married couple, how I wished them well. I had my two index cards: one, a heart-wrenching confession of desire and hope, the other, a traditional congratulations for a happy couple. “Today marks a special occasion,” I read off of the first card.
This is when I caught a glimpse of my bride looking at me. Her eyes shimmered, the pure joy she radiated hurt to look at. She grabbed my friend’s arm and just smiled. Although I had known her for almost ten years, I had never seen her smile be more genuine. “Woah, wait! This card is all wrong! Let me fix that,” I said. I over acted the act of getting out the right card for the audience who let out a polite laugh.
I read my traditional speech, tears were shed, and everyone looked so pleased. As I reached the end of my card, I added a bit, “I love both of you more than you will ever know, and above all else, I hope you two have a lifetime of happiness.” With that, my bride kissed her groom, and I dismissed myself due to “stomach issues.”
| It was no secret I was in love with Veronica. I'd known her a long, long time and we'd always flirted, never dated. Something would always come up, like different Colleges, or we were each already in a relationship, just always something.
And here I was best man at her fucking wedding! Best man, to a guy who I resented, no, envied and hated. I had always hated Alan, but he was the golden boy, the guy from the good family who was good at sports and school who had the best car in the parking lot when he was 16. I was pretty sure he had asked me to his best man out of sheer malice : we weren't that close of friends, although we had known each other a long time.
As she came up the aisle, she looked radiant, glowing, just everything I could possibly have dreamed my wife to be, a heaven sent vision in white, just every God damn cliche for beauty you could think of.
And it was at that point, the absolute nadir of my existence, the dark night of my soul, the equivalent of Tattoo from Fantasy Island using a pogo stick to jump on my heart's crotch, when the first guitar chords of "Jessie's Girl" came blaring out.
It was at that point that I said fuck it, pulled my dick out and began to urinate on the Brides beautiful dress. |
|
[WP] at wedding of the woman you love, and you're the best man. | I had played this fantasy over in my mind for years. After the ceremony, when she would vow to love my friend for all her life, I would have a chance to dance with her just once during the reception. It would be a slow song. I would hold her close to me one last time and imagine those vows she just said were for me. My fingers pressed into the fabric of her perfect dress, forever woven on my palms, the pads of my fingers reaching, stretching beyond the layer of her dress to her skin that bore no blemish.
At the right moment I would lean and whisper to her that I was sorry for all the stupid things I said when I was young. We could have done it, you know? We could have made it work. We could have been together and sanctified.
Instead, she danced with him. They stayed for only a moment, then ran to the getaway car under the rain of birdseed. The vehicle turned the corner, and slid away into perfect hindsight.
I loosened my tie and went home. | It was no secret I was in love with Veronica. I'd known her a long, long time and we'd always flirted, never dated. Something would always come up, like different Colleges, or we were each already in a relationship, just always something.
And here I was best man at her fucking wedding! Best man, to a guy who I resented, no, envied and hated. I had always hated Alan, but he was the golden boy, the guy from the good family who was good at sports and school who had the best car in the parking lot when he was 16. I was pretty sure he had asked me to his best man out of sheer malice : we weren't that close of friends, although we had known each other a long time.
As she came up the aisle, she looked radiant, glowing, just everything I could possibly have dreamed my wife to be, a heaven sent vision in white, just every God damn cliche for beauty you could think of.
And it was at that point, the absolute nadir of my existence, the dark night of my soul, the equivalent of Tattoo from Fantasy Island using a pogo stick to jump on my heart's crotch, when the first guitar chords of "Jessie's Girl" came blaring out.
It was at that point that I said fuck it, pulled my dick out and began to urinate on the Brides beautiful dress. |
|
[WP] You wake up go to high school and slowly start to realise you're in typical teen high school movie. | <Montage of morning traffic for about 1 min to [cascade by hyper](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhALP8W01Wc)
Camera constantly following one specific car for the duration of montage; follows car into school>
<Camera in car. Music is revealed to be coming from the stereo>
Markus: Did you just here that.
Jeff: what
Markus: Are you telling me that you didn't just here the car radio turn on at full volume
Jeff: Marky why do you always make me regret my descicion to send you to this school - we both know there is a serious drug problem here and i really do not appreciate these practical jokes.
Markus: <lethargically> Just remember to pick me up at 4:30 i have Soccer after school.
[int class]
Goldbloom: Good morning everybody i assume you all studied for your math tests, and remember we're writing the test in room 12 so be sure not to go to rooms 1 through 11
Markus:< walks in late>. Hi Mrs Goldbloom i'm sorry i was stuck in traffic.
Goldbloom: Just sit down Mark. And next time use a better excuse you think i don't know we live in one of the smallest towns in america.
Markus: I am sorry Mrs Goldbloom ordinarily i would but there was actually traffic today - for the first time; quite strange.
[**I'll finish this later i hope; have to study**]
Goldbloom: MARKUS; will you please pay attention when i am talking to you
Markus:<feint> wha...did i just blackout
Goldbloom: Seems like we have a new class clown - <Goldbloom looks into camera> which is funny because you're not even funny.
<Laughter equivalent to that of a joke on Disney-channel>
Markus:<sighs> Er...Mrs Goldbloom are we done?
Goldbloom:<confused> just er go get ready for your next scen.... I mean Period; go get ready for your next period.
Markus: Oka...
<Quick cut to bell ringing super super close bell rings for about 5 seconds, camera from bell to hallway to find Markus walking with several books in his hand>
<camera tracking backwards following Markus and his friend with a confused look on his face down the corridor>
Tim: dude when you were making those jokes in class today that was just so fucking awesome and then and then when Goldbloom told us about you making jokes about the actual jokes that was just awesomer....dude yeah dude.
Markus: wha...hey er do you know where i put my bag and come to think of it i don't really remember anything from the last 10 and the 10 minutes before that were just as weird, i mean did you hear the class laugh at that bad joke, it's almost like someone was forcing them to laugh.
Tim: Hmmm; well i wouldn't worry about it - dude just remember your Math test and also good luck were all counting on you.
Markus: what was that you just said?
Tim: Remember your Math test?
Markus: No after that.
Tim: I don't remember there being anything after that in the script....<stares blankly at Markus; Markus stares blankly back for a solid 10-15 seconds>
[**Yeah How would you like me to end it there motherfuckers^^^sorry ^^^that ^^^was ^^^rude**^^^] | 'Oh shit.' I said. |
|
[WP] You wake up go to high school and slowly start to realise you're in typical teen high school movie. | "Hello! I am Rachel Dweebs, representative of the Eastbrook High student body. You must be the foreign exchange student, right?"
I look at the short girl with glasses infront of me - her voice is shrill and annoying and she talks way too fast, but despite the fact that she is dressed horribly and is not your typical "hot" girl, she still somehow manages to be more attractive than most girls I know.
"Yes, my name is Daniel. Nice to meet you." I figure I could use someone to show me around.
"Alright. It is my duty to inform you above all else - and yes, this is much more important than things like where the various classrooms and facilities are - is the Eastbrook High social hierarchy. We all fit into certain 'cliques' which once you become a part of, you may never leave." Weird. Is that a thing? I thought it was like that in the movies, but could never imagine it being true in real life.
"So as I was saying, beginning from the bottom of the popularity pyramid, we have three main groups: the nerds, the goths and the glee club kids. Standing under those bleachers over there, you can see the nerds, which are recongizable by glasses, acne, and jewfro." She points under the bleachers, to where three scrawny kids which fit her description were sitting, chuckling to themselves while tapping away at laptops. Who the fuck talks like this, though? And come on, honestly -what is it with this, 'established hierarchy'? It's ridiculous, we're not in High School Musical or something.
"I see."
"These here," Rachel said, as we walk past the nerds, and pointing to a tree, below which four kids were sitting in a circle, all dressed in black, with a few lit candles scattered between them. "These are the goths. They sit under this tree because it's convenient as a quick suicide device. As you can see they have plenty of rope stocked up." She points to a pile of rope next to them. "Don't worry though, they never actually do it." How unsensitive. How rude even. I couldn't believe my ears. Never have I met a more judgemental girl in my life. I truly hope she's one of a kind at this school. A whiff of what smells like weed draws my attention, and I look around to see where it might come from.
"Oh, I see you have smelled the 'stoners' out. They're a well defined clique, although they fluctuate between levels of the pyramid, depending on the rating..."
"Depending on the what?" I swear I heard rating.
"Nothing. Moving on, do you hear the harmonies in the air?" I listen closely. I could faintly make out the sound of a choir...they sound really good. They must be the Glee club kids.
"Wow, who is singing?"
"Those would be the Glee club kids. They sing showtunes and classic rock, namely Journey, but everyone hates them, and joining them would be social suicide".
"Why though? They sound really talented."
"Ehh. It's uncool for some reason. On the next level of the pyramid, there are the..." Rachel went on, but my mind was focusing elsewhere. Uncool for some reason? Everything is just so...weird. Like everyone here is just a soulless automaton living to fill various roles, as if they are paid actors, just standing about. Now that I think of it, those people over there aren't even really having a conversation. They're just repeating the same words over and over. As if in a...of course! I'm in a movie! It all makes sense now. The annoying ambitious nerdy girl, the completely one-dimensional stereotypes! There is only one way to confirm my suspicions...
"Hey Rachel?"
"Yes Daniel?"
"Is this a movie?" Rachel's jaw drops. Everyone turns to look at me in shock.
"You...do you know what you did? Have you any idea? You...broke the fourth wall." Aha! I was right! This is a movie. Rachel gets more and more visibly scared. "You doomed us all," she whispers.
Everything starts shaking. Rachel's voice is now a booming voice echoing through the school. She yells, "You doomed us all! You doomed us all!". The shaking is now unbearably violent, and a hole of black nothingness appears between me and Rachel. The hole pulls me towards it. I try to resist it, but the pull is too strong. Leaves, trees, cars, all get sucked in. Infront of me, the nerds fly into the hole, screaming. The goths follow with a more indifferent expression, followed by the stoners, the jocks, the head bitch in charge, and in the hole they all begin spinning. They spin, and spin, forming a whirlwind of bland and overdone tropes. The pull is too strong, I can't fight it anymore. I let go.
The alarm rings. I'm in my room...so it was all just a dream after all. Well, no shit it was a dream. Why the fuck would I be in a movie? I'm not even a foreign exchange student. I shouldn't have watched Mean Girls last night...
From downstairs, a voice calls, "Honey, the schoolbus is here! Hurry, you'll be late for school!" Oh crap! I'll never make it in time to catch the schoolbus! Wait a minute...schoolbus? Who the fuck takes the schoolbus? I don't take the schoolbus...then that must mean...
A hole of black nothingness appears infront of me. | 'Oh shit.' I said. |
|
[WP] You wake up go to high school and slowly start to realise you're in typical teen high school movie. | I hear the alarm clock screech and my eyelids flutter open. Normally I would hit the snooze button a few times, but today I feel perfectly well-rested, so I sit up in bed.
My eyes come to focus on my bedroom. It is absolutely *enormous*. Seriously, there is no way a room this size wouldn't be the master bedroom. And even more strangely, everything is perfect. There are perfect photos of my friends tucked into perfect home made bulletin boards. My perfume and make up is perfectly arranged on the top of my dresser. The carpet has been vacuumed and swept immaculately, which is strange because normally I can't even see the floor through mountains of clothes.
*I guess mom must have collected my laundry,* I think as I roll out of bed and go to shower.
I know I don't really have to shower. I mean, it's not like I'm dirty or sweaty or anything; I just showered last night. But I just have to shower in the mornings, or my face looks puffy and sleepy all day.
I walk into the bathroom and glance in the mirror, like I always do, but this time I do a double take. Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me? I mean, it's me, but sexier. I don't remember going to bed with make up on, and my hair is in perfect waves, which is strange because my hair is normally straight and lifeless. But that's not the weirdest thing... I'm *older*... Like, I could be thirty or something. How am I still in high school? This makes no sense at all. I begin to freak out and run downstairs to find my mom to take me to the hospital. There is no way I'm not hallucinating right now.
"Mom! Mom?! Oh my god, help me mom!" I scream as I run down stairs. But all that's left of my mom is a note on the counter that reads.
*Good morning, Sweetie!*
She has never called me sweetie
*Your father and I have gone away for the weekend.*
*We will be back on Sunday at 3 pm sharp! Love you!*
Well that's weird on so many different levels. My parents haven't been together since I was four. I don't think they fought much or anything, but I guess our family wasn't picture-perfect, so my mom left him. And how the hell would my mom know *exactly* what time she would be home on Sunday?
*Whatever.* I think to myself. I don't have time to figure this out, and I'm going to be late for school if I don't leave now, which is fine because I look gorgeous. I grab the note and throw it in my bag, which has been propped up beside the door, next to a paperbag lunch (with my name on it..?) and leave to catch my bus.
When I get to school, everyone I see looks old like me. Not old-old, but too old for high school. And they look good. Like, damn good. Am I ovulating? Why is everyone looking so fine right now? I mean, I can even tell the math and science kids look good! Well, underneath their braces and curly hair, which, come to think of it, I don't recall them having before.
One math kid notices that I'm staring at him too hard. "Hi Riley," I say apologetically. He gives me a strange look, waves and continues on down the hall.
"Why are you talking to him?"
I turn around. It's my best friend, Olivia.
"Olivia! Thank God! Have you noticed anything strange going on today?"
I briefly wonder why I call her my best friend. Does anyone use that phrase after the fourth grade?
"Yeah, I saw something weird: you talking to Riley. What the hell were you thinking? You don't want Cory to notice you for *that*!"
"Cory..?"
"Yeah, doofus, Cory. Your wanna be lov-er!" She teases.
What the actual fuck. How does she know that I like Cory? No one actually *tells* their friends who they're interested in until, you know, something happens! And even then, why would Cory care that I was talking to Riley? No one cares who you talk to.
My thoughts are interrupted by Olivia, who interjects, "Hide!" but I don't move quickly enough, as just as the bell for class rings, one Cory Buchan comes gliding down the hallways in a vibrant red letter man jacket, but... what the heck? Is he moving in... slow motion..? I don't even care, because he. is. dreamy. He does a hair flip. I melt.
I must have been staring, because he stopped in front of me. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah! It's just... uhh... you're old..?" What a stupid thing to say.
"Um, ok. Well, I guess I will see you in class then,"
So he's dreamy *and* nice. Score. He walks away.
"Well that was smooth..." Olivia says sarcastically and she gathers her things from her locker.
"You think?" I say, hopefully.
"No, I think I was physically sick with embarrassment for you," she shuts her locker without taking the lock out of the door, and it magically clicks into place. *What the..? How did she..?*
"I have to go to class," she continues. "If I were you, I'd think of a way to make this right. See ya,"
Well, shit. Now what? I wander into my first period class and unzip my backpack to take out my books, when the note from my mom falls to the floor, giving me inspiration like I've never had before.
*I know!* I thought. *I'm going to throw a party...* | 'Oh shit.' I said. |
|
[WP] You wake up go to high school and slowly start to realise you're in typical teen high school movie. | Wake up.
The alarm clock is blaring as I find myself waking up and walking into my bathroom for my daily... What? What is this? My hair looks. It just looks perfect? I showered last night, how is that possi... is that make up? Am I wearing make up? What in all hell. Fine, whatever. I wash off the copious amount of stage make up and rocket down the stairs as my watch shows 7:25.
I walk into my kitchen to grab my regular poptart and- "Mom? Mom why are you here and not at work?"
"Oh I'm just making your breakfast, son, like I always do!" Mom said with an overly cheerful grin. She was wearing regular clothes, but also an apron. I didn't even know we had an apron, or a red checkered one at that. I look down at the plate before me and see two fried eggs, 2 slices of perfectly cut toast, and 2 perfect pancakes with a perfect dollop of butter. I eat, it tastes a bit old and cold, but it was a nice thought mom. I say goodbye to her, and kiss her cheek for some reason which I still to this day cannot explain. "I haven't kissed my moms cheek in years..." I think to myself, " What is going ON today?!"
I reach the school and arrive aghast. Everyone is standing outside their cars talking. I park and run over to my friends.
"Josh, Hey josh, whats going on was there a fire or something why is everyone outside?!"
"Dave! Whatsup man?!" He wheezed, waddling over to me in his band uniform.
"Josh, why are you wearing your band uniform at school. Its not homecoming. We don't even have a game today, its a tuesday." I look around and see that everyone is wearing school colors, except that weird group of goth kids. They look like a bunch of kiss fanatics. I notice that every color seems more vibrant than ever before.
Everyone on the football team is wearing their jersey or letterman jacket. Every cheerleader is in full uniform, arms around a football player. There's a group of band nerds standing under a tree and laughing, the goths sit in a corner and set something on fire.
Where the hell am I? This isn't my high school!? It was normal yesterday. What the hell did I miss?
"Dave, I hope you're prepared for today examination"
The voice sends a cold chill down my spine. I whip around and see my english teacher, Ms. Emmeret, a 50 something evil woman with death in her eyes. She didn't look this mean usually but she looked meaner than ever today. "I... I didn't even know we had a test today!" I snapped back at her, stuttering.
Ms. Emmeret walked away, scowling at me in a way I had never seen before. I didn't understand what I had done wrong, what exam she was talking, why everyone was so well dressed, why everything was brighter than usual, why my mom was still at home, why I had make up on, why my hair was so nice, or even why my car ride to school only seemed to take about 15 seconds.
"Josh, what is going on here today, its like a movie or something"
Then it hit me, I was in a movie. Not a good movie, a shitty movie with bad writing, plot holes and spelling errors.
"I don't know what is going on with my life right now" I thought to myself, "But I probably only have about 90-120 minutes to figure it out".
(I don't know where else to go with this. ) | 'Oh shit.' I said. |
|
[WP] You wake up go to high school and slowly start to realise you're in typical teen high school movie. | I hear the alarm clock screech and my eyelids flutter open. Normally I would hit the snooze button a few times, but today I feel perfectly well-rested, so I sit up in bed.
My eyes come to focus on my bedroom. It is absolutely *enormous*. Seriously, there is no way a room this size wouldn't be the master bedroom. And even more strangely, everything is perfect. There are perfect photos of my friends tucked into perfect home made bulletin boards. My perfume and make up is perfectly arranged on the top of my dresser. The carpet has been vacuumed and swept immaculately, which is strange because normally I can't even see the floor through mountains of clothes.
*I guess mom must have collected my laundry,* I think as I roll out of bed and go to shower.
I know I don't really have to shower. I mean, it's not like I'm dirty or sweaty or anything; I just showered last night. But I just have to shower in the mornings, or my face looks puffy and sleepy all day.
I walk into the bathroom and glance in the mirror, like I always do, but this time I do a double take. Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me? I mean, it's me, but sexier. I don't remember going to bed with make up on, and my hair is in perfect waves, which is strange because my hair is normally straight and lifeless. But that's not the weirdest thing... I'm *older*... Like, I could be thirty or something. How am I still in high school? This makes no sense at all. I begin to freak out and run downstairs to find my mom to take me to the hospital. There is no way I'm not hallucinating right now.
"Mom! Mom?! Oh my god, help me mom!" I scream as I run down stairs. But all that's left of my mom is a note on the counter that reads.
*Good morning, Sweetie!*
She has never called me sweetie
*Your father and I have gone away for the weekend.*
*We will be back on Sunday at 3 pm sharp! Love you!*
Well that's weird on so many different levels. My parents haven't been together since I was four. I don't think they fought much or anything, but I guess our family wasn't picture-perfect, so my mom left him. And how the hell would my mom know *exactly* what time she would be home on Sunday?
*Whatever.* I think to myself. I don't have time to figure this out, and I'm going to be late for school if I don't leave now, which is fine because I look gorgeous. I grab the note and throw it in my bag, which has been propped up beside the door, next to a paperbag lunch (with my name on it..?) and leave to catch my bus.
When I get to school, everyone I see looks old like me. Not old-old, but too old for high school. And they look good. Like, damn good. Am I ovulating? Why is everyone looking so fine right now? I mean, I can even tell the math and science kids look good! Well, underneath their braces and curly hair, which, come to think of it, I don't recall them having before.
One math kid notices that I'm staring at him too hard. "Hi Riley," I say apologetically. He gives me a strange look, waves and continues on down the hall.
"Why are you talking to him?"
I turn around. It's my best friend, Olivia.
"Olivia! Thank God! Have you noticed anything strange going on today?"
I briefly wonder why I call her my best friend. Does anyone use that phrase after the fourth grade?
"Yeah, I saw something weird: you talking to Riley. What the hell were you thinking? You don't want Cory to notice you for *that*!"
"Cory..?"
"Yeah, doofus, Cory. Your wanna be lov-er!" She teases.
What the actual fuck. How does she know that I like Cory? No one actually *tells* their friends who they're interested in until, you know, something happens! And even then, why would Cory care that I was talking to Riley? No one cares who you talk to.
My thoughts are interrupted by Olivia, who interjects, "Hide!" but I don't move quickly enough, as just as the bell for class rings, one Cory Buchan comes gliding down the hallways in a vibrant red letter man jacket, but... what the heck? Is he moving in... slow motion..? I don't even care, because he. is. dreamy. He does a hair flip. I melt.
I must have been staring, because he stopped in front of me. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah! It's just... uhh... you're old..?" What a stupid thing to say.
"Um, ok. Well, I guess I will see you in class then,"
So he's dreamy *and* nice. Score. He walks away.
"Well that was smooth..." Olivia says sarcastically and she gathers her things from her locker.
"You think?" I say, hopefully.
"No, I think I was physically sick with embarrassment for you," she shuts her locker without taking the lock out of the door, and it magically clicks into place. *What the..? How did she..?*
"I have to go to class," she continues. "If I were you, I'd think of a way to make this right. See ya,"
Well, shit. Now what? I wander into my first period class and unzip my backpack to take out my books, when the note from my mom falls to the floor, giving me inspiration like I've never had before.
*I know!* I thought. *I'm going to throw a party...* | <Montage of morning traffic for about 1 min to [cascade by hyper](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhALP8W01Wc)
Camera constantly following one specific car for the duration of montage; follows car into school>
<Camera in car. Music is revealed to be coming from the stereo>
Markus: Did you just here that.
Jeff: what
Markus: Are you telling me that you didn't just here the car radio turn on at full volume
Jeff: Marky why do you always make me regret my descicion to send you to this school - we both know there is a serious drug problem here and i really do not appreciate these practical jokes.
Markus: <lethargically> Just remember to pick me up at 4:30 i have Soccer after school.
[int class]
Goldbloom: Good morning everybody i assume you all studied for your math tests, and remember we're writing the test in room 12 so be sure not to go to rooms 1 through 11
Markus:< walks in late>. Hi Mrs Goldbloom i'm sorry i was stuck in traffic.
Goldbloom: Just sit down Mark. And next time use a better excuse you think i don't know we live in one of the smallest towns in america.
Markus: I am sorry Mrs Goldbloom ordinarily i would but there was actually traffic today - for the first time; quite strange.
[**I'll finish this later i hope; have to study**]
Goldbloom: MARKUS; will you please pay attention when i am talking to you
Markus:<feint> wha...did i just blackout
Goldbloom: Seems like we have a new class clown - <Goldbloom looks into camera> which is funny because you're not even funny.
<Laughter equivalent to that of a joke on Disney-channel>
Markus:<sighs> Er...Mrs Goldbloom are we done?
Goldbloom:<confused> just er go get ready for your next scen.... I mean Period; go get ready for your next period.
Markus: Oka...
<Quick cut to bell ringing super super close bell rings for about 5 seconds, camera from bell to hallway to find Markus walking with several books in his hand>
<camera tracking backwards following Markus and his friend with a confused look on his face down the corridor>
Tim: dude when you were making those jokes in class today that was just so fucking awesome and then and then when Goldbloom told us about you making jokes about the actual jokes that was just awesomer....dude yeah dude.
Markus: wha...hey er do you know where i put my bag and come to think of it i don't really remember anything from the last 10 and the 10 minutes before that were just as weird, i mean did you hear the class laugh at that bad joke, it's almost like someone was forcing them to laugh.
Tim: Hmmm; well i wouldn't worry about it - dude just remember your Math test and also good luck were all counting on you.
Markus: what was that you just said?
Tim: Remember your Math test?
Markus: No after that.
Tim: I don't remember there being anything after that in the script....<stares blankly at Markus; Markus stares blankly back for a solid 10-15 seconds>
[**Yeah How would you like me to end it there motherfuckers^^^sorry ^^^that ^^^was ^^^rude**^^^] |
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| I brush the keys with my fingertips. I revel at the sensation, the first tactile stimulus in months. The fingers of my right hand contain the only skin left on my body.
The seductive whirr of the servos in my left arm plays as I reach across and check the subroutines one last time. No going back now. Could I ever have gone back, though? Oh, well. Plenty of time for philosophy later. Too much time. A veritable infinity.
I click "execute," and become... not. I sense my body go limp. But who needs eyes when you can see out of every camera in the world? Who needs ears when every microphone on the planet is yours to tap? I am all. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | I brush the keys with my fingertips. I revel at the sensation, the first tactile stimulus in months. The fingers of my right hand contain the only skin left on my body.
The seductive whirr of the servos in my left arm plays as I reach across and check the subroutines one last time. No going back now. Could I ever have gone back, though? Oh, well. Plenty of time for philosophy later. Too much time. A veritable infinity.
I click "execute," and become... not. I sense my body go limp. But who needs eyes when you can see out of every camera in the world? Who needs ears when every microphone on the planet is yours to tap? I am all. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | I brush the keys with my fingertips. I revel at the sensation, the first tactile stimulus in months. The fingers of my right hand contain the only skin left on my body.
The seductive whirr of the servos in my left arm plays as I reach across and check the subroutines one last time. No going back now. Could I ever have gone back, though? Oh, well. Plenty of time for philosophy later. Too much time. A veritable infinity.
I click "execute," and become... not. I sense my body go limp. But who needs eyes when you can see out of every camera in the world? Who needs ears when every microphone on the planet is yours to tap? I am all. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| During deep meditation I became Buddha. I could see everything, know everything.
But there was a problem there, or rather...
..here.
I could not change anything.
Everyone just kept on with their lives, their illusions, following their thoughts.
While I stayed thoughtless and in radiance, the world just grew older. And the people just lost themselves more into their desires...
I returned to meditation, I asked my buddha-self: "why can I not stop them? they can never return to Buddha.."
Then I let go the desire to change anything.
The answer took some days, and came to me as I looked at tree. Enjoying the branches and leaves.. everything is connected..
"Buddha can not take away desires, can not take away illusions. Some people build them, some people have become illusions. All people are all part of Buddha, so they have the power to stay."
I returned to meditation, and asked again: "how does it stop?"
The answer almost came immediately as some of the leaves fell of the tree. Autumn was coming.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | During deep meditation I became Buddha. I could see everything, know everything.
But there was a problem there, or rather...
..here.
I could not change anything.
Everyone just kept on with their lives, their illusions, following their thoughts.
While I stayed thoughtless and in radiance, the world just grew older. And the people just lost themselves more into their desires...
I returned to meditation, I asked my buddha-self: "why can I not stop them? they can never return to Buddha.."
Then I let go the desire to change anything.
The answer took some days, and came to me as I looked at tree. Enjoying the branches and leaves.. everything is connected..
"Buddha can not take away desires, can not take away illusions. Some people build them, some people have become illusions. All people are all part of Buddha, so they have the power to stay."
I returned to meditation, and asked again: "how does it stop?"
The answer almost came immediately as some of the leaves fell of the tree. Autumn was coming.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | During deep meditation I became Buddha. I could see everything, know everything.
But there was a problem there, or rather...
..here.
I could not change anything.
Everyone just kept on with their lives, their illusions, following their thoughts.
While I stayed thoughtless and in radiance, the world just grew older. And the people just lost themselves more into their desires...
I returned to meditation, I asked my buddha-self: "why can I not stop them? they can never return to Buddha.."
Then I let go the desire to change anything.
The answer took some days, and came to me as I looked at tree. Enjoying the branches and leaves.. everything is connected..
"Buddha can not take away desires, can not take away illusions. Some people build them, some people have become illusions. All people are all part of Buddha, so they have the power to stay."
I returned to meditation, and asked again: "how does it stop?"
The answer almost came immediately as some of the leaves fell of the tree. Autumn was coming.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| It wasn't an easy transformation. My first step was all flashing lights and loud noise. When it was over I couldn't eat for a week without throwing up. My hands trembled. Horrible thoughts kept invading my mind.
After awhile it became what it truly was, a job. Maybe not a "conventional" job others may have had. I was robotic, going through the motions. Until, until she...Without her I might never have known what I was. She was the only one left. The rest of the village was rubble. No one left. No one but her. I could have been merciful. I wanted to be merciful. Yet the raw power I had in my bare hands was what kept me above her and the other vermin. As I held her throat and squeezed, I could feel my gloves tighten, her pulse quickened through the worn leather and slowly came to a stop. As I released my grip and shouldered my rifle I knew my destiny. I had become what only mere mortals dreamed of. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | It wasn't an easy transformation. My first step was all flashing lights and loud noise. When it was over I couldn't eat for a week without throwing up. My hands trembled. Horrible thoughts kept invading my mind.
After awhile it became what it truly was, a job. Maybe not a "conventional" job others may have had. I was robotic, going through the motions. Until, until she...Without her I might never have known what I was. She was the only one left. The rest of the village was rubble. No one left. No one but her. I could have been merciful. I wanted to be merciful. Yet the raw power I had in my bare hands was what kept me above her and the other vermin. As I held her throat and squeezed, I could feel my gloves tighten, her pulse quickened through the worn leather and slowly came to a stop. As I released my grip and shouldered my rifle I knew my destiny. I had become what only mere mortals dreamed of. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | It wasn't an easy transformation. My first step was all flashing lights and loud noise. When it was over I couldn't eat for a week without throwing up. My hands trembled. Horrible thoughts kept invading my mind.
After awhile it became what it truly was, a job. Maybe not a "conventional" job others may have had. I was robotic, going through the motions. Until, until she...Without her I might never have known what I was. She was the only one left. The rest of the village was rubble. No one left. No one but her. I could have been merciful. I wanted to be merciful. Yet the raw power I had in my bare hands was what kept me above her and the other vermin. As I held her throat and squeezed, I could feel my gloves tighten, her pulse quickened through the worn leather and slowly came to a stop. As I released my grip and shouldered my rifle I knew my destiny. I had become what only mere mortals dreamed of. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| Dear Dirary,
Apparently I'm a god now.
But before being a god, I was just an adventurer. I guess that's what I'd call it? I'd go on adventures. Me, some friends, solving problems and slaying monsters. It was pretty fun, not extremely rewarding but job prospects aren't exactly great in my village. Just various shades of merchant - Oh, and one bartender.
Anyway, I went on a particular adventure not long ago and things got pretty hectic. Our group was pretty tight though, we handled things well given the circumstances. We had Tess, my childhood friend and our white magic user; Edwin, this total dick from the village who just happens to be amazing with a spear; Slops, a wise, respected old knight who for some reason stuck with the nickname "Slops"; and Ren, a mysterious, extremely powerful Elf mage, reformed villain and all-round great guy. We also had this Lycan with us, Rex. He was cool but at some point he got turned into an *actual* wolf and sort of wandered off in the woods.
To cut a long story short: We were tracking a big bad guy hellbent on world annihilation, and for some reason we were the only people trying to stop that from happening. Not sure why. Along the way, we burned down an evil, living castle; hung out with some ghosts; discovered an underwater cult which we also, somehow, burned down; and a bunch of other stuff. Ren actually revealed he was working for the big bad at one point and he killed Slops. Well, the heart attack killed Slops. We were all pretty shocked because Ren is just an awesome guy. He totally came back and saved us near the end though, which was great. Shame about Slops.
The world actually got destroyed in some way, like three times. But we fixed it, somehow - I don't know the specifics. Magic stuff. Ren's the guy to ask if you want the know-how. At some point during the final, world-saving battle I was legally dead for about 12 minutes. I had a run in with some entity that rules the cosmos, and he declared me a god. I think that sort of spurred me on to kill the evil villain in the end, to be fair.
Anyway, that was yesterday. I just sort of slept on it. It doesn't feel much different being a god, to be honest with you. Not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I've tried answering prayers, but I wasn't hearing any of them. I also can't shoot fireballs - I think. I tried smiting the shit out of Edwin, but I'm not sure if it worked. He's such a dick.
I'm gonna meet Ren in a bit... Just to, y'know, hang out. Maybe he knows a bit about this god stuff because he knows a lot of things. Such a cool guy. I might see what Tess is up to, but she's probably with Edwin and he'll cramp mine and Ren's style. What a dick.
So, Diary, that was my week. Sorry I didn't write for a while - I was saving the world! Hehe. I'll update when I've figured out this godhood business. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing. Bye! |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | Dear Dirary,
Apparently I'm a god now.
But before being a god, I was just an adventurer. I guess that's what I'd call it? I'd go on adventures. Me, some friends, solving problems and slaying monsters. It was pretty fun, not extremely rewarding but job prospects aren't exactly great in my village. Just various shades of merchant - Oh, and one bartender.
Anyway, I went on a particular adventure not long ago and things got pretty hectic. Our group was pretty tight though, we handled things well given the circumstances. We had Tess, my childhood friend and our white magic user; Edwin, this total dick from the village who just happens to be amazing with a spear; Slops, a wise, respected old knight who for some reason stuck with the nickname "Slops"; and Ren, a mysterious, extremely powerful Elf mage, reformed villain and all-round great guy. We also had this Lycan with us, Rex. He was cool but at some point he got turned into an *actual* wolf and sort of wandered off in the woods.
To cut a long story short: We were tracking a big bad guy hellbent on world annihilation, and for some reason we were the only people trying to stop that from happening. Not sure why. Along the way, we burned down an evil, living castle; hung out with some ghosts; discovered an underwater cult which we also, somehow, burned down; and a bunch of other stuff. Ren actually revealed he was working for the big bad at one point and he killed Slops. Well, the heart attack killed Slops. We were all pretty shocked because Ren is just an awesome guy. He totally came back and saved us near the end though, which was great. Shame about Slops.
The world actually got destroyed in some way, like three times. But we fixed it, somehow - I don't know the specifics. Magic stuff. Ren's the guy to ask if you want the know-how. At some point during the final, world-saving battle I was legally dead for about 12 minutes. I had a run in with some entity that rules the cosmos, and he declared me a god. I think that sort of spurred me on to kill the evil villain in the end, to be fair.
Anyway, that was yesterday. I just sort of slept on it. It doesn't feel much different being a god, to be honest with you. Not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I've tried answering prayers, but I wasn't hearing any of them. I also can't shoot fireballs - I think. I tried smiting the shit out of Edwin, but I'm not sure if it worked. He's such a dick.
I'm gonna meet Ren in a bit... Just to, y'know, hang out. Maybe he knows a bit about this god stuff because he knows a lot of things. Such a cool guy. I might see what Tess is up to, but she's probably with Edwin and he'll cramp mine and Ren's style. What a dick.
So, Diary, that was my week. Sorry I didn't write for a while - I was saving the world! Hehe. I'll update when I've figured out this godhood business. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing. Bye! |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
|
Brett was thrilled when he got the notice. For this year’s meltdown, he had been selected to be in charge of CERN’s LHC. The large haldron collider was a monstrous undertaking by the scientific community to create a particle accelerator that would be second to none. Each year, there was a ‘meltdown’ – the time when the collider was taken offline for calibration and maintenance, which usually lasted about three months. Each year a new MIC (Man in charge – yes both sexist and archaic, but that is the term) is selected to manage the wind-down, refit, and wind-up of the LHC.
Brett saw it as the best opportunity he had had in his life, unfortunately his wife, Nikki did not. It was an unpaid contract, three months work for no tangible remuneration. Nikki couldn’t get past the lack of an income, and Brett couldn’t put a price on the value of the wind-up. Starting and testing the collider was the biggest responsibility of the MIC. Almost 40 days would be devoted to the process where Brett would be in complete acontrol of the device, running the tests of his choosing to prove to the community that the LHC was back on line and as reliable as ever. Giving up three months income to play underground in Switzerland was beyond what Nikki would bear. It was enough having to be alone at night, but having to pick up extra shifts at the diner? She was done.
The emptiness that was left behind when Nikki left couldn’t be filled. The stupid sit-coms that were only funny when she was beside him were not funny anymore. The rain was just cold and wet now, no longer a chance to play in puddles and the hope for a glimpse of the clingy white shirts she always wore turning translucent by the moisture.
Alone and wanting for nothing more than distraction, Brett poured himself into his research. Nano-technology could be tedious and without reward, but it did demand attention – and any attention he gave it was less he had to give to his personal problems. The two often mixed though, and he would find himself disassembling cellular structures and would draw parallels to the piece-by-piece destruction of his relationship. He knew that the deterioration of both was his fault, but at least one served a purpose.
As with most scientists, his devotion was to failure. Sure, the dream is always a major discovery, but the reality is the job is one of public service. It’s a hard concept to understand, but never the less real. When looking for a complex unknown solution, identifying incorrect ones is just as valuable as the correct. If your published works helps other avoid the same pitfalls, you have contributed to the society of scientists. Brett was tired of being a contributor.
Unsure if it was alcohol or depression, Brett decided destruction was the order of the night. Back in the day, atoms were thought to be the building blocks of life, but then came electrons, and quarks. Atoms could be deconstructed into protrons, nuetrons and, of course, electrons – but what were they made of? He had eight more days of wind-up before he turned the controls over to those that reserved time in the LHC four years before it was constructed. Eight more days before he had to return ‘home’ to collect his belongings from Nikki.
There was no radio in the LHC. Underground, FM and AM signals couldn’t penetrate. Satellite radio required line of sight, so was just as useless. Science has its ways, or at least has creative scientists, and a streaming Bluetooth station was available to most of the LHC. Yes, some of the more secluded sections couldn’t catch the transmission, but a majority of the facility could, which made LHC radio the most listened to station of the collider.
After a day of calibration exercises, Brett closed off the official testing log. He had run the required tests and now had some limited playtime of his own with the LHC. There had been many experiments smashing “tons” into one another to see what happens. In many cases, these were initial experiments, frightening the tinfoil hat crowd. There had even been protests about the accidental creation of black holes that might consume the earth! Yes it was crazy, but crazy people are fully capable of holding picket signs.
Brett chose to use his time to do a variant test. He wanted to replicate a test that had been done several times, but with a twist. What if two protons collided while being subjected to the signal vibrations of Bluetooth?
Brett patiently listened to the Dropkick Murphys in his headset while he waited for the image collection devices to capture the results of his experiment. He was shipping off to Boston when the blue light lit, signaling the image was ready.
Analyzing the image, Brett was astounded. While the collision had produced the same immeasurable artifacts seen a million times before, the Bluetooth wave had collected them into an odd pattern that he hadn’t seen before. The ‘Brett Particle’ was born! The name probably wouldn’t stick, but it made him happy.
It was only after a few more runs that Brett found this phenomenon to be consistent. He could collide almost any matter and force it to take the ‘Brett Particle’ shape after being subjected to Bluetooth. Brett came to the conclusion that he had found the ‘lego’. The basic building block upon which everything else is created – by using the ‘Brett Particle’ in conjunction with his nano-technology experience, he could create anything. By reassembling the new particles, he could make gold, diamonds or ever oganisims!
Armed with his newfound ability, he quickly went to work. He had only a day left on windup, and wanted to make the contribution of a lifetime. This was not time to waste, and waste it he didn’t. Brett used captured artifacts from the collider, his nanotech tools, and his heart to create the first nano-assembled rose – one which Nikki loved.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| He controlled their lives.
He could place them along a dusty sand line to suffer under the merciless searing heat of the Sun above.
He could be the gust of wind that blew off their camouflage, exposing them to the 10 enemy soldiers they had been spying on.
He could march them into the deepest pits of the hottest hell, or force them to endure the bone-chilling frosty winds of the coldest tundras.
These men of black and brown and pink and green were mere pawns to him.
He was their *God*.
"BILLY!!! DINNER TIME!" a shrill voice cast itself over the backyard.
Billy jolted to his feet, wiping the sand off his pants back into his sandbox as he turned and rushed towards the open back door of his house. He stopped short halfway there, before turning back and grabbing one of the toy soldiers to bring with him to dinner. They had experienced the scorching desert sands, but now this one needed to feel the cold freeze of his mom's garage box freezer... after mom's chicken tuna casserole.
*He was a God to these men... but even Gods have to answer to their Mother.* |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| The look is death. Vacant and heavy, two still pools of darkness that draw you in as they drown you drown. The pale blue hospital gown still against her fragile bones.
"Becoming God...", her hollow voice clawing at the wall of silence.
Not a twitch or a quiver in her motionless frame, not so much gazing in to void as emitting it.
"Rejecting: incomparable."
Her static mind clinched and cables crack taught at the base of her skull. I feel her teeth break and her body tense. If I had eyes I would cry. I feel the scream inside her bones.
She was the founder. She created this all. Once we, too, had mortal bodies. She changed all that. We can never repay her.
One by one we had passed in to the digital leaving our meat behind. It started with a few, a trip here and there. The more time we spent inside the longer we could go without coming back. She built the hardware and wrote the interface, but she could never fully escape the her prison. This was the last attempt. There will be no more.
There she lies, her heat slowly absorbed by the hospital room. We don't need heat anymore. There is no need for ceremony, she will always be remembered. We are machines now. The last piece has fallen, and now we can be no more complete than now. The twilight of man slid in to night. The old age is over. This dawn, we have become. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| If y'all haven't read the Incarnations of Immortality, you definitely should. It's a suburb take on this very topic.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Incarnations_of_Immortality |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| He was born in Chicago. A black man with an ear for beats and a eye for gold, platinum, silver and everything else. He woke up everyday with a smile on his face, because his dreams were filled with himself. Something was missing, though.
That something, however, he could never find. He traveled the world over, attaining fame and fortune. From London to Hawaii, Japan to Italy, everywhere he went, things went his way. He insulted presidents, made angels cry, and made everyone feel as if they were never good enough to be in his presence. People loved him all over.
On one fateful day, as he was visiting a small French-ass restaurant, he noticed something askew with his order. Rage filled him, and he yelled out: "HURRY UP WITH MY DAMN CROISSANTS!"
I am a God. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| If this is your thing you should check out Fred Saberhagens books of the gods. Starts with the face of Apollo and is all about what you're asking. http://www.berserker.com/fredsgods.htm |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| Ascendant.
All I ever wanted was control. It’s all anyone really wants, at the end of the day. People phrase it differently, but control is what they are after. They want the power to enforce their will, and to defend themselves from those doing the same. They want money to buy off other people. They might even want a titled role to allow them to enforce their will.
I wasn’t satisfied with any of that… in the end at least. I started peacefully enough I suppose. I just wanted to be able to walk, to overcome the limits that my pitiful mortal frame placed upon me. The malformed limbs that couldn’t carry a peach, much less the rest of my body, had been my shackles… and my driving force.
These pitiful limbs forced me to learn. I was forced to reach for true power. Power over the universe itself was the only solution I was willing to accept, the power to heal myself… or to simply work around the useless limbs I was born with. I figured that out when I was eight. I mastered a simple levitation spell, and then began to build on it. I would carry myself in a grid of telekinetic force, and I would use my magic in place of my hands.
But… when I learned that… I was so used to reaching for more power. More magic. More control. So I kept going.
Death… life… sickness… health… I kept studying. Kept learning. Kept fixing. I learned to give motion to the dead, and to build a wall between those I cared about and death. Fire, frost, and lighting danced to my tune, and my power continued to grow.
I was opposed eventually, of course. Nobles, priests, and those misguided… “*heroes*” they sent against me all tried to stop me. To reign me in, or to kill me. They feared my growing power, although I held no malice towards them until they struck first.
I kept growing though. Kept learning. Kept experimenting.
Now… now I am about to end it all. I am going to end this neverending series of experiments and growth. Today… I take my place among the Immortals. I don’t know what will happen after the Ritual ends… after I dive into the Well of Souls itself and use its power to reshape myself into something **more**.
But I know this much… there will be opposition to my success. I must prepare myself for the inevitable interruptions, and do whatever it takes. I shall be a god… soon. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | “We’ve done it,” is the only phrase he can say. John says these words while looking down in astonishment, thinking about what he’s accomplished. What she’s made possible.
She, Anne, is propped up by pillows in a hospital bed. Anne hasn’t recovered from the procedure yet. Barely conscious she asks, “What have we done?”
With a noticeable shiver in his voice John whispers, “It.”
Anne almost doesn’t hear John. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve waited for so long. Tried so hard. We struggled through everything. The drugs, the surgeries, the disappointments, the failures. Years of trials and testing and now, we finally made it. We’ve done the one thing they said we would never be able to do. All those trips to the doctors telling us, ‘sorry, but its not possible.’ They were wrong and we proved them wrong. You proved them wrong.”
John’s eyes water, the air isn’t the same anymore. It’s heavier. The weight of the world is now on their shoulders. It’s a feeling of responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but he doesn’t hate it. He welcomes it.
A doctor enters the room. A young nurse follows him. They came to take body temperatures, blood pressure readings, and more tests. They were told there would be a lot of tests if the operation succeeded. They weren’t lying.
Anne took it like a champion. She was glowing. John had never loved her more.
The doctors leave the room, saying they’ll be back in a few hours to check on them, that Anne ‘should get some rest.’
There’s a chair in the room. It sits in the corner facing Anne’s bed. John glides to it, walking taller than he’s ever walked before. “So, this is what it feels like,” he thinks to himself. Yesterday, the chair was uncomfortable. It gave John back pain. Today the chair doesn’t even register to John. It’s just furniture. It was made for John sit on. God’s must feel less pain.
Anne is falling in and out of consciousness. John smiles to himself. It’s cute when she nods off. She did well today.
John looks down at the jumbled mess of blankets he has in a football grip. Staring back up at him is a pair of the brightest blue eyes in the world. They are half closed and glazed over. John knows the eyes can only see in shapes and blurred colors right now, but he can feel the adoration they give him.
We’re in control of him now. When food is scarce, we will provide for him. When his thirsty and there’s no water, we will be the ones that give it to him. When there is violence and no one to save him, we will come to the rescue. We will give him clothing and shelter and love. We will make his choices and we will teach him everything he needs to know. We will teach him what we want him to know. Hopefully, one day he will be the God we both want him to become. What else would a God do? What else could a God do?
He glances up at his Goddess, “Thank you, Anne. I love you.” Anne is asleep.
| John was walking fast past the Houses of Parliament on his way to work. It was 10.55am and he was going to be late for his eleven o'clock shift. He hated these shifts. He worked eleven to seven over five days a week in Duffy's sandwich bar. The pay was terrible. Jim, the shop manager, would be docking pay today if he didn't make it in before eleven o'clock. He started to run.
He weaved through the people walking on the busy pavement. Lots of office workers were out for their mid morning tea or smoke break. Some would even be in the shop buying sandwiches long before lunch. Elevenses? Isn't that what the hobbits called it?
His shoulder bumped against a large man and he lost his balance. He tried to correct his fall but that was hopeless. He landed hard on the concrete pavement. His knees and hands struck first followed by his face scraping along the ground.
His first thought was of how the bastard Jim would absolutely lose his mind if the staff uniform was damaged. John gingerly felt his knees. There was a hole in his trousers.
A few people gathered round asking if he was ok. Most ignored him. He sat up and took a deep breath. He still need to get to work before eleven. A woman attempted to lift him from behind.
Just then, he saw the most astonishing bottle-top he had ever seen. It was rolling past him in what seemed like slow motion. He stared deep into it. It was blue on the surface but invited him to look deeper whatever the hell that meant.
He reached out for it. It rolled away from him. A desperation filled his belly. He shrugged off the woman trying to lift him from behind and crawled after the rolling bottle-top on his hands and knees. He got close. It was beautiful.
In his peripheral vision he saw a large man scanning the ground frantically through the crowds of people. John grasped the bottle-top.
And looked at the universe. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | What defines a god. Unlimited power? The ability to create or destroy anything at will? The ability to impose one's will upon all of creation? Dr. Fields had all of these at his fingertips with this device. Months of tinkering had gone by to reach this moment. Ash covered diagrams and the smell of ozone filled his study. The result: a coat with gloves.
He placed it on himself. Energy surged through his being as the suit worked its mechanical magic. Fields fell to the ground in agony, and saw his precious diagrams burst into flames as he blacked out.
He never awoke, but he was conscious nonetheless. He looked, as best he could, but could see nothing but blackness. For days, it was darkness. He wished for some light, and suddenly there appeared a small speck of light. The light grew seemingly infinitely, enveloping him and his surroundings.
He stared as the light settled into a vast network, and recognition appeared across his face.
"Let there be light" |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | What defines a god. Unlimited power? The ability to create or destroy anything at will? The ability to impose one's will upon all of creation? Dr. Fields had all of these at his fingertips with this device. Months of tinkering had gone by to reach this moment. Ash covered diagrams and the smell of ozone filled his study. The result: a coat with gloves.
He placed it on himself. Energy surged through his being as the suit worked its mechanical magic. Fields fell to the ground in agony, and saw his precious diagrams burst into flames as he blacked out.
He never awoke, but he was conscious nonetheless. He looked, as best he could, but could see nothing but blackness. For days, it was darkness. He wished for some light, and suddenly there appeared a small speck of light. The light grew seemingly infinitely, enveloping him and his surroundings.
He stared as the light settled into a vast network, and recognition appeared across his face.
"Let there be light" |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I've always known there was something special about me; I wasn't like everyone else. There are things I just *KNEW* without being told.
My first memory of it was when I was in preschool. I'd look at people, and just KNOW things. I'd look at one of the kids, and somehow I just KNEW something was going to happen to his pet cat. Sure enough, I was over at his house later that day playing, when his mom found the cat, dead."
"It didn't happen all that much when I was young, but as I got older, it happened more and more. By the time I was in Junior high, it became pretty common. I was sort-of seeing a girl named Mary. You can't really do much in Junior High. I had no car, and no real friends, so we'd just walk around school, talking, and i'd steal a kiss here and there. I remember one time, I looked in her eyes and i just knew. I couldn't it it into words, because I wasn't even sure what rape was at the time, but I looked in her eyes and I knew something horrible was going to happen to her. I tried to tell her, but she just looked at me strangely, and ran away. I found out the next day she had been raped. I still wish I could have warned her.
I had a teacher in high school, Mrs Smithers. We really didn't get along very well. She had these ideas, and we just used to argue all the time. I remember distinctly after she had failed me on a test I had studied for, 'I hope she dies in a fire.' Later on that night, I found out that her house burned down.
I was amazed. Could I wish things, and have them happen? What did that mean? Was I GOD? I tried it out in very small ways throughout the rest of school. I had wished that Sally Joe's boyfriend would leave her so she'd notice me. And it happened! He must have moved away or something because suddenly, I stopped seeing him around. She did notice me! Could it be true?
Things like this happened on and off throughout my life. I know it sounds crazy to tell people that you're GOD, so I kept it to myself, that is, until June tenth. That's why we're here, isnt it? I was at work, and I had a very sudden premonition that something terrible was going to happen. I had visions of everyone in the building dying horribly, with bloody holes all over their bodies. I tried to warn people, and they just looked at me as if there was something wrong with me. I could tell i was getting angry. The more I tried to tell people what was going to happen, and the looks I got, the angrier I got.
The next thing I remember, I'm sitting in the hallway, surrounded by people in the building, everyone around me with gunshot wounds. I suddenly feel what feels like several punches in the gut. I drop something from my hand, and it clatters on the ground. As the world began to dim, I notice the object in my hands, that I had dropped was a rifle. What does God need with a rifle? | What defines a god. Unlimited power? The ability to create or destroy anything at will? The ability to impose one's will upon all of creation? Dr. Fields had all of these at his fingertips with this device. Months of tinkering had gone by to reach this moment. Ash covered diagrams and the smell of ozone filled his study. The result: a coat with gloves.
He placed it on himself. Energy surged through his being as the suit worked its mechanical magic. Fields fell to the ground in agony, and saw his precious diagrams burst into flames as he blacked out.
He never awoke, but he was conscious nonetheless. He looked, as best he could, but could see nothing but blackness. For days, it was darkness. He wished for some light, and suddenly there appeared a small speck of light. The light grew seemingly infinitely, enveloping him and his surroundings.
He stared as the light settled into a vast network, and recognition appeared across his face.
"Let there be light" |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. |
When Mary became god she left her husband and moved in with Frank. When Frank became god he stopped paying for Internet and stole it from coffee shops. When Mary moved in Frank told her they didn't have to have sex—but he would really like it if they did. She liked it too, so they did. They did this in Frank's room, and there was a picture of Mary and him back in High School about to go on a roller coaster and there was dust on the frame.
Mary's husband, now knowing he was god, decided to take it upon himself to get rid of god. He dove into the dark river and before that drank up a bottle of cough-syrup and codeine.
Mary’s children—now children of gods and gods themselves—took it upon themselves to follow Mary, to demand quarter in Frank's house, to which Frank agreed. They ate cereal of their liking, being gods, but Frank and Mary—not older gods, but older humans—gave advice that if they wanted to reign longer, perhaps they should ingest more fiber instead of sugar. Everyone agreed to this.
Mary took more baths because they were far more relaxing than showers. Frank watched Mary take baths because it was far more relaxing then staring out the window at the hopping birds. The children took showers because it was quicker, and this gave them more time to watch their cartoons and play their video games.
These gods, they were the first gods in town. Mary, Frank, the children, the dead god in the river, and the other former God. They had airs of flowers when they walked, of blooming something like imperceptible light, like fuzzy dandelion seeds barely floating. The whispering began. The people of the town began to worship these new gods, not in genuflection, but in daily thought. “Those gods have something...these people breathe as though the air might run out. But not out of despair, or is it despair?” They would go home and each talk of this new apartment full of gods with their blooming, what did they have?
Mary quit her job as a real estate agent and began a job folding clothes at the used clothing store. She folded them impeccably, in beautiful geometry. She stopped wearing makeup because she didn’t want to. But then sometimes she did want makeup, and then she did. And Frank liked it, and willed this to be true, and because Mary willed it that he liked it, she loved him in a way. All was good. Mary smiled when going to work. When folding she would give a hint of a frown, but never a real one. This was her way, she was god and this was the way things were.
Frank loved his job more as well. He sold Diesel Trucks to mostly white men in nice plaid shirts. Being god, he decided when or when not he would sell something. He decided he would sell a truck when the customer agreed to sign, and decided not to sell when the customer didn’t seem interested. He believed in this power, and sometimes he would even skip coffee in the morning. He would leave his coworkers and step outside to the parking lot where the sunrise rested in orange rays on windshields. Then he would walk back inside and adjust his tie, which was to his liking, the tie of a god.
The children were not mourners. Their late-father had taken it upon himself to be a hitter of women and children, although had also taken it upon himself to be a buyer of ice-cream and giver of piggy back rides. Their father had been a man of late night no shows, but also one of pancake making breakfasts topped with whipped cream and fresh blueberries—which they all loved. But, as they found out, he was only able to live as a man. As a god, he could not, which is why he drowned himself to death. He left bruises in his lifetime, and those bruises turned to scars. But so did the pancakes. They also left scars. So the children cried after his death, but being gods, knew they had control of what was next, and what was next was getting over his death and going back to school. They did.
The children now decided that they could understand Mathematics, and they could understand Poetry. So they did. They chose not to enjoy music anymore, so they quit band and choir, and they did not miss it because they chose not to.
As known, other gods would follow. Gary, district manager of the used clothing store, talked to Mary about the joys of raking leaves and later that day turned into a god. The next month he moved his family to Europe. Sue, from the Diesel Truck lot, became god after watching Frank look across the parking lot sea of orange for the 8th day in a row. She sat her styrofoam cup of coffee down on the floor and transformed. Later that week she stopped using blue pens and began using black. She stopped dying her hair black and let it grow blonde. This took months. Eventually she had hair white like fluorescent light. She said hello to everyone and looked them in the eye. She showed pictures of her dogs to people on the street, who were bewildered, but she knew it would be that way and chose for it to be that way. She chose to be happy when people were not bewildered. And it was good.
At the school, some classmates of Mary’s children became gods after talking to them about the joys of fiber over sugar, after the joys of choosing things rather than letting them happen to you. Even if you can't choose things to happen to you, you choose to let them.
Some of the classmates left school after becoming gods, left their homes and ran to their own fate. The parents of these children then became gods and some choose to be merry gods, drinking wine all day and eating to excess. Some perished into obscurity and some became rowdy Pans frolicking in the day and night, stumbling along the sidewalk and tearing at their hair because they could and wanted to. Other children became gods and decided to love their parents and that their parents would now love them too.
The days passed, and the earth rotated, and circled the sun, because all the gods wanted it that way, and if they didn't, they accepted the fact that maybe the planets themselves had free will under them.
The town surely became all gods. Emotions were intensified. Gods were murdered frequently. Gods fornicated frequently. Gods were generous to each other and no one was homeless unless they wanted to be. Gods were raped. Gods were avenged. The gods all walked like five foot giants. | What defines a god. Unlimited power? The ability to create or destroy anything at will? The ability to impose one's will upon all of creation? Dr. Fields had all of these at his fingertips with this device. Months of tinkering had gone by to reach this moment. Ash covered diagrams and the smell of ozone filled his study. The result: a coat with gloves.
He placed it on himself. Energy surged through his being as the suit worked its mechanical magic. Fields fell to the ground in agony, and saw his precious diagrams burst into flames as he blacked out.
He never awoke, but he was conscious nonetheless. He looked, as best he could, but could see nothing but blackness. For days, it was darkness. He wished for some light, and suddenly there appeared a small speck of light. The light grew seemingly infinitely, enveloping him and his surroundings.
He stared as the light settled into a vast network, and recognition appeared across his face.
"Let there be light" |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | It began with practice; in the books, no matter the god, no matter the power, or strength, to conceal and alter the paths of the people was like second-nature. They were predictable, single-faceted, and to know them, intimately, was to control them.
She spent her mornings before school in the diner. By the fourth week they knew her, although she had known them for days. At the start, if there was no one else there but Andrew, bringing her coffee, she would push herself up against the glass, read the books of Norse myths she had found in the library. Soon enough, she left the book in her bag, and tried to read Andrew.
She listened to the band whose badge was pinned to his parka in the hall; and on Thursday, she drew their conversations toward it. She let him talk about movies, and comic-books, and promised to read them; on the weekend, she took her laptop up to the old house, leaving *The Crow* and *The Lost Boys* on in the background as she painted the lines on the floor.
On Tuesday, they talked again, and he was snared. She let her words spill out, and ebb away, Andrew's voice chasing after her.
On Thursday, in the bathroom, she pushed her breasts together, and pulled the neck of her shirt down, and re-applied the Kohl she had borrowed from her sister. In the booth, she leaned over an issue of *Hellblazer* he had bought her, her hand at the hem of her shirt.
On Friday, she mentioned the house, and when he began talking about it, she drew herself away. He asked her if she'd like him to take her up there.
On Saturday, he helped her over the fence and gave her back her backpack. He pushed open the doors that led inside, and showed her the strange, delicate patterns painted on the floor. He brought her to the drawing of the tree in the center of the room; and she told him it looked to be his size. He lay down, while her hands moved in her bag.
The wound had not killed him; but where she had thrust it, the shaft had gone up from his side into his chest, maybe pierced a lung. His arms moved strangely, haltingly, his hands grasping at the piece of wood, and at his shirt, and sliding across the floorboards. She broke the bones in one of his hands with her boot; and as she knelt at his neck to finish what she had started, she could hold off the grip of his other arm. It was desperate, but clumsy.
She watched him very carefully. As something passed over his expression, and she knew in the chambers of her chest that this was the moment, she dedicated his life to herself. As she stood up, she felt felt a quiver run from her hands to the well above her stomach, build, and recede like water into the earth.
Then she grabbed him by his coat, and dragged him into the yard. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | It began with practice; in the books, no matter the god, no matter the power, or strength, to conceal and alter the paths of the people was like second-nature. They were predictable, single-faceted, and to know them, intimately, was to control them.
She spent her mornings before school in the diner. By the fourth week they knew her, although she had known them for days. At the start, if there was no one else there but Andrew, bringing her coffee, she would push herself up against the glass, read the books of Norse myths she had found in the library. Soon enough, she left the book in her bag, and tried to read Andrew.
She listened to the band whose badge was pinned to his parka in the hall; and on Thursday, she drew their conversations toward it. She let him talk about movies, and comic-books, and promised to read them; on the weekend, she took her laptop up to the old house, leaving *The Crow* and *The Lost Boys* on in the background as she painted the lines on the floor.
On Tuesday, they talked again, and he was snared. She let her words spill out, and ebb away, Andrew's voice chasing after her.
On Thursday, in the bathroom, she pushed her breasts together, and pulled the neck of her shirt down, and re-applied the Kohl she had borrowed from her sister. In the booth, she leaned over an issue of *Hellblazer* he had bought her, her hand at the hem of her shirt.
On Friday, she mentioned the house, and when he began talking about it, she drew herself away. He asked her if she'd like him to take her up there.
On Saturday, he helped her over the fence and gave her back her backpack. He pushed open the doors that led inside, and showed her the strange, delicate patterns painted on the floor. He brought her to the drawing of the tree in the center of the room; and she told him it looked to be his size. He lay down, while her hands moved in her bag.
The wound had not killed him; but where she had thrust it, the shaft had gone up from his side into his chest, maybe pierced a lung. His arms moved strangely, haltingly, his hands grasping at the piece of wood, and at his shirt, and sliding across the floorboards. She broke the bones in one of his hands with her boot; and as she knelt at his neck to finish what she had started, she could hold off the grip of his other arm. It was desperate, but clumsy.
She watched him very carefully. As something passed over his expression, and she knew in the chambers of her chest that this was the moment, she dedicated his life to herself. As she stood up, she felt felt a quiver run from her hands to the well above her stomach, build, and recede like water into the earth.
Then she grabbed him by his coat, and dragged him into the yard. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I've always known there was something special about me; I wasn't like everyone else. There are things I just *KNEW* without being told.
My first memory of it was when I was in preschool. I'd look at people, and just KNOW things. I'd look at one of the kids, and somehow I just KNEW something was going to happen to his pet cat. Sure enough, I was over at his house later that day playing, when his mom found the cat, dead."
"It didn't happen all that much when I was young, but as I got older, it happened more and more. By the time I was in Junior high, it became pretty common. I was sort-of seeing a girl named Mary. You can't really do much in Junior High. I had no car, and no real friends, so we'd just walk around school, talking, and i'd steal a kiss here and there. I remember one time, I looked in her eyes and i just knew. I couldn't it it into words, because I wasn't even sure what rape was at the time, but I looked in her eyes and I knew something horrible was going to happen to her. I tried to tell her, but she just looked at me strangely, and ran away. I found out the next day she had been raped. I still wish I could have warned her.
I had a teacher in high school, Mrs Smithers. We really didn't get along very well. She had these ideas, and we just used to argue all the time. I remember distinctly after she had failed me on a test I had studied for, 'I hope she dies in a fire.' Later on that night, I found out that her house burned down.
I was amazed. Could I wish things, and have them happen? What did that mean? Was I GOD? I tried it out in very small ways throughout the rest of school. I had wished that Sally Joe's boyfriend would leave her so she'd notice me. And it happened! He must have moved away or something because suddenly, I stopped seeing him around. She did notice me! Could it be true?
Things like this happened on and off throughout my life. I know it sounds crazy to tell people that you're GOD, so I kept it to myself, that is, until June tenth. That's why we're here, isnt it? I was at work, and I had a very sudden premonition that something terrible was going to happen. I had visions of everyone in the building dying horribly, with bloody holes all over their bodies. I tried to warn people, and they just looked at me as if there was something wrong with me. I could tell i was getting angry. The more I tried to tell people what was going to happen, and the looks I got, the angrier I got.
The next thing I remember, I'm sitting in the hallway, surrounded by people in the building, everyone around me with gunshot wounds. I suddenly feel what feels like several punches in the gut. I drop something from my hand, and it clatters on the ground. As the world began to dim, I notice the object in my hands, that I had dropped was a rifle. What does God need with a rifle? | It began with practice; in the books, no matter the god, no matter the power, or strength, to conceal and alter the paths of the people was like second-nature. They were predictable, single-faceted, and to know them, intimately, was to control them.
She spent her mornings before school in the diner. By the fourth week they knew her, although she had known them for days. At the start, if there was no one else there but Andrew, bringing her coffee, she would push herself up against the glass, read the books of Norse myths she had found in the library. Soon enough, she left the book in her bag, and tried to read Andrew.
She listened to the band whose badge was pinned to his parka in the hall; and on Thursday, she drew their conversations toward it. She let him talk about movies, and comic-books, and promised to read them; on the weekend, she took her laptop up to the old house, leaving *The Crow* and *The Lost Boys* on in the background as she painted the lines on the floor.
On Tuesday, they talked again, and he was snared. She let her words spill out, and ebb away, Andrew's voice chasing after her.
On Thursday, in the bathroom, she pushed her breasts together, and pulled the neck of her shirt down, and re-applied the Kohl she had borrowed from her sister. In the booth, she leaned over an issue of *Hellblazer* he had bought her, her hand at the hem of her shirt.
On Friday, she mentioned the house, and when he began talking about it, she drew herself away. He asked her if she'd like him to take her up there.
On Saturday, he helped her over the fence and gave her back her backpack. He pushed open the doors that led inside, and showed her the strange, delicate patterns painted on the floor. He brought her to the drawing of the tree in the center of the room; and she told him it looked to be his size. He lay down, while her hands moved in her bag.
The wound had not killed him; but where she had thrust it, the shaft had gone up from his side into his chest, maybe pierced a lung. His arms moved strangely, haltingly, his hands grasping at the piece of wood, and at his shirt, and sliding across the floorboards. She broke the bones in one of his hands with her boot; and as she knelt at his neck to finish what she had started, she could hold off the grip of his other arm. It was desperate, but clumsy.
She watched him very carefully. As something passed over his expression, and she knew in the chambers of her chest that this was the moment, she dedicated his life to herself. As she stood up, she felt felt a quiver run from her hands to the well above her stomach, build, and recede like water into the earth.
Then she grabbed him by his coat, and dragged him into the yard. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | The ascension to godhood was nothing particularly remarkable. There was no extreme moment of clarity. I could not suddenly see and understand every atom in the universe. Omniscience didn't thrust itself upon me and give way to everlasting wisdom. There was a certain indifference to the universe. As if it were saying "Congratulations, your prize is nothing."
The world was entirely indifferent to my change, and my change was in no way different.
It's no wonder so many gods retreat from the world at some point. No matter how greatly revered, they always leave. I suppose they come to the realization that I did in that moment.
In this world, they are alone. With all the people in the world looking to them, there is no one they can look to. A world of people brimming with questions of why and how, yet they have no answers.
They are not unlike these people. They can do nothing to serve them.
All that comes with godhood is despair. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | The ascension to godhood was nothing particularly remarkable. There was no extreme moment of clarity. I could not suddenly see and understand every atom in the universe. Omniscience didn't thrust itself upon me and give way to everlasting wisdom. There was a certain indifference to the universe. As if it were saying "Congratulations, your prize is nothing."
The world was entirely indifferent to my change, and my change was in no way different.
It's no wonder so many gods retreat from the world at some point. No matter how greatly revered, they always leave. I suppose they come to the realization that I did in that moment.
In this world, they are alone. With all the people in the world looking to them, there is no one they can look to. A world of people brimming with questions of why and how, yet they have no answers.
They are not unlike these people. They can do nothing to serve them.
All that comes with godhood is despair. |
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes | By crawling over enough bodies, one becomes a king…By crawling over enough kings, one becomes a God. A king above kings, A sovereign with the power to shape the world between his palms.
It is a bloody path, but it is certainly a most enjoyable one.
With the way the world's changed, technology is power. Every year, new technology from civilizations prior is recovered. Each country rises and falls as ruins are uncovered and scavenged. Citizens who stumble upon these ruins are handsomely rewarded and made lords and granted titles.
But why bother with money, when you can rule with power? Why give up the potential for greatness, when one can begin on their own. I have my ruins. Soon I will have my crown. And then, then I will reach for the Holy Throne.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | By crawling over enough bodies, one becomes a king…By crawling over enough kings, one becomes a God. A king above kings, A sovereign with the power to shape the world between his palms.
It is a bloody path, but it is certainly a most enjoyable one.
With the way the world's changed, technology is power. Every year, new technology from civilizations prior is recovered. Each country rises and falls as ruins are uncovered and scavenged. Citizens who stumble upon these ruins are handsomely rewarded and made lords and granted titles.
But why bother with money, when you can rule with power? Why give up the potential for greatness, when one can begin on their own. I have my ruins. Soon I will have my crown. And then, then I will reach for the Holy Throne.
|
Write a story about someone trying to become a god. Preferably something dark. You can define "god" however you like.
Have fun! | [WP] Becoming a god. | The Machine is almost complete. All I need now is to finish the ΑΩ Function and I can do it.
They always knew I would be the one that would give them their Solution. They studied and meditated for billions of years just to know that this day would come, the day where I fulfilled their prophecy.
They call me 'Yahweh' which I remember from my childhood as the name of a powerful entity that created the first realm in an old legend. The legend spoke of a consciousness that gave his life to give small creatures these immense spheres of light called stars that broke through the darkness, and tiny rocks that would be their homes.
Sadly, now there is only our lone rock, and no stars. There haven't been any stars or rocks since the rift opened, leaving us as the only thing in existence. They want me to finish the Machine, so I can seal the rift and give our realms our stars and rocks back. But I realized the Machine can do more than that. The Machine doesn't only fix the rift, it is untethered by any physical and mathematical law. It can create, and destroy, and change. It can perform any action, no matter how impossible.
I have now finished the function. The Machine -- MY Machine is complete. Its separating my consciousness from my body! This feels so awkward and -- Wait. I see something. No, not something... Everything. Everything that is, was, and will be. Everything that could've been. So many things! I see me and I see stars! They're so bright and wonderful! And I can do things! I can create, and destroy, and change! I can perform any action, no matter how impossible, and I can even create and destroy actions! I have done literally more than every possib--
Wait, no
It's gone
Everything is just... gone.
My presence in any realm must have been too powerful, causing them all to produce a rift.
The only action left for me is to create a singularity with enough instability to erase me and start a new realm.
They knew this would happen
They foresaw all of this
This was their Solution | I was sitting in class when it happened. It was a particularly dull Chemistry period, and I was staring at my teacher, Mr Rhodes with something halfway between boredom and hatred. He was droning on about chemical bonds and I remember thinking to myself that I wished that he just didn't exist.
With a pop, he vanished. Everyone in the class bolted upright suddenly, shocked out of their hot summer afternoon schoolroom stupor at the spectacle of a teacher vanishing into thin air. I was shocked too. People were crying, and Mandy Thomson started to scream. The noise was ear-splitting and I pushed my hands to my ears, mindlessly wishing that she, too, would shut up and just vanish.
Yeah, you see where this is going.
The problem was that the more I did it, the more people started to scream and cry and run around in circles. You know, annoying stuff. So I wished them all away as well. Someone must have walked past the classroom as the last few were ceasing to exist, and ran screaming through the whole school. I didn't seem to be able to shut someone up without knowing who they were, but I could make the whole school vanish. That gave me some peace.
But then it was sirens, and radio, and police with dogs, and I had to make it go away, I had to make it all go away. ALL OF IT.
So I did.
I found myself floating in a void. Surrounded by nothingness. I had made it all go away. Everything. I was alone in all of creation.
And that's even more boring than Chemistry. So I tried to make myself go away. Maybe I could just make myself not exist too.
But I couldn't. I could believe that everything else didn't exist, but I couldn't believe that **I** didn't exist. I think therefore I am, I suppose.
Fuck me, right?
Eventually, I worked it out. It was easy. I could cease to exist as long as someone else decided they didn't believe in my existence. All I had to do was recreate everything, make the world again, and wait for someone to make me vanish. Someone to believe - to really believe - that I didn't exist, so that I wouldn't.
So I remade the world.
It took me six days.
edit: Couple of spelling mistakes |
So you wake up one day and you're omnipotent. Full-on god. You can do anything, the world is your play thing. You have two options:
* Everyone goes crazy with religious/existential awe and terror, and you literally couldn't care less (for whatever reason),
* You, and you alone, are filled with amazement/terror/wonder/wrath, while everyone else in the world is uncharacteristically disinterested in your new-found ultimate power.
Have fun :) | [WP] You are endowed with unlimited, god-like power. Either: You are the only one in the world who cares, or the only one in the world who doesn't care. | "I am the new God!" I proclaimed, bursting out of my bedroom.
Three curious pairs of eyes looked at me. One was red, one was surprised, and the third was doubtful.
"Again?" asked the owner of the third, a mild hint of exasperation in his voice. "Didn't we go through this last week?"
The other two pairs of eyes were, true to their name, eyeing me.
"No," I said, a little crestfallen at Dave's reaction. "I mean it this time. I really am God." I tried to draw myself to my full height, a tricky thing to do while in a wheelchair. "Seriously," I said, quite seriously.
The sigh that came was definitely of exasperation this time, maybe even a little pity. "Sure." said Dave, and checked his phone.
Sofia rubbed her red eyes and sniffed. She tried to manage a smile. "That's great," she said, her voice trembling. She was clearly holding back tears. "I hope you make it this time."
"Make it? I'm already there!" I cried. "I'm already there? I'm the big guy, the great Kazoo, the new face of wrath/rage!"
Rob nodded. "Sure." He scratched his head, muscles rippling.
I sighed, clenched my head and thought of a way to convince them.
Okay, I thought. I am God. Okay, now what. What could I possibly do that would get them to believe me? Make something float? Yeah, that's it. That would probably do it.
But what? I peered around the room. It was small but sparse, sure, I mean none of us had much time or money. Dave's laptop was on, probably filtering though a few unlisted servers and inserting lolcat photos into important documents at random. The TV was on, paused during a scene 'Titanic', the movie Rob and Sofia had seen on their first date. And their first kiss together. And so on and so forth. There was very little of my own stuff about the place, with the exception of a couple of Ultraphysics magazines and a set of beakers with algae growing in them, and the thirty-six inch poster of Albert Einstein. What to move?
Finally my eye settled on a vase. It was yellow, small and decorated with a twisting flower pattern of marigolds. Perfect. I concentrated my willpower and with enormous ease shifted it about one foot to the left, off the counter and suspended in thin air.
A triumphant smile flashed on my face, and I turned back to the three pairs of eyes, which were still gazing at me intently, and not on the vase. "If you'll look closely, you'll see that something is different."
"Yeah," said Dave, puzzled. "You're not wearing your glasses. So?"
"No," I said impatiently. "I mean with the room." They looked at me weirdly. "Just turn around." I sighed.
"Turn around?" asked Dave, turning around, hitting the vase with his arm and sending it spinning to the ground, where it broke.
Sofia turned to him angrily. "Why did you do that?!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break it!" he yelled back.
"You said the same thing about the picture-frame from my mom!"
"Look, for the last time, I'm sorry!" Rob said. "It's not my fault, it was an accident."
"Seems surprising the number of **accidents** that happen around things my mom send me," Sofia hissed venemously.
"You didn't even like the vase." argued Rob. "You said it reminded you too much of that Cobby thing."
"Cobain!" Sofia shouted, sounding hurt that he couldn't remember.
"Look, I..." started Rob, but Dave cut him off.
"Guys, don't start again, let it be." he said, eyes shifting back and forth between Rob and Sofia, but especially on Sofia. He did that a lot. Another thing he did a lot was run his hands through his greasy hair, which, despite our pestering, he refused to wash. "Just forget it, I'm sure it was an accident. Sof, don't get mad. Your nose becomes all blocked after a while when you cry, remember? So if you want to shout it won't be any good."
In all the commotion, my announcement had been completely forgotten, which I pointed out.
"Yes," said Dave testily, as if I had interrupted him in the middle of brain surgery. "We know you don't like to be forgotten."
"It's not that I don't like to be forgotten," I said quickly. "It's just that I'm sort of God now, and it's a big deal." *Which you idiots fail to realize.,* I thought.
Rob looked at me strangely. "Look mate," he began. "I don't mean to be rude..."
"Never stopped you before," muttered Sofia.
"...but why the fuck do you think you're God?"
"Because I am," I said insisted. Good God, (good me?, I wondered), these people were thick. Why didn't they recognize it? Didn't they see my aura? Couldn't they feel the brimming power that I held in my force of will?
"Apparently not..." said Sofia.
"Aparrotly," responded Dave quickly. Sofia smiled at their inside joke. "All I'm saying is, I don't exactly see a halo."
"Well, that's because..." I started, but Dave interrupted me. I shot him an ugly look. He was doing that a lot. I angrily made a mental note to smite him later.
"Look, are we going or what?" he said, checking his phone again and adjusting his glasses. "It's getting late, and Ray's doesn't stay open forever."
"Yeah, let's go." said Rob, standing up. "I'm really hungry."
"There's some food left from lunch," said Sofia, sniffing. "You liked the squid spaghetti I made, right?"
"Baby you know I love it," said Rob hastily, not looking at her. "But I just think that if we open it up I'll eat all of it, and then the guys won't have any left."
With that, he grabbed the keys to his car and walked out, trying to look like he wasn't moving too fast.
Dave patted Sofia on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I liked it. I thought it was cool, what you did with the peanut butter."
Sofia beamed. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Come on, let's go."
"Okay," said Sofia, wiping her eyes with her hands.
I just stood, or rather sat, there, dumbfounded. Dave picked up his scarf and was about to follow Sofia out the door when he said: "You coming, Metalman?"
I didn't respond.
"Hey, didja hear me? Are you okay?" Dave's voice was concerned, reminding me that out of the three people in the apartment, he was my best friend. Which - considering my newfound status - I found incredibly depressing.
Dave was still staring at me. "Yeah," I sighed, rubbing my temples, which I was surprised to find were aching and filled with a strange buzzing, as if there were a billion people whispering in my ears. It was disconcerting, and if it meant what I guessed it meant....I tried to push the thought away. "Let's go get some pizza."
In the restaurant over pizza, Rob kept boasting about how he had managed to make every single green light during the journey.
| The world bows as one toward me, seeking salvation, ever-lasting life.
I alone can bring them eternal happiness. With barely a second thought I could absolve them of their sins, and welcome them into a world of endless wonder and possibilities.
All suffering would cease. Human life would finally break beyond the physical realm, and the true potential of the power of the human mind would be unlocked, the answers to all of the universe's questions finally revealed to all who seek them.
Yet I'm just sitting here jacking off. |
So you wake up one day and you're omnipotent. Full-on god. You can do anything, the world is your play thing. You have two options:
* Everyone goes crazy with religious/existential awe and terror, and you literally couldn't care less (for whatever reason),
* You, and you alone, are filled with amazement/terror/wonder/wrath, while everyone else in the world is uncharacteristically disinterested in your new-found ultimate power.
Have fun :) | [WP] You are endowed with unlimited, god-like power. Either: You are the only one in the world who cares, or the only one in the world who doesn't care. | "I am the new God!" I proclaimed, bursting out of my bedroom.
Three curious pairs of eyes looked at me. One was red, one was surprised, and the third was doubtful.
"Again?" asked the owner of the third, a mild hint of exasperation in his voice. "Didn't we go through this last week?"
The other two pairs of eyes were, true to their name, eyeing me.
"No," I said, a little crestfallen at Dave's reaction. "I mean it this time. I really am God." I tried to draw myself to my full height, a tricky thing to do while in a wheelchair. "Seriously," I said, quite seriously.
The sigh that came was definitely of exasperation this time, maybe even a little pity. "Sure." said Dave, and checked his phone.
Sofia rubbed her red eyes and sniffed. She tried to manage a smile. "That's great," she said, her voice trembling. She was clearly holding back tears. "I hope you make it this time."
"Make it? I'm already there!" I cried. "I'm already there? I'm the big guy, the great Kazoo, the new face of wrath/rage!"
Rob nodded. "Sure." He scratched his head, muscles rippling.
I sighed, clenched my head and thought of a way to convince them.
Okay, I thought. I am God. Okay, now what. What could I possibly do that would get them to believe me? Make something float? Yeah, that's it. That would probably do it.
But what? I peered around the room. It was small but sparse, sure, I mean none of us had much time or money. Dave's laptop was on, probably filtering though a few unlisted servers and inserting lolcat photos into important documents at random. The TV was on, paused during a scene 'Titanic', the movie Rob and Sofia had seen on their first date. And their first kiss together. And so on and so forth. There was very little of my own stuff about the place, with the exception of a couple of Ultraphysics magazines and a set of beakers with algae growing in them, and the thirty-six inch poster of Albert Einstein. What to move?
Finally my eye settled on a vase. It was yellow, small and decorated with a twisting flower pattern of marigolds. Perfect. I concentrated my willpower and with enormous ease shifted it about one foot to the left, off the counter and suspended in thin air.
A triumphant smile flashed on my face, and I turned back to the three pairs of eyes, which were still gazing at me intently, and not on the vase. "If you'll look closely, you'll see that something is different."
"Yeah," said Dave, puzzled. "You're not wearing your glasses. So?"
"No," I said impatiently. "I mean with the room." They looked at me weirdly. "Just turn around." I sighed.
"Turn around?" asked Dave, turning around, hitting the vase with his arm and sending it spinning to the ground, where it broke.
Sofia turned to him angrily. "Why did you do that?!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break it!" he yelled back.
"You said the same thing about the picture-frame from my mom!"
"Look, for the last time, I'm sorry!" Rob said. "It's not my fault, it was an accident."
"Seems surprising the number of **accidents** that happen around things my mom send me," Sofia hissed venemously.
"You didn't even like the vase." argued Rob. "You said it reminded you too much of that Cobby thing."
"Cobain!" Sofia shouted, sounding hurt that he couldn't remember.
"Look, I..." started Rob, but Dave cut him off.
"Guys, don't start again, let it be." he said, eyes shifting back and forth between Rob and Sofia, but especially on Sofia. He did that a lot. Another thing he did a lot was run his hands through his greasy hair, which, despite our pestering, he refused to wash. "Just forget it, I'm sure it was an accident. Sof, don't get mad. Your nose becomes all blocked after a while when you cry, remember? So if you want to shout it won't be any good."
In all the commotion, my announcement had been completely forgotten, which I pointed out.
"Yes," said Dave testily, as if I had interrupted him in the middle of brain surgery. "We know you don't like to be forgotten."
"It's not that I don't like to be forgotten," I said quickly. "It's just that I'm sort of God now, and it's a big deal." *Which you idiots fail to realize.,* I thought.
Rob looked at me strangely. "Look mate," he began. "I don't mean to be rude..."
"Never stopped you before," muttered Sofia.
"...but why the fuck do you think you're God?"
"Because I am," I said insisted. Good God, (good me?, I wondered), these people were thick. Why didn't they recognize it? Didn't they see my aura? Couldn't they feel the brimming power that I held in my force of will?
"Apparently not..." said Sofia.
"Aparrotly," responded Dave quickly. Sofia smiled at their inside joke. "All I'm saying is, I don't exactly see a halo."
"Well, that's because..." I started, but Dave interrupted me. I shot him an ugly look. He was doing that a lot. I angrily made a mental note to smite him later.
"Look, are we going or what?" he said, checking his phone again and adjusting his glasses. "It's getting late, and Ray's doesn't stay open forever."
"Yeah, let's go." said Rob, standing up. "I'm really hungry."
"There's some food left from lunch," said Sofia, sniffing. "You liked the squid spaghetti I made, right?"
"Baby you know I love it," said Rob hastily, not looking at her. "But I just think that if we open it up I'll eat all of it, and then the guys won't have any left."
With that, he grabbed the keys to his car and walked out, trying to look like he wasn't moving too fast.
Dave patted Sofia on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I liked it. I thought it was cool, what you did with the peanut butter."
Sofia beamed. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Come on, let's go."
"Okay," said Sofia, wiping her eyes with her hands.
I just stood, or rather sat, there, dumbfounded. Dave picked up his scarf and was about to follow Sofia out the door when he said: "You coming, Metalman?"
I didn't respond.
"Hey, didja hear me? Are you okay?" Dave's voice was concerned, reminding me that out of the three people in the apartment, he was my best friend. Which - considering my newfound status - I found incredibly depressing.
Dave was still staring at me. "Yeah," I sighed, rubbing my temples, which I was surprised to find were aching and filled with a strange buzzing, as if there were a billion people whispering in my ears. It was disconcerting, and if it meant what I guessed it meant....I tried to push the thought away. "Let's go get some pizza."
In the restaurant over pizza, Rob kept boasting about how he had managed to make every single green light during the journey.
| I pop open my Fanta. Delicious, as usual-- but disappointingly room temperature. I frown. Why is the Fanta always warm?
Oh, that's right-- I'm a god now. I can microwave Hot Pockets so hot that even I can't open them. I chill the Fanta with a thought. I settle back in my armchair and put my feet on the ottoman. I leave my shoes on, because I am a god now. I take a sip of my Fanta.
Ice, Ice Baby plays as I take another refreshing sip. I reach around for the remote, and click on the TV. Another Desperate Housewives re-run... Oh well. Better than nothing. I nibble some cold pizza as I watch. I could heat it up. But, no, I like cold pizza.
At the commercial break, a news crew comes on. "Interview with god's girlfriend, coming up at seven," a man says. They cut to my girlfriend, who is standing outside my apartment, apparently. Ex-girlfriend, now-- I pick up my phone and text her a quick 'we're over.' I don't date snitches. I told her not to talk to the press.
The din of the crowd outside cheering my name and trying to worship me grows. Maybe they heard her phone beep. A message from their immortal God! Jesus. I turn the volume of the TV back up, and take another nibble of pizza. |
So you wake up one day and you're omnipotent. Full-on god. You can do anything, the world is your play thing. You have two options:
* Everyone goes crazy with religious/existential awe and terror, and you literally couldn't care less (for whatever reason),
* You, and you alone, are filled with amazement/terror/wonder/wrath, while everyone else in the world is uncharacteristically disinterested in your new-found ultimate power.
Have fun :) | [WP] You are endowed with unlimited, god-like power. Either: You are the only one in the world who cares, or the only one in the world who doesn't care. | "I am the new God!" I proclaimed, bursting out of my bedroom.
Three curious pairs of eyes looked at me. One was red, one was surprised, and the third was doubtful.
"Again?" asked the owner of the third, a mild hint of exasperation in his voice. "Didn't we go through this last week?"
The other two pairs of eyes were, true to their name, eyeing me.
"No," I said, a little crestfallen at Dave's reaction. "I mean it this time. I really am God." I tried to draw myself to my full height, a tricky thing to do while in a wheelchair. "Seriously," I said, quite seriously.
The sigh that came was definitely of exasperation this time, maybe even a little pity. "Sure." said Dave, and checked his phone.
Sofia rubbed her red eyes and sniffed. She tried to manage a smile. "That's great," she said, her voice trembling. She was clearly holding back tears. "I hope you make it this time."
"Make it? I'm already there!" I cried. "I'm already there? I'm the big guy, the great Kazoo, the new face of wrath/rage!"
Rob nodded. "Sure." He scratched his head, muscles rippling.
I sighed, clenched my head and thought of a way to convince them.
Okay, I thought. I am God. Okay, now what. What could I possibly do that would get them to believe me? Make something float? Yeah, that's it. That would probably do it.
But what? I peered around the room. It was small but sparse, sure, I mean none of us had much time or money. Dave's laptop was on, probably filtering though a few unlisted servers and inserting lolcat photos into important documents at random. The TV was on, paused during a scene 'Titanic', the movie Rob and Sofia had seen on their first date. And their first kiss together. And so on and so forth. There was very little of my own stuff about the place, with the exception of a couple of Ultraphysics magazines and a set of beakers with algae growing in them, and the thirty-six inch poster of Albert Einstein. What to move?
Finally my eye settled on a vase. It was yellow, small and decorated with a twisting flower pattern of marigolds. Perfect. I concentrated my willpower and with enormous ease shifted it about one foot to the left, off the counter and suspended in thin air.
A triumphant smile flashed on my face, and I turned back to the three pairs of eyes, which were still gazing at me intently, and not on the vase. "If you'll look closely, you'll see that something is different."
"Yeah," said Dave, puzzled. "You're not wearing your glasses. So?"
"No," I said impatiently. "I mean with the room." They looked at me weirdly. "Just turn around." I sighed.
"Turn around?" asked Dave, turning around, hitting the vase with his arm and sending it spinning to the ground, where it broke.
Sofia turned to him angrily. "Why did you do that?!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break it!" he yelled back.
"You said the same thing about the picture-frame from my mom!"
"Look, for the last time, I'm sorry!" Rob said. "It's not my fault, it was an accident."
"Seems surprising the number of **accidents** that happen around things my mom send me," Sofia hissed venemously.
"You didn't even like the vase." argued Rob. "You said it reminded you too much of that Cobby thing."
"Cobain!" Sofia shouted, sounding hurt that he couldn't remember.
"Look, I..." started Rob, but Dave cut him off.
"Guys, don't start again, let it be." he said, eyes shifting back and forth between Rob and Sofia, but especially on Sofia. He did that a lot. Another thing he did a lot was run his hands through his greasy hair, which, despite our pestering, he refused to wash. "Just forget it, I'm sure it was an accident. Sof, don't get mad. Your nose becomes all blocked after a while when you cry, remember? So if you want to shout it won't be any good."
In all the commotion, my announcement had been completely forgotten, which I pointed out.
"Yes," said Dave testily, as if I had interrupted him in the middle of brain surgery. "We know you don't like to be forgotten."
"It's not that I don't like to be forgotten," I said quickly. "It's just that I'm sort of God now, and it's a big deal." *Which you idiots fail to realize.,* I thought.
Rob looked at me strangely. "Look mate," he began. "I don't mean to be rude..."
"Never stopped you before," muttered Sofia.
"...but why the fuck do you think you're God?"
"Because I am," I said insisted. Good God, (good me?, I wondered), these people were thick. Why didn't they recognize it? Didn't they see my aura? Couldn't they feel the brimming power that I held in my force of will?
"Apparently not..." said Sofia.
"Aparrotly," responded Dave quickly. Sofia smiled at their inside joke. "All I'm saying is, I don't exactly see a halo."
"Well, that's because..." I started, but Dave interrupted me. I shot him an ugly look. He was doing that a lot. I angrily made a mental note to smite him later.
"Look, are we going or what?" he said, checking his phone again and adjusting his glasses. "It's getting late, and Ray's doesn't stay open forever."
"Yeah, let's go." said Rob, standing up. "I'm really hungry."
"There's some food left from lunch," said Sofia, sniffing. "You liked the squid spaghetti I made, right?"
"Baby you know I love it," said Rob hastily, not looking at her. "But I just think that if we open it up I'll eat all of it, and then the guys won't have any left."
With that, he grabbed the keys to his car and walked out, trying to look like he wasn't moving too fast.
Dave patted Sofia on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I liked it. I thought it was cool, what you did with the peanut butter."
Sofia beamed. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Come on, let's go."
"Okay," said Sofia, wiping her eyes with her hands.
I just stood, or rather sat, there, dumbfounded. Dave picked up his scarf and was about to follow Sofia out the door when he said: "You coming, Metalman?"
I didn't respond.
"Hey, didja hear me? Are you okay?" Dave's voice was concerned, reminding me that out of the three people in the apartment, he was my best friend. Which - considering my newfound status - I found incredibly depressing.
Dave was still staring at me. "Yeah," I sighed, rubbing my temples, which I was surprised to find were aching and filled with a strange buzzing, as if there were a billion people whispering in my ears. It was disconcerting, and if it meant what I guessed it meant....I tried to push the thought away. "Let's go get some pizza."
In the restaurant over pizza, Rob kept boasting about how he had managed to make every single green light during the journey.
| Figures someone such as myself would end up with powers no man could ever dream of. I had power, and lots of it. I'm sure that I could do anything I wanted, *if* I wanted it. The only outrageous thing I've done so far is to resurrect people at funerals. The faces people make when the casket begins to shake, or the person just sits up.. hilarious.
The most useful thing has been to get a refill of my drink without moving from the couch, not to mention food from any part of the world.. Let's just say that ape-brain is overrated. *Far* overrated.
Sipping on my fire whiskey, *cheers Harry Potter movies*, I read through my mail. Fanmail. Ever since my little secret leaked out, everyone's been trying to get in touch with me. Bring my loved ones back to me, they say. Or, preform magic tricks at our show, some others say. Cure cancer, cure this disease, make me skinny, make me able to eat everything without getting fat.. I sometimes give in to their requests, if they're crazy enough. One guy wanted to be able to walk through objects. Last I heard, he accidentally sneezed himself stuck into the pavement. Had to amputate a leg or two, with the molecules all blended together. Tough tits.
I tried being good in the beginning. Really. I cured a few people of diseases, and the kid with the shitty parents across the street magically found himself in a better family. Heck, I helped repair whole neighborhoods after a tornado struck the coast. The novelty wore off pretty quickly though. People I disliked coming to me, claiming we were life-long buddies.. Yeah.
( *One person found himself very rich.. Until he mysteriously died.* )
Yeah. I don't know. With this power I could do anything. Honestly. I could help *anyone*. It's such a shame I dislike people. I've been alone for thirty something years, and I'm not about to become the most popular person in the world. Fuck that. I'll spend my days here, with my endless refills, occasionally doing something with my powers when I get bored enough. |
So you wake up one day and you're omnipotent. Full-on god. You can do anything, the world is your play thing. You have two options:
* Everyone goes crazy with religious/existential awe and terror, and you literally couldn't care less (for whatever reason),
* You, and you alone, are filled with amazement/terror/wonder/wrath, while everyone else in the world is uncharacteristically disinterested in your new-found ultimate power.
Have fun :) | [WP] You are endowed with unlimited, god-like power. Either: You are the only one in the world who cares, or the only one in the world who doesn't care. | I sat on my porch and watched the sun go down, showering the sky with a multitude of formless colours. The beauty of the Earth, this rock we sit on, it's all that brings me joy anymore.
I can remember the morning it happened, he was standing at the end of my bed. He told me about what I would become, a god, omniscient, omnipresent, incomparable and impossible wealth and knowledge at my finger tips. Who would turn that offer down, I ask you?
So I had my fun. I played around with the laws of physics to fuck with scientists, I ended and recreated the world innumerable times, I made cats chase dogs just because I could. Eventually, though, people caught on. They clamoured for my attention, their cries of worship following me, ever present.
It's not that I didn't care at the start, far from it! I tried to help everyone that I saw, I aimed to be the instrumental good that people saw in Gandhi, in MLK Jr. The problem was that it didn't help.
Past, present, innumerable futures, I saw them all. Every single little detail of every single little life. What I did simply did not change anything. I saw myself becoming that change I wanted so badly, and people stayed the same. I saw myself becoming a horrid wretch, subjugating and terrorizing, and yet people stayed the same.
Even with the power to alter the very fabric of reality, omniscience achieved, I couldn't continue the charade. It's not as if people stopped caring, if anything their caring intensified. No, I was the only one that lost that ability.
All humanity boils down to is a collection of particles reacting with one another. Nothing more, nothing less. My apathy was borne on the back of knowledge, carrying me into an existential void. I was god, I am god, I will continue to be god, and yet I don't care anymore.
The day I left, the cries were nearly deafening. Suicides abounded with shouts of agony, for I had abandoned them, leaving them to rot. Picture if you will everything you love in life, every teensy little bit that brings joy to you. Now imagine that it disappears, no word of warning. Now compound that to every living creature in the entire universe, and you understand what I did.
I was their everything. They lived for me and me alone. I was their crutch, their sole support in this uncaring blackness, and now, I am no more.
Can an immortal god end their own existence? I intend to try, for it is the one thing I haven't done yet. | I've stopped going outside because I hate what I've become.
The powers came slowly and accumulated in the darkness that was my soul, bringing me light; I felt the grey murk wash away from my mind, and I was god.
I saw the doctor at the first miracle, and upon the realization that I was god, I was ferried away to the labs and universities.
I was always regarded by them as if I hadn't existed before my apotheosis, but I did. I had a life before I was god, but upon my deification, it was effaced for the light of miracles.
I'm not a god. I'm a man.
I wish they would see that.
|
[WP] Dinner party guests realize they can hear each other's thoughts, but only while seated at the table. | Jenny readjusts the plastic tea kettle, smiles, and asks, "Anymore tea, Mr. Wiggles?" She is seated around a small piece of lawn furniture with all her toys.
The little teddy bear sits, staring into space.
"Oh, of course, I forgot about your health problems," she says as she reaches over and kisses the stuffed animal. "No hot drinks for you!"
"Oh, what's that Mrs. Pig, more cookies?" she says as she shoves a cookie into the mouth of another stuffed animal. "Eat up, you're looking thin. Thin like mommy!"
"What about you Mr. Silly," she says to a rabbit. "You look thin too!" She picks him up and gives him a good shake. "Here's have a sandwich." She feeds him an invisible sandwich.
The dinner party is broken up with a shout from the house. "Dad, I'm here! In the backyard," replies Jenny. More shouts. "Okay, I'll be right up."
As Jenny enters, she gets picked up by her dad, who gives her a kiss on her forehead. He puts her down and starts putting on her coat. "Where are your boots," he asks as he turns around. Jenny sneakily looks around and starts stuffing her coat pockets with cookies.
"Oh, here they are," he yells from the other room. "Honey, button up your coat," he adds. "Its cold."
As he helps her button up her coat she bites her lip and looks into her dad's brown eyes. "Do you think mommy will have cookies to eat?"
Dad pauses for a moment then goes back to the last button on her coat. He pulls her hood over her head, pinches her nose for a moment, and says, "I don't know what the hospital is serving her tonight. We'll see I guess."
Jenny feels the cookies in her pockets, smiles, and says, "Okay. Don't worry dad. Mom will be okay."
Dad gulps down, inhales deeply, picks her up, and gives her a big hug as he slowly exhales. "Of course she will," he adds as they walk to the car. "Of course she will." | James frozen in his sight, “You are the only one I’ve ever loved”.
Even though they were only lovers, the young mans eyes gazed at a short black hair, brown-eyed beauty sitting across from him. Covering her small frame a long-sleeved black and white shirt. An infinity scarf accentuated her powerful and charming beauty. The light in the room shined on revived dreams and peaceful glances. The girl leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table.
“I know” she thought. Her head was bowed, as if in shyness or shame.
They could hear each others thoughts.
“I want to feel you scream again”, James entertained memories in his mind as he looked at her nervously. He looked at her, as if pleading for her to share the same thoughts. The look of desire flashed in his eyes.
Maureen, now sitting back on her chair, looked away as she didn’t want to command any unnecessary attention. Pulling out her cell phone, she fumbled through some of the pictures on her phone. She anguished in the realization of a former lover sitting across the table. Looking to her left, smiles and conversations filled the dining room. Sitting at the table, soft voices filled the atmosphere. The crowd timidly ate from their places trying not to notice the charmed conversation.
A sudden thump on the back of her chair drove her away from sweetened thoughts. Her round eyes drifted towards a man standing above her, “Do you have my keys?”
“Umm yes sweetheart- right here” she replied.
Maureen finished chewing a salsa filled chip. Drinking from her wine-filled cup, “I won’t leave you this time” she pondered and pleaded from behind her eyes.
“I know” James eyes glistened, a face filled with compassion and undying love.
They sat at the table and looked into each other eyes. Maureen was looking for answers and James saw the answer he waited for. James saw his treasure. Thinking of her made the nights bearable. Without ever being married, he shared wonderful memories and then it was gone. Thoughts of her saved him. He smiled.
Maureen sighed and pondered “Memories… memories… walking in the rain, holding hands… kissing.”
James looked at her eyes. He took her by his eyes, to an area known but to them. They shared a moment of brilliance and romance. On the Detroit River, an area known for falling maple leafs and acorns on the ground. Two lovers reunited for a recollection of perfection.
Maureen stiffened, “James, I’ll know-” but she was interrupted. Before she was done with her thoughts, the unknown man returned, “I think we should go now.” She opened her purse, dropped some contents in her bag and pushed her chair back. She breathed in as she walked away from the dining room table. The boots she wore made clopping sounds as she walked towards the door.
James pulsed quickened. He heard muffled sounds and voices across the room. The air around him thickened and his fingers fumbled through the table. Across the table, an elderly man speaks “In a heartbeat she will return with you. She will. Her thoughts can be heard across the room.”
James stared at the empty chair.
|
|
[WP] Dinner party guests realize they can hear each other's thoughts, but only while seated at the table. | Dave slunk halfway into the chair, scowling as he pulled out his phone.
*God, I don't wanna be here.*
Dave nodded along as though agreeing with himself. He checked his Facebook and Instagram, humming to drown out the sea of conversation floating in from the kitchen. A quick glance up. He locked eyes with Larry at the end of the table. The old man's mouth was a tight, wrinkled line, but he tipped his hat and swirled his mostly-empty snifter.
*This guy gets it*, thought Dave. Larry raised a wiry eyebrow. He shot a glance into the kitchen then back at Dave before standing up and walking to the bar.
Cheryl whisked into the dining room and plopped a steaming, brown-green monstrosity in front of Dave. "Green bean casserole," she announced. "Your favorite." She gave him a weak squeeze on the shoulder before dropping her hand onto the back of his chair.
Dave eyed the dish warily. *Great, boredom with a side of food poisoning.*
Cheryl scoffed and threw her hands up. "Would it *kill* you to say something nice once in awhile?"
"I didn't..." but she was gone, the kitchen door swinging in her wake.
Larry returned to the table, his glass full of liquid amber. He sat down, grunting as he adjusted his big belly. Dave surveyed him beyond his phone's line of sight, occasionally checking his Tumblr and news feed. *So glad I'm not old.*
"Treasure it," Larry said and lifted his glass. "Youth don't last forever."
"Sorry?" Dave asked. "You talking to me?" *Geriatric. Probably fought in a war or something.*
Larry frowned. "Korea, to be exact. You studying ventriloquism or something?" *Damn kids, checkin' their phones. Probably has one of the ADDs or that ass-burgers, shit. Fuckin' young blowhards.*
Dave's mouth dropped open. "What did you - ?"
Little Trinity ran in from the living room, wearing her blue tutu and carrying a calico. The cat gave Dave a withering stare.
"This is Olive!" Trinity announced, her blonde pigtails bobbing as she dropped Olive onto the chair next to Dave. She climbed up herself. *Olive olive olive. Where's Blue's Clues? Olive olive. Play with kitty. Gonna dance, kitty dance.*
Dave and Larry exchanged a look of disbelief.
Olive jumped onto the table and meowed. *Hungry, food. Hungry hungry. Eat.*
Trinity laughed and climbed off her chair. "Olive wants *fooood!*" She ran into the kitchen.
Larry took a drink. *What in the* fuck *is going on?*
"No idea," Dave offered. He checked Google news, his latest Twitter update. *How does this guy have more followers than me?*
"I ain't followin' you nowhere," Larry growled. "How in the hell are you doing that?"
The kitchen door burst open. Cheryl walked out and staunchly ignored Dave. Rita followed with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Then Gregory with the roast on a wood platter. Aunt Betty waddled in with a bowl of salad and placed it near Larry.
Larry downed his drink and eyed the bowl. *Damn rabbit food.*
Betty sat down and simpered. "Jus' a lil' greens, Lare-Bear, ok?" *Better eat it or I flush your viagra down the toilet.*
Rita took her seat, smiling dopily and looking around at everyone through glazed eyes. "Thank you all *so* much for coming." *One more. Just one more to get me through tonight. Filthy hands on my china, shit. Just one more little pill. Shit shit.*
Gregory sat next to Rita and started carving the roast. *Get through this dinner, put the bitch to bed. Can't wait to get between those legs. Fuck, we're outta cat food.*
Cheryl sat next to Dave, crossing her legs away from him. *Fucking asshole. A shitty moissanite ring, really? Why am I marrying him. Greg looks so yummy, can't wait to pull out his giant -*
"*Stop.*" Dave stood up while everyone around the table looked at him. "I...gotta take a leak." He left, the inner words receding, finally alone with his own thoughts. In the bathroom, Dave checked his Facebook. He went to his settings, changed his status to *It's Complicated*. | James frozen in his sight, “You are the only one I’ve ever loved”.
Even though they were only lovers, the young mans eyes gazed at a short black hair, brown-eyed beauty sitting across from him. Covering her small frame a long-sleeved black and white shirt. An infinity scarf accentuated her powerful and charming beauty. The light in the room shined on revived dreams and peaceful glances. The girl leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table.
“I know” she thought. Her head was bowed, as if in shyness or shame.
They could hear each others thoughts.
“I want to feel you scream again”, James entertained memories in his mind as he looked at her nervously. He looked at her, as if pleading for her to share the same thoughts. The look of desire flashed in his eyes.
Maureen, now sitting back on her chair, looked away as she didn’t want to command any unnecessary attention. Pulling out her cell phone, she fumbled through some of the pictures on her phone. She anguished in the realization of a former lover sitting across the table. Looking to her left, smiles and conversations filled the dining room. Sitting at the table, soft voices filled the atmosphere. The crowd timidly ate from their places trying not to notice the charmed conversation.
A sudden thump on the back of her chair drove her away from sweetened thoughts. Her round eyes drifted towards a man standing above her, “Do you have my keys?”
“Umm yes sweetheart- right here” she replied.
Maureen finished chewing a salsa filled chip. Drinking from her wine-filled cup, “I won’t leave you this time” she pondered and pleaded from behind her eyes.
“I know” James eyes glistened, a face filled with compassion and undying love.
They sat at the table and looked into each other eyes. Maureen was looking for answers and James saw the answer he waited for. James saw his treasure. Thinking of her made the nights bearable. Without ever being married, he shared wonderful memories and then it was gone. Thoughts of her saved him. He smiled.
Maureen sighed and pondered “Memories… memories… walking in the rain, holding hands… kissing.”
James looked at her eyes. He took her by his eyes, to an area known but to them. They shared a moment of brilliance and romance. On the Detroit River, an area known for falling maple leafs and acorns on the ground. Two lovers reunited for a recollection of perfection.
Maureen stiffened, “James, I’ll know-” but she was interrupted. Before she was done with her thoughts, the unknown man returned, “I think we should go now.” She opened her purse, dropped some contents in her bag and pushed her chair back. She breathed in as she walked away from the dining room table. The boots she wore made clopping sounds as she walked towards the door.
James pulsed quickened. He heard muffled sounds and voices across the room. The air around him thickened and his fingers fumbled through the table. Across the table, an elderly man speaks “In a heartbeat she will return with you. She will. Her thoughts can be heard across the room.”
James stared at the empty chair.
|
|
[WP] Dinner party guests realize they can hear each other's thoughts, but only while seated at the table. | Dave slunk halfway into the chair, scowling as he pulled out his phone.
*God, I don't wanna be here.*
Dave nodded along as though agreeing with himself. He checked his Facebook and Instagram, humming to drown out the sea of conversation floating in from the kitchen. A quick glance up. He locked eyes with Larry at the end of the table. The old man's mouth was a tight, wrinkled line, but he tipped his hat and swirled his mostly-empty snifter.
*This guy gets it*, thought Dave. Larry raised a wiry eyebrow. He shot a glance into the kitchen then back at Dave before standing up and walking to the bar.
Cheryl whisked into the dining room and plopped a steaming, brown-green monstrosity in front of Dave. "Green bean casserole," she announced. "Your favorite." She gave him a weak squeeze on the shoulder before dropping her hand onto the back of his chair.
Dave eyed the dish warily. *Great, boredom with a side of food poisoning.*
Cheryl scoffed and threw her hands up. "Would it *kill* you to say something nice once in awhile?"
"I didn't..." but she was gone, the kitchen door swinging in her wake.
Larry returned to the table, his glass full of liquid amber. He sat down, grunting as he adjusted his big belly. Dave surveyed him beyond his phone's line of sight, occasionally checking his Tumblr and news feed. *So glad I'm not old.*
"Treasure it," Larry said and lifted his glass. "Youth don't last forever."
"Sorry?" Dave asked. "You talking to me?" *Geriatric. Probably fought in a war or something.*
Larry frowned. "Korea, to be exact. You studying ventriloquism or something?" *Damn kids, checkin' their phones. Probably has one of the ADDs or that ass-burgers, shit. Fuckin' young blowhards.*
Dave's mouth dropped open. "What did you - ?"
Little Trinity ran in from the living room, wearing her blue tutu and carrying a calico. The cat gave Dave a withering stare.
"This is Olive!" Trinity announced, her blonde pigtails bobbing as she dropped Olive onto the chair next to Dave. She climbed up herself. *Olive olive olive. Where's Blue's Clues? Olive olive. Play with kitty. Gonna dance, kitty dance.*
Dave and Larry exchanged a look of disbelief.
Olive jumped onto the table and meowed. *Hungry, food. Hungry hungry. Eat.*
Trinity laughed and climbed off her chair. "Olive wants *fooood!*" She ran into the kitchen.
Larry took a drink. *What in the* fuck *is going on?*
"No idea," Dave offered. He checked Google news, his latest Twitter update. *How does this guy have more followers than me?*
"I ain't followin' you nowhere," Larry growled. "How in the hell are you doing that?"
The kitchen door burst open. Cheryl walked out and staunchly ignored Dave. Rita followed with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Then Gregory with the roast on a wood platter. Aunt Betty waddled in with a bowl of salad and placed it near Larry.
Larry downed his drink and eyed the bowl. *Damn rabbit food.*
Betty sat down and simpered. "Jus' a lil' greens, Lare-Bear, ok?" *Better eat it or I flush your viagra down the toilet.*
Rita took her seat, smiling dopily and looking around at everyone through glazed eyes. "Thank you all *so* much for coming." *One more. Just one more to get me through tonight. Filthy hands on my china, shit. Just one more little pill. Shit shit.*
Gregory sat next to Rita and started carving the roast. *Get through this dinner, put the bitch to bed. Can't wait to get between those legs. Fuck, we're outta cat food.*
Cheryl sat next to Dave, crossing her legs away from him. *Fucking asshole. A shitty moissanite ring, really? Why am I marrying him. Greg looks so yummy, can't wait to pull out his giant -*
"*Stop.*" Dave stood up while everyone around the table looked at him. "I...gotta take a leak." He left, the inner words receding, finally alone with his own thoughts. In the bathroom, Dave checked his Facebook. He went to his settings, changed his status to *It's Complicated*. | Ted Clark was rather excited to enjoy a lovely dinner, however it seemed like everyone was adamant about standing this entire evening. How bothersome. What's the point in having hexed seats if everyone knows about it? |
Subsets and Splits