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Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I am a scholar.
I have spent many years at my studies. I am rightly regarded as the finest mind in my field. I have the rare privilege of effectively eternal life.
I am an executioner. I am the last—the rest have retired or been abolished long ago. Some are still living out their long lives, counting the days or trying to make something of their greatly extended lives.
At one time we were common. Some of us became kings ourselves. It was expected that an executioner, who must commit the sin of taking life, would use the rest of his time repenting by using his unusually lengthy lifespan to do good. Past executioners have been inventors, explorers, and thinkers. I think at this point our society would be many millennia behind where we are now without the executioners.
But I am the last. Even as society continues to kill, society began to reject our work. Even as they depend on our inventions and our ideas, they turn away from the creators.
For a time, we competed. The last regimes to hold on to the old ways had their pick of executioners, some of whom were not ready to relinquish their immortality and fought viciously for their work. Which is or is not ironic, depending on why you think we do what we do.
Now, I am the last. I am a wanted man, hidden away in this jungle. I am often sickly, often feverish, but I do not die. And every so often, I am rousted from my studies to take a life.
My studies are in crime and poverty and war. In ten times ten generations I haven't come up with my answer. I have seen empires rise and fall, and technologies change, but still have smelt the same blood for thousands of years. But even as I myself grow weary and disgusted of the executions, I continue my work so that I can have more years to find my answer. I will not stop until I have it.
I will find out why people kill and are killed, and my answer will be how to stop them.
In every language—some of them languages only I still remember—people have joked to me that I will never be out of a job. It's a double meaning, of course. They still tell that joke.
But to every person I kill, I make a promise: One day, I too will die. | They brought me another child today. It's always the same conversation each time they do. Comments about how I lucky I am, how they could be worth 100 years, how no one would miss the little brats anyway, they all float around the room in murmurs and scoffs. The few who know the truth stand silently above us on the observation deck, and shoot me the look of understanding that they always emanate when a child is brought forth to me. The elders know I would rather have nothing to do with this kind of profession anymore, but the gods have spoken. The ultimate atonement for my sins was to be sentenced to a life of murder and heartache, until there was no one left to execute. It only seems fair looking back.
At first, we thought the curse was more a treasure than a damnation. We grew power hungry, killing soldiers who had surrendered so we could absorb their life force anyway. Killing had become a game for us, and we lost sight of the purpose for the war... Not that there ever should have been a war to begin with. That was the reason the curse had been cast down from the gods in the first place. They were displeased. After years of searching, and putting funding into all the wrong programs, when NASA was on it's last legs, the gods finally came forth from the sky. They looked on in horror at the damage that we had brought on to creation. Lakes had long since been dried up, whatever waters remained in the rivers ran putrid and foul. The Earth had been slicked over by thick black petroleum in more places than not, and the air had taken on a flammable quality. The gods had come to guide us in the ways of restoration. The embassy of Gods had overturned their decision to let us wallow away in our own pathetic ignorance. Why they took pity on us, I do not know. But once again, we failed them. The technology they brought with them to teach us how to clean the water and land was miraculous to us. And as humans always do, we became selfish. We began to invade each others lands in attempts to steal the other countries technologies.
This is when the curse began. The gods bestowed upon on us the ability to absorb the life force of those we had killed in war. They knew the end result of this all along, even if we saw the ability as more than it was. After years of maintaining country allegiance, soldiers finally turned on each other, thinking their team mates were the ultimate source of life force. Each soldier that must have survived this long should have thousands of years racked up in life force. Of course, it didn't take us much longer than having made that decision to realize a soldier was still just a soldier, and that even with our new abilities, most of us had destinies that ended abruptly on the battle field. Soldiers were only worth 8 years at most these days. That's when my brother and I began to form a plan.
We were positively evil in our thoughts. For us to go this far would be a direct insult to the gods, but we knew not how to curb our craving for immortality. We watched on the screens in our bunker as the buses unloaded along the shoreline of the Rhine. Their little frames carried the miraculous pieces of technology with uncertainty. There were 10 children to each machine, 10 machines in all. They positioned themselves on the oil slicked beaches along the river, at the ready to try to save one more piece of Earth, like their parents before them. It would still be their parents performing the purification process had it not been for the war.
This part of the Rhine was particularly toxic. The air had a high Hydrogen index, and the rive ran afoul with a thousand years of industry. The grasses and rocks were coated in a thick layer of oil from the train derailment a few years ago. All we would need was a small missile, but we were greedy, and too obsessed with our power to acknowledge the simple nature of the task at hand. After all, we had the launch codes to the only hydrogen bomb left on Earth.
My brother and I had decided that we would enter the code together, and share our new found lottery of immortality. But he should have known I would never let him get that far. When he bent down to get the codes out of his bag, I shot him in the head. I felt the familiar energy course through my veins and had flashbacks of our life together. Perhaps I would have been sad, had I not been so mad with power.
I took the codes and turned to the dusty 10-key that sat below the monitor in the bunker. All these years, and the Montana bunker still hadn't been obliterated by Yellowstone. Slowly, I entered number after number, until all 10 digits were displayed in asterisks on the little green screen. I didn't even hesitate, not for one second, before pressing the launch key. The bomb would reach their location in less than 2 hours. They had only just begun to set up the machines, a tedious process which took 90 minutes at least. If they were efficient, the bomb would reach them just as they were beginning their task to purify the Rhine.
I decided to use this time to take advantage of the bed in the bunker. There I lay, sleeping off the day's events, as though I wasn't about to murder 100 innocent children. Perhaps this is why the gods punished me as they did. Minutes drifted by without my knowing, and before long the bomb was upon the children on the Rhine. I slept straight through the explosion, only to be awoken by the surge of 10,000 years of life force coursing through my veins, and electrifying my thoughts. I ran over to the screen, to find nothing by static. I had done it. I had singlehandedly murdered 100 children in the matter of seconds, and had gained eternity in exchange. Not more than an hour passed before the Earth began to rumble, and the edges of the bunker door glowed blue. The door flew away effortlessly, and the tall, thin silhouettes of the gods filled its hole. The cuffed my wrists tightly, and led me out into the night, where blue rays littered the sky for miles, pulling what appeared to be people into the dark emptiness above. The gods guided me into one of these rays, as they read off my punishment for my crime.
The memory replayed start to finish 5 times before the child was brought forth to the airlock. One of the elders read off his crimes. The child was being floated for stealing a loaf of bread for the 3rd time. The other humans who manned the airlock laughed and stared on in admiration, as I prepared to float the fifth child this month. My only purpose in this process was to press the button that sealed his fate. The whirring of the vertex of space could be heard ripping him from the float chamber, and his life force slowly bled into me. 80 years. This child had 80 more years ahead of him had he just not stolen a loaf of bread. The life force overtook my veins with sorrow, and I felt my meter hit 1,000,000 years. I hoped and prayed a means to human extinction came quickly. I had been the official executioner of the gods for 2,000 years now, and the weight of the souls I had damned weighed on me. The elders escorted me back to my holding chamber, releasing me of my duty for the night with same phrase as always, "Damnation wrapped in immortal appeal, is still a path to hell's depths." And with my friendly nightly send off, I entered my cold metal holding chamber, with nothing to look forward to, and an eternity of murdering ahead of me. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I've always hated hospitals. The smell... I've smelt worse, but it felt caustic, washing through my nose and lungs. I hadn't needed to be in one for over 3,000 years, but this one smells the same as the last time.
Since taking a wife offered to me by President... Whatsisname. How jaded am I? Anyway, I took a wife, her name is Christine. Christine had been a favoured aide before a scandal had ousted glorious Whatsisname and been replaced by my current employer, his majesty the High King Jim. He didn't turn the empire into a monarchy, it's still (allegedly) democratic. He just liked the name.
This empire is weird.
During the revolution where Whatsisname was deposed and glorious everlasting Jim came in, Christine and I hid. Not very well mind, which is why I'm employed again, but for a while I was free.
We lived simply in a little town, one of the last. Everyone lived in the megatropolises nowadays. If I close my eyes, from the birth of the empire to now, I can almost watch them being built as though by autistic ants, in drips and drabs. They're not very inviting, I think. The people feel... Hungry. Desperate.
Aged.
We liked our little town. The little town liked us. We baked bread, and built fences, fished and rode quadcopters without helmets. We made friends with a Silent Sister who worked in the orphanage. We'd go on weekends to read to the children, and I would cook and tell stories.
The children often asked my age.
I never answered.
One child was more curious than the others. Curious or more persistent? Same bag really. She was Lisa, and would not be distracted from my age. She'd follow us home, calling out, begging to stay with us before Sister... Dammit what was her name?
Months passed before the revolution caught up.
I thought they would be coming to seek vengeance for the hundreds of their comrades I'd put to death.
They did, in a way. They wanted me to be their instrument now.
I refused.
They burnt my town to the ground, and killed everyone in it, including the children at the orphanage and Sister...
Lisa was with Christine and I when it happened. The comrades that I had refused earlier simply said they'd do that to every square inch in the empire I'd ever thought about, let alone visit, if I did not go with them. I acquiesced, after guaranteed Christine and Lisa's safety. We flew in their hoverbird back to the capital that evening.
Feels like a blur.
I resumed my life expanding, but soul destroying work.
I was going to live for another 10,000 years before, now I will live for 13,000.
I'm so tired.
Christine tells me that Lisa is ill,and we should have to take her to the hospital, I agree to meet them there.
I'll never like this smell.
I am sitting in front of a doctor, holding Lisa's hand. She looks frightened, but smiling through it. Christine is holding her other hand and speaking to the doctor. It seems like I'm hearing them from behind a brick wall.
Lisa has months to live.
How can we have intercranial WiFi and no cure for whatever she's got?
We leave the hospital. The girls are in a bad mood. I feel numb, as per usual really. We arrive at the trifloat I have been given by my majestic lord Jim and I am struck with an idea.
I give Lisa the keys and tell her to kill me. She refuses and Christine is crying but I don't care.
I am so tired.
| They brought me another child today. It's always the same conversation each time they do. Comments about how I lucky I am, how they could be worth 100 years, how no one would miss the little brats anyway, they all float around the room in murmurs and scoffs. The few who know the truth stand silently above us on the observation deck, and shoot me the look of understanding that they always emanate when a child is brought forth to me. The elders know I would rather have nothing to do with this kind of profession anymore, but the gods have spoken. The ultimate atonement for my sins was to be sentenced to a life of murder and heartache, until there was no one left to execute. It only seems fair looking back.
At first, we thought the curse was more a treasure than a damnation. We grew power hungry, killing soldiers who had surrendered so we could absorb their life force anyway. Killing had become a game for us, and we lost sight of the purpose for the war... Not that there ever should have been a war to begin with. That was the reason the curse had been cast down from the gods in the first place. They were displeased. After years of searching, and putting funding into all the wrong programs, when NASA was on it's last legs, the gods finally came forth from the sky. They looked on in horror at the damage that we had brought on to creation. Lakes had long since been dried up, whatever waters remained in the rivers ran putrid and foul. The Earth had been slicked over by thick black petroleum in more places than not, and the air had taken on a flammable quality. The gods had come to guide us in the ways of restoration. The embassy of Gods had overturned their decision to let us wallow away in our own pathetic ignorance. Why they took pity on us, I do not know. But once again, we failed them. The technology they brought with them to teach us how to clean the water and land was miraculous to us. And as humans always do, we became selfish. We began to invade each others lands in attempts to steal the other countries technologies.
This is when the curse began. The gods bestowed upon on us the ability to absorb the life force of those we had killed in war. They knew the end result of this all along, even if we saw the ability as more than it was. After years of maintaining country allegiance, soldiers finally turned on each other, thinking their team mates were the ultimate source of life force. Each soldier that must have survived this long should have thousands of years racked up in life force. Of course, it didn't take us much longer than having made that decision to realize a soldier was still just a soldier, and that even with our new abilities, most of us had destinies that ended abruptly on the battle field. Soldiers were only worth 8 years at most these days. That's when my brother and I began to form a plan.
We were positively evil in our thoughts. For us to go this far would be a direct insult to the gods, but we knew not how to curb our craving for immortality. We watched on the screens in our bunker as the buses unloaded along the shoreline of the Rhine. Their little frames carried the miraculous pieces of technology with uncertainty. There were 10 children to each machine, 10 machines in all. They positioned themselves on the oil slicked beaches along the river, at the ready to try to save one more piece of Earth, like their parents before them. It would still be their parents performing the purification process had it not been for the war.
This part of the Rhine was particularly toxic. The air had a high Hydrogen index, and the rive ran afoul with a thousand years of industry. The grasses and rocks were coated in a thick layer of oil from the train derailment a few years ago. All we would need was a small missile, but we were greedy, and too obsessed with our power to acknowledge the simple nature of the task at hand. After all, we had the launch codes to the only hydrogen bomb left on Earth.
My brother and I had decided that we would enter the code together, and share our new found lottery of immortality. But he should have known I would never let him get that far. When he bent down to get the codes out of his bag, I shot him in the head. I felt the familiar energy course through my veins and had flashbacks of our life together. Perhaps I would have been sad, had I not been so mad with power.
I took the codes and turned to the dusty 10-key that sat below the monitor in the bunker. All these years, and the Montana bunker still hadn't been obliterated by Yellowstone. Slowly, I entered number after number, until all 10 digits were displayed in asterisks on the little green screen. I didn't even hesitate, not for one second, before pressing the launch key. The bomb would reach their location in less than 2 hours. They had only just begun to set up the machines, a tedious process which took 90 minutes at least. If they were efficient, the bomb would reach them just as they were beginning their task to purify the Rhine.
I decided to use this time to take advantage of the bed in the bunker. There I lay, sleeping off the day's events, as though I wasn't about to murder 100 innocent children. Perhaps this is why the gods punished me as they did. Minutes drifted by without my knowing, and before long the bomb was upon the children on the Rhine. I slept straight through the explosion, only to be awoken by the surge of 10,000 years of life force coursing through my veins, and electrifying my thoughts. I ran over to the screen, to find nothing by static. I had done it. I had singlehandedly murdered 100 children in the matter of seconds, and had gained eternity in exchange. Not more than an hour passed before the Earth began to rumble, and the edges of the bunker door glowed blue. The door flew away effortlessly, and the tall, thin silhouettes of the gods filled its hole. The cuffed my wrists tightly, and led me out into the night, where blue rays littered the sky for miles, pulling what appeared to be people into the dark emptiness above. The gods guided me into one of these rays, as they read off my punishment for my crime.
The memory replayed start to finish 5 times before the child was brought forth to the airlock. One of the elders read off his crimes. The child was being floated for stealing a loaf of bread for the 3rd time. The other humans who manned the airlock laughed and stared on in admiration, as I prepared to float the fifth child this month. My only purpose in this process was to press the button that sealed his fate. The whirring of the vertex of space could be heard ripping him from the float chamber, and his life force slowly bled into me. 80 years. This child had 80 more years ahead of him had he just not stolen a loaf of bread. The life force overtook my veins with sorrow, and I felt my meter hit 1,000,000 years. I hoped and prayed a means to human extinction came quickly. I had been the official executioner of the gods for 2,000 years now, and the weight of the souls I had damned weighed on me. The elders escorted me back to my holding chamber, releasing me of my duty for the night with same phrase as always, "Damnation wrapped in immortal appeal, is still a path to hell's depths." And with my friendly nightly send off, I entered my cold metal holding chamber, with nothing to look forward to, and an eternity of murdering ahead of me. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | It's never occurred to me to write any fiction. Or anything creatively at all. I've followed this sub and think I'll start posting my stupid attempts... maybe they will improve :) anyways, here's mine:
"I find you guilty."
A moment of silence passes through the courtroom. All eyes, including the magistrates', are fixed upon you. Some of these eyes hold hateful stares. Others looked shocked. Some, too young to understand what is happening, simply look curious. Maybe even amused.
"Though it pains me to hand down such a sentence to one who has had such a lengthy and esteemed career, especially one so close to the court, our laws are absolute. This court finds you guilty of murder. As such, you will receive the only punishment that we have for such an unspeakable crime. Death."
More silence. More eyes.
Long ago, maybe even just decades ago, you might have exploded into an indignant rant. You might have tried to explain yourself. Perhaps you could have made one last desperate plea to the courtroom to explain your case. To save yourself.
Not now.
Now you understood that somethings are long-lasting, while others are eternal. A life, if one is lucky, can be the former. Deceit, politics, envy... These are the latter.
"Because of your position relating to the court and the seriousness of the charges, the king himself has insisted upon carrying out your execution. May you accept your fate and come to peace with death."
Days later, your head finally rests upon the familiar stump where executions are carried out. As the hood is removed, the sun blinds your eyes momentarily. When your eyes adjust and are able to focus upon the king standing over you, your eyes aren't drawn to the mighty axe slung over his shoulder. The axe you've spent lifetimes caring for and maintaining. Instead your eyes are drawn to his smile. You smile yourself, just before the axe comes down. For you recognize this smile as the the same expectant smile that crossed your face every time you raised that axe yourself.
| ##*Yet Death May Come*
I am not the man I once was.
It's easy enough to say. I have a driver's license, a Social Security number, fingerprints in police records here and there. These past couple decades, *having* a footprint was less conspicuous than the opposite. It was an identity. So what. I'd had many over the years. This one, too, would pass.
There was no outward sign - that was part of its brilliance. I hadn't realized it myself until my aging slowed, and even then, hadn't determined its source until I looked around.
It wasn't an easy hypothesis to test. Soldiers died in combat. Murderers were executed. This was the way nature closed the loop - those who exploited this mythic rule, would die to it.
I was fifteen when I killed my first man, a thief, as a temple guard in the Temple of the Storm-God. When the Assyrians invaded that same year, I was taken back to Nineveh to as a palace servant. When I caught an elderly servant stealing from the king, he ordered me to execute him. That kill made me into a palace guard, and several more kills made me one of the royal guard for Tiglath-Pileser III. He was a harsh man, but a good ruler, and a great general.
I was well-on in years when age took him. His son, Shalmaneser, noted many times my youth in spite of my appearance - for I was showing grey, but never felt it. Soon after, the grey started receding, and my wife marveled at how, year after year, I seemed to get younger. To my fortune, the king was too busy being overthrown by his brother to notice. I served him as well, though he was progressively more brutal than those before. Every day, rebels were brought to kneel before him, and it was I whom he ordered to kill them. It was in those years that I stopped being a guard. It was also in those years that I realized the only other people who seemed to age as I, were my fellow executioners.
After my wife passed, I cared little for the tribulations of the king. I did his bidding, and I lived well. And lived long. He died while away at war. His son was murdered by *his* son. I served many kings. After a century of service, I saw the empire fall, and I departed for Babylon to serve under Nebuchadnezzar. I fell in love. I lived on. I aged, I youthed. Never were my wives with child - perhaps the price for my immortality.
Immortal, yes, but not invincible. After all, my fellow executioners expired - at my hand. I did not share their loyalty to the empire, and I did not need tales spreading of the ageless executioner.
I learned to speak and write many languages. I traveled to Greece, and Rome centuries after that, when I saw the winds of history changing. My fair skin, a gift of my Lebanese heritage, hid me. When stories came of a man who'd been executed in Jerusalem only to return from the dead, I immediately returned to investigate, but I found nothing. I found his followers, but no trace of the man who defied death.
*****
I am not the man I once was.
I once was a simple man. Now, I have seen civilization across the horizon of time. I speak every major language througout history. I have loved many times, and lost just as many. I age, and I quietly let my love slip away as I somehow get younger. There were some that asked me to put an end to their suffering, but I always refuse - I dare not use their deaths to my benefit.
Maybe the cycle will break. When hanging waned as the preferred method of execution, I could tell my profession was dying out - a fitting choice of words. Now, with lethal injection finally disappearing as well, maybe I could stop killing. I had no idea how long I could survive on the lives I'd taken, but I was willing to find out. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I've always hated hospitals. The smell... I've smelt worse, but it felt caustic, washing through my nose and lungs. I hadn't needed to be in one for over 3,000 years, but this one smells the same as the last time.
Since taking a wife offered to me by President... Whatsisname. How jaded am I? Anyway, I took a wife, her name is Christine. Christine had been a favoured aide before a scandal had ousted glorious Whatsisname and been replaced by my current employer, his majesty the High King Jim. He didn't turn the empire into a monarchy, it's still (allegedly) democratic. He just liked the name.
This empire is weird.
During the revolution where Whatsisname was deposed and glorious everlasting Jim came in, Christine and I hid. Not very well mind, which is why I'm employed again, but for a while I was free.
We lived simply in a little town, one of the last. Everyone lived in the megatropolises nowadays. If I close my eyes, from the birth of the empire to now, I can almost watch them being built as though by autistic ants, in drips and drabs. They're not very inviting, I think. The people feel... Hungry. Desperate.
Aged.
We liked our little town. The little town liked us. We baked bread, and built fences, fished and rode quadcopters without helmets. We made friends with a Silent Sister who worked in the orphanage. We'd go on weekends to read to the children, and I would cook and tell stories.
The children often asked my age.
I never answered.
One child was more curious than the others. Curious or more persistent? Same bag really. She was Lisa, and would not be distracted from my age. She'd follow us home, calling out, begging to stay with us before Sister... Dammit what was her name?
Months passed before the revolution caught up.
I thought they would be coming to seek vengeance for the hundreds of their comrades I'd put to death.
They did, in a way. They wanted me to be their instrument now.
I refused.
They burnt my town to the ground, and killed everyone in it, including the children at the orphanage and Sister...
Lisa was with Christine and I when it happened. The comrades that I had refused earlier simply said they'd do that to every square inch in the empire I'd ever thought about, let alone visit, if I did not go with them. I acquiesced, after guaranteed Christine and Lisa's safety. We flew in their hoverbird back to the capital that evening.
Feels like a blur.
I resumed my life expanding, but soul destroying work.
I was going to live for another 10,000 years before, now I will live for 13,000.
I'm so tired.
Christine tells me that Lisa is ill,and we should have to take her to the hospital, I agree to meet them there.
I'll never like this smell.
I am sitting in front of a doctor, holding Lisa's hand. She looks frightened, but smiling through it. Christine is holding her other hand and speaking to the doctor. It seems like I'm hearing them from behind a brick wall.
Lisa has months to live.
How can we have intercranial WiFi and no cure for whatever she's got?
We leave the hospital. The girls are in a bad mood. I feel numb, as per usual really. We arrive at the trifloat I have been given by my majestic lord Jim and I am struck with an idea.
I give Lisa the keys and tell her to kill me. She refuses and Christine is crying but I don't care.
I am so tired.
| ##*Yet Death May Come*
I am not the man I once was.
It's easy enough to say. I have a driver's license, a Social Security number, fingerprints in police records here and there. These past couple decades, *having* a footprint was less conspicuous than the opposite. It was an identity. So what. I'd had many over the years. This one, too, would pass.
There was no outward sign - that was part of its brilliance. I hadn't realized it myself until my aging slowed, and even then, hadn't determined its source until I looked around.
It wasn't an easy hypothesis to test. Soldiers died in combat. Murderers were executed. This was the way nature closed the loop - those who exploited this mythic rule, would die to it.
I was fifteen when I killed my first man, a thief, as a temple guard in the Temple of the Storm-God. When the Assyrians invaded that same year, I was taken back to Nineveh to as a palace servant. When I caught an elderly servant stealing from the king, he ordered me to execute him. That kill made me into a palace guard, and several more kills made me one of the royal guard for Tiglath-Pileser III. He was a harsh man, but a good ruler, and a great general.
I was well-on in years when age took him. His son, Shalmaneser, noted many times my youth in spite of my appearance - for I was showing grey, but never felt it. Soon after, the grey started receding, and my wife marveled at how, year after year, I seemed to get younger. To my fortune, the king was too busy being overthrown by his brother to notice. I served him as well, though he was progressively more brutal than those before. Every day, rebels were brought to kneel before him, and it was I whom he ordered to kill them. It was in those years that I stopped being a guard. It was also in those years that I realized the only other people who seemed to age as I, were my fellow executioners.
After my wife passed, I cared little for the tribulations of the king. I did his bidding, and I lived well. And lived long. He died while away at war. His son was murdered by *his* son. I served many kings. After a century of service, I saw the empire fall, and I departed for Babylon to serve under Nebuchadnezzar. I fell in love. I lived on. I aged, I youthed. Never were my wives with child - perhaps the price for my immortality.
Immortal, yes, but not invincible. After all, my fellow executioners expired - at my hand. I did not share their loyalty to the empire, and I did not need tales spreading of the ageless executioner.
I learned to speak and write many languages. I traveled to Greece, and Rome centuries after that, when I saw the winds of history changing. My fair skin, a gift of my Lebanese heritage, hid me. When stories came of a man who'd been executed in Jerusalem only to return from the dead, I immediately returned to investigate, but I found nothing. I found his followers, but no trace of the man who defied death.
*****
I am not the man I once was.
I once was a simple man. Now, I have seen civilization across the horizon of time. I speak every major language througout history. I have loved many times, and lost just as many. I age, and I quietly let my love slip away as I somehow get younger. There were some that asked me to put an end to their suffering, but I always refuse - I dare not use their deaths to my benefit.
Maybe the cycle will break. When hanging waned as the preferred method of execution, I could tell my profession was dying out - a fitting choice of words. Now, with lethal injection finally disappearing as well, maybe I could stop killing. I had no idea how long I could survive on the lives I'd taken, but I was willing to find out. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | "At least $16,000." The old man said.
"No, I won't go higher than $10,000." Richard Brooks said, his tone was intimidating.
Mr. Carter looked at me, his old, tired eyes were pleading.
"Mr. Brooks," I said to the businessman, "my client was diagnosed at only Stage 2. He will reasonably have anywhere between six to twelve months. It is a fair rate at $16,000. Would you consider meeting at $15,000?" I had previously discussed with Mr. Carter that he was willing to go as low as $12,000. Though it was always wise to start higher.
Richard mused, then asked for the paperwork. I handed him the paper, detailing the diagnosis of Mr. Carter. It was common in today's civilized age for someone with a terminal illness to sell their remaining time, or give it away. I had witnessed and been the hand of many executions. I lived in the dark times, when people died in the middle of their lives. Nowadays, every moment I am dearly grateful for how humane my job has become.
"I'll settle at $14,000. That's just over a month of pay for me, so I can handle the risk." Richard said, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced at Mr. Carter for his approval, and with it I state "Deal." As Richard is signing the papers, I think of how a man such as himself would set aside several months salary each year to buy about the same amount of time back. In essence, he would be able to live forever, buying the time as needed. It was always a risk though, you never quite knew how much time a person who was ill had left, but it was typically worth the risk. The money would go to Mr. Carter's descendants and Mr. Brooks could continue his endless chase for eternity. However, I couldn't blame him. I was doing the same thing; a portion of my clients dealt directly with me. I would pay them with the money from my other clients. After living so long, I still wasn't ready to go. I looked at Richard who had just finished signing the papers, thinking to myself, even though he was likely hundreds of years old, he was only a percentage of my age. To me, he was a child.
Smiling, Richard handed me the papers.
"Be here tomorrow at 8 pm sharp." I said grimly, "You'll need to be the one to start the injection."
"It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Carter and Ex. Marcius!" Richard said as he shook our hands. After he left the room, I turned to Mr. Carter, who looked weak.
"It will be alright, Mr. Carter, your son will receive your share in less than a week. Enjoy your remaining time with your family and have a good last meal." I said, trying to hide the shiver in my voice. Even after so many, especially ones I caused, deaths were still painful for me. I'm only human.
Mr. Carter smiled for a moment, "Thank you so much Marcius. I truly wasn't expecting to get so much. My son will be able to survive, even if he isn't happy with my decision. Just ensure he accepts the money. Please send them in on your way out."
I nodded then headed out of the room. I gave the family my condolences and sent them in. Samuel Carter, the son, saw me to the door.
"Thank you for what you are doing," he stated, "it is a hard time, but this money will save my family."
"It pleases me to help." I lie. "I will arrive here tomorrow at 6 pm sharp."
With another thanks, Samuel closes the door behind me. As I walk to my car, I think to myself of how there was no pleasure in my job. That luxury ceased to be over a thousand years ago. | ##*Yet Death May Come*
I am not the man I once was.
It's easy enough to say. I have a driver's license, a Social Security number, fingerprints in police records here and there. These past couple decades, *having* a footprint was less conspicuous than the opposite. It was an identity. So what. I'd had many over the years. This one, too, would pass.
There was no outward sign - that was part of its brilliance. I hadn't realized it myself until my aging slowed, and even then, hadn't determined its source until I looked around.
It wasn't an easy hypothesis to test. Soldiers died in combat. Murderers were executed. This was the way nature closed the loop - those who exploited this mythic rule, would die to it.
I was fifteen when I killed my first man, a thief, as a temple guard in the Temple of the Storm-God. When the Assyrians invaded that same year, I was taken back to Nineveh to as a palace servant. When I caught an elderly servant stealing from the king, he ordered me to execute him. That kill made me into a palace guard, and several more kills made me one of the royal guard for Tiglath-Pileser III. He was a harsh man, but a good ruler, and a great general.
I was well-on in years when age took him. His son, Shalmaneser, noted many times my youth in spite of my appearance - for I was showing grey, but never felt it. Soon after, the grey started receding, and my wife marveled at how, year after year, I seemed to get younger. To my fortune, the king was too busy being overthrown by his brother to notice. I served him as well, though he was progressively more brutal than those before. Every day, rebels were brought to kneel before him, and it was I whom he ordered to kill them. It was in those years that I stopped being a guard. It was also in those years that I realized the only other people who seemed to age as I, were my fellow executioners.
After my wife passed, I cared little for the tribulations of the king. I did his bidding, and I lived well. And lived long. He died while away at war. His son was murdered by *his* son. I served many kings. After a century of service, I saw the empire fall, and I departed for Babylon to serve under Nebuchadnezzar. I fell in love. I lived on. I aged, I youthed. Never were my wives with child - perhaps the price for my immortality.
Immortal, yes, but not invincible. After all, my fellow executioners expired - at my hand. I did not share their loyalty to the empire, and I did not need tales spreading of the ageless executioner.
I learned to speak and write many languages. I traveled to Greece, and Rome centuries after that, when I saw the winds of history changing. My fair skin, a gift of my Lebanese heritage, hid me. When stories came of a man who'd been executed in Jerusalem only to return from the dead, I immediately returned to investigate, but I found nothing. I found his followers, but no trace of the man who defied death.
*****
I am not the man I once was.
I once was a simple man. Now, I have seen civilization across the horizon of time. I speak every major language througout history. I have loved many times, and lost just as many. I age, and I quietly let my love slip away as I somehow get younger. There were some that asked me to put an end to their suffering, but I always refuse - I dare not use their deaths to my benefit.
Maybe the cycle will break. When hanging waned as the preferred method of execution, I could tell my profession was dying out - a fitting choice of words. Now, with lethal injection finally disappearing as well, maybe I could stop killing. I had no idea how long I could survive on the lives I'd taken, but I was willing to find out. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," lectured the preacher.
*And I'm the Angel of Death. Well.. I kinda am.. Only when I need to be.*
"and there was li-"
"There he is!" interrupted a man armed from head to toe as he breached the doors leading a squad full of men dressed in a similar fashion. The churchgoers were frightened but somehow managed to leave the building in a timely manner. It was just the man and the agents inside and around the church once the panic settled.
*That was quicker than I expected. Bravo.*
"Put your hands where we can see them and don't make any sudden movements!" shouted the officer. Kane did as he was told, yet this made the agents tense up even more.
"Why don't we just shoot him?!"
"I bet we walked right into a trap!!"
"If I wanted you all dead you'd be dead by now," Kane said calmly. The agents suddenly had an even more difficult time keeping together at this point. Kane stood from his chair, slowly, put his hands in the air and then behind his head and knelt down. He wasn't immortal, after all.
There was a deafening silence in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally an engine was heard coming to a stop in front of the building. A door shuts. And footsteps.
*This is new. Sheriff? Head of the FBI? Maybe I'll be taken in as a secret agent. Just like the movies.*
The crowd of agents split as the mysterious person walked through them.
"Kane Grey. Or do you prefer Peter Fisher? Or Samson Armstrong? Whatever you go by now, you're probably the toughest person I've had the pleasure of tracking down; and I'm very skilled at my trade."
"You can call me whatever you like, it doesn't matter much anyway. You don't sound like a one of the feds and they did't look like government agents. You a bounty hunter? Vigilante? Tony Stark?"
"Not quite. I am affiliated with the government, yes. However, I don't play by their rules. You could say I have them, 'by the balls'."
Kane chuckled. He knew now.
"So I guess you're the yin to my yang then, huh? Does that make me the bad guy?"
"I don't think you're a bad guy, no. You're far from that. I've seen your victims. They were all victimizers. Victimizers who were given second chances and didn't right their wrongs. This is precisely why I've come to you."
"You here to give me some sort of medal or something? Do you want me to join you in your quest to off the baddies? Come on man, can't you see I found Jesus and shit. I'm a new person, I don't do that anymore," Kane taunted.
"I find that hard to believe. We both share something similar, Kane. It's that we have a soft spot for them. We both are too afraid to let them rule themselves. Our intervening is what keeps the world running 'round. Now, you can join me and fight the good fight, or you can join the victimizers and be of no use to anyone."
*"By the balls." One way to put it.*
"Look. I think I've lived long enough. Death by my own hand is not an option, and neither is death to the state. So how about you let me know what I already think I know and then we work out a deal?"
"You don't have much time for deciding, Mr. Grey."
"It's a pretty big choice to make. Cut me some slack."
"You've got five minutes," said the stranger as she turned to her men.
"The perimeter has been secured, m'am."
"I told you; if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Less talking more thinking Mr. Grey."
"Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I'm kind of deciding what to do with the rest of my life."
"It sounds like you know what to do, you just don't want to do it. Are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then?"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Excellent choice, you won't regret it."
--- | ##*Yet Death May Come*
I am not the man I once was.
It's easy enough to say. I have a driver's license, a Social Security number, fingerprints in police records here and there. These past couple decades, *having* a footprint was less conspicuous than the opposite. It was an identity. So what. I'd had many over the years. This one, too, would pass.
There was no outward sign - that was part of its brilliance. I hadn't realized it myself until my aging slowed, and even then, hadn't determined its source until I looked around.
It wasn't an easy hypothesis to test. Soldiers died in combat. Murderers were executed. This was the way nature closed the loop - those who exploited this mythic rule, would die to it.
I was fifteen when I killed my first man, a thief, as a temple guard in the Temple of the Storm-God. When the Assyrians invaded that same year, I was taken back to Nineveh to as a palace servant. When I caught an elderly servant stealing from the king, he ordered me to execute him. That kill made me into a palace guard, and several more kills made me one of the royal guard for Tiglath-Pileser III. He was a harsh man, but a good ruler, and a great general.
I was well-on in years when age took him. His son, Shalmaneser, noted many times my youth in spite of my appearance - for I was showing grey, but never felt it. Soon after, the grey started receding, and my wife marveled at how, year after year, I seemed to get younger. To my fortune, the king was too busy being overthrown by his brother to notice. I served him as well, though he was progressively more brutal than those before. Every day, rebels were brought to kneel before him, and it was I whom he ordered to kill them. It was in those years that I stopped being a guard. It was also in those years that I realized the only other people who seemed to age as I, were my fellow executioners.
After my wife passed, I cared little for the tribulations of the king. I did his bidding, and I lived well. And lived long. He died while away at war. His son was murdered by *his* son. I served many kings. After a century of service, I saw the empire fall, and I departed for Babylon to serve under Nebuchadnezzar. I fell in love. I lived on. I aged, I youthed. Never were my wives with child - perhaps the price for my immortality.
Immortal, yes, but not invincible. After all, my fellow executioners expired - at my hand. I did not share their loyalty to the empire, and I did not need tales spreading of the ageless executioner.
I learned to speak and write many languages. I traveled to Greece, and Rome centuries after that, when I saw the winds of history changing. My fair skin, a gift of my Lebanese heritage, hid me. When stories came of a man who'd been executed in Jerusalem only to return from the dead, I immediately returned to investigate, but I found nothing. I found his followers, but no trace of the man who defied death.
*****
I am not the man I once was.
I once was a simple man. Now, I have seen civilization across the horizon of time. I speak every major language througout history. I have loved many times, and lost just as many. I age, and I quietly let my love slip away as I somehow get younger. There were some that asked me to put an end to their suffering, but I always refuse - I dare not use their deaths to my benefit.
Maybe the cycle will break. When hanging waned as the preferred method of execution, I could tell my profession was dying out - a fitting choice of words. Now, with lethal injection finally disappearing as well, maybe I could stop killing. I had no idea how long I could survive on the lives I'd taken, but I was willing to find out. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I saw his lips move as he was telling me the reasoning behind the task. I wasn't paying attention, my eyes wandered the oddly shaped office. Oh how the times have changed. There used to be many of us around the world, we've gone under many names, my favourite one was executioner although that time has since passed. I've been known as anything from a viking to a hangman.
Where a life had to be taken there we were. Not everyone could do it and those of us who could, we were valued due to our knowledge and experience. If we took a life we'd absorb the remaining lifespan of the victim but again times changed. We were deemed outlaws and hunted. We had to work in the shadows. Assassins was another name given to us. During my lifetime I had seen empires rise and fall, cities being built from the first hut to enormous skylines, I had learned a hundred languages and to fight with any weapon possible. But not a lot mattered in today's society, most of us were in hiding. The younger ones entered the armies of countries for the chance to kill. Some would panic as their lifespan came towards an end and in their panic commit murders. They didn't last very long in the modern society, too many rules and rights, people cared so much nowadays if a life was taken, it didn't make it any easier for us.
"His name is Rile F. Daltho, do you know it?"
I snapped out of my thought pattern and looked at the man. He had dark skin and a serious face. Rile, I knew that name and many others the man had used. He had fought for the Persians once upon a time and for the Germans a few decades back. He was the one of very few with a lifespan as lengthy as mine but he wasn't patient. I had seen him fuel the words and materials needed to start wars just so he could fight. He'd cover up for himself and disappear afterwards.
"Yeah I know him, our paths have crossed once or twice, but this is no ordinary man."
"I know, but it must be done and that's why I've asked you in here,. You know what he's capable of and what he's doing."
There was a crisis going on in Europe and I had suspected that Rile might be behind this. He was the main reason of most “evil” things during the last century. Humanity had worked further and further away from the savagery and brutality that was in the olden days, making it hard for the like of me and Rile to progress our lifespan. I found alternative ways but he never had the patience. If a war broke out I would be able to join in and get a few years added but in wars there was always risks. I had become used to working in the shadows.
"And if I do this, will you grant me what I ask for?"
The man turned his back towards me and stared out the window. This was always the toughest moment for them. A life had to be taken to save thousands if not more, but it would also cost them. The man sighed before turning to me.
"You'll be put to permanently work with the abortions."
Even though most of us had been forgotten, there were still extremely strict background checks when working with abortions to prevent us from accessing all that lifespan, some places even banned abortions just to keep it under control.
"I'll find Rile, don't worry Mr. President"
I grinned as I saw the discomfort on the man's face before I turned and walked out the oval shaped room to find the man who could grant my access to immortality. | ##*Yet Death May Come*
I am not the man I once was.
It's easy enough to say. I have a driver's license, a Social Security number, fingerprints in police records here and there. These past couple decades, *having* a footprint was less conspicuous than the opposite. It was an identity. So what. I'd had many over the years. This one, too, would pass.
There was no outward sign - that was part of its brilliance. I hadn't realized it myself until my aging slowed, and even then, hadn't determined its source until I looked around.
It wasn't an easy hypothesis to test. Soldiers died in combat. Murderers were executed. This was the way nature closed the loop - those who exploited this mythic rule, would die to it.
I was fifteen when I killed my first man, a thief, as a temple guard in the Temple of the Storm-God. When the Assyrians invaded that same year, I was taken back to Nineveh to as a palace servant. When I caught an elderly servant stealing from the king, he ordered me to execute him. That kill made me into a palace guard, and several more kills made me one of the royal guard for Tiglath-Pileser III. He was a harsh man, but a good ruler, and a great general.
I was well-on in years when age took him. His son, Shalmaneser, noted many times my youth in spite of my appearance - for I was showing grey, but never felt it. Soon after, the grey started receding, and my wife marveled at how, year after year, I seemed to get younger. To my fortune, the king was too busy being overthrown by his brother to notice. I served him as well, though he was progressively more brutal than those before. Every day, rebels were brought to kneel before him, and it was I whom he ordered to kill them. It was in those years that I stopped being a guard. It was also in those years that I realized the only other people who seemed to age as I, were my fellow executioners.
After my wife passed, I cared little for the tribulations of the king. I did his bidding, and I lived well. And lived long. He died while away at war. His son was murdered by *his* son. I served many kings. After a century of service, I saw the empire fall, and I departed for Babylon to serve under Nebuchadnezzar. I fell in love. I lived on. I aged, I youthed. Never were my wives with child - perhaps the price for my immortality.
Immortal, yes, but not invincible. After all, my fellow executioners expired - at my hand. I did not share their loyalty to the empire, and I did not need tales spreading of the ageless executioner.
I learned to speak and write many languages. I traveled to Greece, and Rome centuries after that, when I saw the winds of history changing. My fair skin, a gift of my Lebanese heritage, hid me. When stories came of a man who'd been executed in Jerusalem only to return from the dead, I immediately returned to investigate, but I found nothing. I found his followers, but no trace of the man who defied death.
*****
I am not the man I once was.
I once was a simple man. Now, I have seen civilization across the horizon of time. I speak every major language througout history. I have loved many times, and lost just as many. I age, and I quietly let my love slip away as I somehow get younger. There were some that asked me to put an end to their suffering, but I always refuse - I dare not use their deaths to my benefit.
Maybe the cycle will break. When hanging waned as the preferred method of execution, I could tell my profession was dying out - a fitting choice of words. Now, with lethal injection finally disappearing as well, maybe I could stop killing. I had no idea how long I could survive on the lives I'd taken, but I was willing to find out. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I've always hated hospitals. The smell... I've smelt worse, but it felt caustic, washing through my nose and lungs. I hadn't needed to be in one for over 3,000 years, but this one smells the same as the last time.
Since taking a wife offered to me by President... Whatsisname. How jaded am I? Anyway, I took a wife, her name is Christine. Christine had been a favoured aide before a scandal had ousted glorious Whatsisname and been replaced by my current employer, his majesty the High King Jim. He didn't turn the empire into a monarchy, it's still (allegedly) democratic. He just liked the name.
This empire is weird.
During the revolution where Whatsisname was deposed and glorious everlasting Jim came in, Christine and I hid. Not very well mind, which is why I'm employed again, but for a while I was free.
We lived simply in a little town, one of the last. Everyone lived in the megatropolises nowadays. If I close my eyes, from the birth of the empire to now, I can almost watch them being built as though by autistic ants, in drips and drabs. They're not very inviting, I think. The people feel... Hungry. Desperate.
Aged.
We liked our little town. The little town liked us. We baked bread, and built fences, fished and rode quadcopters without helmets. We made friends with a Silent Sister who worked in the orphanage. We'd go on weekends to read to the children, and I would cook and tell stories.
The children often asked my age.
I never answered.
One child was more curious than the others. Curious or more persistent? Same bag really. She was Lisa, and would not be distracted from my age. She'd follow us home, calling out, begging to stay with us before Sister... Dammit what was her name?
Months passed before the revolution caught up.
I thought they would be coming to seek vengeance for the hundreds of their comrades I'd put to death.
They did, in a way. They wanted me to be their instrument now.
I refused.
They burnt my town to the ground, and killed everyone in it, including the children at the orphanage and Sister...
Lisa was with Christine and I when it happened. The comrades that I had refused earlier simply said they'd do that to every square inch in the empire I'd ever thought about, let alone visit, if I did not go with them. I acquiesced, after guaranteed Christine and Lisa's safety. We flew in their hoverbird back to the capital that evening.
Feels like a blur.
I resumed my life expanding, but soul destroying work.
I was going to live for another 10,000 years before, now I will live for 13,000.
I'm so tired.
Christine tells me that Lisa is ill,and we should have to take her to the hospital, I agree to meet them there.
I'll never like this smell.
I am sitting in front of a doctor, holding Lisa's hand. She looks frightened, but smiling through it. Christine is holding her other hand and speaking to the doctor. It seems like I'm hearing them from behind a brick wall.
Lisa has months to live.
How can we have intercranial WiFi and no cure for whatever she's got?
We leave the hospital. The girls are in a bad mood. I feel numb, as per usual really. We arrive at the trifloat I have been given by my majestic lord Jim and I am struck with an idea.
I give Lisa the keys and tell her to kill me. She refuses and Christine is crying but I don't care.
I am so tired.
| "Frank J. Smith, serial killer, convicted for killing 3 families including 5 children under the age of 5," the judge read from his papers in his most official and matter-of-fact tone. I was excited. Serial killers were rare, but meant I didn't have to worry about anything for a long time. 5 kids under the age of 5 was 5 almost entire life spans. I would be able to add at least a millennium to my life span after today's execution. Or, at least that's what I wanted everyone to think.
"I'm innocent!" cried Frank. The judge didn't even look at him.
"You're just scared."
For a brief second, I got eye contact with Frank as I filled his veins with poison. A rare phenomenon. One that would haunt me for days. Because I knew he was innocent.
In fact, there hadn't been a serial killer on the loose in several centuries. Not as far as I was concerned, anyway. Except, of course, for me. But the thousands of years of in-field experience had taught me how to get away with it, how to frame someone while leaving no evidence behind. And the thousands of years of loyal service to high ranking people had gotten me a lot of trust - I practically led most of the investigations.
Jack, my newest accomplice, sat across from me at the dinner table in his house. Together, we had accumulated approximately 10,000 years by murdering innocent people and then having me execute other innocent people that we had framed. I had met him in a bar and gotten him drunk. I spotted him from all the way outside. I had done this a thousand times. He was the perfect accomplice. Middle class, enjoying life, greedy, willing to do anything for a few more years. We drank together, I told him about my job. We gained each other's trust, and then I told him I couldn't do it alone. Which was completely true. You can't commit the perfect crime alone.
Today, he was sitting across from me at the dinner table, and he was eating. His wife and kids knew they couldn't be in the room when we were discussing business, so he had told them to eat when we were done and gone. I told him I wasn't hungry, and he just accepted. He trusted me, and I trusted him even more. I waited until he was done eating, and then he asked me, like I knew he would: "So, what do you have for us today?"
"Family father," I told him. "In a bout of depression-fueled rage, murders his wife and three kids, then commits suicide. The case will be open and shut. No investigation, no trial, no execution. I need you to produce a suicide note quickly, just scribble it down like you're in a hurry." I handed him pen and paper and watched him go to work.
As he finished, he said: "Wife and three kids, eh? I almost feel bad about this one. It could be... Me." I watched his face as the worrying realization ran across. He looked up at me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
As his mouth rounded, pronouncing "to", I drew my gun before he could react, propped the barrel in his mouth and shot him. Then I closed his fingers around the weapon and let him drop down into his chair as naturally as possible. And then I had 5000 years more to live, all in a matter of seconds. His wife and kids came running as soon as they heard the gun shot. It was almost too easy. 4 head shots, point blank.
"He must've called them in to the kitchen for dinner," I told the investigators. "Then shot them, quickly and efficiently. He prepared enough food for the entire family, but only got to eat himself... A last supper of sorts, I suppose." The investigators all nodded and scribbled down my deductions on their little pads. "And then there's the suicide note... This case is almost too easy. Too many of these and our jobs are going to become very boring." The investigators chuckled grimly. I watched them smile. Without me, they wouldn't have a job.
The investigation lasted 10 minutes, then the process of cleaning up the scene started. That was all I needed to see. I had gotten away with it. Clean. Again. Beloved by the community.
I drove downtown, parked in a parking lot right outside of my favorite bar. Through the window, I saw a middle aged man. A family father, I guessed. He was overweight, and had more empty beers in front of him than anyone else. He was greedy, unhealthy, and most definitely in need of a few more years to live. I left the car, went inside, and asked him if I could sit next to him. He smiled brightly and bought me a beer. A happy drunk. A greedy man. Willing to do anything to indulge in this lifestyle without worrying about health complications.
"My name is Joseph," he said, and I took his stretched out hand. Joseph was going to be my newest accomplice. For the next 10,000 of so years worth of homicide. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," lectured the preacher.
*And I'm the Angel of Death. Well.. I kinda am.. Only when I need to be.*
"and there was li-"
"There he is!" interrupted a man armed from head to toe as he breached the doors leading a squad full of men dressed in a similar fashion. The churchgoers were frightened but somehow managed to leave the building in a timely manner. It was just the man and the agents inside and around the church once the panic settled.
*That was quicker than I expected. Bravo.*
"Put your hands where we can see them and don't make any sudden movements!" shouted the officer. Kane did as he was told, yet this made the agents tense up even more.
"Why don't we just shoot him?!"
"I bet we walked right into a trap!!"
"If I wanted you all dead you'd be dead by now," Kane said calmly. The agents suddenly had an even more difficult time keeping together at this point. Kane stood from his chair, slowly, put his hands in the air and then behind his head and knelt down. He wasn't immortal, after all.
There was a deafening silence in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally an engine was heard coming to a stop in front of the building. A door shuts. And footsteps.
*This is new. Sheriff? Head of the FBI? Maybe I'll be taken in as a secret agent. Just like the movies.*
The crowd of agents split as the mysterious person walked through them.
"Kane Grey. Or do you prefer Peter Fisher? Or Samson Armstrong? Whatever you go by now, you're probably the toughest person I've had the pleasure of tracking down; and I'm very skilled at my trade."
"You can call me whatever you like, it doesn't matter much anyway. You don't sound like a one of the feds and they did't look like government agents. You a bounty hunter? Vigilante? Tony Stark?"
"Not quite. I am affiliated with the government, yes. However, I don't play by their rules. You could say I have them, 'by the balls'."
Kane chuckled. He knew now.
"So I guess you're the yin to my yang then, huh? Does that make me the bad guy?"
"I don't think you're a bad guy, no. You're far from that. I've seen your victims. They were all victimizers. Victimizers who were given second chances and didn't right their wrongs. This is precisely why I've come to you."
"You here to give me some sort of medal or something? Do you want me to join you in your quest to off the baddies? Come on man, can't you see I found Jesus and shit. I'm a new person, I don't do that anymore," Kane taunted.
"I find that hard to believe. We both share something similar, Kane. It's that we have a soft spot for them. We both are too afraid to let them rule themselves. Our intervening is what keeps the world running 'round. Now, you can join me and fight the good fight, or you can join the victimizers and be of no use to anyone."
*"By the balls." One way to put it.*
"Look. I think I've lived long enough. Death by my own hand is not an option, and neither is death to the state. So how about you let me know what I already think I know and then we work out a deal?"
"You don't have much time for deciding, Mr. Grey."
"It's a pretty big choice to make. Cut me some slack."
"You've got five minutes," said the stranger as she turned to her men.
"The perimeter has been secured, m'am."
"I told you; if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Less talking more thinking Mr. Grey."
"Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I'm kind of deciding what to do with the rest of my life."
"It sounds like you know what to do, you just don't want to do it. Are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then?"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Excellent choice, you won't regret it."
--- | They call me the Crone, the Wizened One, the Reaper, and a thousand other names, in a thousand different tongues. I've heard them all already, in my infinite years of living. I've lost track of just how many names I've had. They say that the last sight anyone sees is the flash of my black robes, tatters and scraps blowing in an ominous breeze, and a glint of silver, and countless other tales. People say I am the final word of the law, that I am death incarnate.
I would prefer to let them all think that way. That is, everyone except you.
The truth of the matter is that I'm just a human; and I follow the same rules as everyone else in this world. The rich die lucky, peacefully in their sleep, or painlessly slain by their heirs to give them another few years of life. Everyone else has their final years forcefully taken from them, passed around like war trophies between conquerors, time marked with blood, life gained through death.
Given my capacity for violence, you might be wondering--I have served kings for thousands of years. But why am I a servant? Why have I not rebelled against my ruler, taken my rightful place as immortal god-king?
The answer is simple: it's safer this way. Imagine it this way: if we were to become kings, we would never rest, wasting all of the years we stole worrying about defending our lives.
We have an understanding, executioner and ruler, that has remained unchanged for seventeen dynasties and likely seventeen more. I protect the king, whoever he may be, and he protects me. I defend his palace walls, give him the right to live a safe life, and in return, I am given the right to live within his palace walls and the right to live and die like one of the rich, slowly acquiring the years of criminals and enemies of the state. I am eternally loyal to him. And, perhaps more importantly, I am out of the spotlight. The people only know me through rumors, swirling around like leaves on the wind, turning over and over, each one different from the next and yet all pointing at a single, greater truth. I wear a cloak of fear. But beneath that, I am just a human like any other.
And like any human, I grow weary of life. That is why I am writing this note to you. I will be succeeded by another today, as is tradition. This is not the first time this note has been written. This will not be the last time, either.
If you are reading this, I have chosen you as my heir. You will inherit my title, my role, and most importantly, my reputation. The people think that the Crone, the Wizened One, the Reaper, and a thousand other names, is the same person as he was when he first took the title. There are only three people who know this is not the case: you, the king, and me.
Take my cloak of fear, and wear it well. And take my remaining years. I have no need of them. Locate your favorite weapon, and take the time that is rightfully yours.
-D. XXIII |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I saw his lips move as he was telling me the reasoning behind the task. I wasn't paying attention, my eyes wandered the oddly shaped office. Oh how the times have changed. There used to be many of us around the world, we've gone under many names, my favourite one was executioner although that time has since passed. I've been known as anything from a viking to a hangman.
Where a life had to be taken there we were. Not everyone could do it and those of us who could, we were valued due to our knowledge and experience. If we took a life we'd absorb the remaining lifespan of the victim but again times changed. We were deemed outlaws and hunted. We had to work in the shadows. Assassins was another name given to us. During my lifetime I had seen empires rise and fall, cities being built from the first hut to enormous skylines, I had learned a hundred languages and to fight with any weapon possible. But not a lot mattered in today's society, most of us were in hiding. The younger ones entered the armies of countries for the chance to kill. Some would panic as their lifespan came towards an end and in their panic commit murders. They didn't last very long in the modern society, too many rules and rights, people cared so much nowadays if a life was taken, it didn't make it any easier for us.
"His name is Rile F. Daltho, do you know it?"
I snapped out of my thought pattern and looked at the man. He had dark skin and a serious face. Rile, I knew that name and many others the man had used. He had fought for the Persians once upon a time and for the Germans a few decades back. He was the one of very few with a lifespan as lengthy as mine but he wasn't patient. I had seen him fuel the words and materials needed to start wars just so he could fight. He'd cover up for himself and disappear afterwards.
"Yeah I know him, our paths have crossed once or twice, but this is no ordinary man."
"I know, but it must be done and that's why I've asked you in here,. You know what he's capable of and what he's doing."
There was a crisis going on in Europe and I had suspected that Rile might be behind this. He was the main reason of most “evil” things during the last century. Humanity had worked further and further away from the savagery and brutality that was in the olden days, making it hard for the like of me and Rile to progress our lifespan. I found alternative ways but he never had the patience. If a war broke out I would be able to join in and get a few years added but in wars there was always risks. I had become used to working in the shadows.
"And if I do this, will you grant me what I ask for?"
The man turned his back towards me and stared out the window. This was always the toughest moment for them. A life had to be taken to save thousands if not more, but it would also cost them. The man sighed before turning to me.
"You'll be put to permanently work with the abortions."
Even though most of us had been forgotten, there were still extremely strict background checks when working with abortions to prevent us from accessing all that lifespan, some places even banned abortions just to keep it under control.
"I'll find Rile, don't worry Mr. President"
I grinned as I saw the discomfort on the man's face before I turned and walked out the oval shaped room to find the man who could grant my access to immortality. | They call me the Crone, the Wizened One, the Reaper, and a thousand other names, in a thousand different tongues. I've heard them all already, in my infinite years of living. I've lost track of just how many names I've had. They say that the last sight anyone sees is the flash of my black robes, tatters and scraps blowing in an ominous breeze, and a glint of silver, and countless other tales. People say I am the final word of the law, that I am death incarnate.
I would prefer to let them all think that way. That is, everyone except you.
The truth of the matter is that I'm just a human; and I follow the same rules as everyone else in this world. The rich die lucky, peacefully in their sleep, or painlessly slain by their heirs to give them another few years of life. Everyone else has their final years forcefully taken from them, passed around like war trophies between conquerors, time marked with blood, life gained through death.
Given my capacity for violence, you might be wondering--I have served kings for thousands of years. But why am I a servant? Why have I not rebelled against my ruler, taken my rightful place as immortal god-king?
The answer is simple: it's safer this way. Imagine it this way: if we were to become kings, we would never rest, wasting all of the years we stole worrying about defending our lives.
We have an understanding, executioner and ruler, that has remained unchanged for seventeen dynasties and likely seventeen more. I protect the king, whoever he may be, and he protects me. I defend his palace walls, give him the right to live a safe life, and in return, I am given the right to live within his palace walls and the right to live and die like one of the rich, slowly acquiring the years of criminals and enemies of the state. I am eternally loyal to him. And, perhaps more importantly, I am out of the spotlight. The people only know me through rumors, swirling around like leaves on the wind, turning over and over, each one different from the next and yet all pointing at a single, greater truth. I wear a cloak of fear. But beneath that, I am just a human like any other.
And like any human, I grow weary of life. That is why I am writing this note to you. I will be succeeded by another today, as is tradition. This is not the first time this note has been written. This will not be the last time, either.
If you are reading this, I have chosen you as my heir. You will inherit my title, my role, and most importantly, my reputation. The people think that the Crone, the Wizened One, the Reaper, and a thousand other names, is the same person as he was when he first took the title. There are only three people who know this is not the case: you, the king, and me.
Take my cloak of fear, and wear it well. And take my remaining years. I have no need of them. Locate your favorite weapon, and take the time that is rightfully yours.
-D. XXIII |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," lectured the preacher.
*And I'm the Angel of Death. Well.. I kinda am.. Only when I need to be.*
"and there was li-"
"There he is!" interrupted a man armed from head to toe as he breached the doors leading a squad full of men dressed in a similar fashion. The churchgoers were frightened but somehow managed to leave the building in a timely manner. It was just the man and the agents inside and around the church once the panic settled.
*That was quicker than I expected. Bravo.*
"Put your hands where we can see them and don't make any sudden movements!" shouted the officer. Kane did as he was told, yet this made the agents tense up even more.
"Why don't we just shoot him?!"
"I bet we walked right into a trap!!"
"If I wanted you all dead you'd be dead by now," Kane said calmly. The agents suddenly had an even more difficult time keeping together at this point. Kane stood from his chair, slowly, put his hands in the air and then behind his head and knelt down. He wasn't immortal, after all.
There was a deafening silence in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally an engine was heard coming to a stop in front of the building. A door shuts. And footsteps.
*This is new. Sheriff? Head of the FBI? Maybe I'll be taken in as a secret agent. Just like the movies.*
The crowd of agents split as the mysterious person walked through them.
"Kane Grey. Or do you prefer Peter Fisher? Or Samson Armstrong? Whatever you go by now, you're probably the toughest person I've had the pleasure of tracking down; and I'm very skilled at my trade."
"You can call me whatever you like, it doesn't matter much anyway. You don't sound like a one of the feds and they did't look like government agents. You a bounty hunter? Vigilante? Tony Stark?"
"Not quite. I am affiliated with the government, yes. However, I don't play by their rules. You could say I have them, 'by the balls'."
Kane chuckled. He knew now.
"So I guess you're the yin to my yang then, huh? Does that make me the bad guy?"
"I don't think you're a bad guy, no. You're far from that. I've seen your victims. They were all victimizers. Victimizers who were given second chances and didn't right their wrongs. This is precisely why I've come to you."
"You here to give me some sort of medal or something? Do you want me to join you in your quest to off the baddies? Come on man, can't you see I found Jesus and shit. I'm a new person, I don't do that anymore," Kane taunted.
"I find that hard to believe. We both share something similar, Kane. It's that we have a soft spot for them. We both are too afraid to let them rule themselves. Our intervening is what keeps the world running 'round. Now, you can join me and fight the good fight, or you can join the victimizers and be of no use to anyone."
*"By the balls." One way to put it.*
"Look. I think I've lived long enough. Death by my own hand is not an option, and neither is death to the state. So how about you let me know what I already think I know and then we work out a deal?"
"You don't have much time for deciding, Mr. Grey."
"It's a pretty big choice to make. Cut me some slack."
"You've got five minutes," said the stranger as she turned to her men.
"The perimeter has been secured, m'am."
"I told you; if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Less talking more thinking Mr. Grey."
"Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I'm kind of deciding what to do with the rest of my life."
"It sounds like you know what to do, you just don't want to do it. Are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then?"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Excellent choice, you won't regret it."
--- | "At least $16,000." The old man said.
"No, I won't go higher than $10,000." Richard Brooks said, his tone was intimidating.
Mr. Carter looked at me, his old, tired eyes were pleading.
"Mr. Brooks," I said to the businessman, "my client was diagnosed at only Stage 2. He will reasonably have anywhere between six to twelve months. It is a fair rate at $16,000. Would you consider meeting at $15,000?" I had previously discussed with Mr. Carter that he was willing to go as low as $12,000. Though it was always wise to start higher.
Richard mused, then asked for the paperwork. I handed him the paper, detailing the diagnosis of Mr. Carter. It was common in today's civilized age for someone with a terminal illness to sell their remaining time, or give it away. I had witnessed and been the hand of many executions. I lived in the dark times, when people died in the middle of their lives. Nowadays, every moment I am dearly grateful for how humane my job has become.
"I'll settle at $14,000. That's just over a month of pay for me, so I can handle the risk." Richard said, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced at Mr. Carter for his approval, and with it I state "Deal." As Richard is signing the papers, I think of how a man such as himself would set aside several months salary each year to buy about the same amount of time back. In essence, he would be able to live forever, buying the time as needed. It was always a risk though, you never quite knew how much time a person who was ill had left, but it was typically worth the risk. The money would go to Mr. Carter's descendants and Mr. Brooks could continue his endless chase for eternity. However, I couldn't blame him. I was doing the same thing; a portion of my clients dealt directly with me. I would pay them with the money from my other clients. After living so long, I still wasn't ready to go. I looked at Richard who had just finished signing the papers, thinking to myself, even though he was likely hundreds of years old, he was only a percentage of my age. To me, he was a child.
Smiling, Richard handed me the papers.
"Be here tomorrow at 8 pm sharp." I said grimly, "You'll need to be the one to start the injection."
"It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Carter and Ex. Marcius!" Richard said as he shook our hands. After he left the room, I turned to Mr. Carter, who looked weak.
"It will be alright, Mr. Carter, your son will receive your share in less than a week. Enjoy your remaining time with your family and have a good last meal." I said, trying to hide the shiver in my voice. Even after so many, especially ones I caused, deaths were still painful for me. I'm only human.
Mr. Carter smiled for a moment, "Thank you so much Marcius. I truly wasn't expecting to get so much. My son will be able to survive, even if he isn't happy with my decision. Just ensure he accepts the money. Please send them in on your way out."
I nodded then headed out of the room. I gave the family my condolences and sent them in. Samuel Carter, the son, saw me to the door.
"Thank you for what you are doing," he stated, "it is a hard time, but this money will save my family."
"It pleases me to help." I lie. "I will arrive here tomorrow at 6 pm sharp."
With another thanks, Samuel closes the door behind me. As I walk to my car, I think to myself of how there was no pleasure in my job. That luxury ceased to be over a thousand years ago. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I saw his lips move as he was telling me the reasoning behind the task. I wasn't paying attention, my eyes wandered the oddly shaped office. Oh how the times have changed. There used to be many of us around the world, we've gone under many names, my favourite one was executioner although that time has since passed. I've been known as anything from a viking to a hangman.
Where a life had to be taken there we were. Not everyone could do it and those of us who could, we were valued due to our knowledge and experience. If we took a life we'd absorb the remaining lifespan of the victim but again times changed. We were deemed outlaws and hunted. We had to work in the shadows. Assassins was another name given to us. During my lifetime I had seen empires rise and fall, cities being built from the first hut to enormous skylines, I had learned a hundred languages and to fight with any weapon possible. But not a lot mattered in today's society, most of us were in hiding. The younger ones entered the armies of countries for the chance to kill. Some would panic as their lifespan came towards an end and in their panic commit murders. They didn't last very long in the modern society, too many rules and rights, people cared so much nowadays if a life was taken, it didn't make it any easier for us.
"His name is Rile F. Daltho, do you know it?"
I snapped out of my thought pattern and looked at the man. He had dark skin and a serious face. Rile, I knew that name and many others the man had used. He had fought for the Persians once upon a time and for the Germans a few decades back. He was the one of very few with a lifespan as lengthy as mine but he wasn't patient. I had seen him fuel the words and materials needed to start wars just so he could fight. He'd cover up for himself and disappear afterwards.
"Yeah I know him, our paths have crossed once or twice, but this is no ordinary man."
"I know, but it must be done and that's why I've asked you in here,. You know what he's capable of and what he's doing."
There was a crisis going on in Europe and I had suspected that Rile might be behind this. He was the main reason of most “evil” things during the last century. Humanity had worked further and further away from the savagery and brutality that was in the olden days, making it hard for the like of me and Rile to progress our lifespan. I found alternative ways but he never had the patience. If a war broke out I would be able to join in and get a few years added but in wars there was always risks. I had become used to working in the shadows.
"And if I do this, will you grant me what I ask for?"
The man turned his back towards me and stared out the window. This was always the toughest moment for them. A life had to be taken to save thousands if not more, but it would also cost them. The man sighed before turning to me.
"You'll be put to permanently work with the abortions."
Even though most of us had been forgotten, there were still extremely strict background checks when working with abortions to prevent us from accessing all that lifespan, some places even banned abortions just to keep it under control.
"I'll find Rile, don't worry Mr. President"
I grinned as I saw the discomfort on the man's face before I turned and walked out the oval shaped room to find the man who could grant my access to immortality. | "At least $16,000." The old man said.
"No, I won't go higher than $10,000." Richard Brooks said, his tone was intimidating.
Mr. Carter looked at me, his old, tired eyes were pleading.
"Mr. Brooks," I said to the businessman, "my client was diagnosed at only Stage 2. He will reasonably have anywhere between six to twelve months. It is a fair rate at $16,000. Would you consider meeting at $15,000?" I had previously discussed with Mr. Carter that he was willing to go as low as $12,000. Though it was always wise to start higher.
Richard mused, then asked for the paperwork. I handed him the paper, detailing the diagnosis of Mr. Carter. It was common in today's civilized age for someone with a terminal illness to sell their remaining time, or give it away. I had witnessed and been the hand of many executions. I lived in the dark times, when people died in the middle of their lives. Nowadays, every moment I am dearly grateful for how humane my job has become.
"I'll settle at $14,000. That's just over a month of pay for me, so I can handle the risk." Richard said, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced at Mr. Carter for his approval, and with it I state "Deal." As Richard is signing the papers, I think of how a man such as himself would set aside several months salary each year to buy about the same amount of time back. In essence, he would be able to live forever, buying the time as needed. It was always a risk though, you never quite knew how much time a person who was ill had left, but it was typically worth the risk. The money would go to Mr. Carter's descendants and Mr. Brooks could continue his endless chase for eternity. However, I couldn't blame him. I was doing the same thing; a portion of my clients dealt directly with me. I would pay them with the money from my other clients. After living so long, I still wasn't ready to go. I looked at Richard who had just finished signing the papers, thinking to myself, even though he was likely hundreds of years old, he was only a percentage of my age. To me, he was a child.
Smiling, Richard handed me the papers.
"Be here tomorrow at 8 pm sharp." I said grimly, "You'll need to be the one to start the injection."
"It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Carter and Ex. Marcius!" Richard said as he shook our hands. After he left the room, I turned to Mr. Carter, who looked weak.
"It will be alright, Mr. Carter, your son will receive your share in less than a week. Enjoy your remaining time with your family and have a good last meal." I said, trying to hide the shiver in my voice. Even after so many, especially ones I caused, deaths were still painful for me. I'm only human.
Mr. Carter smiled for a moment, "Thank you so much Marcius. I truly wasn't expecting to get so much. My son will be able to survive, even if he isn't happy with my decision. Just ensure he accepts the money. Please send them in on your way out."
I nodded then headed out of the room. I gave the family my condolences and sent them in. Samuel Carter, the son, saw me to the door.
"Thank you for what you are doing," he stated, "it is a hard time, but this money will save my family."
"It pleases me to help." I lie. "I will arrive here tomorrow at 6 pm sharp."
With another thanks, Samuel closes the door behind me. As I walk to my car, I think to myself of how there was no pleasure in my job. That luxury ceased to be over a thousand years ago. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," lectured the preacher.
*And I'm the Angel of Death. Well.. I kinda am.. Only when I need to be.*
"and there was li-"
"There he is!" interrupted a man armed from head to toe as he breached the doors leading a squad full of men dressed in a similar fashion. The churchgoers were frightened but somehow managed to leave the building in a timely manner. It was just the man and the agents inside and around the church once the panic settled.
*That was quicker than I expected. Bravo.*
"Put your hands where we can see them and don't make any sudden movements!" shouted the officer. Kane did as he was told, yet this made the agents tense up even more.
"Why don't we just shoot him?!"
"I bet we walked right into a trap!!"
"If I wanted you all dead you'd be dead by now," Kane said calmly. The agents suddenly had an even more difficult time keeping together at this point. Kane stood from his chair, slowly, put his hands in the air and then behind his head and knelt down. He wasn't immortal, after all.
There was a deafening silence in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally an engine was heard coming to a stop in front of the building. A door shuts. And footsteps.
*This is new. Sheriff? Head of the FBI? Maybe I'll be taken in as a secret agent. Just like the movies.*
The crowd of agents split as the mysterious person walked through them.
"Kane Grey. Or do you prefer Peter Fisher? Or Samson Armstrong? Whatever you go by now, you're probably the toughest person I've had the pleasure of tracking down; and I'm very skilled at my trade."
"You can call me whatever you like, it doesn't matter much anyway. You don't sound like a one of the feds and they did't look like government agents. You a bounty hunter? Vigilante? Tony Stark?"
"Not quite. I am affiliated with the government, yes. However, I don't play by their rules. You could say I have them, 'by the balls'."
Kane chuckled. He knew now.
"So I guess you're the yin to my yang then, huh? Does that make me the bad guy?"
"I don't think you're a bad guy, no. You're far from that. I've seen your victims. They were all victimizers. Victimizers who were given second chances and didn't right their wrongs. This is precisely why I've come to you."
"You here to give me some sort of medal or something? Do you want me to join you in your quest to off the baddies? Come on man, can't you see I found Jesus and shit. I'm a new person, I don't do that anymore," Kane taunted.
"I find that hard to believe. We both share something similar, Kane. It's that we have a soft spot for them. We both are too afraid to let them rule themselves. Our intervening is what keeps the world running 'round. Now, you can join me and fight the good fight, or you can join the victimizers and be of no use to anyone."
*"By the balls." One way to put it.*
"Look. I think I've lived long enough. Death by my own hand is not an option, and neither is death to the state. So how about you let me know what I already think I know and then we work out a deal?"
"You don't have much time for deciding, Mr. Grey."
"It's a pretty big choice to make. Cut me some slack."
"You've got five minutes," said the stranger as she turned to her men.
"The perimeter has been secured, m'am."
"I told you; if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Less talking more thinking Mr. Grey."
"Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I'm kind of deciding what to do with the rest of my life."
"It sounds like you know what to do, you just don't want to do it. Are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then?"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Excellent choice, you won't regret it."
--- | The king and queen lie dead on the floor of the throne room. A tall man in tactical gear stood over them with a 9mm in hand. Others were dead also: guards, concubines, and servants. The dark of the night blackened every window. Others garbed in night Ops darkened corridors and hallways. Those dressed in black held their weapons and watched as the life-force of the slain flowed into the tall man.
"I trust you all have had your fill?" asked the man as he looked to the ceiling and let out a yell. His followers echoed this yell and the sound deepened their resolve!
"When I asked you to follow me three hundred years ago, would you have thought that we would control so much so quickly?" He turned to his army and walked to the throne dragging the kings body out of it and throwing it to the floor without a hint of respect or remorse. "I took the name Aries! and like me, you too became gods!" The room erupted with violent enthusiasm. He continued, "We have taken another kingdom, and tonight we celebrate! Hold nothing back and take everything!"
The room cleared loudly and only Lord Aries and his closest guards remained. One found some wine and they began to drink, when suddenly one of his men came from out of the great hall with a hostage who wore a black hood.
"Look what I found!" he said excitedly. "Its the executioner!" Lord Aries put down his glass and leaned forward intently. "I found him in the back room behind the kitchen."
"Do tell," said Aries. "Are you the executioner?" he addressed the hooded figure. He shook its hood in the negative first, then seemed to think on it for a moment, then nodded yes. Aries was a bit wary of this sort of answer and requested that the hood be removed. His man obliged and the revelation shocked everyone.
The executioner was a she. Her hair was brown and shoulder length. She wore thick glasses and her face was distinctly abnormal, but nonetheless female. The group looked to one another for answers to questions they had not asked. Finally Aries puncture the silence, "Can you talk? Are you the executioner?"
She seemed scared and nodded her head. Aries asked again, "Can you talk?" To which she nodded without saying anything. "What is your name," asked Aries cautiously. She looked around and scrunched up he face, and while scratching her face she said, "Ebelyn."
"Evelyn?" asked Aries, to which she nodded a yes. "Have you been here a long time, Evelyn?" she nodded in the affirmative. She began to look at the bodies on the floor. "Evelyn," she looked to Lord Aries, "have you killed people? Have you done things like this to people before?" She nodded then said, "I use da ax, an an it makes der head come off." Aries nodded and she continued, "P'wincess Patwissa said dat der head was bad an I can help take it off." Aries sat back in his new throne and he seemed very distraught.
"Was that Empress Hethora's daughter?"
Evelyn laughed and said, "No! Empress Heforwa didn't keep her babies. She was pregnet all da time."
"When was Princess Patricia in charge?"
"A long time a go." she said as she began to rock back in forth.
Lord Aries began to tear up and suddenly stood and turned his back to everyone and wiped his face. When he turned around he bent down and asked Evelyn if she would like to be his friend. She smiled a smile that was both innocent and possessed by the devil at the same time. Aries felt his body turn cold and he had trouble speaking afterwards. He stammered as he told his soldier to take her to a nice room, and once she was gone he collapsed on the throne and held his head in his hands, struggling to hold back his sobs. Once he felt composed enough, he addressed his men whom where with him.
"Be sure she never kills again! She has been an executioner for an unknown time. Empress Hethora's rule ended almost one thousand years ago--this girl is probably the oldest person on the planet. She reminds me of my sister. Back then mentally handicapped people were only verbally abused, but Evelyn..." he placed his hand over his eyes and turned his back to his men again. His sniffles were loud lamentations.
One of his soldiers spoke up, "We will protect her sire, she will be cared for as long as we live." Aries turned and wiped his eyes. "Thank you," he said. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I saw his lips move as he was telling me the reasoning behind the task. I wasn't paying attention, my eyes wandered the oddly shaped office. Oh how the times have changed. There used to be many of us around the world, we've gone under many names, my favourite one was executioner although that time has since passed. I've been known as anything from a viking to a hangman.
Where a life had to be taken there we were. Not everyone could do it and those of us who could, we were valued due to our knowledge and experience. If we took a life we'd absorb the remaining lifespan of the victim but again times changed. We were deemed outlaws and hunted. We had to work in the shadows. Assassins was another name given to us. During my lifetime I had seen empires rise and fall, cities being built from the first hut to enormous skylines, I had learned a hundred languages and to fight with any weapon possible. But not a lot mattered in today's society, most of us were in hiding. The younger ones entered the armies of countries for the chance to kill. Some would panic as their lifespan came towards an end and in their panic commit murders. They didn't last very long in the modern society, too many rules and rights, people cared so much nowadays if a life was taken, it didn't make it any easier for us.
"His name is Rile F. Daltho, do you know it?"
I snapped out of my thought pattern and looked at the man. He had dark skin and a serious face. Rile, I knew that name and many others the man had used. He had fought for the Persians once upon a time and for the Germans a few decades back. He was the one of very few with a lifespan as lengthy as mine but he wasn't patient. I had seen him fuel the words and materials needed to start wars just so he could fight. He'd cover up for himself and disappear afterwards.
"Yeah I know him, our paths have crossed once or twice, but this is no ordinary man."
"I know, but it must be done and that's why I've asked you in here,. You know what he's capable of and what he's doing."
There was a crisis going on in Europe and I had suspected that Rile might be behind this. He was the main reason of most “evil” things during the last century. Humanity had worked further and further away from the savagery and brutality that was in the olden days, making it hard for the like of me and Rile to progress our lifespan. I found alternative ways but he never had the patience. If a war broke out I would be able to join in and get a few years added but in wars there was always risks. I had become used to working in the shadows.
"And if I do this, will you grant me what I ask for?"
The man turned his back towards me and stared out the window. This was always the toughest moment for them. A life had to be taken to save thousands if not more, but it would also cost them. The man sighed before turning to me.
"You'll be put to permanently work with the abortions."
Even though most of us had been forgotten, there were still extremely strict background checks when working with abortions to prevent us from accessing all that lifespan, some places even banned abortions just to keep it under control.
"I'll find Rile, don't worry Mr. President"
I grinned as I saw the discomfort on the man's face before I turned and walked out the oval shaped room to find the man who could grant my access to immortality. | The king and queen lie dead on the floor of the throne room. A tall man in tactical gear stood over them with a 9mm in hand. Others were dead also: guards, concubines, and servants. The dark of the night blackened every window. Others garbed in night Ops darkened corridors and hallways. Those dressed in black held their weapons and watched as the life-force of the slain flowed into the tall man.
"I trust you all have had your fill?" asked the man as he looked to the ceiling and let out a yell. His followers echoed this yell and the sound deepened their resolve!
"When I asked you to follow me three hundred years ago, would you have thought that we would control so much so quickly?" He turned to his army and walked to the throne dragging the kings body out of it and throwing it to the floor without a hint of respect or remorse. "I took the name Aries! and like me, you too became gods!" The room erupted with violent enthusiasm. He continued, "We have taken another kingdom, and tonight we celebrate! Hold nothing back and take everything!"
The room cleared loudly and only Lord Aries and his closest guards remained. One found some wine and they began to drink, when suddenly one of his men came from out of the great hall with a hostage who wore a black hood.
"Look what I found!" he said excitedly. "Its the executioner!" Lord Aries put down his glass and leaned forward intently. "I found him in the back room behind the kitchen."
"Do tell," said Aries. "Are you the executioner?" he addressed the hooded figure. He shook its hood in the negative first, then seemed to think on it for a moment, then nodded yes. Aries was a bit wary of this sort of answer and requested that the hood be removed. His man obliged and the revelation shocked everyone.
The executioner was a she. Her hair was brown and shoulder length. She wore thick glasses and her face was distinctly abnormal, but nonetheless female. The group looked to one another for answers to questions they had not asked. Finally Aries puncture the silence, "Can you talk? Are you the executioner?"
She seemed scared and nodded her head. Aries asked again, "Can you talk?" To which she nodded without saying anything. "What is your name," asked Aries cautiously. She looked around and scrunched up he face, and while scratching her face she said, "Ebelyn."
"Evelyn?" asked Aries, to which she nodded a yes. "Have you been here a long time, Evelyn?" she nodded in the affirmative. She began to look at the bodies on the floor. "Evelyn," she looked to Lord Aries, "have you killed people? Have you done things like this to people before?" She nodded then said, "I use da ax, an an it makes der head come off." Aries nodded and she continued, "P'wincess Patwissa said dat der head was bad an I can help take it off." Aries sat back in his new throne and he seemed very distraught.
"Was that Empress Hethora's daughter?"
Evelyn laughed and said, "No! Empress Heforwa didn't keep her babies. She was pregnet all da time."
"When was Princess Patricia in charge?"
"A long time a go." she said as she began to rock back in forth.
Lord Aries began to tear up and suddenly stood and turned his back to everyone and wiped his face. When he turned around he bent down and asked Evelyn if she would like to be his friend. She smiled a smile that was both innocent and possessed by the devil at the same time. Aries felt his body turn cold and he had trouble speaking afterwards. He stammered as he told his soldier to take her to a nice room, and once she was gone he collapsed on the throne and held his head in his hands, struggling to hold back his sobs. Once he felt composed enough, he addressed his men whom where with him.
"Be sure she never kills again! She has been an executioner for an unknown time. Empress Hethora's rule ended almost one thousand years ago--this girl is probably the oldest person on the planet. She reminds me of my sister. Back then mentally handicapped people were only verbally abused, but Evelyn..." he placed his hand over his eyes and turned his back to his men again. His sniffles were loud lamentations.
One of his soldiers spoke up, "We will protect her sire, she will be cared for as long as we live." Aries turned and wiped his eyes. "Thank you," he said. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | I saw his lips move as he was telling me the reasoning behind the task. I wasn't paying attention, my eyes wandered the oddly shaped office. Oh how the times have changed. There used to be many of us around the world, we've gone under many names, my favourite one was executioner although that time has since passed. I've been known as anything from a viking to a hangman.
Where a life had to be taken there we were. Not everyone could do it and those of us who could, we were valued due to our knowledge and experience. If we took a life we'd absorb the remaining lifespan of the victim but again times changed. We were deemed outlaws and hunted. We had to work in the shadows. Assassins was another name given to us. During my lifetime I had seen empires rise and fall, cities being built from the first hut to enormous skylines, I had learned a hundred languages and to fight with any weapon possible. But not a lot mattered in today's society, most of us were in hiding. The younger ones entered the armies of countries for the chance to kill. Some would panic as their lifespan came towards an end and in their panic commit murders. They didn't last very long in the modern society, too many rules and rights, people cared so much nowadays if a life was taken, it didn't make it any easier for us.
"His name is Rile F. Daltho, do you know it?"
I snapped out of my thought pattern and looked at the man. He had dark skin and a serious face. Rile, I knew that name and many others the man had used. He had fought for the Persians once upon a time and for the Germans a few decades back. He was the one of very few with a lifespan as lengthy as mine but he wasn't patient. I had seen him fuel the words and materials needed to start wars just so he could fight. He'd cover up for himself and disappear afterwards.
"Yeah I know him, our paths have crossed once or twice, but this is no ordinary man."
"I know, but it must be done and that's why I've asked you in here,. You know what he's capable of and what he's doing."
There was a crisis going on in Europe and I had suspected that Rile might be behind this. He was the main reason of most “evil” things during the last century. Humanity had worked further and further away from the savagery and brutality that was in the olden days, making it hard for the like of me and Rile to progress our lifespan. I found alternative ways but he never had the patience. If a war broke out I would be able to join in and get a few years added but in wars there was always risks. I had become used to working in the shadows.
"And if I do this, will you grant me what I ask for?"
The man turned his back towards me and stared out the window. This was always the toughest moment for them. A life had to be taken to save thousands if not more, but it would also cost them. The man sighed before turning to me.
"You'll be put to permanently work with the abortions."
Even though most of us had been forgotten, there were still extremely strict background checks when working with abortions to prevent us from accessing all that lifespan, some places even banned abortions just to keep it under control.
"I'll find Rile, don't worry Mr. President"
I grinned as I saw the discomfort on the man's face before I turned and walked out the oval shaped room to find the man who could grant my access to immortality. | "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," lectured the preacher.
*And I'm the Angel of Death. Well.. I kinda am.. Only when I need to be.*
"and there was li-"
"There he is!" interrupted a man armed from head to toe as he breached the doors leading a squad full of men dressed in a similar fashion. The churchgoers were frightened but somehow managed to leave the building in a timely manner. It was just the man and the agents inside and around the church once the panic settled.
*That was quicker than I expected. Bravo.*
"Put your hands where we can see them and don't make any sudden movements!" shouted the officer. Kane did as he was told, yet this made the agents tense up even more.
"Why don't we just shoot him?!"
"I bet we walked right into a trap!!"
"If I wanted you all dead you'd be dead by now," Kane said calmly. The agents suddenly had an even more difficult time keeping together at this point. Kane stood from his chair, slowly, put his hands in the air and then behind his head and knelt down. He wasn't immortal, after all.
There was a deafening silence in the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally an engine was heard coming to a stop in front of the building. A door shuts. And footsteps.
*This is new. Sheriff? Head of the FBI? Maybe I'll be taken in as a secret agent. Just like the movies.*
The crowd of agents split as the mysterious person walked through them.
"Kane Grey. Or do you prefer Peter Fisher? Or Samson Armstrong? Whatever you go by now, you're probably the toughest person I've had the pleasure of tracking down; and I'm very skilled at my trade."
"You can call me whatever you like, it doesn't matter much anyway. You don't sound like a one of the feds and they did't look like government agents. You a bounty hunter? Vigilante? Tony Stark?"
"Not quite. I am affiliated with the government, yes. However, I don't play by their rules. You could say I have them, 'by the balls'."
Kane chuckled. He knew now.
"So I guess you're the yin to my yang then, huh? Does that make me the bad guy?"
"I don't think you're a bad guy, no. You're far from that. I've seen your victims. They were all victimizers. Victimizers who were given second chances and didn't right their wrongs. This is precisely why I've come to you."
"You here to give me some sort of medal or something? Do you want me to join you in your quest to off the baddies? Come on man, can't you see I found Jesus and shit. I'm a new person, I don't do that anymore," Kane taunted.
"I find that hard to believe. We both share something similar, Kane. It's that we have a soft spot for them. We both are too afraid to let them rule themselves. Our intervening is what keeps the world running 'round. Now, you can join me and fight the good fight, or you can join the victimizers and be of no use to anyone."
*"By the balls." One way to put it.*
"Look. I think I've lived long enough. Death by my own hand is not an option, and neither is death to the state. So how about you let me know what I already think I know and then we work out a deal?"
"You don't have much time for deciding, Mr. Grey."
"It's a pretty big choice to make. Cut me some slack."
"You've got five minutes," said the stranger as she turned to her men.
"The perimeter has been secured, m'am."
"I told you; if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Less talking more thinking Mr. Grey."
"Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I'm kind of deciding what to do with the rest of my life."
"It sounds like you know what to do, you just don't want to do it. Are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then?"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Excellent choice, you won't regret it."
--- |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | The people ambulated about in the moonlit street. I gazed upon them from above, processing the late-night folk of the city. Tonight was like any other; I had my orders, and would carry them out to the letter. That's what I kept telling myself anyway. I have brought empires to their knees, served as the bodyguard of scores of nobles and dozens of emperors; I have slain countless people from all walks of life, absorbing them, gaining all they had: memories, skills, and most importantly, years. With every kill I feel a certain rejuvenation as my existence is extended another seventy years. At the same time I feel a thousand years older; a lifetime's worth of baggage, dumped into my encumbered mind. While I possess unmatched skill and intellect, the ages have jaded me.
The cool night wind gusted, and I nearly lost my balance. I steadied myself upon my perch on the edge of the rooftop, returning my focus to the streets below. I often find my mind wandering, struggling to process a thousand lifetimes of data.
My eye was caught by a woman exiting a storefront. She wore a bright red dress with a matching brimmed hat. From the rooftop I could just make out the black roses garnishing her headpiece. No need to check the photograph in my pocket to know this is the target. I'd recognize her anywhere. I took a breath and exhaled heavily; a deep sign that echoed from my soul. Usually I don't have a problem taking the life of another, but this night was different.
I turned and darted along the rooftop, moving parallel to my target who strode swiftly on the street below. Thousands of years of practice have rendered me a virtually undetectable assassin, the deadliest force on Earth. With swiftness of foot and flash of dagger, I tend to conduct my business and flee before anyone is made aware of my presence.
My target paused at the opening of a narrow alley, looking around with a look of paranoia before entering the alley. Gracefully I dropped from the rooftop and landed 20 feet in front of her. Our eyes locked in the dark haze. Her lips moved, and the words that followed echoed their way to my ears. "Lord Executor."
I'd contemplated this moment for days; an eternity for a killer like me. Every moment of this encounter had been meticulously laid out in my mind, from the words I'd say to the way I'd shut off whatever was left of my emotions.
"Miss..." I choked. What the hell? I tried again. "Miss Je-..." Again, my voice caught in my throat. My vision blurred, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. Thankfully my mask concealed this slip. I skipped the name and began reciting the Executioners Ultimatum.
"You have committed capital crimes against the State and its Regents. Have you anything to say for yourself?" My voice cracked twice...
"Enok." It was barely a whisper. The hair on my neck stood on end.
"What?" I stuttered the inquiry but she just stood silent, those green eyes piercing my soul in the dark. I repeated my question, this time stronger. She repeated the answer, the word echoing in my hollow heart. Enok. That's a name I hadn't heard in literal ages. "What... how?"
"It's OK Enok. I know what you're here to do. But you can come home now." The Lady in Red took a step towards me. My vision faded, the sound of rushing blood filling my ears. For a moment I was transported back in time. The ashes of my childhood home smoldered in front of me. In my arms laid the body of... my mother? Embedded in her neck was a blade. Pulling it out and grasping its handle, I vowed my revenge. That same blade hung about my waist from that day forward, waiting until it found its home in its maker's heart.
The blade was in my hand. In just a few paces I spanned the distance between me and the Lady in Red. "You know what you have to do." She winced, the razor edge of the ancient weapon pressed against her windpipe. A fire burned in my eyes. Of the thousands of memories in my head, the only one belonging to myself had finally emerged. Millennia of searching for vengeance and I had finally found the perpetrator of my pain. My ancient weapon, the Arbiter, finally sunk into the heart of its foe, spilling the ancient blood of its destined enemy. The cold stillness of the death I had so often inflicted took the place of my warm blood. My sigh was that of a thousand and one last breaths.
___
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! It's been a while since I've written anything but I thought it'd be fun to start working on my creative writing again, feedback is much appreciated! | This wasn't the life I would have chosen to lead, but it's the one that was chosen for me. Some of you have probably heard of me, but for those that haven't know that I'm not a good person. My brother wasn't a good person either, but it seems I proved myself the worse man when I caved his skull in. That's a long ways behind me now though, and I'm eager to share my story before I finally pass on.
Abel had always been seen as righteous by history, but I know the truth. Abel was no good, and if I hadn't made the first move then I could very well have been the one in the dirt. I'd seen his journal and I knew he planned to kill me. I simply did what needed to be done. I never expected anyone to come after me for it.
I guess you could call it God, the thing I spoke to. It was nothing holy, I felt as if I was talking to an embodiment of pure fury. In my cowardice, I lied about my involvement in the murder. He saw right through me, and was quick to punish me. My body was cursed with an unholy mark he placed upon my face. As for my soul, my curse was to live Abel's life, as well as my own, miserable until the end.
I lived for around 50 years as an exile after killing Abel and I hated God every second for his curse. I welcomed death, I waited for it. Maybe then I'd have another chance to get even with the bastard. It was only when I was unable to wait any more and was about to end it myself, that Death found me. He didn't come in the form I expected, instead he rode a horse and came dressed in rich blue robes. He spoke to me of a place where I would be welcome, and where I could be helpful. He called himself Erilon, and for some reason, I trusted him. I decided to leave, and rode with him for what seemed like months, until we arrived at a lush river valley.
For two decades we worked building homes and farm land. We sent messengers to look for people, and tell them of this place where they can be together. Mesopotamia, we called it, and it was great. Eventually, as tends to happen to great things, a darker side started to emerge. Murders. My crime. Happening in my city. I spoke with Erilon and he agreed, something had to be done about the murderers. I decide to look for them, and to be executioner of Mesopotamia, to put a stop to their killings for good. After a total of 34 executions, crime in Mesopotamia was almost nonexistent. Things were great, and I was eager to see how far Mesopotamia would come while I was alive to see it. I felt I had beaten God at his own game.
It was around 150 years later that I realized something might be strange...
Part 2 coming soon. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | It was a young girl this time. Pretty thing. She had fiery red hair. Couldn't be a day past fifteen.
"Julia!" A man cried out from the crowd, his voice a shattered scream. A pair of guards grappled his flailing limbs as he struggled in vain to reach his daughter.
"Papa! Save me!" The poor lass looked up and her bloodshot eyes met my gaze. She mouthed a silent plea, begging me to spare her. As if I had a choice. "I don't want to die." She whimpered. "I don't want to die."
"Please! Have mercy, Your Majesty!" The old man cried. "She's my only child! Don't do this!" He called to me. Desperation rang loud in his voice. I took pity on the old man. I'd have to be a monster not to.
The crowd clamored with apprehension. A handful of villagers pleaded for the girls life alongside her father.
"SILENCE!" King Vladimir roared. "She dared question my authority!" The sovereign stepped down from his destrier and raised the man's head to his face by the scalp of the peasant's head. "She is to be made an example of. No one is to dare defy my rule! Executioner!"
With reluctance I unsheathed my claymore as a guard kicked the girl's knees in. She hit the ground, and he thrust her head onto the blood soaked chopping block. She was screaming now as tears ran down her face in streams. "Please! I take it back! Have mercy, Your Majesty! I didn't mean a word of it! Have mercy! I don't want to die!"
The king snapped his fingers, and I raised the sword high above my head. Her wailing sobs stirred my heart. The whole village looked on in trepidation. Her father cried out her name, and the girl shrieked as the blade came crashing down upon her. It's a secret, I'm not fond to admit, but I never did get used to this part. In an instance her screams gave way to an abrupt silence, and not a soul in the village breathed a word. Her head rolled into the mud with a soft thud as her father fell to his knees.
King Valdimir smiled, satisfied. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Speak out against the crown and you will suffer the same fate."
With that we left the little hamlet and continued on our way to the capitol. Behind us I could hear the mournful bales of the girl's father as he clutched her in his arms. A handful more lamented in the ground beside him. Her family most likely. With a scarlet rag I wiped away the girl's blood from my blade. The cloth had been white as snow not a week ago.
I pushed away the terrified face of Julia to the back of my mind along with the countless hundreds before her. I had hoped that over the course of centuries I might forget those expressions of horror. There were nobles who bore a steely resolve. Men resigned to their fate. Women who silently waited for it all to end. But the ones who screamed, the ones who begged for their lives until their dying breath, those were the ones that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I still remember a boy, just shy of ten. It was rare. Children are always rare. This one had spit on King Vladimir's grandfather in his time. The way he cried for his mother as the men held him down. I still visit his grave when I get the chance. His name was Eric.
"Your Majesty, perhaps it would be wise to stay your hand a while. The people are growing restless." A noble said at the head of the party.
"Do you dare question the wisdom of the crown?" King glared down his courtier, and I reached for the haft of my sword.
"No, of course not, Your Majesty." The noble stammered. "I would never dream of it."
The monarch's gaze lingered for a moment, and I watched the man quiver like a babe. "Very well." The king said.
And we continued on our way. | This wasn't the life I would have chosen to lead, but it's the one that was chosen for me. Some of you have probably heard of me, but for those that haven't know that I'm not a good person. My brother wasn't a good person either, but it seems I proved myself the worse man when I caved his skull in. That's a long ways behind me now though, and I'm eager to share my story before I finally pass on.
Abel had always been seen as righteous by history, but I know the truth. Abel was no good, and if I hadn't made the first move then I could very well have been the one in the dirt. I'd seen his journal and I knew he planned to kill me. I simply did what needed to be done. I never expected anyone to come after me for it.
I guess you could call it God, the thing I spoke to. It was nothing holy, I felt as if I was talking to an embodiment of pure fury. In my cowardice, I lied about my involvement in the murder. He saw right through me, and was quick to punish me. My body was cursed with an unholy mark he placed upon my face. As for my soul, my curse was to live Abel's life, as well as my own, miserable until the end.
I lived for around 50 years as an exile after killing Abel and I hated God every second for his curse. I welcomed death, I waited for it. Maybe then I'd have another chance to get even with the bastard. It was only when I was unable to wait any more and was about to end it myself, that Death found me. He didn't come in the form I expected, instead he rode a horse and came dressed in rich blue robes. He spoke to me of a place where I would be welcome, and where I could be helpful. He called himself Erilon, and for some reason, I trusted him. I decided to leave, and rode with him for what seemed like months, until we arrived at a lush river valley.
For two decades we worked building homes and farm land. We sent messengers to look for people, and tell them of this place where they can be together. Mesopotamia, we called it, and it was great. Eventually, as tends to happen to great things, a darker side started to emerge. Murders. My crime. Happening in my city. I spoke with Erilon and he agreed, something had to be done about the murderers. I decide to look for them, and to be executioner of Mesopotamia, to put a stop to their killings for good. After a total of 34 executions, crime in Mesopotamia was almost nonexistent. Things were great, and I was eager to see how far Mesopotamia would come while I was alive to see it. I felt I had beaten God at his own game.
It was around 150 years later that I realized something might be strange...
Part 2 coming soon. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | To all those reading this, whether this is your first read, or you're rereading, please know that I've created a subreddit specifically for this story. It has grown beyond what I could possible expect, and you can find it at /r/TheNamelessMan/!
***
Emperor Xen So waved a wrinkled hand from the podium he stood behind, and Executioner Jin cut someone's head clean from their shoulders.
The man had been a killer. Murdered three children in cold blood. His name was Wei and he had been trying to find immortality. But now his head was rolling across the floor. *I guess it didn't turn out so well for him.* The executioner gripped the severed head by its hair, and turned it to face the Emperor.
The man smiled, thinking he'd suddenly gained hundreds of years of life. But in truth, Jin could something emanating from the body, and drifting to himself. His head felt lighter, and he fought the urge to sway on his feet. It was an unpleasant business, but he'd rather take Wei's life than let anyone else have it. The Emperor smiled at himself. Little did he know, the power didn't come to who the head faced, but who had removed it.
The elderly Emperor Xen So bowed and gave a single clap. The massive crowds that had attended the execution slowly dispersed, disappointed looks on their faces. *They all hoped for a slice of the man's essence.* Jin shook his head at the scene. If they knew the truth of it, what it really meant to take an essence, the crowd would be nonexistent.
Executioner Jin rested his halberd on a wall and watched the people leave. He could hear faint murmurs of conversation. Being alive so long, his senses were well above anyone else's.
"...Felt it. I really did!" He heard a child exclaim to his mother.
"I think I did too." She replied, slowly.
"How much do you think we got? A year?" He tugged on the sleeve of her dress.
The woman shrugged. "Oh I don't know. It didn't feel like too much. Perhaps a few months." The child nodded at the answer, somewhat satisfied.
Jin sighed and turned back to the stage he was on. Servants were arriving to clean the area and remove Wei's body.
A girl, one Ni Xo, appeared and began to inspect the deceased. "Do you think that he has any..." she gestured vaguely. "Left?"
Jin forced a weak smile. His head still felt light. "I couldn't say for sure." He lied. The words came to him slowly, like thinking through a vat of molasses. The girl smiled and began prodding at the body. "You'd do well to stop fingering it." He called. Ni Xo looked up, blushing.
"Right... sorry." She muttered. The servant stood and went with the others, to clean up the stage.
He watched them for a few moments, until the crowds had fully left the place. Jin nodded to himself and collected his halberd. He needed rest.
His chambers were modest, and yet their position in the palace made them worth more money than any man could possibly own. It held a bed, dresser and a trunk full of personal effects. Pieces from past lives that he had lived. For each ruler he served, for each job he held, each name he wore, Jin would take something to remember it by. He still hadn't anything for the life he was living now. The token usually came at the beginning of a life or at the end.
Jin rested by the foot of his bed. His mind had cleared up now, his thoughts came quick and properly formed. It had taken the better part of two hours for it to do so, though. That meant... what? Three hundred and fifty years taken? *No, closer to three hundred, I think.* There was a time, many many years ago, when Jin had dedicated a life to figuring out how it all worked. Back then he had been called Marrow, and he had worked under a king in the east. Marrow had spent a considerable amount of time on research, but never truly understood it all.
He figured that his time as 'Jin the Executioner' was coming to a close. Emperor Xen So was old and of the false belief that he would live for a millennium. He ate poorly and drank like a normal man took in air. His skin was flabby and wrinkled. Telling signs that he hadn't taken in any essence. Jin was no physician, but he gave the man less than a year until he died.
"And that's when it will all fall apart." Jin mused. They'd realise that their emperor had been cheated, and they'd come to kill him. They'd fail, and Jin would leave to find some other half-wit leader to serve under. He looked to his trunk, across the room. "How many kings, emperors, masters and gods has it been?" Jin asked himself. "Perhaps one day, put all I've learnt from them to use." *Perhaps.*
He slept little that night, for he knew something was wrong.
Come morning, he heard cries from outside his room, and the rush of several footsteps. Jin rose and collected his halberd. Any minute now, they'd come barging in. The captain of the guards, the royal advisor, the heir, or whoever the hell else thought they'd been cheated.
Jin stood by the door waiting. Listening through the doors he heard muffles of conversations. Words like "succession," "immortality," and "essence," were thrown around a lot.
A time later, there came a knock on his door.
"Enter." Jin called.
The door creaked open. In the hall stood four men, almost all were armored from head to toe. The one in the centre, the captain did not wear a helm. He pointed a finger at the executioner.
"See how he carries his weapon? He knows what has happened and knows that he his guilty." The man said. His men grunted in agreement.
Jin clutched his halberd tightly. "So, Emperor Xen So has died?"
Some of the men nodded. The captain narrowed his eyes.
"Know that it was not my fault, but Xen So himself's." Jin started, "You men would be wise to walk away and let me leave. You'd never see me again."
The captain shook his head, and drew his sword. "You shall befall the same fate that you dolled out to so many others."
Jin rolled his eyes and lowered his halberd. The captain advanced on Jin, with a slash of his sword. The executioner backed further into his tiny room. He parried the captain's blows, though they came hard and strong.
Jin pulled away, and returned his attacks. He brought his weapon's blade high over his head and sent it down. The captain ducked out of the way, letting the halberd crash into the carpet. Another guard entered the room. Jin turned his focus to the new man. He was on him before the man could react. Jin cut through the guard's plate mail with an upwards slash, removing his left arm completely. The guard cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his stump. The executioner kicked him to floor, but did not kill the man.
He felt something pierce his loose robes, and looked down to find a sword embedded in his stomach. Jin grunted and stepped back, allowing the blade to slip free. The captain smiled as the sword came out, spraying blood on his robes, and slashed at Jin's head. Jin raised an arm to block the blow. The sword caught deep in his forearm, stopping only at the bone. The bleeding at his waist had subsided.
The captain's smile faded as he struggled to wrench the blade loose. Jin, with his free hand, drove the point of his halberd deep into the captain's gut. He pushed him back against the wall, and threw his weight into the blow. There was a *crunch* as the tip of the halberd pierced armour, leather and then intestines. Jin pulled his weapon free, and in one smooth motion spun around and sunk the blade into the neck of an advancing guard.
The poor man tried to staunch the bleeding as he dropped, gurgling. Jin ripped the captain's sword from his arm, and watched as the wound slowly healed itself. The bone grew back, whilst muscle and skin re-knit itself around the wound. *There goes one hundred years.*
Jin raised his head to see that the last guard had left. He spat on the floor at the betrayal, though it worked to his advantage. Then, looking to the captain he knelt down to meet his eyes.
"What... are you?" The man stammered, through coughs of blood.
Jin gripped at an eagle--the symbol of Xen So--pinned to the man's chest and ripped it free. His token. "I am no one." He said. | This wasn't the life I would have chosen to lead, but it's the one that was chosen for me. Some of you have probably heard of me, but for those that haven't know that I'm not a good person. My brother wasn't a good person either, but it seems I proved myself the worse man when I caved his skull in. That's a long ways behind me now though, and I'm eager to share my story before I finally pass on.
Abel had always been seen as righteous by history, but I know the truth. Abel was no good, and if I hadn't made the first move then I could very well have been the one in the dirt. I'd seen his journal and I knew he planned to kill me. I simply did what needed to be done. I never expected anyone to come after me for it.
I guess you could call it God, the thing I spoke to. It was nothing holy, I felt as if I was talking to an embodiment of pure fury. In my cowardice, I lied about my involvement in the murder. He saw right through me, and was quick to punish me. My body was cursed with an unholy mark he placed upon my face. As for my soul, my curse was to live Abel's life, as well as my own, miserable until the end.
I lived for around 50 years as an exile after killing Abel and I hated God every second for his curse. I welcomed death, I waited for it. Maybe then I'd have another chance to get even with the bastard. It was only when I was unable to wait any more and was about to end it myself, that Death found me. He didn't come in the form I expected, instead he rode a horse and came dressed in rich blue robes. He spoke to me of a place where I would be welcome, and where I could be helpful. He called himself Erilon, and for some reason, I trusted him. I decided to leave, and rode with him for what seemed like months, until we arrived at a lush river valley.
For two decades we worked building homes and farm land. We sent messengers to look for people, and tell them of this place where they can be together. Mesopotamia, we called it, and it was great. Eventually, as tends to happen to great things, a darker side started to emerge. Murders. My crime. Happening in my city. I spoke with Erilon and he agreed, something had to be done about the murderers. I decide to look for them, and to be executioner of Mesopotamia, to put a stop to their killings for good. After a total of 34 executions, crime in Mesopotamia was almost nonexistent. Things were great, and I was eager to see how far Mesopotamia would come while I was alive to see it. I felt I had beaten God at his own game.
It was around 150 years later that I realized something might be strange...
Part 2 coming soon. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | It was a young girl this time. Pretty thing. She had fiery red hair. Couldn't be a day past fifteen.
"Julia!" A man cried out from the crowd, his voice a shattered scream. A pair of guards grappled his flailing limbs as he struggled in vain to reach his daughter.
"Papa! Save me!" The poor lass looked up and her bloodshot eyes met my gaze. She mouthed a silent plea, begging me to spare her. As if I had a choice. "I don't want to die." She whimpered. "I don't want to die."
"Please! Have mercy, Your Majesty!" The old man cried. "She's my only child! Don't do this!" He called to me. Desperation rang loud in his voice. I took pity on the old man. I'd have to be a monster not to.
The crowd clamored with apprehension. A handful of villagers pleaded for the girls life alongside her father.
"SILENCE!" King Vladimir roared. "She dared question my authority!" The sovereign stepped down from his destrier and raised the man's head to his face by the scalp of the peasant's head. "She is to be made an example of. No one is to dare defy my rule! Executioner!"
With reluctance I unsheathed my claymore as a guard kicked the girl's knees in. She hit the ground, and he thrust her head onto the blood soaked chopping block. She was screaming now as tears ran down her face in streams. "Please! I take it back! Have mercy, Your Majesty! I didn't mean a word of it! Have mercy! I don't want to die!"
The king snapped his fingers, and I raised the sword high above my head. Her wailing sobs stirred my heart. The whole village looked on in trepidation. Her father cried out her name, and the girl shrieked as the blade came crashing down upon her. It's a secret, I'm not fond to admit, but I never did get used to this part. In an instance her screams gave way to an abrupt silence, and not a soul in the village breathed a word. Her head rolled into the mud with a soft thud as her father fell to his knees.
King Valdimir smiled, satisfied. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Speak out against the crown and you will suffer the same fate."
With that we left the little hamlet and continued on our way to the capitol. Behind us I could hear the mournful bales of the girl's father as he clutched her in his arms. A handful more lamented in the ground beside him. Her family most likely. With a scarlet rag I wiped away the girl's blood from my blade. The cloth had been white as snow not a week ago.
I pushed away the terrified face of Julia to the back of my mind along with the countless hundreds before her. I had hoped that over the course of centuries I might forget those expressions of horror. There were nobles who bore a steely resolve. Men resigned to their fate. Women who silently waited for it all to end. But the ones who screamed, the ones who begged for their lives until their dying breath, those were the ones that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I still remember a boy, just shy of ten. It was rare. Children are always rare. This one had spit on King Vladimir's grandfather in his time. The way he cried for his mother as the men held him down. I still visit his grave when I get the chance. His name was Eric.
"Your Majesty, perhaps it would be wise to stay your hand a while. The people are growing restless." A noble said at the head of the party.
"Do you dare question the wisdom of the crown?" King glared down his courtier, and I reached for the haft of my sword.
"No, of course not, Your Majesty." The noble stammered. "I would never dream of it."
The monarch's gaze lingered for a moment, and I watched the man quiver like a babe. "Very well." The king said.
And we continued on our way. | When I was a boy, my father told me of the executioners, the great immortal heroes of the past. He spun complex tales of intrigue and adventure, of the great deeds some performed, and of the decimation that others wrought upon the world. The battles for kingdoms that were waged, the men who trained for hundreds of years on end, who had mastered every weapon imaginable.
As far back as I can remember, I desired to be one of these men. I wanted nothing more than to serve my king. I dreamed of combat, of the honors of the blood, of becoming legend like these men had.
Now, I am the most ancient of my kind, the last of the old executioners. I've witnessed the rise and the fall of kingdoms, the development of democracy from a rampant mob into great empires run by their subjects, and with that, the rise of the common ruler. Now days, instead of battling for glory and honor, I am little more than an ax-man.
I now serve the Grand Minister Arnold Greer, elected by popular vote, ruler of the largest empire this world has ever seen. Under his command, I have traveled far and wide, eliminating the heretical, the traitorous, the undesired, those who pose a threat to his power. In his name, I have committed great atrocities. I have slaughtered towns in order to weed out one spy, I have burned innocents to reveal the heretics, and I have murdered children in their beds.
In my 4,782 years of life, I have never questioned my purpose. I am an executioner, sworn to my country. But now, I'm begun to wonder what I've become. Once, I met my enemies, the challengers to the throne, on a battlefield. We dueled with swords, axes, and fists. There were never guarantees of success, there was always a possibility of death, there was always honor in the act of defending my homeland. Those days have long past.
Now, what cannot be settled by clever politics is solved by slaughter. I ceased to count the years afforded me by my executions: they are well into the tens of thousands. I have killed so many now that I could not have counted. Where is the dignity in this, where is the honor afforded to the enemy, where is the once great man I was. Or was I ever that man?
The Grand Minister has revealed himself to me. I have his trust. He has told me of the "impure" that he seeks to cleanse. He has regaled me with his own perverse version of history. Events that I had a hand in and that I witnessed now have secret meanings, dark overlords that work beyond perception to destabilize the world for eventual rule. I fear that he has lost his mind.
What is even more disturbing, however, are his secret attempts to resurrect the ancient heroes. Men who lived and died millennium before my life, the storied ones that were said to wield the strength and stamina of those they killed as well as their stolen years. I know this can be done. I have witnessed one such attempt. I executed the abomination that resulted from the dark magic.
Now I plot to murder the one I swore my life to. What choice have I been afforded? What is it if I die, or if the people hate me for my acts. I will either outlive them, and their grand children's grandchildren, or I will die in a foolhardy attempt at absolution. I pray to my old forgotten God that I will achieve my goals, yet I fear what would result from my success. Would I take the throne? Would I allow another to take his place? Would I send the kingdom into years of war and death in an attempt to avoid this madman's plot?
I must try though. If I have not tried, then I have already failed. |
Just seemed like an interesting concept. | [WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years. | To all those reading this, whether this is your first read, or you're rereading, please know that I've created a subreddit specifically for this story. It has grown beyond what I could possible expect, and you can find it at /r/TheNamelessMan/!
***
Emperor Xen So waved a wrinkled hand from the podium he stood behind, and Executioner Jin cut someone's head clean from their shoulders.
The man had been a killer. Murdered three children in cold blood. His name was Wei and he had been trying to find immortality. But now his head was rolling across the floor. *I guess it didn't turn out so well for him.* The executioner gripped the severed head by its hair, and turned it to face the Emperor.
The man smiled, thinking he'd suddenly gained hundreds of years of life. But in truth, Jin could something emanating from the body, and drifting to himself. His head felt lighter, and he fought the urge to sway on his feet. It was an unpleasant business, but he'd rather take Wei's life than let anyone else have it. The Emperor smiled at himself. Little did he know, the power didn't come to who the head faced, but who had removed it.
The elderly Emperor Xen So bowed and gave a single clap. The massive crowds that had attended the execution slowly dispersed, disappointed looks on their faces. *They all hoped for a slice of the man's essence.* Jin shook his head at the scene. If they knew the truth of it, what it really meant to take an essence, the crowd would be nonexistent.
Executioner Jin rested his halberd on a wall and watched the people leave. He could hear faint murmurs of conversation. Being alive so long, his senses were well above anyone else's.
"...Felt it. I really did!" He heard a child exclaim to his mother.
"I think I did too." She replied, slowly.
"How much do you think we got? A year?" He tugged on the sleeve of her dress.
The woman shrugged. "Oh I don't know. It didn't feel like too much. Perhaps a few months." The child nodded at the answer, somewhat satisfied.
Jin sighed and turned back to the stage he was on. Servants were arriving to clean the area and remove Wei's body.
A girl, one Ni Xo, appeared and began to inspect the deceased. "Do you think that he has any..." she gestured vaguely. "Left?"
Jin forced a weak smile. His head still felt light. "I couldn't say for sure." He lied. The words came to him slowly, like thinking through a vat of molasses. The girl smiled and began prodding at the body. "You'd do well to stop fingering it." He called. Ni Xo looked up, blushing.
"Right... sorry." She muttered. The servant stood and went with the others, to clean up the stage.
He watched them for a few moments, until the crowds had fully left the place. Jin nodded to himself and collected his halberd. He needed rest.
His chambers were modest, and yet their position in the palace made them worth more money than any man could possibly own. It held a bed, dresser and a trunk full of personal effects. Pieces from past lives that he had lived. For each ruler he served, for each job he held, each name he wore, Jin would take something to remember it by. He still hadn't anything for the life he was living now. The token usually came at the beginning of a life or at the end.
Jin rested by the foot of his bed. His mind had cleared up now, his thoughts came quick and properly formed. It had taken the better part of two hours for it to do so, though. That meant... what? Three hundred and fifty years taken? *No, closer to three hundred, I think.* There was a time, many many years ago, when Jin had dedicated a life to figuring out how it all worked. Back then he had been called Marrow, and he had worked under a king in the east. Marrow had spent a considerable amount of time on research, but never truly understood it all.
He figured that his time as 'Jin the Executioner' was coming to a close. Emperor Xen So was old and of the false belief that he would live for a millennium. He ate poorly and drank like a normal man took in air. His skin was flabby and wrinkled. Telling signs that he hadn't taken in any essence. Jin was no physician, but he gave the man less than a year until he died.
"And that's when it will all fall apart." Jin mused. They'd realise that their emperor had been cheated, and they'd come to kill him. They'd fail, and Jin would leave to find some other half-wit leader to serve under. He looked to his trunk, across the room. "How many kings, emperors, masters and gods has it been?" Jin asked himself. "Perhaps one day, put all I've learnt from them to use." *Perhaps.*
He slept little that night, for he knew something was wrong.
Come morning, he heard cries from outside his room, and the rush of several footsteps. Jin rose and collected his halberd. Any minute now, they'd come barging in. The captain of the guards, the royal advisor, the heir, or whoever the hell else thought they'd been cheated.
Jin stood by the door waiting. Listening through the doors he heard muffles of conversations. Words like "succession," "immortality," and "essence," were thrown around a lot.
A time later, there came a knock on his door.
"Enter." Jin called.
The door creaked open. In the hall stood four men, almost all were armored from head to toe. The one in the centre, the captain did not wear a helm. He pointed a finger at the executioner.
"See how he carries his weapon? He knows what has happened and knows that he his guilty." The man said. His men grunted in agreement.
Jin clutched his halberd tightly. "So, Emperor Xen So has died?"
Some of the men nodded. The captain narrowed his eyes.
"Know that it was not my fault, but Xen So himself's." Jin started, "You men would be wise to walk away and let me leave. You'd never see me again."
The captain shook his head, and drew his sword. "You shall befall the same fate that you dolled out to so many others."
Jin rolled his eyes and lowered his halberd. The captain advanced on Jin, with a slash of his sword. The executioner backed further into his tiny room. He parried the captain's blows, though they came hard and strong.
Jin pulled away, and returned his attacks. He brought his weapon's blade high over his head and sent it down. The captain ducked out of the way, letting the halberd crash into the carpet. Another guard entered the room. Jin turned his focus to the new man. He was on him before the man could react. Jin cut through the guard's plate mail with an upwards slash, removing his left arm completely. The guard cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his stump. The executioner kicked him to floor, but did not kill the man.
He felt something pierce his loose robes, and looked down to find a sword embedded in his stomach. Jin grunted and stepped back, allowing the blade to slip free. The captain smiled as the sword came out, spraying blood on his robes, and slashed at Jin's head. Jin raised an arm to block the blow. The sword caught deep in his forearm, stopping only at the bone. The bleeding at his waist had subsided.
The captain's smile faded as he struggled to wrench the blade loose. Jin, with his free hand, drove the point of his halberd deep into the captain's gut. He pushed him back against the wall, and threw his weight into the blow. There was a *crunch* as the tip of the halberd pierced armour, leather and then intestines. Jin pulled his weapon free, and in one smooth motion spun around and sunk the blade into the neck of an advancing guard.
The poor man tried to staunch the bleeding as he dropped, gurgling. Jin ripped the captain's sword from his arm, and watched as the wound slowly healed itself. The bone grew back, whilst muscle and skin re-knit itself around the wound. *There goes one hundred years.*
Jin raised his head to see that the last guard had left. He spat on the floor at the betrayal, though it worked to his advantage. Then, looking to the captain he knelt down to meet his eyes.
"What... are you?" The man stammered, through coughs of blood.
Jin gripped at an eagle--the symbol of Xen So--pinned to the man's chest and ripped it free. His token. "I am no one." He said. | When I was a boy, my father told me of the executioners, the great immortal heroes of the past. He spun complex tales of intrigue and adventure, of the great deeds some performed, and of the decimation that others wrought upon the world. The battles for kingdoms that were waged, the men who trained for hundreds of years on end, who had mastered every weapon imaginable.
As far back as I can remember, I desired to be one of these men. I wanted nothing more than to serve my king. I dreamed of combat, of the honors of the blood, of becoming legend like these men had.
Now, I am the most ancient of my kind, the last of the old executioners. I've witnessed the rise and the fall of kingdoms, the development of democracy from a rampant mob into great empires run by their subjects, and with that, the rise of the common ruler. Now days, instead of battling for glory and honor, I am little more than an ax-man.
I now serve the Grand Minister Arnold Greer, elected by popular vote, ruler of the largest empire this world has ever seen. Under his command, I have traveled far and wide, eliminating the heretical, the traitorous, the undesired, those who pose a threat to his power. In his name, I have committed great atrocities. I have slaughtered towns in order to weed out one spy, I have burned innocents to reveal the heretics, and I have murdered children in their beds.
In my 4,782 years of life, I have never questioned my purpose. I am an executioner, sworn to my country. But now, I'm begun to wonder what I've become. Once, I met my enemies, the challengers to the throne, on a battlefield. We dueled with swords, axes, and fists. There were never guarantees of success, there was always a possibility of death, there was always honor in the act of defending my homeland. Those days have long past.
Now, what cannot be settled by clever politics is solved by slaughter. I ceased to count the years afforded me by my executions: they are well into the tens of thousands. I have killed so many now that I could not have counted. Where is the dignity in this, where is the honor afforded to the enemy, where is the once great man I was. Or was I ever that man?
The Grand Minister has revealed himself to me. I have his trust. He has told me of the "impure" that he seeks to cleanse. He has regaled me with his own perverse version of history. Events that I had a hand in and that I witnessed now have secret meanings, dark overlords that work beyond perception to destabilize the world for eventual rule. I fear that he has lost his mind.
What is even more disturbing, however, are his secret attempts to resurrect the ancient heroes. Men who lived and died millennium before my life, the storied ones that were said to wield the strength and stamina of those they killed as well as their stolen years. I know this can be done. I have witnessed one such attempt. I executed the abomination that resulted from the dark magic.
Now I plot to murder the one I swore my life to. What choice have I been afforded? What is it if I die, or if the people hate me for my acts. I will either outlive them, and their grand children's grandchildren, or I will die in a foolhardy attempt at absolution. I pray to my old forgotten God that I will achieve my goals, yet I fear what would result from my success. Would I take the throne? Would I allow another to take his place? Would I send the kingdom into years of war and death in an attempt to avoid this madman's plot?
I must try though. If I have not tried, then I have already failed. |
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | He wanted to hurt the kid. Not bad or anything, but just the look on his face was enough to make this timeless genie hate him and the parents that bore him. But what could he possibly do about a fucking door?
"I wish my bedroom door would stop creaking at night."
These words actually tumbled from the frumpy eleven year olds mouth. Already the genie could feel his iron wrist cuffs tightening around skin. They mocked his hopeless situation, his enslavement for eternity to a lamp, forced to grant everyone else's wishes. Knowing that over the years each one never thought of anything but their own happiness. They never wished to free him from his enslavement, and deep down he knew that with only one wish, no one ever would. The greed of it all was sickening, and probably why he started his needful things styled, monkeys paw hateful wish granting.
And now this further humiliation. He looked at the young boy inquisitively, weighing his options. Of course he could stop the creaking of his door. Immediately his mind jumped to its first conclusion, getting rid of the door entirely. Stupid fucking kid's door won't creak anymore! It was so pointless he couldn't enjoy it. Was he really just going to make the door vanish? It seems kind of lame and who knows how long he'll be locked in his lamp prison this time. Once a wish is granted he always returns to the lamp which is then magically transported to a random location on the planet. One of these days it's going to be the ocean again and that last time felt like an eternity.
FIRE! I'll god damn burn that door down, and his entire house with it! A sly smile had just begun to creep across his face, but was quickly replaced with a hollow feeling that made his stomach turn. "The kid asked for his door to stop creaking and I want to burn his house down? That's not even clever!" He thought. "Nothing at all like the young lass who wished the be the most beautiful woman alive and allowed me a chance to slay 1/3 of the female population. Or that pompous ass who wished to be immortal, I was giddy thinking about how in a few years he would slowly come to realize that he was still aging. But this? What is wrong with me?"
"Genie? Did you hear me? I wish my door would stop creaking at night."
There must be something! Something I'm just not seeing? Why would he waste his only wish on a fucking creaky door? Why wouldn't he see all the important wishes he could be making? SHOULD be Making! Why is it that I finally found someone who would waste their only wish and they still won't help me? Why is a god damn creaky door more important than me?!
The iron was growing tighter around his wrists. It reminded him of his place in this world, teasing the idea that very shortly he would return to the lamp. How had it come to this? He used to be someone, he was a family man. He had children of his own, though he had long since forgotten their faces. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought about his children. He was staring a child down now and felt guilty for wanting to rip the kids world apart. How long had he been so embittered by his chains that he began taking pleasure in crushing others' dreams? For the first time in his life he thought about the gypsy who had originally cursed him to this life. He couldn't remember his own children's face but he could clearly see that gypsy's face now.
For the first time, he began to wonder why he had been cursed at all. He felt so juvenile believing all these years that she was such a harsh cunt that she had cursed him to this life because he had stolen some vegetables from her garden. He began to realize where true hatred, like she must have felt, comes from. He felt it every moment for the last thousand years. For just a moment he began to wonder what her iron cuffs and chains had been.
"Genie...?"
He sighed, it was a long sigh. Then he wiggled his nose and squeezed his left nipple (the gypsy was cruel in many ways so why wouldn't the wish granting process be a continued humiliation?) and in a flash he and the ornate gold lamp disappeared. | Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | Colour drained from the nearby antiques as the shop became enshrouded by the darkness that emanated from the gleaming lamp grasped tightly in the young child’s tiny hands.
Tony gazed, mouth agape, as a cyclone of sand burst forth from the lamp, majestic ruby in hue, it made a mockery of the feeble faerie lights which littered the walls and windows.
A magnificent figure began to coalesce before the youngster as it obscured all view of the drab relics at its rear.
As figure densified into the naked torso of a well-built man, stunning in stature and poise, it finally blotted even the paltry light that trickled from the concave decagon in the near corner.
The youth’s simple “wow” was quickly swept up by the tempest.
The genie, for it would be absurd to even imagine it was anything but, peered down, uncrossed his arms and beckoned at the stunned youngster.
A booming, lucid voice rumbled forth from the genie.
“Warm salutations child, I am Zaid the Generous and Benign genie of the most revered lamp, imparter of mysteries, conferrer of untold riches, grey emin…”
A murmur struggled to find its way through the penetrating proclamation of the genie.
“Anthony, mommy’s got everything she needs, we can go next door now!”
Amazingly, not only had the meagre child heard this dull whisper, but he also turned away from the towering genie. Never before had Zaid the Mighty and Terrible been interrupted. How could any in this dark, desolate world even approach his supreme glory? Undaunted, Zaid adjusted his declaration and regained supreme control of the scene.
“Master Anthony, I am yours to command, at your behest I can accommodate any desire, reverse any event, satisfy any yearning, fortune truly has favoured you this day, only say it and your will shall be realised!”
The child with upturned face replied meekly.
“It was nice meeting you Mr. Zaid but I’ve been waiting all day for my mommy to finish and she’s done now so I really have to go. It was nice meeting you though, you’re pretty.”
Could this creature not grasp the monumental power that lay between his fingertips?
Zaid the Cunning was disappointed. There was scant hope for a cunning twist, some measure of poetic retribution, if the innocent before him, who even now was replacing the lamp on its dusty, crowded shelf, couldn’t even muster up the intellect for a simple wish.
Still, Zaid would not, could not be denied, the minor would have a third chance to focus on the glory before him before Zaid would upgrade his conscience to better comprehend the magnitude of the fortune he had stumbled upon.
“Your wish, what is your wish?” Bellowed Zaid, the Gracious and Patient.
As the rapidly fading lamp left the grasp of the child Zaid could feel a response forthcoming, and his eyes glistened with expectation, while his limitless mid churned in preparation for innumerable ways in which he could leave his own particular impression on the desire.
“Oh, I wish you a merry Christmas…”
"What?!" Zaid the Nonplussed replied.
“and a happy new year” Anthony continued as he waved goodbye dashing towards the now strengthening voice calling for him.
This was a worthy wish indeed of Zaid the Dreadful.
The natural hue of the tiny store blossomed once more as Zaid the Timeless retreated, his last sight of the world around for the next hundred years was the silhouette of a young boy, skipping with giddiness, one hand grasped tightly around that of his guardian.
***
The proprietor, taking a final, meticulous stock of the store before shutting up early for the holiday, noticed a change with one of the antiques, almost rectifying the change out of instinct before smirking to herself and reconsidering. She locked up and continued home the smile of bemusement remaining.
After all, it was a particularly festive, if unassuming, red bow that now lay on the dull lamp, it suited quite nicely.
| Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | The little boy stood with regal humility in a frozen world. His neck craned back to look up at the strange figure who now silently contemplated what it wanted to do most. He had no fear of taking too much time in his musing. Neither time nor worldly things had meaning to one such as he. He merely was.
He wasn't bound by any of the myths they told each other. The simple truth was that he only bothered with the lamp as an idle fancy, something to occupy the time until he either tired of it or this world had passed. He wasn't bound to grant any request or number thereof, and would grant it in whatever fashion should please him most. He had granted many, and taken delight in giving them the shape of what they desired without the substance of it. There had even been times when he had only put a whimsical spin on a request. This was the first time he had actually had to think about what he wanted to do.
"Hello mister-genie-sir, can I have some candy please?" He considered what would be most amusing to do. Should he simply answer the question and disappear? No, that would not be satisfying at all. What if he turned the child's guardians into chocolate? That wouldn't do either. The child was probably too young to understand the implications when he should chance upon their remains. Besides that the little one had treated him with, in his simple reference, the utmost of respect. Neither demand nor command, and with the acknowledgement that the decision was his! A rare event indeed.
To think that it would be a child asking a question that would give him such pause! No scholar, philosopher, king, or lawyer had ever done so! As he realized this he laughed. Quietly at first, but then with increasing fervor. He laughed so hard, he gloried in being amused so that he lost his grip and the flow of time resumed.
"What's so funny, mister-genie-sir?" the child asked.
He brought himself under control long enough to reply. "I don't know that anyone has ever wished for that" he said. "Yes, here is some candy little one." He gave the boy enough candy to enjoy without spoiling his appetite, then disappeared with the lantern.
While time may have no meaning to one such as he, much of it passed before he stopped laughing to himself. | Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | The lamp clattered in the alleyway, still warm from the deathgrip of the princely figure who held it before.
A girl looked at the shiny thing, and then took it.
> CONTACT.
> New User, Temporary User 095455591.
> Activating Hologram Interface...
"Who holds the lamp? Who commands me, the great Djinn of this lamp?"
The girl squeaks.
> Sound invalid. Translation node and sensory upgrade scheduled to be activated...
"^^hi. ^^I'm ^^Badroulbadour." The child spoke, quietly.
She was cringing, and averting her eyes from the spirit, who had taken on the form of a wispy, cloud-like, yet warm-looking brute.
"So... You are my master... Why do you avert your eyes? Your wish, is my command! You are right to fear me, but know this: I can do nothing but what you ask of me."
"^^I... ^^Could ^^I ^^have ^^something ^^to ^^drink?"
The genie paused. It could easily kill the child, now. Drown it in an ethereal wave of water. Or poison it.
But the spirit stared at the shaking child, and decided something.
> User has successfully met traits for full access. Greater suffering onto world can be made with valid user at helm. Provide permission? Y/N
> Y
> Temporary User, Badroulbadour, is now full User.
"Your wish, is my command." the djinn muttered, pulling out a waterskin with infinite clean water within, as much as she would ever need.
The djinn didn't want this one to lack the resources she would require to become the tyrant the djinn desired. | Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I have three iron-clad rules. No making people fall in love, no bringing people back from the dead, no making people immortal. There are a whole host of *other* rules, ones that I've come up with after a millenea of existence. If forced, I'll contradict my personal rules, but the one rule that I never break, my one secret rule, is that all my wishes come with fine print. You want to be famous? That's fine, the whole world will think you killed the President. You want money? Fine, that money will drive your family apart. Want to be happy for the rest of your life? One terminal car crash, coming right up. I had never broken my personal rule, not for anyone. Everyone who found my lamp was generally a selfish bastard, so the punishment was well-deserved. I was the genie who gave three wishes, but people only wanted one.
Until I met her.
To clarify, I had been owned by this kid's uncle, who was about the worst human being I had ever come across. You name it, dear old uncle had done it. Kiddy porn? He had terabytes of it. Rape? Check. Armed robbery? He had grown up on it. There were even allegations of a cold murder case, from what I could hear from inside my lamp. The idiot had asked to not be caught by the police. Seconds after granting his wish, the FBI had come knocking. This kid's uncle had tried to summon me again, but one of my personal rules was no wishes within half an hour of each other. He had screamed his wish from the back of a police car, but by that time he was no longer my master.
My lamp was bagged and tagged as evidence, and when I was given to the uncle, he rubbed and rubbed, but my personal rules prevailed. I couldn't appear in the presence of someone who wasn't my master. The uncle ended up in a psych ward somewhere, adjudicated insane for having an obsession with lamps.
I passed from hand to hand after that, until I ended up in the possession of the uncle's niece. The first time she held me, I could sense that she was the opposite of her possibly demonic uncle. She was young for a human, and her innocence and kindness were boundless within her soul. I still recall with fondness the day she first rubbed my lamp.
I exploded out of the lamp, sure in my convictions. I would not break my rules for her, I would simply bend them. Our initial conversation went about the same as any other initial genie/human conversation. Her face was a picture of disbelief, but when she realized my power, her thoughts didn't stray towards thoughts of self-enrichment or global domination.
Her first wish? "I wish people didn't go hungry."
My rules didn't forbid it, so I got to work. It took me five years to dismantle the stranglehold the big food conglomerates held on the worldwide food industry. I bought them all out, and split them up into their component parts. Each component was assigned a region, and each component was graded not by profit, but by how many people didn't go hungry. I improved the logistical infrastructure of third world countries around the globe. The trans-African highway and its tributaries allowed Africa to pull itself into a more developed state. Using small amounts of my power, I was able to tame the mighty Sahara and Sahel deserts, as well as the vast deserts of the Middle East, and turned them into farming paradises. Sweeping political, economic and religious reforms across the globe ended the forced inequality and segregation of many regions. In countries that didn't have arable land, I placed greenhouses on the floor of the ocean, with efficient, fail-safe ways to transport their harvests to the surface. Ten years later, the world was well fed.
I returned to the young girl, who wasn't so young, and reminded her she still had two more wishes. She smiled, her heart still so full of the compassion and kindness, and asked for her second wish.
"I wish for the world's environment to return to healthy levels."
I worked doubly hard on this wish, knowing that it would take me so very long to complete. Using the money gained from ending world hunger, I worked tirelessly to pioneer new technologies for producing energy in a carbon-neutral way. My machinations, political and economical, forced many polluting businesses to close, and sustainability was a hard fight. So many paid-for politicians tried to fight back, so many businesses cried foul at my actions. I crushed them all, paving the way for a brighter future, one that did not poison Mother Earth and all her beauty. It took me many untold years to accomplish this task, but by the time I finished, every country on Earth was declared carbon-neutral.
It was at this time that I returned to the young girl. Her final wish was croaked out of her aged lips, and it was her most binding wish.
"I wish for peace. Thank you genie."
I nodded, and put my hand on her wrinkled brow. Her featured relaxed, and she sighed. The machines she was plugged into whined, but I paid them no mind. No one would ever know the significance of the woman who had lay in that hospital bed; the effect she had on the world. She would be uncredited in the renewal of the Earth. Trillions would sing my praises, but her thanks would rank above all of them. | Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "I want you to make the monsters go away."
I stared at the little girl. Her eyes were large, her clothing disheveled, as she sat upright in her bed.
Could I twist this wish?
"What monsters are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes, murmuring something. I heard footsteps on the stairs- her father's, probably.
"We don't have much time left. What monsters would you like me to 'make go away'?"
She struggled to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I sighed.
Dammit. No way I was gonna twist this one, the poor girl was twisted enough.
I snapped my fingers. "It is done," I said.
Her father rapped on her door. "Sara, are you in there? I need to tuck you in before you go to sleep."
She flinched. I dissipated, my job done.
_________________________________________________________
"... In other news, local father Joseph Charleston was seized in a police raid last night out of his own house. Prosecutors claim he has been sexually assaulting and abusing his 6 year old daughter Sara Charleston for 3 years. He faces charges of 5 major felonies. More on this at 10."
| Title: The Wish
Genie: You have found me and thus I grant you 3 wishes. What is your first wish?
Little kid: Go away. That's my wish.
Genie: ...drat.
The end |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | Colour drained from the nearby antiques as the shop became enshrouded by the darkness that emanated from the gleaming lamp grasped tightly in the young child’s tiny hands.
Tony gazed, mouth agape, as a cyclone of sand burst forth from the lamp, majestic ruby in hue, it made a mockery of the feeble faerie lights which littered the walls and windows.
A magnificent figure began to coalesce before the youngster as it obscured all view of the drab relics at its rear.
As figure densified into the naked torso of a well-built man, stunning in stature and poise, it finally blotted even the paltry light that trickled from the concave decagon in the near corner.
The youth’s simple “wow” was quickly swept up by the tempest.
The genie, for it would be absurd to even imagine it was anything but, peered down, uncrossed his arms and beckoned at the stunned youngster.
A booming, lucid voice rumbled forth from the genie.
“Warm salutations child, I am Zaid the Generous and Benign genie of the most revered lamp, imparter of mysteries, conferrer of untold riches, grey emin…”
A murmur struggled to find its way through the penetrating proclamation of the genie.
“Anthony, mommy’s got everything she needs, we can go next door now!”
Amazingly, not only had the meagre child heard this dull whisper, but he also turned away from the towering genie. Never before had Zaid the Mighty and Terrible been interrupted. How could any in this dark, desolate world even approach his supreme glory? Undaunted, Zaid adjusted his declaration and regained supreme control of the scene.
“Master Anthony, I am yours to command, at your behest I can accommodate any desire, reverse any event, satisfy any yearning, fortune truly has favoured you this day, only say it and your will shall be realised!”
The child with upturned face replied meekly.
“It was nice meeting you Mr. Zaid but I’ve been waiting all day for my mommy to finish and she’s done now so I really have to go. It was nice meeting you though, you’re pretty.”
Could this creature not grasp the monumental power that lay between his fingertips?
Zaid the Cunning was disappointed. There was scant hope for a cunning twist, some measure of poetic retribution, if the innocent before him, who even now was replacing the lamp on its dusty, crowded shelf, couldn’t even muster up the intellect for a simple wish.
Still, Zaid would not, could not be denied, the minor would have a third chance to focus on the glory before him before Zaid would upgrade his conscience to better comprehend the magnitude of the fortune he had stumbled upon.
“Your wish, what is your wish?” Bellowed Zaid, the Gracious and Patient.
As the rapidly fading lamp left the grasp of the child Zaid could feel a response forthcoming, and his eyes glistened with expectation, while his limitless mid churned in preparation for innumerable ways in which he could leave his own particular impression on the desire.
“Oh, I wish you a merry Christmas…”
"What?!" Zaid the Nonplussed replied.
“and a happy new year” Anthony continued as he waved goodbye dashing towards the now strengthening voice calling for him.
This was a worthy wish indeed of Zaid the Dreadful.
The natural hue of the tiny store blossomed once more as Zaid the Timeless retreated, his last sight of the world around for the next hundred years was the silhouette of a young boy, skipping with giddiness, one hand grasped tightly around that of his guardian.
***
The proprietor, taking a final, meticulous stock of the store before shutting up early for the holiday, noticed a change with one of the antiques, almost rectifying the change out of instinct before smirking to herself and reconsidering. She locked up and continued home the smile of bemusement remaining.
After all, it was a particularly festive, if unassuming, red bow that now lay on the dull lamp, it suited quite nicely.
| "I want to see the northern lights." Very sickly as a boy Josh could not help but wish upon his greatest dream.
"That's it?" The Genie exclaimed loudly. *Not a shred of selfishness in this one, impossible.*
"I thought you're supposed to grant wishes, not question them..." Josh sulked.
*What wit, how charming.* Clearing his throat The Genie enunciated his beloved line ever so clearly.
"That is your final wish?"
"Yes."
=============
Aged and dying, Josh has lived life haggard and rough, from surgery table to the next. Pain was quite the familiar companion to Josh, and finally on his deathbed he lay there with bedsores soaking unknown to his caretakers. It was here he encountered The Genie again.
"My... wish.." Josh uttered, hoisting himself up on his bed with unknown strength.
"Still you've air in your lungs, I would ask calm of you." The Genie groaned taking his seat.
Flipping through the channels he chose the one with a panning overview of an Alaskan retreat.
"Oh I do love this commercial, its just paced so **well.**"
"Quit your games genie, will you take me or not. My days... are done." Josh croaked almost violently, could he.
"Well, your wish was to see the Aurora Borealis if I'm correct."
"Yes. Take me, TAKE ME NOW!" Josh threw his blanket over his legs and stood for the first time in years. Crooked and swaying he demanded his life's desire.
"Well... there's the technical details, but all that aside I just **don't** like **you**."
"But a deals a deal, so here we go." Spoken with fanatical glee, just in time to welcome the scene in which the northern lights are on display.
"Bu- Wha-? I've seen it a million times over on television and computer, I wanted to see them in person!"
"Then perhaps you should have specified clever child." The Genie's eye were lit with an unworldly fire, "Now, well now you're to join me. As fuel."
"Huh?" All that Josh could utter as his legs gave out from under him. Never to arise again in this world, or the next.
After a brief pause, with a trembling of his body The Genie languidly spoke, *Oh the feels GOOD!*
*I can't feel any more pain... no more exhaustion.. I can stand so easily!*
"Cherish it child, for soon you'll be consumed and I will have you."
"I don't think you understand, I am free now. Truly free."
*That I know, but soon you will be caged in a new and fresh hell.* The Genie held his tongue, for the more he misunderstood his situation, the more delight there would be for The Genie once it dawned upon Josh.
"Well we have all eternity, make your peace with this room, I shall wait as long as you like." |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I have three iron-clad rules. No making people fall in love, no bringing people back from the dead, no making people immortal. There are a whole host of *other* rules, ones that I've come up with after a millenea of existence. If forced, I'll contradict my personal rules, but the one rule that I never break, my one secret rule, is that all my wishes come with fine print. You want to be famous? That's fine, the whole world will think you killed the President. You want money? Fine, that money will drive your family apart. Want to be happy for the rest of your life? One terminal car crash, coming right up. I had never broken my personal rule, not for anyone. Everyone who found my lamp was generally a selfish bastard, so the punishment was well-deserved. I was the genie who gave three wishes, but people only wanted one.
Until I met her.
To clarify, I had been owned by this kid's uncle, who was about the worst human being I had ever come across. You name it, dear old uncle had done it. Kiddy porn? He had terabytes of it. Rape? Check. Armed robbery? He had grown up on it. There were even allegations of a cold murder case, from what I could hear from inside my lamp. The idiot had asked to not be caught by the police. Seconds after granting his wish, the FBI had come knocking. This kid's uncle had tried to summon me again, but one of my personal rules was no wishes within half an hour of each other. He had screamed his wish from the back of a police car, but by that time he was no longer my master.
My lamp was bagged and tagged as evidence, and when I was given to the uncle, he rubbed and rubbed, but my personal rules prevailed. I couldn't appear in the presence of someone who wasn't my master. The uncle ended up in a psych ward somewhere, adjudicated insane for having an obsession with lamps.
I passed from hand to hand after that, until I ended up in the possession of the uncle's niece. The first time she held me, I could sense that she was the opposite of her possibly demonic uncle. She was young for a human, and her innocence and kindness were boundless within her soul. I still recall with fondness the day she first rubbed my lamp.
I exploded out of the lamp, sure in my convictions. I would not break my rules for her, I would simply bend them. Our initial conversation went about the same as any other initial genie/human conversation. Her face was a picture of disbelief, but when she realized my power, her thoughts didn't stray towards thoughts of self-enrichment or global domination.
Her first wish? "I wish people didn't go hungry."
My rules didn't forbid it, so I got to work. It took me five years to dismantle the stranglehold the big food conglomerates held on the worldwide food industry. I bought them all out, and split them up into their component parts. Each component was assigned a region, and each component was graded not by profit, but by how many people didn't go hungry. I improved the logistical infrastructure of third world countries around the globe. The trans-African highway and its tributaries allowed Africa to pull itself into a more developed state. Using small amounts of my power, I was able to tame the mighty Sahara and Sahel deserts, as well as the vast deserts of the Middle East, and turned them into farming paradises. Sweeping political, economic and religious reforms across the globe ended the forced inequality and segregation of many regions. In countries that didn't have arable land, I placed greenhouses on the floor of the ocean, with efficient, fail-safe ways to transport their harvests to the surface. Ten years later, the world was well fed.
I returned to the young girl, who wasn't so young, and reminded her she still had two more wishes. She smiled, her heart still so full of the compassion and kindness, and asked for her second wish.
"I wish for the world's environment to return to healthy levels."
I worked doubly hard on this wish, knowing that it would take me so very long to complete. Using the money gained from ending world hunger, I worked tirelessly to pioneer new technologies for producing energy in a carbon-neutral way. My machinations, political and economical, forced many polluting businesses to close, and sustainability was a hard fight. So many paid-for politicians tried to fight back, so many businesses cried foul at my actions. I crushed them all, paving the way for a brighter future, one that did not poison Mother Earth and all her beauty. It took me many untold years to accomplish this task, but by the time I finished, every country on Earth was declared carbon-neutral.
It was at this time that I returned to the young girl. Her final wish was croaked out of her aged lips, and it was her most binding wish.
"I wish for peace. Thank you genie."
I nodded, and put my hand on her wrinkled brow. Her featured relaxed, and she sighed. The machines she was plugged into whined, but I paid them no mind. No one would ever know the significance of the woman who had lay in that hospital bed; the effect she had on the world. She would be uncredited in the renewal of the Earth. Trillions would sing my praises, but her thanks would rank above all of them. | "I want to see the northern lights." Very sickly as a boy Josh could not help but wish upon his greatest dream.
"That's it?" The Genie exclaimed loudly. *Not a shred of selfishness in this one, impossible.*
"I thought you're supposed to grant wishes, not question them..." Josh sulked.
*What wit, how charming.* Clearing his throat The Genie enunciated his beloved line ever so clearly.
"That is your final wish?"
"Yes."
=============
Aged and dying, Josh has lived life haggard and rough, from surgery table to the next. Pain was quite the familiar companion to Josh, and finally on his deathbed he lay there with bedsores soaking unknown to his caretakers. It was here he encountered The Genie again.
"My... wish.." Josh uttered, hoisting himself up on his bed with unknown strength.
"Still you've air in your lungs, I would ask calm of you." The Genie groaned taking his seat.
Flipping through the channels he chose the one with a panning overview of an Alaskan retreat.
"Oh I do love this commercial, its just paced so **well.**"
"Quit your games genie, will you take me or not. My days... are done." Josh croaked almost violently, could he.
"Well, your wish was to see the Aurora Borealis if I'm correct."
"Yes. Take me, TAKE ME NOW!" Josh threw his blanket over his legs and stood for the first time in years. Crooked and swaying he demanded his life's desire.
"Well... there's the technical details, but all that aside I just **don't** like **you**."
"But a deals a deal, so here we go." Spoken with fanatical glee, just in time to welcome the scene in which the northern lights are on display.
"Bu- Wha-? I've seen it a million times over on television and computer, I wanted to see them in person!"
"Then perhaps you should have specified clever child." The Genie's eye were lit with an unworldly fire, "Now, well now you're to join me. As fuel."
"Huh?" All that Josh could utter as his legs gave out from under him. Never to arise again in this world, or the next.
After a brief pause, with a trembling of his body The Genie languidly spoke, *Oh the feels GOOD!*
*I can't feel any more pain... no more exhaustion.. I can stand so easily!*
"Cherish it child, for soon you'll be consumed and I will have you."
"I don't think you understand, I am free now. Truly free."
*That I know, but soon you will be caged in a new and fresh hell.* The Genie held his tongue, for the more he misunderstood his situation, the more delight there would be for The Genie once it dawned upon Josh.
"Well we have all eternity, make your peace with this room, I shall wait as long as you like." |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I have three iron-clad rules. No making people fall in love, no bringing people back from the dead, no making people immortal. There are a whole host of *other* rules, ones that I've come up with after a millenea of existence. If forced, I'll contradict my personal rules, but the one rule that I never break, my one secret rule, is that all my wishes come with fine print. You want to be famous? That's fine, the whole world will think you killed the President. You want money? Fine, that money will drive your family apart. Want to be happy for the rest of your life? One terminal car crash, coming right up. I had never broken my personal rule, not for anyone. Everyone who found my lamp was generally a selfish bastard, so the punishment was well-deserved. I was the genie who gave three wishes, but people only wanted one.
Until I met her.
To clarify, I had been owned by this kid's uncle, who was about the worst human being I had ever come across. You name it, dear old uncle had done it. Kiddy porn? He had terabytes of it. Rape? Check. Armed robbery? He had grown up on it. There were even allegations of a cold murder case, from what I could hear from inside my lamp. The idiot had asked to not be caught by the police. Seconds after granting his wish, the FBI had come knocking. This kid's uncle had tried to summon me again, but one of my personal rules was no wishes within half an hour of each other. He had screamed his wish from the back of a police car, but by that time he was no longer my master.
My lamp was bagged and tagged as evidence, and when I was given to the uncle, he rubbed and rubbed, but my personal rules prevailed. I couldn't appear in the presence of someone who wasn't my master. The uncle ended up in a psych ward somewhere, adjudicated insane for having an obsession with lamps.
I passed from hand to hand after that, until I ended up in the possession of the uncle's niece. The first time she held me, I could sense that she was the opposite of her possibly demonic uncle. She was young for a human, and her innocence and kindness were boundless within her soul. I still recall with fondness the day she first rubbed my lamp.
I exploded out of the lamp, sure in my convictions. I would not break my rules for her, I would simply bend them. Our initial conversation went about the same as any other initial genie/human conversation. Her face was a picture of disbelief, but when she realized my power, her thoughts didn't stray towards thoughts of self-enrichment or global domination.
Her first wish? "I wish people didn't go hungry."
My rules didn't forbid it, so I got to work. It took me five years to dismantle the stranglehold the big food conglomerates held on the worldwide food industry. I bought them all out, and split them up into their component parts. Each component was assigned a region, and each component was graded not by profit, but by how many people didn't go hungry. I improved the logistical infrastructure of third world countries around the globe. The trans-African highway and its tributaries allowed Africa to pull itself into a more developed state. Using small amounts of my power, I was able to tame the mighty Sahara and Sahel deserts, as well as the vast deserts of the Middle East, and turned them into farming paradises. Sweeping political, economic and religious reforms across the globe ended the forced inequality and segregation of many regions. In countries that didn't have arable land, I placed greenhouses on the floor of the ocean, with efficient, fail-safe ways to transport their harvests to the surface. Ten years later, the world was well fed.
I returned to the young girl, who wasn't so young, and reminded her she still had two more wishes. She smiled, her heart still so full of the compassion and kindness, and asked for her second wish.
"I wish for the world's environment to return to healthy levels."
I worked doubly hard on this wish, knowing that it would take me so very long to complete. Using the money gained from ending world hunger, I worked tirelessly to pioneer new technologies for producing energy in a carbon-neutral way. My machinations, political and economical, forced many polluting businesses to close, and sustainability was a hard fight. So many paid-for politicians tried to fight back, so many businesses cried foul at my actions. I crushed them all, paving the way for a brighter future, one that did not poison Mother Earth and all her beauty. It took me many untold years to accomplish this task, but by the time I finished, every country on Earth was declared carbon-neutral.
It was at this time that I returned to the young girl. Her final wish was croaked out of her aged lips, and it was her most binding wish.
"I wish for peace. Thank you genie."
I nodded, and put my hand on her wrinkled brow. Her featured relaxed, and she sighed. The machines she was plugged into whined, but I paid them no mind. No one would ever know the significance of the woman who had lay in that hospital bed; the effect she had on the world. She would be uncredited in the renewal of the Earth. Trillions would sing my praises, but her thanks would rank above all of them. | He wanted to hurt the kid. Not bad or anything, but just the look on his face was enough to make this timeless genie hate him and the parents that bore him. But what could he possibly do about a fucking door?
"I wish my bedroom door would stop creaking at night."
These words actually tumbled from the frumpy eleven year olds mouth. Already the genie could feel his iron wrist cuffs tightening around skin. They mocked his hopeless situation, his enslavement for eternity to a lamp, forced to grant everyone else's wishes. Knowing that over the years each one never thought of anything but their own happiness. They never wished to free him from his enslavement, and deep down he knew that with only one wish, no one ever would. The greed of it all was sickening, and probably why he started his needful things styled, monkeys paw hateful wish granting.
And now this further humiliation. He looked at the young boy inquisitively, weighing his options. Of course he could stop the creaking of his door. Immediately his mind jumped to its first conclusion, getting rid of the door entirely. Stupid fucking kid's door won't creak anymore! It was so pointless he couldn't enjoy it. Was he really just going to make the door vanish? It seems kind of lame and who knows how long he'll be locked in his lamp prison this time. Once a wish is granted he always returns to the lamp which is then magically transported to a random location on the planet. One of these days it's going to be the ocean again and that last time felt like an eternity.
FIRE! I'll god damn burn that door down, and his entire house with it! A sly smile had just begun to creep across his face, but was quickly replaced with a hollow feeling that made his stomach turn. "The kid asked for his door to stop creaking and I want to burn his house down? That's not even clever!" He thought. "Nothing at all like the young lass who wished the be the most beautiful woman alive and allowed me a chance to slay 1/3 of the female population. Or that pompous ass who wished to be immortal, I was giddy thinking about how in a few years he would slowly come to realize that he was still aging. But this? What is wrong with me?"
"Genie? Did you hear me? I wish my door would stop creaking at night."
There must be something! Something I'm just not seeing? Why would he waste his only wish on a fucking creaky door? Why wouldn't he see all the important wishes he could be making? SHOULD be Making! Why is it that I finally found someone who would waste their only wish and they still won't help me? Why is a god damn creaky door more important than me?!
The iron was growing tighter around his wrists. It reminded him of his place in this world, teasing the idea that very shortly he would return to the lamp. How had it come to this? He used to be someone, he was a family man. He had children of his own, though he had long since forgotten their faces. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought about his children. He was staring a child down now and felt guilty for wanting to rip the kids world apart. How long had he been so embittered by his chains that he began taking pleasure in crushing others' dreams? For the first time in his life he thought about the gypsy who had originally cursed him to this life. He couldn't remember his own children's face but he could clearly see that gypsy's face now.
For the first time, he began to wonder why he had been cursed at all. He felt so juvenile believing all these years that she was such a harsh cunt that she had cursed him to this life because he had stolen some vegetables from her garden. He began to realize where true hatred, like she must have felt, comes from. He felt it every moment for the last thousand years. For just a moment he began to wonder what her iron cuffs and chains had been.
"Genie...?"
He sighed, it was a long sigh. Then he wiggled his nose and squeezed his left nipple (the gypsy was cruel in many ways so why wouldn't the wish granting process be a continued humiliation?) and in a flash he and the ornate gold lamp disappeared. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "I want you to make the monsters go away."
I stared at the little girl. Her eyes were large, her clothing disheveled, as she sat upright in her bed.
Could I twist this wish?
"What monsters are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes, murmuring something. I heard footsteps on the stairs- her father's, probably.
"We don't have much time left. What monsters would you like me to 'make go away'?"
She struggled to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I sighed.
Dammit. No way I was gonna twist this one, the poor girl was twisted enough.
I snapped my fingers. "It is done," I said.
Her father rapped on her door. "Sara, are you in there? I need to tuck you in before you go to sleep."
She flinched. I dissipated, my job done.
_________________________________________________________
"... In other news, local father Joseph Charleston was seized in a police raid last night out of his own house. Prosecutors claim he has been sexually assaulting and abusing his 6 year old daughter Sara Charleston for 3 years. He faces charges of 5 major felonies. More on this at 10."
| He wanted to hurt the kid. Not bad or anything, but just the look on his face was enough to make this timeless genie hate him and the parents that bore him. But what could he possibly do about a fucking door?
"I wish my bedroom door would stop creaking at night."
These words actually tumbled from the frumpy eleven year olds mouth. Already the genie could feel his iron wrist cuffs tightening around skin. They mocked his hopeless situation, his enslavement for eternity to a lamp, forced to grant everyone else's wishes. Knowing that over the years each one never thought of anything but their own happiness. They never wished to free him from his enslavement, and deep down he knew that with only one wish, no one ever would. The greed of it all was sickening, and probably why he started his needful things styled, monkeys paw hateful wish granting.
And now this further humiliation. He looked at the young boy inquisitively, weighing his options. Of course he could stop the creaking of his door. Immediately his mind jumped to its first conclusion, getting rid of the door entirely. Stupid fucking kid's door won't creak anymore! It was so pointless he couldn't enjoy it. Was he really just going to make the door vanish? It seems kind of lame and who knows how long he'll be locked in his lamp prison this time. Once a wish is granted he always returns to the lamp which is then magically transported to a random location on the planet. One of these days it's going to be the ocean again and that last time felt like an eternity.
FIRE! I'll god damn burn that door down, and his entire house with it! A sly smile had just begun to creep across his face, but was quickly replaced with a hollow feeling that made his stomach turn. "The kid asked for his door to stop creaking and I want to burn his house down? That's not even clever!" He thought. "Nothing at all like the young lass who wished the be the most beautiful woman alive and allowed me a chance to slay 1/3 of the female population. Or that pompous ass who wished to be immortal, I was giddy thinking about how in a few years he would slowly come to realize that he was still aging. But this? What is wrong with me?"
"Genie? Did you hear me? I wish my door would stop creaking at night."
There must be something! Something I'm just not seeing? Why would he waste his only wish on a fucking creaky door? Why wouldn't he see all the important wishes he could be making? SHOULD be Making! Why is it that I finally found someone who would waste their only wish and they still won't help me? Why is a god damn creaky door more important than me?!
The iron was growing tighter around his wrists. It reminded him of his place in this world, teasing the idea that very shortly he would return to the lamp. How had it come to this? He used to be someone, he was a family man. He had children of his own, though he had long since forgotten their faces. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought about his children. He was staring a child down now and felt guilty for wanting to rip the kids world apart. How long had he been so embittered by his chains that he began taking pleasure in crushing others' dreams? For the first time in his life he thought about the gypsy who had originally cursed him to this life. He couldn't remember his own children's face but he could clearly see that gypsy's face now.
For the first time, he began to wonder why he had been cursed at all. He felt so juvenile believing all these years that she was such a harsh cunt that she had cursed him to this life because he had stolen some vegetables from her garden. He began to realize where true hatred, like she must have felt, comes from. He felt it every moment for the last thousand years. For just a moment he began to wonder what her iron cuffs and chains had been.
"Genie...?"
He sighed, it was a long sigh. Then he wiggled his nose and squeezed his left nipple (the gypsy was cruel in many ways so why wouldn't the wish granting process be a continued humiliation?) and in a flash he and the ornate gold lamp disappeared. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | The lamp clattered in the alleyway, still warm from the deathgrip of the princely figure who held it before.
A girl looked at the shiny thing, and then took it.
> CONTACT.
> New User, Temporary User 095455591.
> Activating Hologram Interface...
"Who holds the lamp? Who commands me, the great Djinn of this lamp?"
The girl squeaks.
> Sound invalid. Translation node and sensory upgrade scheduled to be activated...
"^^hi. ^^I'm ^^Badroulbadour." The child spoke, quietly.
She was cringing, and averting her eyes from the spirit, who had taken on the form of a wispy, cloud-like, yet warm-looking brute.
"So... You are my master... Why do you avert your eyes? Your wish, is my command! You are right to fear me, but know this: I can do nothing but what you ask of me."
"^^I... ^^Could ^^I ^^have ^^something ^^to ^^drink?"
The genie paused. It could easily kill the child, now. Drown it in an ethereal wave of water. Or poison it.
But the spirit stared at the shaking child, and decided something.
> User has successfully met traits for full access. Greater suffering onto world can be made with valid user at helm. Provide permission? Y/N
> Y
> Temporary User, Badroulbadour, is now full User.
"Your wish, is my command." the djinn muttered, pulling out a waterskin with infinite clean water within, as much as she would ever need.
The djinn didn't want this one to lack the resources she would require to become the tyrant the djinn desired. | A glow spread through the antique lamp, growing from a gentle and reassuring warmth to a blistering heat which forced Emily to release the light. The old and dusty piece clattered to the ground, and she quickly dove down to pick it back up.
After a hurried inspection to make sure it was still intact, she popped her head up, scanning over the tables of junk. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed her mishap. After a quick rub with her jacket sleeve to rid the humble lamp of the rest of the dust, she stood to return it to the display tables. But still, the thought of the sudden heat she felt nagged at her.
Putting it out of her mind, she wandered out into the main marketplace, pulling her jacket tightly to her in a futile effort to keep out the cold and rain as she looked for her parents.
It wouldn't be hard to find them, as not many people would come to a flea market in such bitter weather, but Emily's parents insisted on the tradition. Under normal circumstances, Emily would protest, feigning a cough or remembering homework due on Monday, but things were different now. She spotted her parents across the field and began to weave a path towards them, taking her time to examine a few pretty trinkets here and there.
As Emily neared her parents, an older man caught her attention. "Excuse me, young miss," he spoke from his wheelchair. "I was hoping you could help me for a moment."
"Oh, I don't work here-"
"No, no, of course not," he replied with a warm smile. "I was just hoping you could help me reach that there lamp on the table," and with a gesture indicated an antique lamp that was very much identical to the one Emily had fumbled with earlier. "It's just so hard moving on these rainy days, you know."
"Ah, sure! My dad is wheelchair bound as well," she replied as she reached for the man's lamp.
"And how did he end up there? Has he been in a chair for a while now?"
"He only recently got sick, but-" a flash of warmth greeted her fingers when they met the smooth surface of the lamp. "...But the doctors said it's pretty bad." She suddenly stopped herself, embarrassed by her confession.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's quite alright, I've heard that story too many times to remember." A somber expression rested on his face, and while the gentleness remained, a small glint in his eye gave a rather odd feeling to his next words. "I suppose you'd wish he could get better, do you not?"
"Well, I hope and pray for that everyday, but the doctors say he doesn't have long regardless. I think we've accepted that. Mom and I are just trying to make sure he's happy," Emily's gaze drifted up to the sky. "This constant rain doesn't help," she continued with a melancholy smile as she handed him his lamp.
A small, sincere smile spread across the old man's face. "...Do you wish the rain would stop, my dear?"
A brief word of thanks was exchanged for a silent nod and a short wave goodbye from Emily.
As she crossed the field to join her parents, the clouds broke to allow them a few rays of blissful sunlight and respite from the constant rain.
Emily pulled her jacket tight once more to protect herself from the rain. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I have three iron-clad rules. No making people fall in love, no bringing people back from the dead, no making people immortal. There are a whole host of *other* rules, ones that I've come up with after a millenea of existence. If forced, I'll contradict my personal rules, but the one rule that I never break, my one secret rule, is that all my wishes come with fine print. You want to be famous? That's fine, the whole world will think you killed the President. You want money? Fine, that money will drive your family apart. Want to be happy for the rest of your life? One terminal car crash, coming right up. I had never broken my personal rule, not for anyone. Everyone who found my lamp was generally a selfish bastard, so the punishment was well-deserved. I was the genie who gave three wishes, but people only wanted one.
Until I met her.
To clarify, I had been owned by this kid's uncle, who was about the worst human being I had ever come across. You name it, dear old uncle had done it. Kiddy porn? He had terabytes of it. Rape? Check. Armed robbery? He had grown up on it. There were even allegations of a cold murder case, from what I could hear from inside my lamp. The idiot had asked to not be caught by the police. Seconds after granting his wish, the FBI had come knocking. This kid's uncle had tried to summon me again, but one of my personal rules was no wishes within half an hour of each other. He had screamed his wish from the back of a police car, but by that time he was no longer my master.
My lamp was bagged and tagged as evidence, and when I was given to the uncle, he rubbed and rubbed, but my personal rules prevailed. I couldn't appear in the presence of someone who wasn't my master. The uncle ended up in a psych ward somewhere, adjudicated insane for having an obsession with lamps.
I passed from hand to hand after that, until I ended up in the possession of the uncle's niece. The first time she held me, I could sense that she was the opposite of her possibly demonic uncle. She was young for a human, and her innocence and kindness were boundless within her soul. I still recall with fondness the day she first rubbed my lamp.
I exploded out of the lamp, sure in my convictions. I would not break my rules for her, I would simply bend them. Our initial conversation went about the same as any other initial genie/human conversation. Her face was a picture of disbelief, but when she realized my power, her thoughts didn't stray towards thoughts of self-enrichment or global domination.
Her first wish? "I wish people didn't go hungry."
My rules didn't forbid it, so I got to work. It took me five years to dismantle the stranglehold the big food conglomerates held on the worldwide food industry. I bought them all out, and split them up into their component parts. Each component was assigned a region, and each component was graded not by profit, but by how many people didn't go hungry. I improved the logistical infrastructure of third world countries around the globe. The trans-African highway and its tributaries allowed Africa to pull itself into a more developed state. Using small amounts of my power, I was able to tame the mighty Sahara and Sahel deserts, as well as the vast deserts of the Middle East, and turned them into farming paradises. Sweeping political, economic and religious reforms across the globe ended the forced inequality and segregation of many regions. In countries that didn't have arable land, I placed greenhouses on the floor of the ocean, with efficient, fail-safe ways to transport their harvests to the surface. Ten years later, the world was well fed.
I returned to the young girl, who wasn't so young, and reminded her she still had two more wishes. She smiled, her heart still so full of the compassion and kindness, and asked for her second wish.
"I wish for the world's environment to return to healthy levels."
I worked doubly hard on this wish, knowing that it would take me so very long to complete. Using the money gained from ending world hunger, I worked tirelessly to pioneer new technologies for producing energy in a carbon-neutral way. My machinations, political and economical, forced many polluting businesses to close, and sustainability was a hard fight. So many paid-for politicians tried to fight back, so many businesses cried foul at my actions. I crushed them all, paving the way for a brighter future, one that did not poison Mother Earth and all her beauty. It took me many untold years to accomplish this task, but by the time I finished, every country on Earth was declared carbon-neutral.
It was at this time that I returned to the young girl. Her final wish was croaked out of her aged lips, and it was her most binding wish.
"I wish for peace. Thank you genie."
I nodded, and put my hand on her wrinkled brow. Her featured relaxed, and she sighed. The machines she was plugged into whined, but I paid them no mind. No one would ever know the significance of the woman who had lay in that hospital bed; the effect she had on the world. She would be uncredited in the renewal of the Earth. Trillions would sing my praises, but her thanks would rank above all of them. | A glow spread through the antique lamp, growing from a gentle and reassuring warmth to a blistering heat which forced Emily to release the light. The old and dusty piece clattered to the ground, and she quickly dove down to pick it back up.
After a hurried inspection to make sure it was still intact, she popped her head up, scanning over the tables of junk. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed her mishap. After a quick rub with her jacket sleeve to rid the humble lamp of the rest of the dust, she stood to return it to the display tables. But still, the thought of the sudden heat she felt nagged at her.
Putting it out of her mind, she wandered out into the main marketplace, pulling her jacket tightly to her in a futile effort to keep out the cold and rain as she looked for her parents.
It wouldn't be hard to find them, as not many people would come to a flea market in such bitter weather, but Emily's parents insisted on the tradition. Under normal circumstances, Emily would protest, feigning a cough or remembering homework due on Monday, but things were different now. She spotted her parents across the field and began to weave a path towards them, taking her time to examine a few pretty trinkets here and there.
As Emily neared her parents, an older man caught her attention. "Excuse me, young miss," he spoke from his wheelchair. "I was hoping you could help me for a moment."
"Oh, I don't work here-"
"No, no, of course not," he replied with a warm smile. "I was just hoping you could help me reach that there lamp on the table," and with a gesture indicated an antique lamp that was very much identical to the one Emily had fumbled with earlier. "It's just so hard moving on these rainy days, you know."
"Ah, sure! My dad is wheelchair bound as well," she replied as she reached for the man's lamp.
"And how did he end up there? Has he been in a chair for a while now?"
"He only recently got sick, but-" a flash of warmth greeted her fingers when they met the smooth surface of the lamp. "...But the doctors said it's pretty bad." She suddenly stopped herself, embarrassed by her confession.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's quite alright, I've heard that story too many times to remember." A somber expression rested on his face, and while the gentleness remained, a small glint in his eye gave a rather odd feeling to his next words. "I suppose you'd wish he could get better, do you not?"
"Well, I hope and pray for that everyday, but the doctors say he doesn't have long regardless. I think we've accepted that. Mom and I are just trying to make sure he's happy," Emily's gaze drifted up to the sky. "This constant rain doesn't help," she continued with a melancholy smile as she handed him his lamp.
A small, sincere smile spread across the old man's face. "...Do you wish the rain would stop, my dear?"
A brief word of thanks was exchanged for a silent nod and a short wave goodbye from Emily.
As she crossed the field to join her parents, the clouds broke to allow them a few rays of blissful sunlight and respite from the constant rain.
Emily pulled her jacket tight once more to protect herself from the rain. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "I want you to make the monsters go away."
I stared at the little girl. Her eyes were large, her clothing disheveled, as she sat upright in her bed.
Could I twist this wish?
"What monsters are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes, murmuring something. I heard footsteps on the stairs- her father's, probably.
"We don't have much time left. What monsters would you like me to 'make go away'?"
She struggled to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I sighed.
Dammit. No way I was gonna twist this one, the poor girl was twisted enough.
I snapped my fingers. "It is done," I said.
Her father rapped on her door. "Sara, are you in there? I need to tuck you in before you go to sleep."
She flinched. I dissipated, my job done.
_________________________________________________________
"... In other news, local father Joseph Charleston was seized in a police raid last night out of his own house. Prosecutors claim he has been sexually assaulting and abusing his 6 year old daughter Sara Charleston for 3 years. He faces charges of 5 major felonies. More on this at 10."
| A glow spread through the antique lamp, growing from a gentle and reassuring warmth to a blistering heat which forced Emily to release the light. The old and dusty piece clattered to the ground, and she quickly dove down to pick it back up.
After a hurried inspection to make sure it was still intact, she popped her head up, scanning over the tables of junk. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed her mishap. After a quick rub with her jacket sleeve to rid the humble lamp of the rest of the dust, she stood to return it to the display tables. But still, the thought of the sudden heat she felt nagged at her.
Putting it out of her mind, she wandered out into the main marketplace, pulling her jacket tightly to her in a futile effort to keep out the cold and rain as she looked for her parents.
It wouldn't be hard to find them, as not many people would come to a flea market in such bitter weather, but Emily's parents insisted on the tradition. Under normal circumstances, Emily would protest, feigning a cough or remembering homework due on Monday, but things were different now. She spotted her parents across the field and began to weave a path towards them, taking her time to examine a few pretty trinkets here and there.
As Emily neared her parents, an older man caught her attention. "Excuse me, young miss," he spoke from his wheelchair. "I was hoping you could help me for a moment."
"Oh, I don't work here-"
"No, no, of course not," he replied with a warm smile. "I was just hoping you could help me reach that there lamp on the table," and with a gesture indicated an antique lamp that was very much identical to the one Emily had fumbled with earlier. "It's just so hard moving on these rainy days, you know."
"Ah, sure! My dad is wheelchair bound as well," she replied as she reached for the man's lamp.
"And how did he end up there? Has he been in a chair for a while now?"
"He only recently got sick, but-" a flash of warmth greeted her fingers when they met the smooth surface of the lamp. "...But the doctors said it's pretty bad." She suddenly stopped herself, embarrassed by her confession.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's quite alright, I've heard that story too many times to remember." A somber expression rested on his face, and while the gentleness remained, a small glint in his eye gave a rather odd feeling to his next words. "I suppose you'd wish he could get better, do you not?"
"Well, I hope and pray for that everyday, but the doctors say he doesn't have long regardless. I think we've accepted that. Mom and I are just trying to make sure he's happy," Emily's gaze drifted up to the sky. "This constant rain doesn't help," she continued with a melancholy smile as she handed him his lamp.
A small, sincere smile spread across the old man's face. "...Do you wish the rain would stop, my dear?"
A brief word of thanks was exchanged for a silent nod and a short wave goodbye from Emily.
As she crossed the field to join her parents, the clouds broke to allow them a few rays of blissful sunlight and respite from the constant rain.
Emily pulled her jacket tight once more to protect herself from the rain. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "C'mon kid. Something more?"
The boy shook his head solemnly.
I looked around us, the filth, the squalor, the emaciated people lying on bunks around us. So hungry they didn't have the strength to stand.
Four thousand years of negotiating with the greedy, the saintly and the stupid doesn't prepare you for this.
He simply had no idea of the power that grubby little lamp in his hand contained.
But wishes must be granted.
He repeated his wish patiently, slowly, like I hadn't heard the first time; " Sir, I want my mummy'.
I thought for a long time, more used to finding cunning tricks stop the wealthy destroying themselves and those around them than finding altruistic things to do with my time.
She wasn't dead yet but she was far away and didn't have long.
She'd be shot on sight if I conjured her here. A woman in a men's camp. That would teach the brat to ask for something from a genie.
But as I raised my arm something stopped me. Conscience?
Maybe I could grant him a merciful death? She only had hours left herself. They'd be together for eternity.
No. We'd have to take the scenic route to grant this wish.
Obviously, I'd have to alter the whole course of the war, engineer the downfall of an Empire, create a whole new country and throw in a suspicious suicide or two to get there.
No biggie.
I knelt beside him and smiled reassuringly.
"It will take time to grant this wish. You will have a long and hard journey in front of you. Understand?"
He nodded eagerly and for the first time in years the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a flash of hope.
| A glow spread through the antique lamp, growing from a gentle and reassuring warmth to a blistering heat which forced Emily to release the light. The old and dusty piece clattered to the ground, and she quickly dove down to pick it back up.
After a hurried inspection to make sure it was still intact, she popped her head up, scanning over the tables of junk. Thankfully, no one appeared to have noticed her mishap. After a quick rub with her jacket sleeve to rid the humble lamp of the rest of the dust, she stood to return it to the display tables. But still, the thought of the sudden heat she felt nagged at her.
Putting it out of her mind, she wandered out into the main marketplace, pulling her jacket tightly to her in a futile effort to keep out the cold and rain as she looked for her parents.
It wouldn't be hard to find them, as not many people would come to a flea market in such bitter weather, but Emily's parents insisted on the tradition. Under normal circumstances, Emily would protest, feigning a cough or remembering homework due on Monday, but things were different now. She spotted her parents across the field and began to weave a path towards them, taking her time to examine a few pretty trinkets here and there.
As Emily neared her parents, an older man caught her attention. "Excuse me, young miss," he spoke from his wheelchair. "I was hoping you could help me for a moment."
"Oh, I don't work here-"
"No, no, of course not," he replied with a warm smile. "I was just hoping you could help me reach that there lamp on the table," and with a gesture indicated an antique lamp that was very much identical to the one Emily had fumbled with earlier. "It's just so hard moving on these rainy days, you know."
"Ah, sure! My dad is wheelchair bound as well," she replied as she reached for the man's lamp.
"And how did he end up there? Has he been in a chair for a while now?"
"He only recently got sick, but-" a flash of warmth greeted her fingers when they met the smooth surface of the lamp. "...But the doctors said it's pretty bad." She suddenly stopped herself, embarrassed by her confession.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's quite alright, I've heard that story too many times to remember." A somber expression rested on his face, and while the gentleness remained, a small glint in his eye gave a rather odd feeling to his next words. "I suppose you'd wish he could get better, do you not?"
"Well, I hope and pray for that everyday, but the doctors say he doesn't have long regardless. I think we've accepted that. Mom and I are just trying to make sure he's happy," Emily's gaze drifted up to the sky. "This constant rain doesn't help," she continued with a melancholy smile as she handed him his lamp.
A small, sincere smile spread across the old man's face. "...Do you wish the rain would stop, my dear?"
A brief word of thanks was exchanged for a silent nod and a short wave goodbye from Emily.
As she crossed the field to join her parents, the clouds broke to allow them a few rays of blissful sunlight and respite from the constant rain.
Emily pulled her jacket tight once more to protect herself from the rain. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I have three iron-clad rules. No making people fall in love, no bringing people back from the dead, no making people immortal. There are a whole host of *other* rules, ones that I've come up with after a millenea of existence. If forced, I'll contradict my personal rules, but the one rule that I never break, my one secret rule, is that all my wishes come with fine print. You want to be famous? That's fine, the whole world will think you killed the President. You want money? Fine, that money will drive your family apart. Want to be happy for the rest of your life? One terminal car crash, coming right up. I had never broken my personal rule, not for anyone. Everyone who found my lamp was generally a selfish bastard, so the punishment was well-deserved. I was the genie who gave three wishes, but people only wanted one.
Until I met her.
To clarify, I had been owned by this kid's uncle, who was about the worst human being I had ever come across. You name it, dear old uncle had done it. Kiddy porn? He had terabytes of it. Rape? Check. Armed robbery? He had grown up on it. There were even allegations of a cold murder case, from what I could hear from inside my lamp. The idiot had asked to not be caught by the police. Seconds after granting his wish, the FBI had come knocking. This kid's uncle had tried to summon me again, but one of my personal rules was no wishes within half an hour of each other. He had screamed his wish from the back of a police car, but by that time he was no longer my master.
My lamp was bagged and tagged as evidence, and when I was given to the uncle, he rubbed and rubbed, but my personal rules prevailed. I couldn't appear in the presence of someone who wasn't my master. The uncle ended up in a psych ward somewhere, adjudicated insane for having an obsession with lamps.
I passed from hand to hand after that, until I ended up in the possession of the uncle's niece. The first time she held me, I could sense that she was the opposite of her possibly demonic uncle. She was young for a human, and her innocence and kindness were boundless within her soul. I still recall with fondness the day she first rubbed my lamp.
I exploded out of the lamp, sure in my convictions. I would not break my rules for her, I would simply bend them. Our initial conversation went about the same as any other initial genie/human conversation. Her face was a picture of disbelief, but when she realized my power, her thoughts didn't stray towards thoughts of self-enrichment or global domination.
Her first wish? "I wish people didn't go hungry."
My rules didn't forbid it, so I got to work. It took me five years to dismantle the stranglehold the big food conglomerates held on the worldwide food industry. I bought them all out, and split them up into their component parts. Each component was assigned a region, and each component was graded not by profit, but by how many people didn't go hungry. I improved the logistical infrastructure of third world countries around the globe. The trans-African highway and its tributaries allowed Africa to pull itself into a more developed state. Using small amounts of my power, I was able to tame the mighty Sahara and Sahel deserts, as well as the vast deserts of the Middle East, and turned them into farming paradises. Sweeping political, economic and religious reforms across the globe ended the forced inequality and segregation of many regions. In countries that didn't have arable land, I placed greenhouses on the floor of the ocean, with efficient, fail-safe ways to transport their harvests to the surface. Ten years later, the world was well fed.
I returned to the young girl, who wasn't so young, and reminded her she still had two more wishes. She smiled, her heart still so full of the compassion and kindness, and asked for her second wish.
"I wish for the world's environment to return to healthy levels."
I worked doubly hard on this wish, knowing that it would take me so very long to complete. Using the money gained from ending world hunger, I worked tirelessly to pioneer new technologies for producing energy in a carbon-neutral way. My machinations, political and economical, forced many polluting businesses to close, and sustainability was a hard fight. So many paid-for politicians tried to fight back, so many businesses cried foul at my actions. I crushed them all, paving the way for a brighter future, one that did not poison Mother Earth and all her beauty. It took me many untold years to accomplish this task, but by the time I finished, every country on Earth was declared carbon-neutral.
It was at this time that I returned to the young girl. Her final wish was croaked out of her aged lips, and it was her most binding wish.
"I wish for peace. Thank you genie."
I nodded, and put my hand on her wrinkled brow. Her featured relaxed, and she sighed. The machines she was plugged into whined, but I paid them no mind. No one would ever know the significance of the woman who had lay in that hospital bed; the effect she had on the world. She would be uncredited in the renewal of the Earth. Trillions would sing my praises, but her thanks would rank above all of them. | The little boy stood with regal humility in a frozen world. His neck craned back to look up at the strange figure who now silently contemplated what it wanted to do most. He had no fear of taking too much time in his musing. Neither time nor worldly things had meaning to one such as he. He merely was.
He wasn't bound by any of the myths they told each other. The simple truth was that he only bothered with the lamp as an idle fancy, something to occupy the time until he either tired of it or this world had passed. He wasn't bound to grant any request or number thereof, and would grant it in whatever fashion should please him most. He had granted many, and taken delight in giving them the shape of what they desired without the substance of it. There had even been times when he had only put a whimsical spin on a request. This was the first time he had actually had to think about what he wanted to do.
"Hello mister-genie-sir, can I have some candy please?" He considered what would be most amusing to do. Should he simply answer the question and disappear? No, that would not be satisfying at all. What if he turned the child's guardians into chocolate? That wouldn't do either. The child was probably too young to understand the implications when he should chance upon their remains. Besides that the little one had treated him with, in his simple reference, the utmost of respect. Neither demand nor command, and with the acknowledgement that the decision was his! A rare event indeed.
To think that it would be a child asking a question that would give him such pause! No scholar, philosopher, king, or lawyer had ever done so! As he realized this he laughed. Quietly at first, but then with increasing fervor. He laughed so hard, he gloried in being amused so that he lost his grip and the flow of time resumed.
"What's so funny, mister-genie-sir?" the child asked.
He brought himself under control long enough to reply. "I don't know that anyone has ever wished for that" he said. "Yes, here is some candy little one." He gave the boy enough candy to enjoy without spoiling his appetite, then disappeared with the lantern.
While time may have no meaning to one such as he, much of it passed before he stopped laughing to himself. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "I want you to make the monsters go away."
I stared at the little girl. Her eyes were large, her clothing disheveled, as she sat upright in her bed.
Could I twist this wish?
"What monsters are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes, murmuring something. I heard footsteps on the stairs- her father's, probably.
"We don't have much time left. What monsters would you like me to 'make go away'?"
She struggled to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I sighed.
Dammit. No way I was gonna twist this one, the poor girl was twisted enough.
I snapped my fingers. "It is done," I said.
Her father rapped on her door. "Sara, are you in there? I need to tuck you in before you go to sleep."
She flinched. I dissipated, my job done.
_________________________________________________________
"... In other news, local father Joseph Charleston was seized in a police raid last night out of his own house. Prosecutors claim he has been sexually assaulting and abusing his 6 year old daughter Sara Charleston for 3 years. He faces charges of 5 major felonies. More on this at 10."
| The little boy stood with regal humility in a frozen world. His neck craned back to look up at the strange figure who now silently contemplated what it wanted to do most. He had no fear of taking too much time in his musing. Neither time nor worldly things had meaning to one such as he. He merely was.
He wasn't bound by any of the myths they told each other. The simple truth was that he only bothered with the lamp as an idle fancy, something to occupy the time until he either tired of it or this world had passed. He wasn't bound to grant any request or number thereof, and would grant it in whatever fashion should please him most. He had granted many, and taken delight in giving them the shape of what they desired without the substance of it. There had even been times when he had only put a whimsical spin on a request. This was the first time he had actually had to think about what he wanted to do.
"Hello mister-genie-sir, can I have some candy please?" He considered what would be most amusing to do. Should he simply answer the question and disappear? No, that would not be satisfying at all. What if he turned the child's guardians into chocolate? That wouldn't do either. The child was probably too young to understand the implications when he should chance upon their remains. Besides that the little one had treated him with, in his simple reference, the utmost of respect. Neither demand nor command, and with the acknowledgement that the decision was his! A rare event indeed.
To think that it would be a child asking a question that would give him such pause! No scholar, philosopher, king, or lawyer had ever done so! As he realized this he laughed. Quietly at first, but then with increasing fervor. He laughed so hard, he gloried in being amused so that he lost his grip and the flow of time resumed.
"What's so funny, mister-genie-sir?" the child asked.
He brought himself under control long enough to reply. "I don't know that anyone has ever wished for that" he said. "Yes, here is some candy little one." He gave the boy enough candy to enjoy without spoiling his appetite, then disappeared with the lantern.
While time may have no meaning to one such as he, much of it passed before he stopped laughing to himself. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "I want you to make the monsters go away."
I stared at the little girl. Her eyes were large, her clothing disheveled, as she sat upright in her bed.
Could I twist this wish?
"What monsters are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes, murmuring something. I heard footsteps on the stairs- her father's, probably.
"We don't have much time left. What monsters would you like me to 'make go away'?"
She struggled to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I sighed.
Dammit. No way I was gonna twist this one, the poor girl was twisted enough.
I snapped my fingers. "It is done," I said.
Her father rapped on her door. "Sara, are you in there? I need to tuck you in before you go to sleep."
She flinched. I dissipated, my job done.
_________________________________________________________
"... In other news, local father Joseph Charleston was seized in a police raid last night out of his own house. Prosecutors claim he has been sexually assaulting and abusing his 6 year old daughter Sara Charleston for 3 years. He faces charges of 5 major felonies. More on this at 10."
| The lamp clattered in the alleyway, still warm from the deathgrip of the princely figure who held it before.
A girl looked at the shiny thing, and then took it.
> CONTACT.
> New User, Temporary User 095455591.
> Activating Hologram Interface...
"Who holds the lamp? Who commands me, the great Djinn of this lamp?"
The girl squeaks.
> Sound invalid. Translation node and sensory upgrade scheduled to be activated...
"^^hi. ^^I'm ^^Badroulbadour." The child spoke, quietly.
She was cringing, and averting her eyes from the spirit, who had taken on the form of a wispy, cloud-like, yet warm-looking brute.
"So... You are my master... Why do you avert your eyes? Your wish, is my command! You are right to fear me, but know this: I can do nothing but what you ask of me."
"^^I... ^^Could ^^I ^^have ^^something ^^to ^^drink?"
The genie paused. It could easily kill the child, now. Drown it in an ethereal wave of water. Or poison it.
But the spirit stared at the shaking child, and decided something.
> User has successfully met traits for full access. Greater suffering onto world can be made with valid user at helm. Provide permission? Y/N
> Y
> Temporary User, Badroulbadour, is now full User.
"Your wish, is my command." the djinn muttered, pulling out a waterskin with infinite clean water within, as much as she would ever need.
The djinn didn't want this one to lack the resources she would require to become the tyrant the djinn desired. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | As a part of another grand adventure, Sara makes her way to the attic. The light switch inside doesn't work and it's pitch black.
"Explorers always come prepared!"
She switches on her battery lantern and gets to work. Sara told her younger brother that their parents keep treasure in the attic, so now she must find something that looks at least slightly interesting to bring him. The story of her parents' treasure was born because they always told them to stay out of the attic. “What could they possibly be hiding?” Sara wonders as she brushes cobwebs aside and opens a box.
"What's this?" Sara asks herself when she sees an old kerosene lamp. "Wow, this is what my parents must have used for light before electricity was invented." She places her lantern on the floor and picks up the lamp.
"What is your wish?" A commanding voice asks.
Sara moves the lamp closer to her face. "Where are you, tiny man? Come out of the lamp so I can see you."
"Do you have a wish? Speak it and it will be granted."
Sara thinks for a moment and ponders her life.
"I want daddy to be home more often. He doesn't play with us as much as he used to, and he gets home from work really late. Mom said he got a 'promotion' but I don't understand why he would want it. He comes home sad and tired ever since it happened."
The voice hears the child's plea. It could grant the wish by causing the father to become unemployed. Perverting the spirit of the wish is pretty standard for these type of entities. Altering events in such a manner is trivial, but the girl's earnest and pure wish will not be corrupted.
"It is done."
The father invested in his nephew's startup a couple months ago. Giving the kid just a little push is sure to make everything work out.
| "I wish for the Nile!"
The familiar line in a timeless classic seemed like a well timed sprinkling of humor, if nothing else. The kids in the nursery were engrossed in the movie. Their eyes glittered, a bit like the materials they were playing with just a while ago. I smiled slightly before looking back at the television.
"Mister George, why did the Genie laugh like that when Aladdin wished for the Nile?"
A small boy named Johan tugged gently on my shirt, with a curious expression on his face that wavered uncertainly between being upset and wanting to laugh. Even the way he said those words contained such conflicting emotions, even if he added a cute touch to them by stuttering and pausing repeatedly. I pursed my lip and cleared my throat as I bought time for an answer that wouldn't crush his hopes.
"Ahem. Well, Johan, Aladdin was being sweet and genuine when he made such a wish instead of something more selfish. Like, say, an entire kingdom's wealth."
I smiled reassuringly at Johan as he pondered on my reply. He frowned slightly and wrinkled his forehead. Contemplating my words in all likelihood. Afterwards, he flashed a toothy grin at me, revealing the tiny white molars and incisors hidden within.
"Oh, so I'm sweet and genuine!"
"Of course you are, Johan."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
George could not have possibly known of the events in Johan's house just a few hours back. Neither could he have known about the timeliness of showing Aladdin. There was no way for anyone but Johan to know. And so, he continued on with life, thinking of Johan's words as something childish but heartwarming.
On that warm, yet not quite hot, Thursday morning, Johan had found a golden lamp stowed away in a dusty corner of his home's attic. Stuffy, uncomfortable and inconvenient to access, it was exactly the sort of place a child would visit for his fantasies. Not knowing anything of genies and wishes, he had simply used it as an airplane, as a make-believe cup and even as a pot of all things. It was during one of these times that he accidentally rubbed the lamp.
"O ye who hath rubbed the lamp, thou shalt be granted one wish!"
The genie who had popped out was a majestic figure. Skin of blue with vague brown tattoos tracing all over his body, he was someone that could inspire and intimidate others. However, because the person who had rubbed the lamp was a child, he had not appeared in his usual form. He could only materialise himself as a miniature figure in order to suit the boy. Still, his booming voice was something that others should have been afraid of.
"I can't understand you!"
With a tone of not quite annoyance, Johan shouted back at the genie. Johan was relaxed and natural even with something like a genie thanks to the blessing of childhood. It erased any self doubt and fear that may have existed in a person just slightly older.
"Er, you get to make a wish, any wish."
The genie replied delicately, taken aback by Johan's confidence. It was worthy of respect, and so he translated for Johan as the boy had demanded.
"Okay, I wish that me and my friends and my mom and my dad and Mister George can have a raspberry cake to eat!"
Johan smiled widely at the genie, satisfied with what he had wished. Meanwhile, the Genie was just looking at Johan with his mouth wide open. Was this some sort of mind game, he thought, or was the boy for real? How would he even twist something like that?
"You sure you want something like that? I can give you a permanent supply of done homework, good friends, even toys! You sure you just want a raspberry cake for all those people?"
"Yes!"
Johan spoke with a tone of ending and the Genie couldn't bear to argue further with him. Not after seeing those adorable buggy little eyes. The Genie just granted his wish. A sinister afterthought surged through his mind like a bullet train as he did so, but the train crashed and burned quickly. There was no worth in distorting a genuinely unselfish wish like this, he thought. And so, unlike the countless dictators and businessmen he had served before, the Genie finally granted a wish without any twists. No diabolical nitpicking of the details, no evil over exaggeration of the wish. Just a simple wish granting.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Johan's parents, the arrival of cake was a shock. The scramble to trace its origins and repay their debtor ultimately ended in failure. In the end, they prodded the cake gingerly, afraid of a bomb, before they devoured the delicious cake in one fell swoop with their colleagues.
The cake arrived after the movie, in perfect and timely fashion. The children were pleasantly surprised, and ate the food relatively cleanly. Still, if one had walked into that nursery, they might have seen the heartwarming sight of children eating and smearing cake on one another. Hearty laughter, eyes that folded into slits smaller than the opening of an ant hole and cheers all around. That was what filled that nursery on that day, and many other days too. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "C'mon kid. Something more?"
The boy shook his head solemnly.
I looked around us, the filth, the squalor, the emaciated people lying on bunks around us. So hungry they didn't have the strength to stand.
Four thousand years of negotiating with the greedy, the saintly and the stupid doesn't prepare you for this.
He simply had no idea of the power that grubby little lamp in his hand contained.
But wishes must be granted.
He repeated his wish patiently, slowly, like I hadn't heard the first time; " Sir, I want my mummy'.
I thought for a long time, more used to finding cunning tricks stop the wealthy destroying themselves and those around them than finding altruistic things to do with my time.
She wasn't dead yet but she was far away and didn't have long.
She'd be shot on sight if I conjured her here. A woman in a men's camp. That would teach the brat to ask for something from a genie.
But as I raised my arm something stopped me. Conscience?
Maybe I could grant him a merciful death? She only had hours left herself. They'd be together for eternity.
No. We'd have to take the scenic route to grant this wish.
Obviously, I'd have to alter the whole course of the war, engineer the downfall of an Empire, create a whole new country and throw in a suspicious suicide or two to get there.
No biggie.
I knelt beside him and smiled reassuringly.
"It will take time to grant this wish. You will have a long and hard journey in front of you. Understand?"
He nodded eagerly and for the first time in years the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a flash of hope.
| "I wish for the Nile!"
The familiar line in a timeless classic seemed like a well timed sprinkling of humor, if nothing else. The kids in the nursery were engrossed in the movie. Their eyes glittered, a bit like the materials they were playing with just a while ago. I smiled slightly before looking back at the television.
"Mister George, why did the Genie laugh like that when Aladdin wished for the Nile?"
A small boy named Johan tugged gently on my shirt, with a curious expression on his face that wavered uncertainly between being upset and wanting to laugh. Even the way he said those words contained such conflicting emotions, even if he added a cute touch to them by stuttering and pausing repeatedly. I pursed my lip and cleared my throat as I bought time for an answer that wouldn't crush his hopes.
"Ahem. Well, Johan, Aladdin was being sweet and genuine when he made such a wish instead of something more selfish. Like, say, an entire kingdom's wealth."
I smiled reassuringly at Johan as he pondered on my reply. He frowned slightly and wrinkled his forehead. Contemplating my words in all likelihood. Afterwards, he flashed a toothy grin at me, revealing the tiny white molars and incisors hidden within.
"Oh, so I'm sweet and genuine!"
"Of course you are, Johan."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
George could not have possibly known of the events in Johan's house just a few hours back. Neither could he have known about the timeliness of showing Aladdin. There was no way for anyone but Johan to know. And so, he continued on with life, thinking of Johan's words as something childish but heartwarming.
On that warm, yet not quite hot, Thursday morning, Johan had found a golden lamp stowed away in a dusty corner of his home's attic. Stuffy, uncomfortable and inconvenient to access, it was exactly the sort of place a child would visit for his fantasies. Not knowing anything of genies and wishes, he had simply used it as an airplane, as a make-believe cup and even as a pot of all things. It was during one of these times that he accidentally rubbed the lamp.
"O ye who hath rubbed the lamp, thou shalt be granted one wish!"
The genie who had popped out was a majestic figure. Skin of blue with vague brown tattoos tracing all over his body, he was someone that could inspire and intimidate others. However, because the person who had rubbed the lamp was a child, he had not appeared in his usual form. He could only materialise himself as a miniature figure in order to suit the boy. Still, his booming voice was something that others should have been afraid of.
"I can't understand you!"
With a tone of not quite annoyance, Johan shouted back at the genie. Johan was relaxed and natural even with something like a genie thanks to the blessing of childhood. It erased any self doubt and fear that may have existed in a person just slightly older.
"Er, you get to make a wish, any wish."
The genie replied delicately, taken aback by Johan's confidence. It was worthy of respect, and so he translated for Johan as the boy had demanded.
"Okay, I wish that me and my friends and my mom and my dad and Mister George can have a raspberry cake to eat!"
Johan smiled widely at the genie, satisfied with what he had wished. Meanwhile, the Genie was just looking at Johan with his mouth wide open. Was this some sort of mind game, he thought, or was the boy for real? How would he even twist something like that?
"You sure you want something like that? I can give you a permanent supply of done homework, good friends, even toys! You sure you just want a raspberry cake for all those people?"
"Yes!"
Johan spoke with a tone of ending and the Genie couldn't bear to argue further with him. Not after seeing those adorable buggy little eyes. The Genie just granted his wish. A sinister afterthought surged through his mind like a bullet train as he did so, but the train crashed and burned quickly. There was no worth in distorting a genuinely unselfish wish like this, he thought. And so, unlike the countless dictators and businessmen he had served before, the Genie finally granted a wish without any twists. No diabolical nitpicking of the details, no evil over exaggeration of the wish. Just a simple wish granting.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Johan's parents, the arrival of cake was a shock. The scramble to trace its origins and repay their debtor ultimately ended in failure. In the end, they prodded the cake gingerly, afraid of a bomb, before they devoured the delicious cake in one fell swoop with their colleagues.
The cake arrived after the movie, in perfect and timely fashion. The children were pleasantly surprised, and ate the food relatively cleanly. Still, if one had walked into that nursery, they might have seen the heartwarming sight of children eating and smearing cake on one another. Hearty laughter, eyes that folded into slits smaller than the opening of an ant hole and cheers all around. That was what filled that nursery on that day, and many other days too. |
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | "C'mon kid. Something more?"
The boy shook his head solemnly.
I looked around us, the filth, the squalor, the emaciated people lying on bunks around us. So hungry they didn't have the strength to stand.
Four thousand years of negotiating with the greedy, the saintly and the stupid doesn't prepare you for this.
He simply had no idea of the power that grubby little lamp in his hand contained.
But wishes must be granted.
He repeated his wish patiently, slowly, like I hadn't heard the first time; " Sir, I want my mummy'.
I thought for a long time, more used to finding cunning tricks stop the wealthy destroying themselves and those around them than finding altruistic things to do with my time.
She wasn't dead yet but she was far away and didn't have long.
She'd be shot on sight if I conjured her here. A woman in a men's camp. That would teach the brat to ask for something from a genie.
But as I raised my arm something stopped me. Conscience?
Maybe I could grant him a merciful death? She only had hours left herself. They'd be together for eternity.
No. We'd have to take the scenic route to grant this wish.
Obviously, I'd have to alter the whole course of the war, engineer the downfall of an Empire, create a whole new country and throw in a suspicious suicide or two to get there.
No biggie.
I knelt beside him and smiled reassuringly.
"It will take time to grant this wish. You will have a long and hard journey in front of you. Understand?"
He nodded eagerly and for the first time in years the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a flash of hope.
| As a part of another grand adventure, Sara makes her way to the attic. The light switch inside doesn't work and it's pitch black.
"Explorers always come prepared!"
She switches on her battery lantern and gets to work. Sara told her younger brother that their parents keep treasure in the attic, so now she must find something that looks at least slightly interesting to bring him. The story of her parents' treasure was born because they always told them to stay out of the attic. “What could they possibly be hiding?” Sara wonders as she brushes cobwebs aside and opens a box.
"What's this?" Sara asks herself when she sees an old kerosene lamp. "Wow, this is what my parents must have used for light before electricity was invented." She places her lantern on the floor and picks up the lamp.
"What is your wish?" A commanding voice asks.
Sara moves the lamp closer to her face. "Where are you, tiny man? Come out of the lamp so I can see you."
"Do you have a wish? Speak it and it will be granted."
Sara thinks for a moment and ponders her life.
"I want daddy to be home more often. He doesn't play with us as much as he used to, and he gets home from work really late. Mom said he got a 'promotion' but I don't understand why he would want it. He comes home sad and tired ever since it happened."
The voice hears the child's plea. It could grant the wish by causing the father to become unemployed. Perverting the spirit of the wish is pretty standard for these type of entities. Altering events in such a manner is trivial, but the girl's earnest and pure wish will not be corrupted.
"It is done."
The father invested in his nephew's startup a couple months ago. Giving the kid just a little push is sure to make everything work out.
|
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I am what you might consider the oldest being alive. The spirit of an Egyptian slave, trapped with dark sorcery within the confines of a lamp, I am forced to grant one wish to anyone who asks it of me. You just have to rub my lamp...
It's really fucking demeaning. I mean, come on. Rub a lamp, get whatever the hell you want at my expense? I get all this power, but I can never use it for myself? I guess that's what you get when you fuck the wrong person's daughter in pre-Christ North Africa. Especially as a slave.
Naturally, I'm pretty damn bitter about the whole thing. After thousands of years of granting wishes, I've become what the kids today call "salty" about it. Bitterness can make an immortal being pretty crafty. To amuse myself, I began bending the rules of my confinement a few hundred years ago. If you rub my lamp, you'll get what you ask for.... but you'll also get a whole lot fucking more than you asked for.
For example, this real numb-nuts in the early 1800s found my lamp in Palmyra, New York, buried on a farm. He wanted to be rich and powerful... So, naturally, I told him to start a religion. I even created some gold plates with holy scriptures engraved on them to authenticate his shiny new cult. He got what he wanted. People followed him from miles around to join the Mormon Church. But, the bastard started marrying other people's kids (yeah, pural: you heard me) and trying to overthrow the US Government in order to insert a theocratic regime. He burned down printers' houses for talking shit on him, he had this crazy body guard who killed people for the hell of it, the list goes on and on. I really screwed the pooch giving old Joe his own religion.
But I digress. The point is, be careful what you wish for. You just might get everything you want, plus a whole shitload of other crap you didn't bargain for.
But something happened recently that shook my bitterness to the core of my soul. This organization found my lamp. It's happened before. They never stay in possession of it for long, because word gets out. Their rivals come searching, people die, yada yada til the end of time, forever and ever amen. Timeless classic of a story, really. That trope has given me a few good laughs over the centuries.
But this group is different. They make kids happy.
When I say kids, I of COURSE mean terminally ill kids. Because it wasn't hard enough to really stick it to the kids, they just had to be the sick ones too. They're called the Make-A-Wish foundation, and they've given me-- dare I say it-- happiness. For the first time in thousands of years, I feel useful: important.
Instead of wreaking havoc on shady individuals' lives by subverting their greedy wishes, I grant the humblest of wishes that couldn't possibly be misconstrued or over-interpreted in order to cause something awful to happen.
Joel Osteen wanted fame and glory? Well, I sold his blue-eyed soul to the Devil and gave him charisma the likes of which the world has never seen. Molly, who got leukemia, wants to visit Japan because she loves anime? Fuck it, have a ball, kid. It's really refreshing to be a part of something that doesn't involve misery and destruction. And as an immortal being: trust me, that's more radical than it sounds. | After the rubbing, a burst of light, and a dark voice.
"You now have one wish, Timmy!"
"Oh! Who are you? How did you know my name?"
"Don't be scared. Don't cry. I work in this magic lamp and you now get one wish. Make it count!"
"Mooooommmmmyyy!!"
"You are frozen in this light bubble until you make a wish. Do not be afraid, but no one but me can hear you. Your wish then?"
Suppressing tears, Timmy looked around. He wanted to run, and scream. A wish? What wish? Mommy makes a pie tomorrow. Wish that was today! Her pie is so great!
"I want mommy to make her pie today already!"
The genie's eyes widened. For what seemed like a minute, only the crackling of energy was heard around. The genie was ready to subvert that wish for a speaking pony, a salary raise, an eternal cruise ship holiday, or unfathomable amounts of money.
But getting a pie sooner?
Timmy was looking at the genie, waiting, now more hungry than scared.
"Genie? Are you there? Is that wish ok?"
"It's... it's a very humble wish. Are you sure that's all you want? How about a new bicycle that goes faster than the speed of sound?"
"Will I get the pie today too?"
"No, just one wish."
"Then just the pie please."
---
"Timmy, come down and help me!"
Timmy ran down the stairs. Mom was already busy in the kitchen.
"You know what? I feel we should make the cake today. Aren't you hungry already?"
Timmy jumped up and down, a big smile on his face. It worked! The genie wasn't lying! This was the best day ever. Mom's pies were the greatest thing on earth, and if the genie won't come back, I'll just wait an extra day next week! |
|
[WP] You've just died. You wake up and realize you are now a character in a video game you spent a lot of time playing while you were alive. | It was a while before I could see anything apart from blinding white. The walls, the floor, all made of a sterile white material that seemed somehow familiar.
I wondered whether this was heaven - perhaps I would soon see my sister and parents! But as my vision cleared it seemed more like a hospital.
Slowly, I noticed a sound beside my head, and turned to see a small radio blaring an irritating jingle. This was all starting to feel incredibly familiar....
Wait. Nope. I had to get out of here.
The door hissed open into a small grey corridor, monitored by a security camera blinking red. At the end of the hall stood a cylindrical lift, open and ready for me to enter.
A mechanical voice echoed through the lift chamber as I stepped forward as if on autopilot.
*"Welcome, test subject. Please keep all arms and legs inside the capsule while the lift is moving. Aperture Science thanks you for your cooperation."*
***
I honestly wish this was real I love GlaDOS so much lmao | It's painful.
I mean, You don't get shot out of nowhere everyday, you know?
And then there was this skeleton horses and bizzare-smelling giants and ghouls around me.
I held my supposedly bleeding head, only to find a long, white hair.
"What' wrong, my King?" I looked at the sword on my waist, and cursed. Dangling there, with freckles of snow, the runeblade shining with wicked ice-blue light, the Frostmourne.
And beside me, the skeleton with shackled arms, the Lich Kel'thuzad.
"Where are we?"
"We are at the gates of Quel'thalas, your majesty. Our task is to gather the three moonstone needed to open the gate to the High Elven capital, and burn the wretched elves to ashes!"
Damn, of all part from the Warcraft campaign I could took part in, I'm stuck with Reign of Chaos? |
|
[WP] You've just died. You wake up and realize you are now a character in a video game you spent a lot of time playing while you were alive. | The darkness finally subsides and I see a light at a great distance ahead. I try to move towards it but can't. The light is getting closer. It's as if I'm being pulled in to it. More darkness. I feel my hands, legs, my body. I manage to rub my eyes. I open them and I'm suddenly no longer behind the wheel. The truck speeding towards me is also gone. Was it just a dream? Did I die? There's no answer. My vision begins to clear. I'm standing in an alley in a city that is vaguely familiar. To my left and right, wooden fences that stretch to the city street ahead. Leaning against the fence on the right, a bicycle. I've seen this before, I know what to do.
I get on the bicycle and start pedaling. I don't know where to go but it feels like the right way. I look behind me. 3 men, also on bikes, are following me. They also seem familiar, like they are friends from a past life. One is a larger man, barely keeping pace in between large breaths. Another man, wearing a black hat and smoking what seems to be a cigar of sorts, rides a bit too close for comfort. The last one speeds ahead to lead the way. He seems too familiar, like a brother or something. All of them wearing the same color. Where have I seen this before? I hear an engine revving. Gunshots. An old car is chasing us with some lunatic hanging out the window shooting at us. "Follow me!" says the man most familiar to me.
We ride through the city, dodging bullets and traffic as these gunmen try to kill us. A quick turn. Pedaling hard now, I'm almost out of breath. The other two are no where to be seen. We ride down an embankment. Surely the car couldn't follow us down here, down inside this large culvert. I look back. The other two are following us again, but the car is gone. We ride up this impossibly steep embankment as if it were nothing to the entrance of a cul de sac. I know this place, I can feel it. It dawns on me. An overwhelming thought enters my head. I know where I am now.
"Grove Street. Home." | The pain is subsiding, but it is replaced in slow increments by two somethings far worse, the stench of decay and the feeling of hard metal beneath my cheek.
Where is the asphalt? The sounds of traffic? Why does everything smell like old rebar baking in the sun? I slowly open my eyes, blinking in the harsh light pooling over dead branches and onto a carpet of leaves and the steel plate I'm resting on. In the distance I can see a reddish-brown shape rooting in the undergrowth, and it startles, grunting, when I try to raise my head.
My vision is much worse than I remember. I push dirty fingers into the leaves around me and come back with a pair of glasses, a motion that is like a ghosting of memory I do not understand. As I do, I realize there is a weight on my right arm that I cannot recall being normal, and as I fumble my glasses onto my nose I look down at an unmistakable black and green screen.
(This), I think to myself, (this is what happens when you die?)
The red and brown thing resolves itself into a deer with two heads. It lowers both of them for a moment, raking a hoof through the dusty loam beneath it and across a dry piece of slate with an all-to-real grating whine. I turn my head away and it snorts, shakes itself, and starts to walk away. In the distance I can see the dim outline of Sanctuary, and a tree house. *My* tree house.
I look down at my dirty hands, hands that are not mine. I glance then at my chest and legs, but none of these are mine. I run my filthy hands over the front of my leather jacket and then I slowly drag myself to my feet and feel along my side for the .45 I know will be there.
I think about all the things I remember about this place, and then I remember the one thing that I cannot forget, and I cannot forgive.
"Shaun's gonna wish I ended up somewhere else," I whisper to nobody but myself. And then I start to walk, whistling the melody to *Butcher Pete*, thinking about a certain German Shepherd I can't wait to finally pet. |
|
[WP] You've just died. You wake up and realize you are now a character in a video game you spent a lot of time playing while you were alive. | Falling. Stop.
It's like being in a downgoing elevator that stops every half floor. Except there's no elevator. Or floor.
Instead, there are walls. Solid brick walls that stretch up towards the void above.
Falling. Stop.
Is it a street under me? Or am I in a warehouse? What are those cubes?
Falling. Stop.
Without warning, I'm facing the void above. There was no sense of movement; just a change of state, from upright to supine.
I try to sit up, but found that I am as unbendable as an I-beam. Come to think of it, I may as well *be* an I-beam. Where are my arms?
Falling. Stop.
I'm looking at the walls again. At the same time, I jerk backwards, just as abruptly as I'm falling.
The ground below me is clearer now. I'm definitely not falling towards a street. Streets aren't made of patterned cubes stacked haphazardly.
Falling. Stop.
More jerks backwards.
Falling. Stop.
There seems to be a gap right underneath me, between two tall stacks of cubes. Two flush walls of cubes line the gap.
Falling. Stop.
Falling. Stop.
Falling.
Gravity seems to notice me again unannounced, like a forgetful parent. The stacks of cubes blur into a field of colours.
Falling.
The bottom quarter of me is in the gap now. The cubes around look at me impassively.
Then I understand.
I understand the walls. I understand the jerking motions. I understand the cubes.
Most importantly, I understand the gap.
This is my gap. It was made for me.
Falling.
Walls, flush around me.
Stop.
I do not fear. I should be content.
Oblivion is the best thing I can hope for.
After all, you don't get to clear four rows at once every day. | The last thing I remembered was being swept up into a tornado, and a sharp pain in the back of my head.
I woke up kneeling, gazing out of a window with decorative metal reinforcement lining it, in the shape of a flower I vaguely recognized. The enormous vista of space greeted me, a shattered moon with golden structures holding it together before the Earth, near-barren and little green patches on the land masses.
A robotic voice snapped me out of my daze. "Welcome back, operator! I have been patiently *fzzt* WaitINg foR bLOoD *fzzt* for your return." I stood up, feeling much stronger than I had in my life. I looked down, and found myself at ease somehow that I wasn't exactly... human.
At least, upon further inspection it seemed more like a suit but I had a nagging thought that my own personal self was not in the suit I was seeing. I took in my surroundings, I appeared to be inside what I always imagined a spaceship would be like if they were personally designed by me.
Looking back from the front viewport there were two tables with holographic projections, one labeled "Codex" and the other "Market". I approached them and a bay door opened, creating a path to the belly of my newfound ship. Curious, I walked down into the newly-accessible area and found an array of tools, 2 constructs on each side and one in the center of the low-ceiling room, looking vaguely like a Star-Trek teleporter.
I entered this teleporter-like construct and was greeted by a large holographic menu, seemingly a list of equipment I own but didn't remember acquiring. I picked out a set, the Zhuge, Dex Dakra, and Boltace. Crossbow, Pistol, and some spiky-sticks I figure I'll use later.
I hear a echo from deeper in my ship, a groan of pain. I followed it, down a corridor to a door marked with a 5-petal flower design, a infinite-loop into itself. I crept towards it cautiously and it opened, startling me. It revealed a large room with a white tree growing from a pod-like structure surrounded by mist. How curious, I thought to myself.
Striding closer to the pod, it started opening, and I felt a rush of fresh air. I gulped it in greedily, before the pod fully opened. My vision flickered. A fuzz like an old TV screen without the signal overtook my sight, and then I could see again.
In front of me lay a figure, from the same place I had been standing only moments ago. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. My body felt weak, but my mind felt stronger than ever. Clear, fast, unclouded. I scared myself with the realization of what I had become. My robotic companion fizzled into view.
"Ordis is the Cephalon. Ordis is the Ship. You are the Operator. You are a Tenno."
----------------------------------------------
This was my very first writing prompt story, so I hope you peeps enjoy. |
|
[WP] You've just died. You wake up and realize you are now a character in a video game you spent a lot of time playing while you were alive. | It all went black. There was nothing.
When all of a sudden your eyes crack open.
Your eyes are blurry from the long sleep, your muscles fatigued - but somehow stronger.
Orange lines seem to float in the air and your vision is seemingly marred by some electronic visor.
You wriggle your fingers and toes, there is some feeling returning to your body and then you start to notice the cold.
Winter.
Pushing yourself up unto your knees, you start to a feel for your body again.
The ground is frozen but your knees aren't cold - knee pads are strapped over your cool looking slim jeans.
You can feel the thick warmth of the dark green winter jacket around you - a rather trendy one you think to yourself.
You feel the weight of a backpack slung on your back.
And just above your chest, you feel the pressure of a tight fitting bulletproof vest.
You feel something else odd underneath it... protrusions... a bulge of sorts..
Breasts? You have breasts now?!
The orange lines move around, and you notice the glow on your wrist.
More orange... a strange wrist watch, but where are you?
You prop yourself up on a traffic barrier and see the carnage of empty cars, yellow plastic sheets, and the piles of bodies strewn around.
You look at the skyline and see the buildings you knew from another lifetime: New York.
When suddenly it all went black - and only the strange letters: I1L1II1LLI1 float in the air.
Until an electronic male voice buzzed in your ears.
"Now entering the dark zone." - ISAC
And then there was nothing. | The last thing I remembered was being swept up into a tornado, and a sharp pain in the back of my head.
I woke up kneeling, gazing out of a window with decorative metal reinforcement lining it, in the shape of a flower I vaguely recognized. The enormous vista of space greeted me, a shattered moon with golden structures holding it together before the Earth, near-barren and little green patches on the land masses.
A robotic voice snapped me out of my daze. "Welcome back, operator! I have been patiently *fzzt* WaitINg foR bLOoD *fzzt* for your return." I stood up, feeling much stronger than I had in my life. I looked down, and found myself at ease somehow that I wasn't exactly... human.
At least, upon further inspection it seemed more like a suit but I had a nagging thought that my own personal self was not in the suit I was seeing. I took in my surroundings, I appeared to be inside what I always imagined a spaceship would be like if they were personally designed by me.
Looking back from the front viewport there were two tables with holographic projections, one labeled "Codex" and the other "Market". I approached them and a bay door opened, creating a path to the belly of my newfound ship. Curious, I walked down into the newly-accessible area and found an array of tools, 2 constructs on each side and one in the center of the low-ceiling room, looking vaguely like a Star-Trek teleporter.
I entered this teleporter-like construct and was greeted by a large holographic menu, seemingly a list of equipment I own but didn't remember acquiring. I picked out a set, the Zhuge, Dex Dakra, and Boltace. Crossbow, Pistol, and some spiky-sticks I figure I'll use later.
I hear a echo from deeper in my ship, a groan of pain. I followed it, down a corridor to a door marked with a 5-petal flower design, a infinite-loop into itself. I crept towards it cautiously and it opened, startling me. It revealed a large room with a white tree growing from a pod-like structure surrounded by mist. How curious, I thought to myself.
Striding closer to the pod, it started opening, and I felt a rush of fresh air. I gulped it in greedily, before the pod fully opened. My vision flickered. A fuzz like an old TV screen without the signal overtook my sight, and then I could see again.
In front of me lay a figure, from the same place I had been standing only moments ago. I tried to get up, but I couldn't. My body felt weak, but my mind felt stronger than ever. Clear, fast, unclouded. I scared myself with the realization of what I had become. My robotic companion fizzled into view.
"Ordis is the Cephalon. Ordis is the Ship. You are the Operator. You are a Tenno."
----------------------------------------------
This was my very first writing prompt story, so I hope you peeps enjoy. |
|
[WP] A couple brings a baby into a motel room. The baby isn't theirs. | "Don't look at me, I didn't bring him in here." Said Martha, leaning over the nightstand to collect her earrings from the night before. They were embedded point down into the carpet, left that way as Jim carried her into the motel, sweeping her off her feet and into the scratchy bed. They hadn't even stopped to remove her dress- that had come off between the sheets, between sighs and moans of drunken pleasure.
"Well I sure as fuck didn't get him with the morning paper." Retorted Jim, holding a hand to his head, and squinting in the light coming through the crack in the window curtains.
In their half drunken state, the baby crying on the ground was a nuisance. Something that sharpened the pain in their heads, that lanced into the hangover. Certainly, it was not part of *their* reality. And certainly, it wasn't *their* job.
Jim glanced at the door, where the deadbolt was still in place, and frowned. There were no other entrances to the room, no space between the beds- Hell, the cheap motel didn't even have a closet. The baby *had* to have been there when they arrived. Somehow, they *had* to have missed it when they stumbled in, drunk.
They had to.
"Well then, what the Hell are we going to do about it," Said Martha, lighting a cigarette. Some smoke trickled down to where the baby lay, but Martha didn't mind. She was no mother. And frankly, she wasn't in the mood for pretending.
"I say we leave it."
"Leave it, Jim? What, are we just playing a game of pass the baby now?"
"Well, what do you suppose we do then?"
"Report it to the authorities, of course."
"Martha, are we going to sit here and pretend that you don't have four warrants out for you arrest, and that I have six? That's in this state alone. There's no way in *Hell* I am calling the police."
"Fine then, we leave it. Happy now? You were right."
Jim sighed, and started to pack his suitcase. Two layers of clothes were on top, and after that, money.
Layers upon layers of money. More than a man with Jim's upbringing should ever have. And *precisely* the amount that had been taken from *Memphis City Bank's* vaults seventy two hours before, minus the amount for gas, liquor, and cigarettes.
They left at eleven, the baby untouched on the floor, Jim unbolting the door. And as he opened it, and sunlight hit his already sensitive eyes, he was met with a new face, one with a thick accent.
"Housekeeping!" Said the maid, "So happy you are leaving, it's time to prepare the room! We're running behind today."
She bustled into the room as Jim and Martha stepped out, and started to rush down the stairs.
"Excuse me," She called after them, "You forgot something!"
With a frown, Jim turned to Martha. And Martha turned to Jim. Then he walked back up the stairs, took the bundle in the maid's arms, and walked to the car.
They left the hotel after each of them took two whiskey pulls to fend off the dregs of the hangover.
One Cadillac, minus a rear bumper.
One hundred thousand dollars in cash.
And one baby.
A baby that laughed as they sped away, gurgling with joy. And staring at the suitcase in the back seat.
***
By Leo
| It all started when my wife, Janet, wanted a kid. I was ecstatic and thought, 'Finally, I get to be a dad and get my kid interesting in Pokemon and D&D.' So, anyway, we tried for 2 years, doing everything we could. IVF, copious amounts of sex :), hormone treatments, voodoo, psychics, everything. We decided to finally visit an out-of-town doctor. However, the news was not good. The doctor told us that everything we did made Janet infertile.
We both froze and were shocked at the news. As we were leaving the hospital, we saw an unattended baby in a car seat, outside the gift shop.
"Ryan, get the car. I'll grab the baby and we run for it." Janet whispered to me.
I, being in a state of shock still, from the earlier news, mumbled "Ok."
I walked out the door, went to the car and pulled it up to the front, still in a daze. Janet ran up, opened the door, and got in holding the car seat.
"GO, GO, GO!!!" Janet yelled.
I left at a nice, slow pace. This was to avoid suspicion of just having stolen a baby from a hospital.
"WHY AREN'T YOU GOING FASTER THAN 30???" Janet yelled at me.
"Shut up, Janet. You'll wake the baby. I am going 30 because that is the last thing the police will look for."
"Ok, fine." Janet said, as she continued to hold the baby.
30 minutes later, we arrived at our hotel. I told Janet to come with me and we went in the side door. Finally, we walked down the hall into our room.
We opened the door and someone was sitting on the bed, waiting for us... |
|
[WP] A couple brings a baby into a motel room. The baby isn't theirs. | "Don't look at me, I didn't bring him in here." Said Martha, leaning over the nightstand to collect her earrings from the night before. They were embedded point down into the carpet, left that way as Jim carried her into the motel, sweeping her off her feet and into the scratchy bed. They hadn't even stopped to remove her dress- that had come off between the sheets, between sighs and moans of drunken pleasure.
"Well I sure as fuck didn't get him with the morning paper." Retorted Jim, holding a hand to his head, and squinting in the light coming through the crack in the window curtains.
In their half drunken state, the baby crying on the ground was a nuisance. Something that sharpened the pain in their heads, that lanced into the hangover. Certainly, it was not part of *their* reality. And certainly, it wasn't *their* job.
Jim glanced at the door, where the deadbolt was still in place, and frowned. There were no other entrances to the room, no space between the beds- Hell, the cheap motel didn't even have a closet. The baby *had* to have been there when they arrived. Somehow, they *had* to have missed it when they stumbled in, drunk.
They had to.
"Well then, what the Hell are we going to do about it," Said Martha, lighting a cigarette. Some smoke trickled down to where the baby lay, but Martha didn't mind. She was no mother. And frankly, she wasn't in the mood for pretending.
"I say we leave it."
"Leave it, Jim? What, are we just playing a game of pass the baby now?"
"Well, what do you suppose we do then?"
"Report it to the authorities, of course."
"Martha, are we going to sit here and pretend that you don't have four warrants out for you arrest, and that I have six? That's in this state alone. There's no way in *Hell* I am calling the police."
"Fine then, we leave it. Happy now? You were right."
Jim sighed, and started to pack his suitcase. Two layers of clothes were on top, and after that, money.
Layers upon layers of money. More than a man with Jim's upbringing should ever have. And *precisely* the amount that had been taken from *Memphis City Bank's* vaults seventy two hours before, minus the amount for gas, liquor, and cigarettes.
They left at eleven, the baby untouched on the floor, Jim unbolting the door. And as he opened it, and sunlight hit his already sensitive eyes, he was met with a new face, one with a thick accent.
"Housekeeping!" Said the maid, "So happy you are leaving, it's time to prepare the room! We're running behind today."
She bustled into the room as Jim and Martha stepped out, and started to rush down the stairs.
"Excuse me," She called after them, "You forgot something!"
With a frown, Jim turned to Martha. And Martha turned to Jim. Then he walked back up the stairs, took the bundle in the maid's arms, and walked to the car.
They left the hotel after each of them took two whiskey pulls to fend off the dregs of the hangover.
One Cadillac, minus a rear bumper.
One hundred thousand dollars in cash.
And one baby.
A baby that laughed as they sped away, gurgling with joy. And staring at the suitcase in the back seat.
***
By Leo
| “I know..I KNOW!” Shelagh shouted, a cigarette dangling from her lips, the ash falling haphazardly on the carpet. Patrick with his smart suit was sitting on the bed wringing his hat. “Where did the baby come from, Shelagh, I won’t ask again,” his tone was firm and it startled the contented baby into a fit of wails.
“Oh look what you’ve done!” she mumbled as the young woman quickly stubbed out her cig reached for the child. Shelagh cradled the babe to her, cooing it back into submission.
Patrick couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Tell me again, this time, slower. Where. Did. The. Baby. Come. From?”
Shelagh bit her lip before taking a deep breath. “Remember when I said I was going to the pool earlier when you left for the conference? Well, I was laying there sunbathing, minding my own business when I hear a wail.” Patrick already didn’t like where this was heading.
“You won’t believe it Patrick, someone had just left this poor little man out in his pram in the baking hot sun! You see how red he is!” She did have a point, the child’s color slightly resembled that of a lobster. “I called around at anyone who was out, but he didn’t belong to anyone. I couldn’t just leave him.”
“We need to call the police…” Patrick insisted, looking at the cute little baby who was now happily asleep.
“Can’t I just keep him for tonight? He looks like Fredrick….” She said softly, and Patrick couldn’t help but feel his resolve melt a little. “Fine, just for the night. First thing, we’re phoning the police.”
|
|
[WP] You are a police sketch artist by day, and expert serial killer by night. But, last night, you made a mistake and left a witness. This morning you are called to the scene of the crime to sketch the person the witness saw. | Thursday started off the same as it always does. Wake up at 8 am to sound of the neighborhood school bus sputtering past the front of my house, then morning coffee after a quick splash of water to the face to jolt myself to consciousness. I used to shower in the morning when I was younger, but these days I prefer to shower just before bed. The mix of sweat and blood I would leave on the sheets made cleaning up quite a chore. I tried wearing gloves, long sleeve shirts, etc, but it just didn't feel right. I loved the feeling of skin to skin contact as I would drain the life of another person. Of course, I had to clean up after myself and wipe down the body, but the pleasure was truly worth it.
Anyways, the day went along as it always does until around noon. I was notified that there was a murder the town over and they had a witness who caught a glimpse. As I drove over to the neighboring police department, I recognized the same roads that I had driven down just 12 hours ago. How many murders can one small town have in a night? Do they know? I'm not one for panicking, but the thought elevated my heart rate by quite a bit. I had an agenda, and if I was stopped now, I will have failed my assignment. I mentally walked through last night's events and double checked that no one around the block had seen me enter, and no one had seen me leave. I was quite careful, and there was not a soul who could see me skirting through the shadows. My pride took over and calmed the rest of my body. Just a coincidence, I assured myself.
I walked into the building with a slightly dry mouth, licking my lips a little too often for comfort. It was a bad habit I developed over the years, but I'm sure we all have our own nervous tics. As the secretary walked me over to a small room, she told me the witness was already in there waiting. I grinned and told her that I'll do my best to get the murderer using my artistic skills. She smiled back and said she hoped so. God she was so cute. Last time the police officers of the county had a huge cookout at a nearby state park, she and I both went. After a beer or five we ended up at my place and the rest wrote itself. Turns out she had a boyfriend who was an actual officer. Pretty sure he would legally bash my head in if he knew. So we kept it our little secret.
Anyways I'm not here to share my life story nor my female conquests, just to tell you about a day that stood out from the daily ritual. I mean if you really want to know more, just turn a few pages back in this journal. I'm sure you'll find it quite easily.
Anywho, I stepped in the room and took a seat across from a girl who couldn't be more than 16 years old. She looked eerily familiar but I couldn't place it. I had seen those eyes before.
I quickly introduced myself and then got right into the business. As she started describing her version of the murderer, it hit me. I had seen pictures of her on the refrigerator and around the house last night. I remember her mother's eyes; they were this beautiful mix of gray and green that didn't seem human. I guess I was just too tired to realize.
I let the girl finish as she tried to recall the details of the man sitting right across from her. I drew a mangled version of a self portrait on my sketchpad. I thanked her for her time, patience, and courage as I led her to the door. My legs buckled a bit. My nervousness had caught up to me. Maybe it was time to hang up the figurative knife. Maybe jail would be a good place for me to start reading again. How bad could it be? My real bosses couldn't get to me there, right?
After she left I took the sketch down the hall to the detective's office. He sat up in his chair as I handed him the sketch. He glanced once at the piece of paper then back at me. "Seems like she described you and you ended up drawing yourself. Are you the killer?" he asked.
I chuckled and responded, "Yes sir, you absolutely got me," my voice laced with a bitter mix of honesty and sarcasm.
He just laughed and said, "Hah, alright James. The poor girl was probably too flustered and didn't remember anything. She tried to remember details but since she was staring at you, that's all she could visualize. Just toss the sketch on your way out. What a waste of my time." | I don't know what I had expected. I mean, leave a witness, show up the next day and try to pass yourself off as someone else. At first it wasn't going so bad, though. But when we got around to the finer details of facial structure, her gaze became elongated and the eyebrows started to furrow ever so slightly. I really should have left then. Faked a need to pee, gone out the window and started over somewhere else. But I didn't, because what can be more suspicious than that? This is an all or nothing game I'm playing, no half ass-ing or backing out. I decided to stick it out, pretending not to notice and prompting her to remember extra fake details. Gosh, what a mess. And then I knew. I knew she knew; she looked around the room taking inventory of the rest of the guys. I had no choice then, she had put me in the position. What I had to do wasn't pretty, wasn't meaningful and really didn't get me anywhere, but man I had fun. The look on peoples' faces when realization dawns is like no other, and hers (as well as the guys') was no exception. Sure, now I'm in a predicament; Video recording, the rest of the force racing towards the scene, neighbors pooling across the street (shots do that), and nowhere to go, but I had a hell of a good time. Things went slow mo, and the slaughter was like no other. All the guys in the room, and they might as well just lined up, the way I took 'em out! Never seen so much blood either, although the sprays on the wall bring back memories. Never thought i'd go this way, but it's better than the ends of other guys I've helped bring in. Gosh. But there's no way I'm being brought in. No way I'll be caught up by swat and that shit. Besides, I imagine a well placed bullet, exploding through my own head to paint the walls and floor, dot the ceiling and upholstery with specks and strings, could really make the room. I always did have a flair for art. |
|
Based on a dream I had last night. | [WP] A man awakens without any memory, completely alone, on a hot sunny day on the deck of a mid-sized sloop in the middle of an ocean. On his wrist he sees a simple tattoo bearing the text "REMEMBER: 3112." | In the shadow of a dream I remembered the letter.
It had been sent to me from the past, having stayed abandoned in a post office box, the 'RETURN TO SENDER' still faintly stamped across the front. It had been forgotten until two weeks before I set sail, delivered hastily in the night by a panting and red sixteen-year old boy. It had been very clear in its message.
'REMEMBER: 3112'
And that was it.
I had set sail two weeks later, one week after Christmas. The weather had been hot and sunny - this being the Southern Hemisphere it would be very odd not to have been warm. The Sydney to Hobart yacht race had just concluded. I remember that, and I remembered the moment I set sail, nothing but the endless blue sky and sparkling blue sea ahead of me - but nothing else.
Where was I?
On the floor I saw where the salty cracks had split the white wood. I creeped up, legs aching, trying to make sense of where I really was. It was then that I noticed the tattoo, red and raw:
'REMEMBER: 3112."
It did not hurt.
The boat was quiet, the only sounds the creaking of the floorboards as the sloop bobbed backwards and forwards. There was no pounding of feet, no laughter at a lost cards game, nothing but the silence and the sea. I waited, I wondered. I thought I saw my shoes disappear for a bit. I felt the sun burn my salted skin. It tasted like burnt plastic.
What was I supposed to be remembering?
I walked about. Years ago I had wanted this - to be the leader of a ship all by myself. I could be a famous explorer. In the shadow of a dream I remembered it thus - something smoky and faraway lay just out of my reach. A place I could not go to. An island I could not see. My mum had not encouraged the hobby. She said, as old women often do, that the seas were bad luck for us. That there was a prophecy that one day I would die there. Bless her heart, but she was never going to be able to stop me.
The deck was empty. Somehow, something was very wrong, and it wasn't just about the people or the lack of it or the complete silence or the tattoo. Something felt *wrong* about the boat, something just didn't add up. I could feel it in my feet. I had been around boats for many years and this one did not feel like one I could trust. The sun was only getting hotter - Only when I had walked the full length of the sloop, heading around to the other side, did I realise why it was weird.
The ship was turning.
I dashed for the control room. I didn't know where this was, but somehow I knew I would find it, as surely as if I had been an arrow fired in rage, or a bullet shot in haste. Here too the rooms were silent; the corridors echoed with my footfalls.
The wood made no sound as I walked on them, to where the controls sat. Sure enough, this was empty too. And as I watched, the wheel turned of its own accord, edging this way and that like some invisible force had guided it. The room was cold.
I reached for it, but stopped.
A small voice had spoken in my ear. "You cannot."
I froze. That voice was familiar. "Who are you?" I shouted? "Why am I here?"
The voice spoke again. "Have you remembered that poem which I kept for you, all those years ago? The one you asked for as a little boy?"
It was my mother's voice.
"Mum?" I asked. "Wha-why?"
"It matters not how strait the gates,
Or how charged with punishments the scroll;
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul."
"I remember that," I said. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"I told you a long time ago," she said. The voice carried no anger, only a sad, despairing tone that already sounded ghostly. "I warned you, about not doing this - about how the seas were bad luck. About how the prophecy worked."
"You mean...I'm dead?"
"Check the calendar," came the reply.
I walked over to the ship's calendar. It had only one page left, and the day today was shown on it in big bold letters. December 31, it had said. It took a while before it hit me.
"No-"
"Yes," my mum whispered. "December 31st, 2016. The day you die. The day you lose command of your ship...and the day your soul goes on to wander the seas."
I looked out, to where a black crow sat flightless, and I screamed a silent scream.
---
For more pieces and short stories check out my sub [r/KCcracker!](https://www.reddit.com/r/KCcracker/)
| Harry awoke with a start and immediately felt the wave of confusion one might expect from a strange set of circumstances such as his. Scrambling to his feet amidst the slippery deck, Harry looked around for anything he could recognize, only to realize he couldn't recall anything to look for. A new wave of emotion rolled over him: fear. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH" he screamed, falling backwards onto the deck. His heart was pounding, sweat was beading down his forehead. He played there for a few moments until he regained his composure and stood up. He glanced around again and noticed a small bit of writing on his wrist: "REMEMBER: 3112". Befuddled, he put his arm down and realized he was on a small boat. Alone. In the middle of the ocean. A new wave of panic threatened to wash over him, but he pushed it back. The ocean was calm and the sun was bright, a perfect day for sailing. The boat sat peacefully at rest amidst the still water. Harry walked around the boat, inspecting it. There wasn't any gear lying around, so he knew he had no way of finding civilization. Not that it would matter if he had a map, since he had no idea where he was. At the front of the boat, Harry found an iPad lying flat on the deck. He picked it up and unlocked the iPad since there was no password. Among the default applications, he saw an app labeled "Experimental". He opened it, hoping he could find some sort of clue about his situation. Instead, he found a large password field staring right back at him. He input 3112, desperately hoping this is what he needed the number for. He was right, and the app opened up. In the center of the screen, there was a timer that had started to count down. He had an hour before something happened, though what he did not know. He wondered if it was a bomb or something inside the iPad, waiting to kill him. He decided that was not the case, why would the people who planted the bomb want to wait an hour to do the job? He set the iPad down and relaxed. He knew he couldn't do anything until the event happened when that timer reached zero. He played back and fell asleep. He awoke to a shrieking sound emanating from the iPad right beside him. An hour had passed. He was aired for something to happen and was met with a disturbing silence. Nothing. He walked around a bit. He stretched. He yawned. He walked around again. He picked up a distance sound coming from the other side of the boat. Instinctively, he ran across the boat and picked up a helicopter approaching him. His heart leapt as the helicopter floated to a stop above him. The sound was deafening, but he didn't care. He smiled as a door opened on the side of the helicopter and a ladder dropped down to him. He scrambled up the ladder as fast as he could and was helped in by a man in all white who had a huge mustache. He took off his hat and spoke with a thick Italian accent, "I apologize again for the whole ordeal but now we know you can order Tony's freshly made pizza from farther than ever before!"
Thanks for reading, I tried to twist it up as much as possible at the end. Comment with suggestions for how I could improve. Being my first post, I'm sure I have lots of room to improve! |
Based on a dream I had last night. | [WP] A man awakens without any memory, completely alone, on a hot sunny day on the deck of a mid-sized sloop in the middle of an ocean. On his wrist he sees a simple tattoo bearing the text "REMEMBER: 3112." | A set of gulls perched on the mast cried out incessantly. Each call made my head pound in protest, and I gave a primal roar, hoping to frighten the pests away. It didn't work; instead, more seagulls seemed to join them.
I slowly became aware of the bright sun beating down on me, and the uncomfortable wooden surface beneath me that had tied my back into knots while I slept. I opened my eyes into a squint, trying to figure out where I was. All I could see was blue. It took a few moments of rubbing my eyelids and blinking to realize that I was in the middle of the ocean, though the salty smell of the air now made a lot more sense.
The shop bobbed gently in the ocean waves. I managed to stand, though I didn't quite have my sea legs yet. The gulls on the mast watched with amusement in their beady little eyes. The ship itself was absolutely beautiful. Being from Kansas, I really didn't know much about sailing or ships, but everything was sparkling clean and white except for the teak deck underfoot. The cabin had expensive furnishings, including a nice soft bed (which really made me wonder why I'd chosen to sleep outside instead of in here). The galley kitchen was stocked full of supplies, and it looked like nothing had really been opened yet. And weirdest of all, there was *no one* else on board. Nor any sign of anyone else ever having been on board.
I walked back out onto the desk and climbed the mast, looking for any sign of land. Nothing, of course. *Had* there been anyone on board? tried to remember, and came up blank. I couldn't even remember how *I'd* gotten aboard. So I went further back and *still* found nothing. I couldn't remember *anything*. Yet I knew all about myself: my name as Andrea; I'm from Wichita, Kansas; I'm a physicist... and yet for each fact, I couldn't remember anyone ever calling me Andrea, my house in Wichita, who I worked for, or even what my field was.
I went back into the cabin and sat down at the table, already set with plates and forks and napkins like someone was getting a meal ready. None of this made any sense! How the hell did I get onto this damn ship? My head was still pounding, and climbing that mast in the heat really hadn't made it any better. I put my elbows up on the table, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead in my palms. Each deep breath of salty air did seem to soothe my headache just a little bit. Finally I was able to open my eyes... and a new mystery was staring me in the face. Tattooed across my wrist was a short message: "Remember 3112."
*Awesome. Thanks a lot, Past Me. You bitch.* Why the hell would I *tattoo* a reminder of something on my wrist... and then not even give some explanation of what I was supposed to remember or what those numbers meant. I couldn't remember anything of my past but it was readily obvious that I am an inconsiderate scatterbrain.
I headed over to the wheelhouse. Maybe there would be something there about the boat, or where I'd come from. It was brand new and perfectly clean, just like the rest of the boat. The sails were apparently just for show; the dials showed the engine status. Everything seemed to be doing just fine without anyone at the wheel, which was great because I didn't know the first thing about sailing. And I couldn't really navigate, given that I had no idea where I was. But I glanced over at the GPS in the corner. It just showed field of blue, though there was one tiny speck of an island marked a bit south of my position. And right before I turned away, I happened to notice the coordinates: the ship was currently at roughly 32 degrees south by 15 degrees west.
It took my mind a bit too long to make the connection, but I blame that on the headache. Finally everything fell into place, and my jaw dropped. Maybe past me wasn't so much of a bitch after all. I entered the coordinates into the GPS and heard the engines throb softly for just a second as the rudder adjusted. Let's see what was so important at coordinates 31 south and 12 west that I needed to tattoo it to my wrist.
| Harry awoke with a start and immediately felt the wave of confusion one might expect from a strange set of circumstances such as his. Scrambling to his feet amidst the slippery deck, Harry looked around for anything he could recognize, only to realize he couldn't recall anything to look for. A new wave of emotion rolled over him: fear. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH" he screamed, falling backwards onto the deck. His heart was pounding, sweat was beading down his forehead. He played there for a few moments until he regained his composure and stood up. He glanced around again and noticed a small bit of writing on his wrist: "REMEMBER: 3112". Befuddled, he put his arm down and realized he was on a small boat. Alone. In the middle of the ocean. A new wave of panic threatened to wash over him, but he pushed it back. The ocean was calm and the sun was bright, a perfect day for sailing. The boat sat peacefully at rest amidst the still water. Harry walked around the boat, inspecting it. There wasn't any gear lying around, so he knew he had no way of finding civilization. Not that it would matter if he had a map, since he had no idea where he was. At the front of the boat, Harry found an iPad lying flat on the deck. He picked it up and unlocked the iPad since there was no password. Among the default applications, he saw an app labeled "Experimental". He opened it, hoping he could find some sort of clue about his situation. Instead, he found a large password field staring right back at him. He input 3112, desperately hoping this is what he needed the number for. He was right, and the app opened up. In the center of the screen, there was a timer that had started to count down. He had an hour before something happened, though what he did not know. He wondered if it was a bomb or something inside the iPad, waiting to kill him. He decided that was not the case, why would the people who planted the bomb want to wait an hour to do the job? He set the iPad down and relaxed. He knew he couldn't do anything until the event happened when that timer reached zero. He played back and fell asleep. He awoke to a shrieking sound emanating from the iPad right beside him. An hour had passed. He was aired for something to happen and was met with a disturbing silence. Nothing. He walked around a bit. He stretched. He yawned. He walked around again. He picked up a distance sound coming from the other side of the boat. Instinctively, he ran across the boat and picked up a helicopter approaching him. His heart leapt as the helicopter floated to a stop above him. The sound was deafening, but he didn't care. He smiled as a door opened on the side of the helicopter and a ladder dropped down to him. He scrambled up the ladder as fast as he could and was helped in by a man in all white who had a huge mustache. He took off his hat and spoke with a thick Italian accent, "I apologize again for the whole ordeal but now we know you can order Tony's freshly made pizza from farther than ever before!"
Thanks for reading, I tried to twist it up as much as possible at the end. Comment with suggestions for how I could improve. Being my first post, I'm sure I have lots of room to improve! |
[WP] At magic school graduation everyone's familiar for life is introduced to them. Tigers, snakes, and even foxes. When it is your turn your magic summons moth. | The graduates all stood in a line on the grassy field. We were all wearing our best robes. The sun shone high in the sky. Some of us were nervous, though they tried to hide it to the best of their abilities. Others were merely trying to hold back their excitement. What would happen today would impact the rest of our lives. We would be getting our Familiars.
In order to call upon a Familiar, you had to tempt it with your own spiritual energy. The ritual required has it's roots in ancient times, in which shamans would bath in animal blood and dine on raw flesh in order to apease the spirits. Nowadays it's like casting a fishing rod into the water and seeing what bites. It's alot more streamlined and vegetarian friendly.
Because of the nature of these rituals, certain potions and elixers that augment your personal mana might prove beneficial. Though it is illegal, I've seen some of my fellow students down a mana pot right in front of me this morning. When you're dealing with something this life changing then you probably want all of the advantages you can get. I am ashamed to admit I consumed fifteen different assorted elixers not a hour earlier. I imagine that I'll be shitting rainbows after this.
The instructor was calling each one of our names out in order, from left to right. I was on the end of the row, so I'd be going last.
They had mages flanking us and more in the distance, just in case things went wrong. They didn't usually go wrong, but you did have the odd rampaging demon every once in a while.
The first student closed his eyes and gathered his mana outside of his body. Soon, a brown bear appeared in a cloud of dust. Everyone broke into applause. It was a great start to the ceremony. The other students eagerly took their turns. Wolves, foxes, a horse, a unicorn, some mice. Luna, the class magical prodigy got a motherfucking dragon. This wasn't a puny wyvern either, it was as large as a house. She stood there, one hand on it's snout, with a smug smile on her face. I could swear she
glancing dismissively at me. Everyone was clapping and cheering for her. She's going to get what's coming to her one of these days.
"Well, that's certainly going to be tough to match," the instructor said before turning towards me, "You're the last one, best of luck!"
I closed my eyes and gathered my mana. I was not fifteen seconds into the ritual before I heard giggling. I wasn't going to take this! I opened my eyes and dispelled my magic in an rage. The childish giggling transformed into uncontrollable laughter.
"What?! What is it, you morons?!", I yelled. No one answered my inquiry. They all turned away from me.
Except for Luna. Damn it. "Plese don't be angry at what I'm about to tell you," she said with that smug smile of hers plastered all over her smug face, "But... your familiar.. is... Umm..."
My face was red. Tears gathered in my eyes.
"*What,*" I barked
Atleast she had the decency to look embarassed, "It's a moth."
"What?"
"You know, Moth. Those little insects that often fly too close to the flame and get burnt?"
My shoulders slumped. My legs felt weak. I think I was feeling the side-effects from the potions I ingested.
"You have to summon it and bind it," the instructor told me. "Just get it over with." He sighed.
And so I did. It is said that magic is everywhere. That it transcends time and space and it's reach even extends to other planes of existance. Often a familiar appears as something that is recognizable to the summoner. If the summoner is powerful enough (or if they ingested enough drugs in my case) then they might be able to summon something that is completely alien.
I called forth a moth that blocked out the sun.
. . . | "it's...a moth."
"A moth!"
"The devil's butterfly!"
"Oh forgive me oh great one for I did not know it was you."
"Wait what. You just asked me what my summon was."
"Do you not know the significance of a moth summon oh great one?"
"Its just a moth right. I mean a black panther like yours would have been so much better."
"Not so. The devil's butterfly is only summoned once every 10,000 years. You have returned to us oh dark one."
"Indeed. Simply the summoning of the moth is enough to prove your identity oh grand one."
"You shall become the devil."
"You shall clense the world."
"You shall obscure all that is light in mud and darkness."
"Oh all mighty one."
"We must prepare for your coming at once."
"What are you two going on about?"
"You have finally returned oh omniscient one."
"What's with the oh ones?"
"We dare not incur your wrath oh powerful one."
"What are you two saying? It's making no sense."
"Oh grand moth summoner... one I prey ask that you call summons here so we may bask in its greyness."
"Erm sure." I held my hand above my head and from the light the moth fluttered onto it.
"Oh lordful one."
The man who had been groveling at his knees since I told him my summon. Looked up. Instantaneously turning into a grey dusy and collapsing into a new pile. On the floor.
"Oh grand one. I ask for your mercy. It was not right for my friend to ask such a large request of you. I ask not for my life but only that you will peform the task before you. Live up to your destiny and beware of those with butterfly summons."
"Wait. No. I dont mean to kill you."
"If you will not kill me oh merciful one than I shall take my life into my own hands."
The man then without a seconds thought slit his own throat. The crimson pool rapidly surrounding him as he cloaked to death.
What am I supposed to do now then. Beware of those with a butterfly summons. Like Anna. I liked Anna. She was nice. But now I'm in a room with a bright light, a moth and two dead people. Only one of which was recognisable. Now what. |
|
[WP] The serum for immortality never moved past the animal testing phase. You have just inheritted the family pet and they're over 200 years old. | The first thing anyone notices about Hamford is the smell. They do not expect the smell. I had thought, as a child, that the smell came from my grandfather, because, as most people know, senior citizens are our nation's third leading producer of strange, mildly upsetting aromas, directly behind Arby's and that spot below the pier where teenage boys smoke cigarettes and fart on each other.
But no. The smell came from Hamford. He picked it out himself.
*It's Brut* he explained, on the day he came to live with me. *I like to smell like a cowboy.*
This, it turned out, was just the first of many impositions one must accept when taking responsibility for the health and well-being of a 200 year old gerbil.
Hamford is, by his mere existence, the last remaining link back to the true glory days of my family's scientific past, when we Risenbaums were kings of the test tube and electric probe set.
You see, my great-great-great-great-grandfather Mischel served Tsar Alexander the First as Chief Alchemical Sorcerer. After presenting the Tsar with a truth serum that turned out to be nothing more than spearmint-flavored vodka in an old perfume bottle, Mischel was tasked with unlocking the key to immortality. Failure would result in death.
Mischel's years of research, toil, and gross disregard for anything approaching professional ethics led to three major breakthroughs: the Great Siberian Zombie Apocalypse of 1812, an ancient cocaine-and-licorice infused forebear of Mr. Pibb called Comrade Zukov, and Hamford the gerbil.
Unfortunately, Mischel was unable to formulate an immortality serum that worked on anything else. In fact, from a purely scientific perspective, I suppose it could be argued that Hamford was, if not already immortal at the time he entered Mischel's service, then at the very least heavily predisposed towards immortality.
Mischel was saved from execution, however, when Alexander helpfully caught a cold and died from it. Hamford and his master then traveled to America to pursue Mad Sciencetry abroad and maybe catch a show or two.
And so, generation after generation of Risenbaum found themselves defined by two constants: a litany of unresolved health code violations and a gerbil familiar which cannot die.
For his part, Hamford is a creature of cyclical moods and interests. It is said that he spent most of the 1920s in a deep depression, picking fights with alley cats and attempting to drown himself in rain barrels. By the late 40s, however, he had become deeply invested in the local art scene, his signature *Tiny Paw Prints and Smeary Tail Smudges* series was especially popular with the art buyers of the time.
Somewhere in the late 70s, Hamford managed to teach himself a form of telepathic communication, which he used almost exclusively to critique and deconstruct recent episodes of *Good Times*.
Many, many of my ancestors have convinced themselves that there is somehow money to be made in an immortal gerbil. In 1893, Clayton Risenbaum even brought Hamford all the way to the World's Fair in Chicago, quite certain that his deathproof gerbil would be the talk of the fair. Yes, at an event where the world first experienced the Ferris Wheel, the automatic dish washer, the zipper, shredded wheat, and Pabst Blue Ribbon, he was going to steal the show with an especially old gerbil.
I, of course, have no such designs for Hamford. To me, he is simply an amiable companion to have around the lab. He has seen much, and from an unfamiliar vantage point. His stories are always interesting, though sometimes he can become distant. He speaks wistfully of the 15,000 children he has fathered, but never truly known. If he could go back and do it again, he believes he might do a few things differently.
Soon, though, I will have to say goodbye to Hamford. It occurred to me early in my stewardship of this immortal gerbil that we Risenbaum's had been very shortsighted indeed. There *is*, you see, a great scientific purpose yet to be served by Hamford - Emissary to the Stars. They say it will take a rocket ship millennia to escape our galaxy. Well, here I have a being, born and raised in the navel of science, with millennia yet to spare!
What wonders will Hamford discover out there, in the vast, colorless void of night? What monsters? What glory?
Was there ever a creature so lucky? | *I never wanted a brilliant mind.*
Running away from home, I felt the November rain soaking the soles of my boots and remembered my father’s words. Looking back one more time at the colossal mansion that stared blankly back at me, the drive for freedom led me to continue my journey through stems and trees with blackened leaves. The rustling of nature was continous and the dreadness of feeling as if my steps were being followed, made my feet move steadier and ignore the thousand eyes that seemed to gaze at me from behind the monsoon and the ghastly bushes.
The determination that enveloped my decision came to no obstacles as I ran the lacking distance, a mere feet, and quickly locked myself inside my old car, tossing the ponderous bag to the passenger’s side. Breathing heavily, I came to a stop and reevaluated the entire situation I had put myself through, only to come to the glorious conclusion that I had fought for what was best for me.
Never again did the creature’s name rushed through my thoughts as I lived my life. I was as any other person that walked around, seemlessly unbothered by any predicament, silently carrying a secret that got heavier and heavier.
As my long lost sister’s death became impendent, I worried about the many likely options that could come to her mind, regarding the mischievous creature and his malevolency. Distress took over me and I locked myself inside, alone to hear only my own voice through days and nights, profoundly disturbed by the possibility that I was to become the newfound owner to the hundred years old creature. The filthy grin swallowed my psyche and I receded further into the corner I was crouching in.
____________________________________________________________
The bell rang five days later. There is the need to understand that I could not reliably tell how long it had passed, since time seemed to drag itself around, seeping over and through me as if not affecting my existence as long as I layed there in the corner. I do not know if I cried myself to sleep any of the nights but my thoughts would likely have cried each and every night. As the bell rang for the second time in an impatient buzz, my troublesome neighbours hit the contiguous wall and I got myself up in a worried jump. The last thing I needed was to deepen my already doomed situation.
The bell rang for the third time as I clenched the doorknob and looked straight to the small man staring back at me with an unforbearing expression splattered on his globose face. The hallway lights shimmered and a prolonged noise rose up between myself and the small, agitated man as he held the creature portable. Crouching down, I realized the borders of my robe dusting the dirty floor around and the recognition of being entirely nude dawn on me as naturally as the sun was setting. That was not a fulcral worry at that time and I swept my nose using my left hand. Some high was taking over my body and I did not care about the curious, intriguied looks the small delivery man shot my way. He could stare at his will.
The eyes that met me from inside the shadows of the portable were a deep blue but there was so much more universe inside them. I used to tell my mother that I saw spiders inside the feline’s eyes. She would laugh, sip on her red wine glass once more and advise me to leave my father’s cat to himself.
*Don’t disturb him, Lewis. Let the cat sit around your father’s office. You’ll play with Caesar later.*
I quickly took the portable away from the man’s hands and his facial gestures shifted into an impatience enveloped in fury. Tossing him a few dollars, I locked the door in his ball-shaped face and placed down the portable on the trashed coffee table. I closed the venetian blinds and sat down in the couch, throwing away some of the coffee-stained pillows. Landing all around me as a sea of safeness, the notion quickly escaped from the grasp of my mind as another purr escaped the creature’s mouth. Inside the darkness, Caesar licked his lips and his tongue danced around the sharp fangs.
*How come he’s always locked inside dad’s office?*
At first, the comprehension about Caesar’s condition seemed to be too far away from my conscious knowledge for me to able to understand it, even though I was aware of how superior my father’s mind was and how honorable his brainy research and work were. I would sit down with my toys scatterred all around me and, as slowly as a feather would fall down an abysm, Caesar would stroll around on gentle paws, avoiding each toy as if seeing an obstacle and then hide himself again inside the office.
*He’s old, honey. Caesar’s got some years. And your father does not approve you playing around with him. It might be dangerous.*
When the accidents first started to occur, I was eleven years old and my birthday party had been the most magnificent blast that my swollen mind could ever feel as worthy of rememberance. There were big white and red clown smiles all around and the children’s laughter suffocated the air to the point where colors were dancing around in the air and I felt higher and higher as I bounced, laying on my back, around the bouncy house.
I was told it was a mere accident. My mother had tripped over a few cables that were misplaced by some of the technicians that had arrived the previous day on the late evening, and broke her neck due to the fall. The big clown smiles never faded or shifted into another image, becoming instead monstruous, gruesome and the laughter was now squeaky and the high pitched took over my hearing.
*Accidents happen, Lewis. She will always be in your heart. And you’ll always have me.*
The lies that hid so subtly behind my father’s words were not apparent to me at first. Sweeping some of my overgrown hair to the side of my face, I offered a smile to my father; a smile that was returned with a similar one, yet as mine was given with amenity and wholeheart, my father’s seemed to be but a faulting copy of mine. I watched him get up while I remained sitting on my knees at the floor and the soft paws of Caesar following my father’s into his office. His absence was overshadowed by the silence and I played further into the evening as the chorus of cries that I had heard earlier on my mother’s funeral played as a tenuous lullaby while the night gave in.
The weeks that followed I turned into something similar to a solitary prisioner. The food was brought to my astronomical room by the quiet and syrupy servant my mother had hired some years ago and her entrance acted as the only point of familiarity I had with the old lifestyle I was surrounded with. There were no more thundery voices around the house and the parties rapidly descended from a few to none, until only me and my father shared a monumental mansion perpetually held in a baleful silence.
The muteness was broken only by the rare meetings between myself and the old man, when he would leave his office. I could see the dust trail seeping away from the thin strip of light leaking from the inside, disturbed lonesomely by a moving shadow that I imagined to be Caesar’s boney body moving around. The feline walked in silence and only the disturbance to the light would reveal his existence to me, as I stood behind the corner, glancing. My father would come and we would exchange a few pleasantries, a few more lies to feed the necessities of his fatherly ego as I was left with an empty room in an empty life due to his brain.
As time passed, my father became scrawny and I worried he would simply fall down flat on the floor and break his bones into a million pieces. Caesar resumed his existence to a confinement inside the lean man’s office and not even the lights danced as he stood sole in one place, watching over my father’s grim research, I imagined. I dared not to call him father anymore. When the nights were darker, I heard strange sounds and saw him chasing around Caesar at midnight. Through the mansion’s corridors I seemed to hear both of them running, my father’s eyes in a blank matter of fury and wonderment while the feline moved fluent and graceful through the shadows lended by the corners and statues.
*He’s old, Lewis. You know how old stuff work. They know much, don’t they? They know so much.*
The night I saw my dad on the living room’s carpet, I shed a tear. Only one, as accurately as I can remember. The moonlight raged through the heavy curtains and my father’s body layed on a bloody carpet, drenched in crimson, in a wicked alignment with my father’s skewed arms. The legs were inclined in a sinister position and as much as I tried to wrap my head around the enigma, I could not see a real possiblity to how his body would end up in that wicked state.
Throughout the years, there was the image of Caesar sitting on top of my father’s smashed head, licking the human man’s blood as the malevolent red bathed his fur and fangs and the black spots came to show when the moon would shimmer upon them. Caesar licked his fangs and I ran.
________________________________________________________________
Still facing the feline in all the glorious nudity I had greeted a greyish person with, I placed a finger on the portable’s cage and the creature inside moved around. A slight motion revealed the old whiskers and the fur, still crimson stained around the fangs while Caesar seemed to grin, fully aware of the condition I was facing.
As the nervousness froze my arms, I felt sweat dripping between my eyebrows and resting on the dark circles beneath my bloated eyes. The night had by now hugged the city and moonlight illuminated the portable, following into my chest and, in a final motion, dropping some light over my profoundly troubled, intumescent gaze. I wondered if Caesar had come to finish his job and his duty was one that could not simply be forgotten with time. He would live throughout the years, to some as curse, to some an awakening, but for now, I knew’d come to cease this cycle. |
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[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | Sara had gone first. *No fair,* Lilian thought. Sara always got to go first. But this time, Lilian got to go second! The gate was very beautiful, she thought as she moved next to someone who called himself an angel, or something.
"Name, please." He spared a glance at her. "Lilian, and I like ponies! They're my favorite thing in the world. Could I have a pony as a birthday present?"
"Sure, whatever." Lilian squealed. "Yay! Sara'll be so jealous! She only got an dollhouse for *her* birthday."
"Yes, yes..." He acted like he didn't want to look at her, which was odd. "Come on! Look at me! I'm not ugly! In fact, I think I'm rather pretty. Do you agree?" The angel shook his head. "That's not the issue here... your age?"
She pouted a bit. "Seven; where's the rest of my family? Mother promised to play house with me." The angel bit his lip. "In line. All of your friends are as well."
"That's great!" | The year is 2989. It was six of us. We were on a mission to save the human race. The planet earth is no longer sustainable for us humans.
We were on a spaceship. I don't have a name anymore, and it really does not matter. I'll explain why it doesn't matter later.
I remember being on that spaceship. The six of us were looking for another planet that can sustain human beings. Our technology is so advanced that the spaceship was able to cover a lot of ground in a short period of time. Light years in fact. And yet, we still had not found a planet that could keep humans alive on it.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We had names. But those names do not really matter anymore.
I remember the spaceship approaching a white light in the horizon. We did not know what it was but we continued on towards it. At this point in the journey we were too travel-worn to care. We just wanted it to end.
There were six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. But I don't care about the names we used to have.
As we approached the light the spaceship stopped. This was very weird because the spaceship was a hunk of metal so advanced that it literally was programmed to have a mind of it's own. The spaceship made a vow to itself in the beginning of the journey to continue to move forward no matter what in the hopes of finding a planet. So the fact that it stopped was very strange indeed.
There were six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names that don't matter anymore.
I remember us wondering why the spaceship stopped. And then suddenly we felt something. The feeling cannot be described. It is beyond human comprehension. I just remember the feeling going through every ounce of my being. And I knew right then and there that it was God trying to communicate with us.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. Now, I could care less what my name was.
I remember God communicating with us that the mission is hopeless. I did not even need to wonder how God knew that that six of us were on a mission. God is God after all. And God knows everything. I remember God communicating to the six of us not to worry. That soon, every single being in the universe will die. And that every single being will enter heaven.
I remember God communicating to us that the time has come for us to die. And that the moment the six of us die will be the same exact moment every single human being back on earth will die as well. When I say that God communicated, I cannot describe how. God did not have a voice. Like I said, it is beyond human comprehension.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. Now we are in heaven. And names do not really matter when you are in heaven for eternity. |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | **PART I**
It was new house, brightly painted, with a white picket fence. The back yard was a little on the smallish side, and with all of the new housing having only four different shapes it lacked perhaps a little in individuality, but it was still the American dream.
"Oh dear Lord, Johnny, it's perfect!" came the excited squeal, as Johnny took his hands off of his wife's eyes. Johnny grinned, hiding his momentary fear that her voice might have held disappointment. He hadn't come back particularly distinguished from the war, and certainly not wealthy, but he had come back whole both in body and in mind, and knew when it was time to count his blessings.
"I let your mother choose the basic furnishings," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Since the two of you seem to have much the same tastes, but I left enough undone that you'll have a chance to make it truly yours." He gave her a sly grin. "Here, let me show you..."
With one fluid movement he swept his other arm under her legs and scooped her up off the ground as she shrieked and laughed. It was an entrancing sound, and he thought he had never heard anything he liked better.
He set her down as they crossed the threshold and enjoyed the feel of her holding him tight as he nudged the door closed. "So, what would you like to see first?" he murmured. "Kitchen? Back yard? Anything you think you might want to change first?"
She drew back enough to look him in the eye, her eyes dancing. He was sure that she could see his insecurity, but there was nothing mocking about her smile. "I was thinking the bedroom, actually," she replied, and her voice became husky. Johnny swallowed, his mouth going dry. "And I want to change clothes," she added, her voice going to a whisper as she threaded her fingers through his. "Think you can do that for me?"
Seconds later there was another shriek and more laughter, and the sound of bedsprings. Some minutes after that, Johnny discovered that she could make a sound even more entrancing than her laugh.
| The year is 2989. It was six of us. We were on a mission to save the human race. The planet earth is no longer sustainable for us humans.
We were on a spaceship. I don't have a name anymore, and it really does not matter. I'll explain why it doesn't matter later.
I remember being on that spaceship. The six of us were looking for another planet that can sustain human beings. Our technology is so advanced that the spaceship was able to cover a lot of ground in a short period of time. Light years in fact. And yet, we still had not found a planet that could keep humans alive on it.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We had names. But those names do not really matter anymore.
I remember the spaceship approaching a white light in the horizon. We did not know what it was but we continued on towards it. At this point in the journey we were too travel-worn to care. We just wanted it to end.
There were six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. But I don't care about the names we used to have.
As we approached the light the spaceship stopped. This was very weird because the spaceship was a hunk of metal so advanced that it literally was programmed to have a mind of it's own. The spaceship made a vow to itself in the beginning of the journey to continue to move forward no matter what in the hopes of finding a planet. So the fact that it stopped was very strange indeed.
There were six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names that don't matter anymore.
I remember us wondering why the spaceship stopped. And then suddenly we felt something. The feeling cannot be described. It is beyond human comprehension. I just remember the feeling going through every ounce of my being. And I knew right then and there that it was God trying to communicate with us.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. Now, I could care less what my name was.
I remember God communicating with us that the mission is hopeless. I did not even need to wonder how God knew that that six of us were on a mission. God is God after all. And God knows everything. I remember God communicating to the six of us not to worry. That soon, every single being in the universe will die. And that every single being will enter heaven.
I remember God communicating to us that the time has come for us to die. And that the moment the six of us die will be the same exact moment every single human being back on earth will die as well. When I say that God communicated, I cannot describe how. God did not have a voice. Like I said, it is beyond human comprehension.
It was six of us on that spaceship. We used to have names. Now we are in heaven. And names do not really matter when you are in heaven for eternity. |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | **PART I**
It was new house, brightly painted, with a white picket fence. The back yard was a little on the smallish side, and with all of the new housing having only four different shapes it lacked perhaps a little in individuality, but it was still the American dream.
"Oh dear Lord, Johnny, it's perfect!" came the excited squeal, as Johnny took his hands off of his wife's eyes. Johnny grinned, hiding his momentary fear that her voice might have held disappointment. He hadn't come back particularly distinguished from the war, and certainly not wealthy, but he had come back whole both in body and in mind, and knew when it was time to count his blessings.
"I let your mother choose the basic furnishings," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Since the two of you seem to have much the same tastes, but I left enough undone that you'll have a chance to make it truly yours." He gave her a sly grin. "Here, let me show you..."
With one fluid movement he swept his other arm under her legs and scooped her up off the ground as she shrieked and laughed. It was an entrancing sound, and he thought he had never heard anything he liked better.
He set her down as they crossed the threshold and enjoyed the feel of her holding him tight as he nudged the door closed. "So, what would you like to see first?" he murmured. "Kitchen? Back yard? Anything you think you might want to change first?"
She drew back enough to look him in the eye, her eyes dancing. He was sure that she could see his insecurity, but there was nothing mocking about her smile. "I was thinking the bedroom, actually," she replied, and her voice became husky. Johnny swallowed, his mouth going dry. "And I want to change clothes," she added, her voice going to a whisper as she threaded her fingers through his. "Think you can do that for me?"
Seconds later there was another shriek and more laughter, and the sound of bedsprings. Some minutes after that, Johnny discovered that she could make a sound even more entrancing than her laugh.
| The tiny bunny named Marvin hopped happily through the forest brush. His little whiskers twitched as his tiny pink nose caught a scent of something strange, something new. He shrugged his furry shoulders and hopped over to his friend Barry the Badger's home.
Knock, knock, Marvin's tiny paw knocked on Barry's door.
"Who is it?" Barry called from behind the small wooden door.
"It's Marvin! Come out and play!" Marvin said.
Barry bounded out of the house and together they ran to the field of flowers. A bright field full of every color and smell. They both smelled deeply of the wonderful aroma when Mr. Bee zipped over to them.
"Buzz buzz friends! How are you doing today?" Mr. Bee asked.
"We are doing great Mr. Bee! Are you having a good day collecting pollen for the hive?" Marvin asked.
"I sure am! You kids have fun and be safe!" Mr. Bee said as he zipped away to another flower to collect the sticky pollen.
Daniel the deer jumped from the treeline and spotted Marvin and Barry sitting in the flowers enjoying the sun on their fur.
"RUN!" Daniel shouted in terror as he looked over his tan, spotted back, his white tail tucked low.
"Daniel what's wrong?" Marvin asked.
"It's coming!"
Marvin and Barry looked to the treeline where Daniel had come out of. They saw the looming wall of fire creeping forward.
"What is it?" Barry asked.
"It's death," Daniel said and sped away on tiny hooves.
Marvin and Barry tried to keep up with Daniel but they were too slow, the fire sped behind them swiftly consuming the field of wild flowers. Marvin glanced back and saw the curtain of fiery death wash over them.
---
So sad...check out /r/Written4Reddit |
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[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | It was almost time. The full moon was at it's highest point in the night sky, and the warm Summer night breeze wafted softly through the willows.
The gentlemen had formed a line directly across the pond from each of their fair lady counterparts. To gaze upon them was as if to walk down a beautiful candle-lit castle hall with willow trees for chandeliers.
The background chatter and slow music had slowed to a silence. It seemed to last forever, how each gentleman and lady pairing looked upon each other lovingly, lustily, ever ready.
To break the silence and signal the beginning of the 'event', sounded two soft rings of a bell in quick succession. It had begun.
Slowly, with grace, both the men and women moved towards each other, submerging deeper and deeper into the somewhat shallow pond. Each with an arm raised they continued towards one another, one step at a time, until the water was up to their waists, and they met.
The water rippled only very slightly as the men and women embraced each other, and began to rotate in their couples. They continued to circle and spread out as they looked one another in the eye.
From the water originated a dim orange glow, growing ever more intense as the couples intertwined with each other. In the background an orchestral tune began to play, as beautifully as it had been planned. The hanging branches of the willow trees began to swish and sway seemingly to the music, in the clockwise motion of the dance.
The orange glow, now a brilliant white light had reached it's limit, and the dance reached a climax as all life and nature seemed to harmonise in that moment. The elegant couples began to descend into the pond one by one, never breaking eye contact, until they were completely submerged and the water was smooth once more.
The white light once again became an orange glow, dimming more and more as the willows settled and the music faded, and everything had come to an end.
The mating ritual was complete.
| The tiny bunny named Marvin hopped happily through the forest brush. His little whiskers twitched as his tiny pink nose caught a scent of something strange, something new. He shrugged his furry shoulders and hopped over to his friend Barry the Badger's home.
Knock, knock, Marvin's tiny paw knocked on Barry's door.
"Who is it?" Barry called from behind the small wooden door.
"It's Marvin! Come out and play!" Marvin said.
Barry bounded out of the house and together they ran to the field of flowers. A bright field full of every color and smell. They both smelled deeply of the wonderful aroma when Mr. Bee zipped over to them.
"Buzz buzz friends! How are you doing today?" Mr. Bee asked.
"We are doing great Mr. Bee! Are you having a good day collecting pollen for the hive?" Marvin asked.
"I sure am! You kids have fun and be safe!" Mr. Bee said as he zipped away to another flower to collect the sticky pollen.
Daniel the deer jumped from the treeline and spotted Marvin and Barry sitting in the flowers enjoying the sun on their fur.
"RUN!" Daniel shouted in terror as he looked over his tan, spotted back, his white tail tucked low.
"Daniel what's wrong?" Marvin asked.
"It's coming!"
Marvin and Barry looked to the treeline where Daniel had come out of. They saw the looming wall of fire creeping forward.
"What is it?" Barry asked.
"It's death," Daniel said and sped away on tiny hooves.
Marvin and Barry tried to keep up with Daniel but they were too slow, the fire sped behind them swiftly consuming the field of wild flowers. Marvin glanced back and saw the curtain of fiery death wash over them.
---
So sad...check out /r/Written4Reddit |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | It was just Sara and I right now. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the silent beeping of the heart machines interrupted the silence of the night. I'm used to those now. They don't keep me up anymore. Instead, I spent the last hour near Sara just reminiscing on all the memories we made. Oh what good ol' days! I think my favorite was day we snuck out from our families at the lake and spent the afternoon alone. I realized I loved her that day and I wanted to marry her. We had our first kiss and a few other firsts as the sun set over the hillside in the distance. I remember the wedding dress and the dazzling smile beaming from her face. I remember the trip to Paris and the Eiffel tower. I remember breaking down in the side road and just laughing together that, in all places of the world, we broke down in Paris and had no idea where to go. I remember the scary jump we made as we moved across the country for her work. I remember the times we fought and how we always made it to the other side.
There are just too many memories. As I got older, I'm glad I never forget the important ones. I couldn't imagine a life continuing without her. Eighty-seven years is a long time to be married but it goes by so fast. Deep down inside, I think as she continues to fade and pass away, I will be very close behind. | The tiny bunny named Marvin hopped happily through the forest brush. His little whiskers twitched as his tiny pink nose caught a scent of something strange, something new. He shrugged his furry shoulders and hopped over to his friend Barry the Badger's home.
Knock, knock, Marvin's tiny paw knocked on Barry's door.
"Who is it?" Barry called from behind the small wooden door.
"It's Marvin! Come out and play!" Marvin said.
Barry bounded out of the house and together they ran to the field of flowers. A bright field full of every color and smell. They both smelled deeply of the wonderful aroma when Mr. Bee zipped over to them.
"Buzz buzz friends! How are you doing today?" Mr. Bee asked.
"We are doing great Mr. Bee! Are you having a good day collecting pollen for the hive?" Marvin asked.
"I sure am! You kids have fun and be safe!" Mr. Bee said as he zipped away to another flower to collect the sticky pollen.
Daniel the deer jumped from the treeline and spotted Marvin and Barry sitting in the flowers enjoying the sun on their fur.
"RUN!" Daniel shouted in terror as he looked over his tan, spotted back, his white tail tucked low.
"Daniel what's wrong?" Marvin asked.
"It's coming!"
Marvin and Barry looked to the treeline where Daniel had come out of. They saw the looming wall of fire creeping forward.
"What is it?" Barry asked.
"It's death," Daniel said and sped away on tiny hooves.
Marvin and Barry tried to keep up with Daniel but they were too slow, the fire sped behind them swiftly consuming the field of wild flowers. Marvin glanced back and saw the curtain of fiery death wash over them.
---
So sad...check out /r/Written4Reddit |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | “… and then I said, that’s no bulldog, THAT’S MY WIFE!”
The guests in the cramped living room erupted in laughter.
“Jesus, Frank…” Frank’s wife muttered.
“Oh it’s just a joke, honey.” Frank replied, “Oh I have one for you Charlie.”
The host cautiously entered the room carrying a tray of tea as the gracious guests each took one.
“For me?” Charlie delightfully asked.
“Yeah” Frank sat up straight, “ok… Why don’t blind people like to skydive?”
“Er – you got me there”
Frank, enjoying the anticipation, surveyed the room full of shaking heads.
“Because it scares their dog!”
A couple of laughs started.
“I don’t get it.” Frank’s wife said.
“You know, seeing eye dogs?”
“Oh-“ Frank’s wife chuckled in time with the rest of the enlightened head-scratchers.
“Oh frank you’re incorrigible” Charlie laughed. “I’m just thankful the good lord took my eyes so I won’t have to look at your face.”
More laughs as people sipped on their earl grey.
“That reminds me, anyone want a sweet two-year old boxer?” A husky man on the couch spoke.
“Oh no, you’re getting rid of Buddy?” A soft spoken woman answered.
“Unfortunately we will have to soon.” The man said patting his wife’s leg. “We’re pregnant. Well she’s pregnant, I’m just fat.”
The small crowd bursted into congratulatory banter and more laughter.
There was a rustling at the lock to the front door. Charlie’s wife, Susan, entered the room of bright faces.
“Hey Susan!” the crowd exclaimed.
“Hello everyone!” She exclaimed back. “Uh oh, looks like Frank had a bit too much again…”
She laughed and pointed at Frank, now passed out in the chair like a limp noodle.
There was a rustling of confusion among the group.
“We haven’t had any alcohol though…” The husky man finally chimed looking at Charlie.
Susan walked into the kitchen and immediately dropped her purse to the floor, mouth wide open. On the counter-top laid a box of rat poison, opened and lightly scattered around the box, she had bought from the store earlier that day.
“No matter how much I add it just isn’t sweet enough for me.” Charlie complained, scooping out a heaping teaspoon of powder from the small bowl into his cup. “More sugar anyone?”
| The tiny bunny named Marvin hopped happily through the forest brush. His little whiskers twitched as his tiny pink nose caught a scent of something strange, something new. He shrugged his furry shoulders and hopped over to his friend Barry the Badger's home.
Knock, knock, Marvin's tiny paw knocked on Barry's door.
"Who is it?" Barry called from behind the small wooden door.
"It's Marvin! Come out and play!" Marvin said.
Barry bounded out of the house and together they ran to the field of flowers. A bright field full of every color and smell. They both smelled deeply of the wonderful aroma when Mr. Bee zipped over to them.
"Buzz buzz friends! How are you doing today?" Mr. Bee asked.
"We are doing great Mr. Bee! Are you having a good day collecting pollen for the hive?" Marvin asked.
"I sure am! You kids have fun and be safe!" Mr. Bee said as he zipped away to another flower to collect the sticky pollen.
Daniel the deer jumped from the treeline and spotted Marvin and Barry sitting in the flowers enjoying the sun on their fur.
"RUN!" Daniel shouted in terror as he looked over his tan, spotted back, his white tail tucked low.
"Daniel what's wrong?" Marvin asked.
"It's coming!"
Marvin and Barry looked to the treeline where Daniel had come out of. They saw the looming wall of fire creeping forward.
"What is it?" Barry asked.
"It's death," Daniel said and sped away on tiny hooves.
Marvin and Barry tried to keep up with Daniel but they were too slow, the fire sped behind them swiftly consuming the field of wild flowers. Marvin glanced back and saw the curtain of fiery death wash over them.
---
So sad...check out /r/Written4Reddit |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | **PART I**
It was new house, brightly painted, with a white picket fence. The back yard was a little on the smallish side, and with all of the new housing having only four different shapes it lacked perhaps a little in individuality, but it was still the American dream.
"Oh dear Lord, Johnny, it's perfect!" came the excited squeal, as Johnny took his hands off of his wife's eyes. Johnny grinned, hiding his momentary fear that her voice might have held disappointment. He hadn't come back particularly distinguished from the war, and certainly not wealthy, but he had come back whole both in body and in mind, and knew when it was time to count his blessings.
"I let your mother choose the basic furnishings," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Since the two of you seem to have much the same tastes, but I left enough undone that you'll have a chance to make it truly yours." He gave her a sly grin. "Here, let me show you..."
With one fluid movement he swept his other arm under her legs and scooped her up off the ground as she shrieked and laughed. It was an entrancing sound, and he thought he had never heard anything he liked better.
He set her down as they crossed the threshold and enjoyed the feel of her holding him tight as he nudged the door closed. "So, what would you like to see first?" he murmured. "Kitchen? Back yard? Anything you think you might want to change first?"
She drew back enough to look him in the eye, her eyes dancing. He was sure that she could see his insecurity, but there was nothing mocking about her smile. "I was thinking the bedroom, actually," she replied, and her voice became husky. Johnny swallowed, his mouth going dry. "And I want to change clothes," she added, her voice going to a whisper as she threaded her fingers through his. "Think you can do that for me?"
Seconds later there was another shriek and more laughter, and the sound of bedsprings. Some minutes after that, Johnny discovered that she could make a sound even more entrancing than her laugh.
| Sara had gone first. *No fair,* Lilian thought. Sara always got to go first. But this time, Lilian got to go second! The gate was very beautiful, she thought as she moved next to someone who called himself an angel, or something.
"Name, please." He spared a glance at her. "Lilian, and I like ponies! They're my favorite thing in the world. Could I have a pony as a birthday present?"
"Sure, whatever." Lilian squealed. "Yay! Sara'll be so jealous! She only got an dollhouse for *her* birthday."
"Yes, yes..." He acted like he didn't want to look at her, which was odd. "Come on! Look at me! I'm not ugly! In fact, I think I'm rather pretty. Do you agree?" The angel shook his head. "That's not the issue here... your age?"
She pouted a bit. "Seven; where's the rest of my family? Mother promised to play house with me." The angel bit his lip. "In line. All of your friends are as well."
"That's great!" |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | It was almost time. The full moon was at it's highest point in the night sky, and the warm Summer night breeze wafted softly through the willows.
The gentlemen had formed a line directly across the pond from each of their fair lady counterparts. To gaze upon them was as if to walk down a beautiful candle-lit castle hall with willow trees for chandeliers.
The background chatter and slow music had slowed to a silence. It seemed to last forever, how each gentleman and lady pairing looked upon each other lovingly, lustily, ever ready.
To break the silence and signal the beginning of the 'event', sounded two soft rings of a bell in quick succession. It had begun.
Slowly, with grace, both the men and women moved towards each other, submerging deeper and deeper into the somewhat shallow pond. Each with an arm raised they continued towards one another, one step at a time, until the water was up to their waists, and they met.
The water rippled only very slightly as the men and women embraced each other, and began to rotate in their couples. They continued to circle and spread out as they looked one another in the eye.
From the water originated a dim orange glow, growing ever more intense as the couples intertwined with each other. In the background an orchestral tune began to play, as beautifully as it had been planned. The hanging branches of the willow trees began to swish and sway seemingly to the music, in the clockwise motion of the dance.
The orange glow, now a brilliant white light had reached it's limit, and the dance reached a climax as all life and nature seemed to harmonise in that moment. The elegant couples began to descend into the pond one by one, never breaking eye contact, until they were completely submerged and the water was smooth once more.
The white light once again became an orange glow, dimming more and more as the willows settled and the music faded, and everything had come to an end.
The mating ritual was complete.
| A hush fell over the ballroom - a heavy, permeating silence that seemed to linger like fog in the air. The crowd of 30 stood at attention, their stiff formal wear pointed toward the large stage set at the center of the room. Tinny music gave way to a graduating crescendo of Beethoven's 5th, followed by the entrance of a figure from behind the curtain.
Flamboyantly appointed in flowing satin robes of purple and white, topped with a shimmering, conical ruby cap that overflowed with auburn curls and possessed of a visage not unlike Saint Michael the Archangel, the figure glided up to the dais. He looked around the room, taking several minutes to make eye contact with everyone before speaking.
"Brothers, sisters." A deep, sonorous voice like that of melting chocolate. "We are here today as witness to ones of the greatest moments in all of history. *You*, all of you, are fortunate enough to be a part of it." He raised a hand to quiet the applause.
"For the past year, you, the chosen faithful, have served our Lord and Savior with heroic fortitude. Without regard for your own sinful, corporeal bodies, you have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and loved the wretched. Our Lord has seen this, and has decided to reward you appropriately." Applause followed several excited gasps and embraces.
"I have with me the Holy Communion, blessed by our Lord through the humble servant that stands before you, and ready to be imbibed." He held out a large chalice. "Come forth, brave warriors, and drink from your destiny!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Over two dozen of 'em, just drank right from the Koolaid," Lieutenant Minko spat.
"Damn shame," his sergeant replied dolefully. "What makes these damn cultists tick, anyway?" |
|
[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | It was just Sara and I right now. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the silent beeping of the heart machines interrupted the silence of the night. I'm used to those now. They don't keep me up anymore. Instead, I spent the last hour near Sara just reminiscing on all the memories we made. Oh what good ol' days! I think my favorite was day we snuck out from our families at the lake and spent the afternoon alone. I realized I loved her that day and I wanted to marry her. We had our first kiss and a few other firsts as the sun set over the hillside in the distance. I remember the wedding dress and the dazzling smile beaming from her face. I remember the trip to Paris and the Eiffel tower. I remember breaking down in the side road and just laughing together that, in all places of the world, we broke down in Paris and had no idea where to go. I remember the scary jump we made as we moved across the country for her work. I remember the times we fought and how we always made it to the other side.
There are just too many memories. As I got older, I'm glad I never forget the important ones. I couldn't imagine a life continuing without her. Eighty-seven years is a long time to be married but it goes by so fast. Deep down inside, I think as she continues to fade and pass away, I will be very close behind. | A hush fell over the ballroom - a heavy, permeating silence that seemed to linger like fog in the air. The crowd of 30 stood at attention, their stiff formal wear pointed toward the large stage set at the center of the room. Tinny music gave way to a graduating crescendo of Beethoven's 5th, followed by the entrance of a figure from behind the curtain.
Flamboyantly appointed in flowing satin robes of purple and white, topped with a shimmering, conical ruby cap that overflowed with auburn curls and possessed of a visage not unlike Saint Michael the Archangel, the figure glided up to the dais. He looked around the room, taking several minutes to make eye contact with everyone before speaking.
"Brothers, sisters." A deep, sonorous voice like that of melting chocolate. "We are here today as witness to ones of the greatest moments in all of history. *You*, all of you, are fortunate enough to be a part of it." He raised a hand to quiet the applause.
"For the past year, you, the chosen faithful, have served our Lord and Savior with heroic fortitude. Without regard for your own sinful, corporeal bodies, you have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and loved the wretched. Our Lord has seen this, and has decided to reward you appropriately." Applause followed several excited gasps and embraces.
"I have with me the Holy Communion, blessed by our Lord through the humble servant that stands before you, and ready to be imbibed." He held out a large chalice. "Come forth, brave warriors, and drink from your destiny!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Over two dozen of 'em, just drank right from the Koolaid," Lieutenant Minko spat.
"Damn shame," his sergeant replied dolefully. "What makes these damn cultists tick, anyway?" |
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[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | “… and then I said, that’s no bulldog, THAT’S MY WIFE!”
The guests in the cramped living room erupted in laughter.
“Jesus, Frank…” Frank’s wife muttered.
“Oh it’s just a joke, honey.” Frank replied, “Oh I have one for you Charlie.”
The host cautiously entered the room carrying a tray of tea as the gracious guests each took one.
“For me?” Charlie delightfully asked.
“Yeah” Frank sat up straight, “ok… Why don’t blind people like to skydive?”
“Er – you got me there”
Frank, enjoying the anticipation, surveyed the room full of shaking heads.
“Because it scares their dog!”
A couple of laughs started.
“I don’t get it.” Frank’s wife said.
“You know, seeing eye dogs?”
“Oh-“ Frank’s wife chuckled in time with the rest of the enlightened head-scratchers.
“Oh frank you’re incorrigible” Charlie laughed. “I’m just thankful the good lord took my eyes so I won’t have to look at your face.”
More laughs as people sipped on their earl grey.
“That reminds me, anyone want a sweet two-year old boxer?” A husky man on the couch spoke.
“Oh no, you’re getting rid of Buddy?” A soft spoken woman answered.
“Unfortunately we will have to soon.” The man said patting his wife’s leg. “We’re pregnant. Well she’s pregnant, I’m just fat.”
The small crowd bursted into congratulatory banter and more laughter.
There was a rustling at the lock to the front door. Charlie’s wife, Susan, entered the room of bright faces.
“Hey Susan!” the crowd exclaimed.
“Hello everyone!” She exclaimed back. “Uh oh, looks like Frank had a bit too much again…”
She laughed and pointed at Frank, now passed out in the chair like a limp noodle.
There was a rustling of confusion among the group.
“We haven’t had any alcohol though…” The husky man finally chimed looking at Charlie.
Susan walked into the kitchen and immediately dropped her purse to the floor, mouth wide open. On the counter-top laid a box of rat poison, opened and lightly scattered around the box, she had bought from the store earlier that day.
“No matter how much I add it just isn’t sweet enough for me.” Charlie complained, scooping out a heaping teaspoon of powder from the small bowl into his cup. “More sugar anyone?”
| A hush fell over the ballroom - a heavy, permeating silence that seemed to linger like fog in the air. The crowd of 30 stood at attention, their stiff formal wear pointed toward the large stage set at the center of the room. Tinny music gave way to a graduating crescendo of Beethoven's 5th, followed by the entrance of a figure from behind the curtain.
Flamboyantly appointed in flowing satin robes of purple and white, topped with a shimmering, conical ruby cap that overflowed with auburn curls and possessed of a visage not unlike Saint Michael the Archangel, the figure glided up to the dais. He looked around the room, taking several minutes to make eye contact with everyone before speaking.
"Brothers, sisters." A deep, sonorous voice like that of melting chocolate. "We are here today as witness to ones of the greatest moments in all of history. *You*, all of you, are fortunate enough to be a part of it." He raised a hand to quiet the applause.
"For the past year, you, the chosen faithful, have served our Lord and Savior with heroic fortitude. Without regard for your own sinful, corporeal bodies, you have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and loved the wretched. Our Lord has seen this, and has decided to reward you appropriately." Applause followed several excited gasps and embraces.
"I have with me the Holy Communion, blessed by our Lord through the humble servant that stands before you, and ready to be imbibed." He held out a large chalice. "Come forth, brave warriors, and drink from your destiny!"
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"Over two dozen of 'em, just drank right from the Koolaid," Lieutenant Minko spat.
"Damn shame," his sergeant replied dolefully. "What makes these damn cultists tick, anyway?" |
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[WP] Write a light, happy story in which everyone dies. | “… and then I said, that’s no bulldog, THAT’S MY WIFE!”
The guests in the cramped living room erupted in laughter.
“Jesus, Frank…” Frank’s wife muttered.
“Oh it’s just a joke, honey.” Frank replied, “Oh I have one for you Charlie.”
The host cautiously entered the room carrying a tray of tea as the gracious guests each took one.
“For me?” Charlie delightfully asked.
“Yeah” Frank sat up straight, “ok… Why don’t blind people like to skydive?”
“Er – you got me there”
Frank, enjoying the anticipation, surveyed the room full of shaking heads.
“Because it scares their dog!”
A couple of laughs started.
“I don’t get it.” Frank’s wife said.
“You know, seeing eye dogs?”
“Oh-“ Frank’s wife chuckled in time with the rest of the enlightened head-scratchers.
“Oh frank you’re incorrigible” Charlie laughed. “I’m just thankful the good lord took my eyes so I won’t have to look at your face.”
More laughs as people sipped on their earl grey.
“That reminds me, anyone want a sweet two-year old boxer?” A husky man on the couch spoke.
“Oh no, you’re getting rid of Buddy?” A soft spoken woman answered.
“Unfortunately we will have to soon.” The man said patting his wife’s leg. “We’re pregnant. Well she’s pregnant, I’m just fat.”
The small crowd bursted into congratulatory banter and more laughter.
There was a rustling at the lock to the front door. Charlie’s wife, Susan, entered the room of bright faces.
“Hey Susan!” the crowd exclaimed.
“Hello everyone!” She exclaimed back. “Uh oh, looks like Frank had a bit too much again…”
She laughed and pointed at Frank, now passed out in the chair like a limp noodle.
There was a rustling of confusion among the group.
“We haven’t had any alcohol though…” The husky man finally chimed looking at Charlie.
Susan walked into the kitchen and immediately dropped her purse to the floor, mouth wide open. On the counter-top laid a box of rat poison, opened and lightly scattered around the box, she had bought from the store earlier that day.
“No matter how much I add it just isn’t sweet enough for me.” Charlie complained, scooping out a heaping teaspoon of powder from the small bowl into his cup. “More sugar anyone?”
| It was just Sara and I right now. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the silent beeping of the heart machines interrupted the silence of the night. I'm used to those now. They don't keep me up anymore. Instead, I spent the last hour near Sara just reminiscing on all the memories we made. Oh what good ol' days! I think my favorite was day we snuck out from our families at the lake and spent the afternoon alone. I realized I loved her that day and I wanted to marry her. We had our first kiss and a few other firsts as the sun set over the hillside in the distance. I remember the wedding dress and the dazzling smile beaming from her face. I remember the trip to Paris and the Eiffel tower. I remember breaking down in the side road and just laughing together that, in all places of the world, we broke down in Paris and had no idea where to go. I remember the scary jump we made as we moved across the country for her work. I remember the times we fought and how we always made it to the other side.
There are just too many memories. As I got older, I'm glad I never forget the important ones. I couldn't imagine a life continuing without her. Eighty-seven years is a long time to be married but it goes by so fast. Deep down inside, I think as she continues to fade and pass away, I will be very close behind. |
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[WP] You are a supervillain with no superpowers, but all the other villains fear and respect you. | “Get her out of here.” The voice came from the far end of the table.
“Excuse me?” I looked up, my eyebrow furrowing slightly as I tried to pinpoint who exactly had spoken out of turn. Several of the others in the group quickly averted their gaze, while yet others had blank looks on their faces, clearly unaware of the implications of this statement.
“I said we should get her out of here.” The statement had come from a young boy, probably no more than twenty years of age. He was garbed in an atrociously garish costume with an exclamation point motif, likely fastened mere days ago if the loose threads on the seams were any indication. “If we’re going to pull off this job, we need people with serious power. Why would we allow a nat on our team?”
My lips pursed as I took a black pen from my pocket and began to take notes on the meeting agenda. “You seem have a failure to understand the nuances of how this circle function.” I stated. “Let me make a few guesses. As I have never seen you attend a meeting before, I would guess you only recently became empowered and are looking to prove yourself. To do that, you decided to plunge headfirst into the local criminal underworld and attempt to throw your weight around at what seems to be the weakest individual you see, much like a schoolboy joining a bigger playground.”
The man let out a snort and I continued, pointing the tip of my pen at him insistently, “However you clearly failed to do any research regarding the playing field. If you had, you would have found that my influence covers eighty percent of the state, I have a very low tolerance for disrespect from others…”
“…And I have a distinct fondness for acid.”
There was a popping noise as the tip of my pen burst, green liquid spraying through the air. In the span of moments, howls of pain could be heard from the man as the other attendees scrambled for cover and I laughed and laughed and laughed.
| I wasn't always a supervillain. It was when I was twelve that I became a supervillain, respected and feared by other villains. And for what reason? Let me tell you...
I was formerly the child of two big heroes who were powerful and strong and all that. The villains came together, though they usually fought, just to defeat and kill my parents. It was when they were down to me, my face all messy and wet with tears and snot that they began to argue.
"I want to be the one to kill their son! You already got to kill the flying lady, I want to be the one to kill the kid," said one villain with a shape shifting ability.
*UGH HE LOOKED DISGUSTING...*
"No way, I'll kill him, and you can't tell me otherwise! I'm stronger than you so fuck off!" said the other who was wearing a tight suit. Shape shifter guy grabbed suit guy and they were about to fight until I spoke up.
"H-hey! Listen here! What's the point in killing someone with no powers like me? If you really wanna prove your strength then let me be the judge of who's stronger?" I yelled, and I didn't even know what I was thinking. The two villains looked at me for a second and I was sure I was going to die, but then soon the two started to fight. In the end, tight suit was on the ground, and the shape shifter looked to me.
*"I'm the stronger one then, aren't I?"*
And with that I became the judge of the villains' strength. They robbed banks for me, they were my body guards. *I led them* and I *no one* messed with me. Whoever went against me was killed by the villains and I lived in luxury, just as I had before. For two years. I'd watch their fights. For two years...
But for what? What would happen next?
My parents were dead. The evil scientists were all finding a way to give me powers artificially, make me the strongest. I got more and more money but what of it? I was pretty much ruling over all the villains, since the ones who didn't like me were taken out. Even the heroes were trying to kill me, people my parents knew, that I saw at parties and played with me when I was a little kid. If I ever got powers I'd have to fight them like all the other villains did. I didn't want that kind of thing!
I had no powers. I was weak. And one false move, I was dead... |
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[WP] You are only able to speak 1000 words over your entire life. No one else knows about your condition. You've rationed carefully for many years, but today ridiculous circumstance has forced you to use more than half of your remaining words. | I've led a rather quiet life. That tends to happen when a doctor tells your mom that you have a rare disease that destroys your vocal cords with every word you utter. The doctor estimated I could get about 1000 words out in my lifetime before I couldn't talk anymore. I didn't really care. I was used to it.
Most of them just figured I had some phobia of talking to people but accepted me anyways. So I lived a pretty normal life overall, hanging out with friends, watching movies, the usual. Plus, who needed a voice when most people just texted or messaged online? I didn't need a physical voice to still live an enjoyable life.
The issue is, I've always loved music. Maybe it was because I couldn't talk that I was drawn to the melodies and harmonies. It was a way to communicate that everyone could understand. Without uttering even a word.
My friends would often catch me humming. One day, I was humming to myself as I walked my dog, Dexter. I had just stopped to let him sniff out his usual bush when I saw her.
She was standing behind me with a dog of her own. I froze, wondering how long she had been following me for. The trees rustled from a passing breeze and her auburn hair seemed to caress the soft curve of her neck. Her hazel eyes met mine and I saw a slow blush creep up when she realized I saw her.
"Hi.." Her voice was quiet and shy but it rang clearly in my ears. Even in the one word, I could hear the smile that played on the corners of her lightly upturned lips. My heart skipped a beat and I wondered if my disease was acting up.
An awkward pause followed and saw her small smile falter. I cleared my throat. Just one word was okay.
"Hi," I responded huskily. I winced at the unfamiliar sound of my voice and cleared it again.
The response was enough for the smile to return. "Sorry about following you, I really didn't mean to... I was just out walking Nala," she nodded to the tan Labrador, "when I heard you humming."
I blinked and shrugged. She paused again but seemed to make up her mind. "I just thought it sounded really good but I didn't recognize the tune. Which is weird since I listen to a lot of music."
We both listened to the soft sigh of the summer's wind and Dexter pulled himself over to Nala to get acquainted.
Even though I had friends and felt like I was living a decently normal life, I definitely hadn't had a chance to really talk to girls before. It's hard enough trying to flirt as a 16 year old guy, but when you can't talk, it's nearly impossible.
So with a beautiful girl in front of me, I figured I could spare a few more words.
"That's because I wrote it," I finally said.
Her mouth opened in a surprise and she looked at me with a new light in her eyes. It felt good. "My name's Milla," she reached out a delicate hand.
From then on, we exchanged numbers and texted daily. Whenever we hung out, she seemed to just accept that I wouldn't really talk. I was thankful for that.
Slowly, I began to fall in love with her.
Two years later, we were in a solid relationship. Things were going well and all of my friends liked her too. I knew her friends thought I was a bit weird for not talking, but Milla didn't mind. She would laugh and say her chattery friends filled the air with enough words for us.
We spent long nights watching TV, listening to her favorite oldies and my favorite lyricless pieces, or just silently enjoying each other's company. By then, she had become such a normal part of my life. I never thought it would change.
We went to different colleges but we still made it work. I would visit her whenever I could and since she had earlier classes, I would always wake up to a loving morning text. It was like nothing could keep us apart and I knew that, once we had our lives togeher, I would marry her.
One morning, during our junior year at college, I went to visit her again. The second I entered her small dorm room, I knew something was wrong.
She sat on her futon and I quietly sat next to her in silence. My chest tightened and I wondered what had happened. There was no way she would have cheated on me. I felt myself pale at the thought of one of her classmates forcefully- no. I shook myself. I didn't want to think about it.
My small movement seemed to wake her out of her daze a little. I looked at her and noticed her red rimmed eyes. They looked at me now, as if looking for something to latch onto.
"I have cancer," she whispered weakly.
Months passed and I tried to be there as much as I could. She had moved back home, closer to my college, so I could see her more frequently than before. I held her and we did our usual things but it felt different. Heavier.
Her smiles came as frequently as before. Until her hair started falling out. From there, the disease seemed to advance at an unexpected pace.
Suddenly, I was standing at her hospital bed, looking down at her as the tubes and monitors made the awful hospital noise. "Honey?" She whispered. Her eyes flickered and I reached for her hand. They were delicate before, but now, I wondered if even my mere touch would break them.
"Yeah?" I asked hoarsely.
"You know that song you were humming the first day we met?"
I nodded. In the year that I realized I had fallen deeply and madly in love with this girl, I had put words to the melody. Milla saw me scribbling them down one day and asked why I was doing it. She knew I didn't like lyrics. I had just shrugged and pushed it under the rug. I thought back to them now.
"Do you... Do you think you could sing it for me?" She asked, looking guilty.
My heart clenched at the look. After a few months of dating, I had finally told her about my condition. She had been extremely understanding of it and tried to accommodate for my disease wherever she could. Unlike any other girl I knew, Milla was okay with the fact that I didn't call her pet names or say her name at all, usually. She knew I wanted to save my words. And she knew what she was asking of me now.
I did a quick calculation. The song would take a little over half of the words I could still use in my life. I didn't care. A silent life didn't matter to me if I didn't have the one person I wanted to talk to with me.
"Of course," I whispered gently and leaned over to kiss her forehead. She smiled weakly back at me. I cleared my throat once more and felt my chest constrict, this time, I knew it wasn't from my disease.
Edit:: I finished writing it since I posted it on accident the first time. Sorry, I'm on mobile! | "Sir. Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"........................."
"Sir, I asked you a question"
"..................yes....."
"Okay, so you know why I pulled you over?"
".........I guess........"
"Your left head light is broken"
"..........................."
"Sir, is there a problem? Or you just having fun with me"
"...................."
"Are you okay sir?"
".........................."
"Please step out of the vehicle"
"...............okay........."
"Did you take some drugs?"
"............No........."
"Do you have the car's paper and your permit with you?"
"............... Yes........"
"Sir, this is not funny anymore. Please have some respect in a conversation with a police officer"
"...................yeah....sorry about that.......shit!"
"Excuse me?!!"
"....shit I've talked too much..."
"I had enough! you will explain me to now, what the hell is wrong with you"
".......................nothing wrong......."
"Oh, really. You're going to the station with me now for drug test"
".............stay calm.....stay calm......"
"Exactly, you're in a big problem son. You better stay calm"
".......problem?!! PROBLEM! Do you think getting arrested in a big problem for me? I had enough! I've had it!
Screw me and screw everyone else who thinks I am sort of a freak because I don't talk too much.
Here is the problem : I can only speak 1000 words only in my life...... IN MY WHOLE LIFE! And here i am, waisting all my precious words in a stupid conversation with a cop with a weird moustache in the middle of a Highway while my BOSS is waiting for me at work and he might fire me because he don't like me. And guess what, no one actually LOVE me because they say I am a sort of a weird creepy serial killer who don't speak a word.......Screw you very much sir...now can I go?..."
"PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE ROOF!.......... You are really funny boy but let see how funny you will be in custody....."
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[WP]A terrorist cell plans to break into a major manufacturing plant to blow it up. Their target: The Wonka Chocolate Factory. | We'd been watching them for months. Every phone call they made, every journey they took and every meeting they held - all observed, logged and analysed.
*I flick the ash from my cigarette.*
It had not been difficult to get on their trail. A higher-up of the self-titled 'Diabetic State' had demonstrated the organisations' infancy by including a rogue oompa loompa in their plan: to destroy the Wonka Factory.
*I take another drag, almost savouring the bitterness it induces in my heart*
Never trust an Oompa Loompa.
Months of reconnaissance had led to this evening. A dark November night has settled itself above me, the stars are bright, the air is cold, but I am ready. Ready to fight, ready to kill.
I consider Augustus, the Oompa Loompa who had infiltrated DS. Not the most intelligent of the little fuckers, but savvy enough to get himself in and get the information we needed. Trusting an Oompa Loompa was their mistake, the only mistake they needed to make.
My walkie hisses from my shoulder. They're here. In perfect unison with those next to me I check and load my rifle.
*Five seconds*
I check my scope.
*Four seconds*
The man next to me makes eye contact, nods, then fixes his gaze ahead.
*Three seconds*
They'd be coming any-
***BOOM***
The ground trembles beneath my feet. I look around wildly and see a jagged light erupt from the factory that is just under a mile away.
My thoughts are reeling, I'm grasping for an understanding of how this has happened. But nothing comes back.
Strangely, everything stops.
My frantic thoughts are suddenly still.
My hands find their own way to my chest. I look down and stare at the oompa blade protruding from between my ribs.
*'It doesn't belong there'*
I fall into my back, with everything becoming surreal and distant. There is no pain, no white lights or fabled highlight reel.
There is only the aroma of chocolate, the amber glow from the factory remains, and a sound.
A sound that somehow haunts my dying consciousness:
*Oompa Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do*
*Oompa Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da* | oompa loompa doompeedee doo
i've got a perfect puzzle for you
oompa loompa doompeedee dee
if you are wise you'll listen to me
what do you get when you blow up our plant?
using your bombs and your allah akbar chant?
what do do when come after you?
cut off your dicks and make you eat your own poo?
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[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | I sat behind my desk waiting for word from my agent. It began as a game, but now things were serious.
It had started when, out of boredom, I had hired a private investigator to find out Heinrich's password. I used it to get into his systems and leave little notes for him all over company files.
If had he not seen the funny side, I think he would have been infuriated enough to force a hostile takeover. But luckily good friends do put up with a lot from each other.
He retaliated by sending me copies of the classified prototype we had been working on, with corrections. 'Good job. Well done. A for effort. Maybe try using a ruler next time'. Condescending bastard.
So I had his payroll re-worked so his salary was payed into an offshore account, from which he was sent an allowance every day. When he caught onto that, he thought it was good idea to have a group of painters and decorators disguise themselves as a cleaning crew, and completely overhaul my office into a pretty pink princess playhouse. I was stuck with it for a month, as he payed every decorator I could find to 'take a long holiday'.
Which was when I came up with the plan.
I retaliated in a simple manner, just as a diversion. Stapled some bubblewrap to his office, it wasn't very creative. But over the phone, when he called me to tell me about my poor effort, I dropped hints about a new technology my company was working on. 'The plans are locked in my safe' I told him. Bait set.
It only took him a week to get an operative into my office and steal the package I had left there. It had a note to him, and instructions on where to leave the reply.
My agent came in the door, with a brown envelope under his arm. "here it is boss". He was a chirpy limey, almost as good with a computer as he was at charming the ladies. He left the envelope on my desk and walked out. I didn't ask what he had to do to get it. It had been in Heinrich's safe. Probably some poor unrequited secretary out there.
I opened the envelope and smiled as I read it.
"You know you could have just called and told me you loved me. Of course I will marry you. I will fly over this weekend. - H" | I stared out the window expectantly at the black car circling the parking lot below. Cursing after its eight lap around the place, I pulled out my phone to call my secretary.
“Melissa,” I yelled into the phone. “Get Jensen up here this very instant. If I see him making one more round, I swear I’m going to lose it.”
A few minutes went by like years as I watched the car pull into our private lot.
I glared at the opposite glass building which housed my ‘friend’s company’. We were rather cool at first until we decided to play a game to ease or boredom. Well, I got the idea of tech-stealing from a rather addictive strategy game (F U Gandhi). So each year we would send ‘spies’ to each other’s for fun.
He'd steal something from me, and I would the same from him. Everything was all fun and games. Until now.
Frankly, apart from getting rather pissed that he had been getting the better tradeoff for the past few years. Hell, the main reason was that he also kept beating me on Poker Friday. That's one thing I cannot tolerate being on the losing side. Also, over the years his spies had stolen our beautiful startup sounds, desktop layout, and recently our robotic assistant. While my guys never came back with anything worthwhile.
However, this year I can *guarantee* that I would get the better of the trade.
“Come in,” I said in response to a knock on my door. I wrung my hands in glee as Jensen strode in. He looked terrible as he sported a nasty bruise on one cheek and scars on the other.
“Jensen,” I rose from my chair and stepped forward to greet my agent. “Are you alright? Did you manage to get anything?”
“The mission was successful, sir.” He nodded and winced. “I’ve got the techs to allow our engineers to slip a systematic upgrade into the important notifications part. Consumers will never know what hit them.”
“Excellent,” I went to the mini-bar to grab a bottle of champagne and two glass. “I shall notify the engineers of your success and instruct them to assimilate the new technology immediately. We should expect this to roll out within the week."
He bowed and grinned as I handed him a glass foaming with liquid. “Sir," he said but I waved a hand dismissively.
"Drop the sir and call by my name, Jensen." I said.
"Mr. Gates, may I ask what system are we going to incorporate this in?"
I smiled as I toasted him. “Our newest one, Windows 10.”
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[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
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Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
| I stared out the window expectantly at the black car circling the parking lot below. Cursing after its eight lap around the place, I pulled out my phone to call my secretary.
“Melissa,” I yelled into the phone. “Get Jensen up here this very instant. If I see him making one more round, I swear I’m going to lose it.”
A few minutes went by like years as I watched the car pull into our private lot.
I glared at the opposite glass building which housed my ‘friend’s company’. We were rather cool at first until we decided to play a game to ease or boredom. Well, I got the idea of tech-stealing from a rather addictive strategy game (F U Gandhi). So each year we would send ‘spies’ to each other’s for fun.
He'd steal something from me, and I would the same from him. Everything was all fun and games. Until now.
Frankly, apart from getting rather pissed that he had been getting the better tradeoff for the past few years. Hell, the main reason was that he also kept beating me on Poker Friday. That's one thing I cannot tolerate being on the losing side. Also, over the years his spies had stolen our beautiful startup sounds, desktop layout, and recently our robotic assistant. While my guys never came back with anything worthwhile.
However, this year I can *guarantee* that I would get the better of the trade.
“Come in,” I said in response to a knock on my door. I wrung my hands in glee as Jensen strode in. He looked terrible as he sported a nasty bruise on one cheek and scars on the other.
“Jensen,” I rose from my chair and stepped forward to greet my agent. “Are you alright? Did you manage to get anything?”
“The mission was successful, sir.” He nodded and winced. “I’ve got the techs to allow our engineers to slip a systematic upgrade into the important notifications part. Consumers will never know what hit them.”
“Excellent,” I went to the mini-bar to grab a bottle of champagne and two glass. “I shall notify the engineers of your success and instruct them to assimilate the new technology immediately. We should expect this to roll out within the week."
He bowed and grinned as I handed him a glass foaming with liquid. “Sir," he said but I waved a hand dismissively.
"Drop the sir and call by my name, Jensen." I said.
"Mr. Gates, may I ask what system are we going to incorporate this in?"
I smiled as I toasted him. “Our newest one, Windows 10.”
|
|
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
-----
Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
| I sat behind my desk waiting for word from my agent. It began as a game, but now things were serious.
It had started when, out of boredom, I had hired a private investigator to find out Heinrich's password. I used it to get into his systems and leave little notes for him all over company files.
If had he not seen the funny side, I think he would have been infuriated enough to force a hostile takeover. But luckily good friends do put up with a lot from each other.
He retaliated by sending me copies of the classified prototype we had been working on, with corrections. 'Good job. Well done. A for effort. Maybe try using a ruler next time'. Condescending bastard.
So I had his payroll re-worked so his salary was payed into an offshore account, from which he was sent an allowance every day. When he caught onto that, he thought it was good idea to have a group of painters and decorators disguise themselves as a cleaning crew, and completely overhaul my office into a pretty pink princess playhouse. I was stuck with it for a month, as he payed every decorator I could find to 'take a long holiday'.
Which was when I came up with the plan.
I retaliated in a simple manner, just as a diversion. Stapled some bubblewrap to his office, it wasn't very creative. But over the phone, when he called me to tell me about my poor effort, I dropped hints about a new technology my company was working on. 'The plans are locked in my safe' I told him. Bait set.
It only took him a week to get an operative into my office and steal the package I had left there. It had a note to him, and instructions on where to leave the reply.
My agent came in the door, with a brown envelope under his arm. "here it is boss". He was a chirpy limey, almost as good with a computer as he was at charming the ladies. He left the envelope on my desk and walked out. I didn't ask what he had to do to get it. It had been in Heinrich's safe. Probably some poor unrequited secretary out there.
I opened the envelope and smiled as I read it.
"You know you could have just called and told me you loved me. Of course I will marry you. I will fly over this weekend. - H" |
|
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one. | It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
-----
Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
| Ocean's Eleven ain't got shit on us.
That's what I said when we got out of the van and started this, now nearly two hundred feet in the air I have changed my mind.
I don't remember anyone crying and nearly shitting themselves in Ocean's Eleven.
I suppose the sentiment is still true though.
There are five of us. I've hired four pros and decided to tag along, mostly out of boredom. I can't let them see me cry and I definitely can't give up so I just have to keep climbing up.
I figured it out about six months ago. He'd gone high with his servers and I buried mine under the office. His was always more secure and the last time I hired someone to climb in they failed miserably.
This time we made a distraction and the guys were much more professional. They picked a night without a full moon. And we started a huge fire in their parking lot.
I don't know which one is more effective.
I would wipe the tears and snot from my face but I'm too scared to let go and moving means maybe looking down.
So I keep moving and even through the tears I think of the sweet success that awaits us.
I can't believe my life came to this, silly games against my best friend. Of course it did. Once the hard work was done we really had nothing else to do.
Except break the law.
I hope I don't shit my pants. He'll never let me hear the end of it.
Alright. Up we go. Tonight, tonight I have a good feeling about the game.
*****
*pop*
Jerry looked up and glanced around his desk, there wasn't anything in sight.
*pop*
Again, the noise was like suction cups being pulled off a shower wall.
*pop*
It was getting louder. Jerry stood and looked around the open office, there was no one there. He was working on some financials alone, getting them ready for the CEO.
*pop*
As he turned back to his desk he saw a figure plastered against the exterior glass and he sighed. How on-
*pop*
-earth did he ever get hired with a company that wasted so much time on these games.
*pop*
"Security, they're coming up the outside. Yeah. I know. Thanks."
*pop*
Jerry hung up the phone and walked to the whiteboard in the center of the office. He ticked off under the WIN category and sat down at his desk again.
*pop*
The nice thing was no other company offered benefits like this, watching people make fools of themselves on a weekly basis.
*pop* |
|
an IT guy* | [WP] In the year 2088 you're a IT guy working on the Immortality Project. A project where humans are uploaded as AIs when they die. You accidentally spill your coffee and crash a server. Killing 3 million people. | The part where I killed three million people was the easy part.
I was managing the Immortality Drives- room sized servers into which the dying uploaded their personalities, attaining a sort of disembodied eternal life. And I spilled my coffee, which normally wouldn't be a problem, but the thermal and moisture guards had been removed for overdue maintenance three weeks ago and still hadn't been replaced, and... don't worry about it. That's not the point if the story.
So the server shorted out and three million people ceased existing. Which is barely a problem. I mean, they're digitally stored, right? We keep them backed up. You know how sometimes there's server wide latency from an Immortality Drive? There's a good chance that what really happened is a brief mechanical failure caused everyone on that server to cease existing, and then automated systems restored them all from backup.
It's no big deal. Happens all the time. The people on the servers don't even notice. They're just dead for a few moments- or non existent if you'd prefer that terminology- and then they're back. If we do it fast enough they don't even notice.
So no, spilling coffee on the server was an annoyance at best. I just needed to clean out the spill, replace a few components, and fire the old girl back up. Sure, it would be a longer gap in existence than usual, but still no more than fifteen minutes.
And that's what I did.
The problem... Ok. So yes, there was a problem. A big one.
Like three days before the same techs who took off the moisture guard put in a new automated restore subsystem.
And they didn't document their work.
So here I am, no idea this new system is installed, working away at fixing the coffee spill. I being the system back online, resurrecting three million people... and the complaints email instantly overloads and crashes.
Turns out that the moment the coffee shorted everything out, a new automated system transferred hosting duties to a server farm in New Shanghai. *No one was dead.* And I had just "resurrected" fifteen minute old ghosts of people who were still living!
So now instead of three million people, we've got six million. Do you know what a mess this is? They own property! But which one owns it? Like two million of the originals were married. The ones with spouses on the same server aren't that big if a deal- at least there's still a one to one ratio of husbands and wives- but what about the ones with partners on other servers? And of course the corporation isn't getting paid twice to host two versions of these people. The higher ups are *pissed.*
So anyway... how was your day, honey? | Damn it all to hell, you were running super late today. The newborn next door had cried every hour on the hour. This was it's first night home and it cried all night. Weren't newborns relatively quiet until they got a little older? You shook your head, you didn't know as you never had kids of your own. No, you had spent your life working on computers all day, every day. No time for a social life, not to mention women didn't exactly find you attractive or appealing. All that hard work paid off though, you managed to land this IT job working on the immortality project, a big thing now days to "live forever" as they were advertising. In all truth what they do is upload your memories, personality, thoughts, anything that made up a person into the computer. Then they would send that info off to the AI factory when you, the actual human, passed away. You would be downloaded into an AI body and could "live forever". Ha, more like live the same hardships a person already has to deal with, money, bills, work, all those wonderful things that came from being an adult. Kids were also uploaded, but each year the kid would have to come in for an update, you know since their brains change as they age. That is where you worked, you watched over the kids' files being updated, making sure to delete the old copies. Because this was such a data consuming area the government didn't want to keep back ups. So when you got to work, set your coffee and lunch on the table you thought nothing different than any other day. Sadly today was going very badly, you tripped over a mouse trap, stumbled and bumped the table. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the coffee cup rocked and swirled before flying through the air and hitting the data servers.
*Note: This may have issues but I liked the prompt. I welcome any helpful criticism. |
an IT guy* | [WP] In the year 2088 you're a IT guy working on the Immortality Project. A project where humans are uploaded as AIs when they die. You accidentally spill your coffee and crash a server. Killing 3 million people. | "You did what?"
My boss was livid. Understandably so, I suppose - with one stupid mistake I had wiped out about as many people as died during the Korean War. But it wasn't helping anything really.
"I spilled coffee on the SAN."
"What the fuck were you doing in the DC with coffee?"
"Well, it's like this..." I replied "..you know the patch head office sent out last week?"
"Yeah."
"Well it was a shit patch. We lost a couple hosts before I managed to call it back. So I was in trying to fix that. I realised the problem was with the Cisco hardware. So then I had to pull out the compatibility matrix and try and read that thing. At five in the morning. So yeah - I needed a little pick me up."
"That little pick me up just killed three million people."
I sighed. "Spare me the drama alright Don? These people are long dead, we're just storing their personality matrix and memories. And we've got a disaster recovery plan just for this kind of thing."
'So what's happening then?"
"Right now? Not much. I offloaded most of our primary functions to Shanghai and Durban. Anyone who wants to connect with their loved ones will notice increased latency, but nothing serious. There's about a five hour gap in in between their datastores and ours, but that's nothing serious either. I could try and work on individual accounts to bring them up to date, but I don't think that's a good use of my time. IBM has been called about storage. Tomorrow morning is when they told me, but they're aiming for sooner. When it comes in we'll deploy, sync from our friends in Durban and Shanghai and then add in the memories from tape backup - should fix the missing five hours. Once the hardware's here we're talking a five hours to pull back from the remote sites, another day maybe to make sure everything lines up."
"New clients?"
"I've cobbled together enough spare storage to allow us to keep about a week's worth of personalities. As long as we don't see a major incident we should be fine until I get everything else running as I should."
I could hear my boss grumbling in the background. "Alright. Keep me posted."
"Will do boss. Goodbye." I hung up. Back to work. But first - a coffee. | Damn it all to hell, you were running super late today. The newborn next door had cried every hour on the hour. This was it's first night home and it cried all night. Weren't newborns relatively quiet until they got a little older? You shook your head, you didn't know as you never had kids of your own. No, you had spent your life working on computers all day, every day. No time for a social life, not to mention women didn't exactly find you attractive or appealing. All that hard work paid off though, you managed to land this IT job working on the immortality project, a big thing now days to "live forever" as they were advertising. In all truth what they do is upload your memories, personality, thoughts, anything that made up a person into the computer. Then they would send that info off to the AI factory when you, the actual human, passed away. You would be downloaded into an AI body and could "live forever". Ha, more like live the same hardships a person already has to deal with, money, bills, work, all those wonderful things that came from being an adult. Kids were also uploaded, but each year the kid would have to come in for an update, you know since their brains change as they age. That is where you worked, you watched over the kids' files being updated, making sure to delete the old copies. Because this was such a data consuming area the government didn't want to keep back ups. So when you got to work, set your coffee and lunch on the table you thought nothing different than any other day. Sadly today was going very badly, you tripped over a mouse trap, stumbled and bumped the table. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the coffee cup rocked and swirled before flying through the air and hitting the data servers.
*Note: This may have issues but I liked the prompt. I welcome any helpful criticism. |
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | It was a white, sterile room that felt like sort of a camouflage for something brutal; a taboo, I believed as every year I went to the huge building just to get my "Immune Boosters", since I was a child. Such a silly name it was, always wondered what it stood for.
After a long waiting among almost hypnotized people, it was finally my turn. The same protocol: Weird looking, unconscious doctors, operating the machine to stab me with the tiniest needle. It was seconds after I sat, and now it was over. I felt only a slight pain on my shoulders...
I didn't know why my parents would be so nervous before vaccine-days... I mean, before they disappeared and life went on like nothing happened. I always felt different among the other people. I did obey the others because I'd been taught it was the right thing, but others, as they hid behind their fake, robotic dialogues, were not able to question the same, I thought.
It was another day on the American Dream, and I had to disguise once more, still wondering what's out there... | The needle bent and immediately my instincts took over. Deflect left, pull back, strike right, feign right, dip low and elbow to temple. I was already in full motion without even having to consciously think about it. I guess years of training will do that to you.
*We will make you a machine* they would say.
He was quick and had undoubtedly strong forearms, but his leg positioning was lacking, I noticed this immediately. Although, seated as I was in the patient bed it was hard to take advantage of that weakness at the moment.
I made a move to stand and was bulldozed down by a swift shoulder to the sternum. But I got the desired effect once I let the blow carry me. I tumbled over the other direction and landed standing upright on the opposite side of the bed.
He reached for the drawer to his left and got it open before I slammed the bed into him. Pinning his arm in the drawer holding onto whatever weapon he was reaching for.
I launched myself over, left foot first on the back of his right kneecap. It brought him to his knees and at that point it was over. I had him in the Dreymond hold, sweeping my left arm under the right with his neck in the middle.
At that point it could've been over I'm an instant.
*Why now? Why after all these years?*
I could feel the blood pounding in his artery, unsuccessfully willing it's way into his brain.
*Was this a long game? Was I still that important to them? I hope to god there's a still warm doctor's body out in the parking lot; folded up nicely in the trunk with any other dead bodies. But what if it wasn't a short-hit? Would they spend the time and energy to have a implant undercover Doctor build up his rep for months, years, just to get a shot at me again?*
The longer they took to plan and think out a way to kill you, the more they wanted you dead.
The man was on the verge of passing out. I could feel the strength of his body quickly leaving him.
*No, no, it can't be. This is just an opportunistic hit. Quick cash from some bullshit, forgotten, grudge. Nothing more."
The second mistake I made was relaxing my hold. But I needed to know.
"Who?" I shouted as loud as possible without drawing attention from the hallway, "WHO?!"
"Francis, Francis," he gasped near-unintelligibly.
"Bullshit!" I tightened my grip, "Who?!"
I reached into the drawer and grabbed what felt like a silenced Grisner 733.
I held it to his temple as he attempted regained his breath.
"One more chance: who?"
The man let out a bloody smile that chilled me to the bone.
*Jesus, I've gotten soft*
"You're a dead man, they are already here."
The exit wound from the .35 caliber bullet left an all to familiar spray against the hospital white wall. I planted the gun in my back belt before searching his body.
Nothing.
I grabbed his ID tag that was clipped to his neckline and headed for the door. I peeked out slowly and the hallway was clear.
As I approached the front desk I could hear the receptionist shouting, "I told you sirs, you can't go back there! Sirs! Excuse me! I can't let--" A muffled shot cut the frantic receptionist's demands short.
I immediately took off in the opposite direction, following the exit signs. I found a back hallway with steps that led to the lower floor, only four flights down. But just as I began my retreat, 5 armed men dressed in hospital scrubs were hastily beginning their ascent.
Up was the only way. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? | The needle bent and immediately my instincts took over. Deflect left, pull back, strike right, feign right, dip low and elbow to temple. I was already in full motion without even having to consciously think about it. I guess years of training will do that to you.
*We will make you a machine* they would say.
He was quick and had undoubtedly strong forearms, but his leg positioning was lacking, I noticed this immediately. Although, seated as I was in the patient bed it was hard to take advantage of that weakness at the moment.
I made a move to stand and was bulldozed down by a swift shoulder to the sternum. But I got the desired effect once I let the blow carry me. I tumbled over the other direction and landed standing upright on the opposite side of the bed.
He reached for the drawer to his left and got it open before I slammed the bed into him. Pinning his arm in the drawer holding onto whatever weapon he was reaching for.
I launched myself over, left foot first on the back of his right kneecap. It brought him to his knees and at that point it was over. I had him in the Dreymond hold, sweeping my left arm under the right with his neck in the middle.
At that point it could've been over I'm an instant.
*Why now? Why after all these years?*
I could feel the blood pounding in his artery, unsuccessfully willing it's way into his brain.
*Was this a long game? Was I still that important to them? I hope to god there's a still warm doctor's body out in the parking lot; folded up nicely in the trunk with any other dead bodies. But what if it wasn't a short-hit? Would they spend the time and energy to have a implant undercover Doctor build up his rep for months, years, just to get a shot at me again?*
The longer they took to plan and think out a way to kill you, the more they wanted you dead.
The man was on the verge of passing out. I could feel the strength of his body quickly leaving him.
*No, no, it can't be. This is just an opportunistic hit. Quick cash from some bullshit, forgotten, grudge. Nothing more."
The second mistake I made was relaxing my hold. But I needed to know.
"Who?" I shouted as loud as possible without drawing attention from the hallway, "WHO?!"
"Francis, Francis," he gasped near-unintelligibly.
"Bullshit!" I tightened my grip, "Who?!"
I reached into the drawer and grabbed what felt like a silenced Grisner 733.
I held it to his temple as he attempted regained his breath.
"One more chance: who?"
The man let out a bloody smile that chilled me to the bone.
*Jesus, I've gotten soft*
"You're a dead man, they are already here."
The exit wound from the .35 caliber bullet left an all to familiar spray against the hospital white wall. I planted the gun in my back belt before searching his body.
Nothing.
I grabbed his ID tag that was clipped to his neckline and headed for the door. I peeked out slowly and the hallway was clear.
As I approached the front desk I could hear the receptionist shouting, "I told you sirs, you can't go back there! Sirs! Excuse me! I can't let--" A muffled shot cut the frantic receptionist's demands short.
I immediately took off in the opposite direction, following the exit signs. I found a back hallway with steps that led to the lower floor, only four flights down. But just as I began my retreat, 5 armed men dressed in hospital scrubs were hastily beginning their ascent.
Up was the only way. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | The needle bent and immediately my instincts took over. Deflect left, pull back, strike right, feign right, dip low and elbow to temple. I was already in full motion without even having to consciously think about it. I guess years of training will do that to you.
*We will make you a machine* they would say.
He was quick and had undoubtedly strong forearms, but his leg positioning was lacking, I noticed this immediately. Although, seated as I was in the patient bed it was hard to take advantage of that weakness at the moment.
I made a move to stand and was bulldozed down by a swift shoulder to the sternum. But I got the desired effect once I let the blow carry me. I tumbled over the other direction and landed standing upright on the opposite side of the bed.
He reached for the drawer to his left and got it open before I slammed the bed into him. Pinning his arm in the drawer holding onto whatever weapon he was reaching for.
I launched myself over, left foot first on the back of his right kneecap. It brought him to his knees and at that point it was over. I had him in the Dreymond hold, sweeping my left arm under the right with his neck in the middle.
At that point it could've been over I'm an instant.
*Why now? Why after all these years?*
I could feel the blood pounding in his artery, unsuccessfully willing it's way into his brain.
*Was this a long game? Was I still that important to them? I hope to god there's a still warm doctor's body out in the parking lot; folded up nicely in the trunk with any other dead bodies. But what if it wasn't a short-hit? Would they spend the time and energy to have a implant undercover Doctor build up his rep for months, years, just to get a shot at me again?*
The longer they took to plan and think out a way to kill you, the more they wanted you dead.
The man was on the verge of passing out. I could feel the strength of his body quickly leaving him.
*No, no, it can't be. This is just an opportunistic hit. Quick cash from some bullshit, forgotten, grudge. Nothing more."
The second mistake I made was relaxing my hold. But I needed to know.
"Who?" I shouted as loud as possible without drawing attention from the hallway, "WHO?!"
"Francis, Francis," he gasped near-unintelligibly.
"Bullshit!" I tightened my grip, "Who?!"
I reached into the drawer and grabbed what felt like a silenced Grisner 733.
I held it to his temple as he attempted regained his breath.
"One more chance: who?"
The man let out a bloody smile that chilled me to the bone.
*Jesus, I've gotten soft*
"You're a dead man, they are already here."
The exit wound from the .35 caliber bullet left an all to familiar spray against the hospital white wall. I planted the gun in my back belt before searching his body.
Nothing.
I grabbed his ID tag that was clipped to his neckline and headed for the door. I peeked out slowly and the hallway was clear.
As I approached the front desk I could hear the receptionist shouting, "I told you sirs, you can't go back there! Sirs! Excuse me! I can't let--" A muffled shot cut the frantic receptionist's demands short.
I immediately took off in the opposite direction, following the exit signs. I found a back hallway with steps that led to the lower floor, only four flights down. But just as I began my retreat, 5 armed men dressed in hospital scrubs were hastily beginning their ascent.
Up was the only way. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I came in with some soreness in my back, we do the checkup.
Look, piss, stand, turn, cough, say ahhh. Then the needle goes in, it comes out code looks... the same as I ever saw it. Shad puts it to spin, machine comes up and I need an update. No biggie. Shad pulls out a big syringe downloads it. I haven't been afraid of needles since two point five but this thing was huge.
"Relax, can you count back from ten?" He asks.
"Course I can doc. You know that." Closing my eyes I do what he asks " Uh, ten, nine, eight, sevuh, s-Shit" That hurt more than it should have and all over my arm. First the pressure and pinch but then it's like it dragged and pinched my skin down to the elbow. I open again and that's exactly what happened. It's unreal, the damn thing looks like it bent on a steel wall.
"Thats not supposed to happen"
"No shit?"
"Shh! Give me a second, it's probably just a hardware issue." He grabs my file off the wall and thumbs through it. I'm just sitting there like a jack ass waiting for the bad news. "I think we need to run some more tests"
"Does that mean I can't get my patch Doc? Don't I need it." He doesn't answer. I'm feeling
"You're going to get a full examination by Dr.Romeo first thing in the morning."
Five weeks later and I can barely move. I can't tell my sweat from my spit and all sense of smell is gone. It's hot and I'm freezing. They moved me from Shad's clinic three days ago. ICU. I have an auto-Immune error. Incredibly rare for a player on this server. I can't patch no matter what they do. Fire wall burns it. I'm gonna die at this rate I thought in the third week when I couldn't walk anymore. But I just keep getting sicker and sicker. I'm pretty sure, sometimes, that I'm not breathing at all for minutes at a time my tubes glued shut and burning.
I don't get it and neither does anyone else. Kharma should've pulled me by now. I'd happily be rendered on some Chi-com server working a bit mill for the rest of my day until eternity. It would be a short blink compared to the hours I'm conscious wanting to scream but unable to.
`Incoming feed for Case Turner` The monitor chimes to get my attention. I focus on the center of the screen blink twice. Suddenly I see Nash's shit eating grin. He's saying something but I can only stare back.
"So we found out where you were holed up. Dr.Shadid didn't want to give you up. He's a good player. Anyhow, you look like shit. I mean just really awful." Did he just come here to mock me? Nash is a real piece of shit but he wouldn't waste time to be this petty. "Case did you think we were idiots?” What? “Did you think you could burn our little group of scammers? Check this out.” The feed plays video of an unfamiliar body in a tube. "It’s an IRL feed! Players don’t ever get to see this kind of shit so enjoy it. That guy in there? That’s you! And he’s immortal too. Just like the classers. I mean hey he won’t ever get pulled by kharma it’s his money that’s paying for this whole thing. We found him because you didn’t wear your proxy one time and you thought organizations like ours would fail without pvp. So this is what you get Jackass. Have a nice life.”
The feed cuts. I try to stay awake and count the years. | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I don't remember it happening. How could I? I was just a baby at the time. My mom tells the story all the time though.
"There he was, my precious little baby," Mom would start. I always rolled my eyes when she told the story. Gave a long suffering "Mooooooom" to show my annoyance. Mom's don't care, they think it's being cute.
"The doctor asked me to hold him while he gave him his shots. I did, of course, I wanted my little boy to be safe and protected from all the nasty things in the world. So the doctor goes to inject my little angel and the needle bends!" Mom would always pause here for the gasps or some reaction. So embarrassing, every time she tells it. Like a script by now.
"I was shocked! I had never been one of those kooks but my baby was almost killed!" I usually tried to chime in, after I got older, that maybe it would have just hurt instead. Maybe the doctor thought the needle was a little too big for me and that triggered the response. I tried to offer up sane ideas, some explanation other than the insane world this situation brought about.
"I'd never believed those anti-vaxxers but this was proof!" Mom would always sound oddly proud about that. "And that's how we got all vaccinations banned and now the children are safe." Mom likes to ignore the various epidemics that have cropped up and all the dead children who aren't hers. It sucks being the literal anti-vax poster child. | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I hate flu shots. I have a bit of a fear of needles, if we're being honest. All my work in construction, welding, and general contracting, I have no problems. I've had Jeremy shoot that damned nail gun into my forearm on his second damn day (he's damned lucky to be my wife's nephew, or I'd have fired him for showing up late on his first day), I've played Staple Gun Roulette in college, I even went through a big 'piercing' phase when I wanted to prove to my parents I wasn't a kid anymore, but for some reason, needles at the doctor's office? In 34 years, I have never gotten over that one.
I've gotten pretty good at pretending, and today I have every reason to pretend; the new nurse at my doctor's office is really cute. Her glowing personality fits perfectly with her big smile wrapped in a bob cut and pink nurse covers. She's been a little flirty since I walked in; I'll have to ask for her number before I leave. I can't believe I missed her name when she first walked in.
Her smile only fades when Dr Brooks walks into the room. It's odd to see the Doctor for a flu shot, but I guess since Nurse Sweetsmile is also Nurse New, he has to observe. The nurse gets very formal now, very professional. The small talk fades quickly. I try to reassure her that she's doing a great job, and I confess how needles scare me a bit... but with her I feel very comforted.
Her smile sneaks back in.
Dr Brooks isn't smiling, though. He seems pretty frustrated. He's always been a curmudgeonly old dodger; he was probably born with that condescending sneer. If what my mother told me about your face sticking that way was ever true, it was true for this guy. He's not much older than me, I'd say early 40's at most, but already being half bald and never smiling has made him look like one of those old timey pictures I've seen in books of coal miners from the early part of last century. Maybe this is what they looked like after a shower. He's a great doctor, but I don't think I could ever call him a great guy.
I don't know why, but Dr Brooks takes over for Nurse Disrespected as she is prepping the needle. She moves to the corner to watch and feel embarrassed. I try to reassure Dr Brooks that she was doing very well, but his reply... can someone be compassionately condescending? If you can, he is.
Dr Brooks starts talking about me as though I'm just a puppet, explaining in minute detail to Nurse ReducedToStudent about PRECISELY how she should have been doing her job. He mentions how she needs to be professional, and her presentation is always making things take longer and giving client the wrong impression... maybe I shouldn't ask her number. Maybe I was just misreading her nature as something just for me. She makes eye contact with me, looks back to the needle...
...That... that was weird...
I look at Dr Brooks, taking the needle back and turning to the sink. He starts going through the drawers, always professional but clearly rushed. Nurse LearningQuick is just looking at me. Did I do something wrong?
"Is everything ok, doc", I ask? I haven't gotten the bandage, yet. I haven't been told to hold the swab against the wound yet either. I look at the nurse, and then at my arm... no shot. "Is there something wrong with the needle?" A gruff 'yes' was all I got, he didn't even turn to look at me. No explanation about what happens next, nothing.
I look at Nurse HelpfulGlance, who comes close to me and whispers "It bent. He couldn't sink the needle".
It bent.
He couldn't... sink the needle.
Dr Brooks' change was sudden. He glared to his young nurse, and demanded she begin refiling some pile of documents long-growing in his office. She turn fiercely, screaming about his jealousy once again getting in the way, and how she can't work in these conditions. "How many patients do you need to try and hurt... do you want another lawsuit... I'm not doing this again..."
Dr Brooks turns, screaming. Telling her, in front of the many photos he has plastered around his office of his wife and young daughters, how important she is to him! How he cannot stand the way she uses her beauty to make other men think vile things! How she cannot let 'scum like THAT' (pointing to me) destroy her... I'm not scum, I don't think, but I've been called worse.
She runs from the office, crying. Nurse Judy, who has been at this office for years, looks in and asks the Doctor to come review a file.
We stand there. Dr Brooks, Nurse Judy, and I. Silently. for moments that stretch into eons, we stand without word.
"May I see the needle", I ask. It breaks the ice. Dr Moody leaves without saying a word. Nurse Judy looks at me. I have to ask, "Is she ok?"
"You're sweet. Hold still for me, ok?" Nurse Judy has already set up a fresh needle, and in a smooth motion has given me my annual flu shot. "Hold this for me" she says as she collects the bandage for my arm. "I got you a spiderman bandaid, for climbing all those buildings".
I thank her, but again I ask what happened. "Don't worry, sweetie. I have to check in on the other patients, now. You're all set. This shot is on the house; not even a co-pay." And she was gone. I try to ask for the new nurse's name, but Judy is on tot he next room.
I collect my jacket... but I can't help myself. There, on the wall, in big red letters 'SHARPS'.
I look in the basket.
There must be a dozen bent needles strewn in there. | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I don't like doc.
no one does.
he's weirdly enthusiasic 'bout *everything*, like the time lawrence got cancer and he freaking *squealed* like a little girl in excitment.
but anyways, I gotta go. got a bit of rebar in my foot the other day and now I gotta tetnus shots or something.
I open the door his office and he's there, wearing that white coat of his, looking like some sort a angel or shit. I dunno why he still wears it. we stopped fighting *years* ago when that thing happened, y'know, the one where it was like we were all on the same team or something.
anyways, he comes at me, a huge an' creepy grin on his face. he does his normal exsamination shit, 'fore telling me ta sit down.
now, ya might laugh at me, but I'm fucking *terrifed* of needles. and when doc suddenly pulls out a freaking *huge* one, the first thing I wanna do is bolt outta there.
but I can't. he'll just chase me down with it like the last time I did that.
so, he gets the needle. its filled with some sort of yellow stuff, which is odd 'cause it was clear last time.
I don't question him though. as weird and creepy as he is, he's the doctor and he ain't gonna hurt me 'cause Ivan said he took an oath that stops him from doing that.
he comes at me with the needle and grabs my arm 'fore I do something stupid like last time. he's got a real strong grip for an old dude and his hand is really cold for some reason.
he's like that for a few secs an' I close my eyes, ready ta get jabbed.
but it doesn't come.
I hear him swearing in that weird language of his and I open my eyes ta see the needle pressing into me, the sharp pointy bit *bending* like rubber or something 'gainst my skin.
he mutters something an' I don't need ta speak european ta know he's swearin'. he grabs the needle an' jabs me again, but it does the same thing.
now, 'spite what you guys might think, I ain't dumb. I know somethin's off an' I know I gotta get outta there. just 'cause that thing's turned off doesn't mean he can't hurt me other ways...
I slip off the bench, only ta have him grab my arm again. I try ta wriggle out of his grip, but as I said, he's strong for an old dude.
he spins me 'round and 'fore I know it, he's got me against the wall. he jabs the needle again at me, but it bounces off again.
I scream.
just 'cause it ain't doing anyting doesn't mean I ain't scared.
an' then, he stops.
he just stops.
he's still got me against the wall, but he stops the needle.
I stop screaming at him and look at him. his glasses are about to fall off an' his usualy neat hair is everywhere. an' those blue eyes of his...
they look tired.
not like sleep tired (though, they look that too), but like he's got no idea what to do.
he lets go of me and removes his glasses. he turns away from me, but for a single moment, I can see his eyes properly.
he looks like he's crying.
"doc? the freaking hell?" I demand, more 'cause I'm freaking confused than anything else.
"sorry." he mutters. "I...I shouldn't of tried zhat."
"tried what?"
"zhat." he waved at the needle he dropped on the floor. "I...I can't do anything."
"dude, why not?"
"its zhiz..." he waved at where he had tried to jab me with his weird needle shit. "I can't experiment. zhat always happens. needles bend. mein scaples von't cut. its like zhey are all made from rubber. zhere...zhere is nothing for me to do here."
"dude, ya our doctor. 'couse theres stuff for ya to do."
"you don't understand." he picked up the needle. he presses it against his hand, but it bends like it did on my arm. "I can not pratice science if zhiz...thing stops me from doing *anything* zhat might be harmful."
"ain't that good though? I mean-"
"science has its cost. every new discovery has its risks. but if I can not even *try*, even if zhe only victim is myself, I can not learn anything. I can not improve, I can not...I can not..." he sighed.
"I don't know vhat to do."
| April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | Many ancient scholars speculated that *if* the universe is a computer program, life should never, under any circumstances, know this fact, for *if* it ever figured it out, modern civilization would instantly crumble. Of course, those scholars never went a step ahead to see the ultimate truth; That *if* the universe is a computer program, the only reasonable explanation for its existence would be that it is a videogame. This is why, when Alexander Wilfery conquered the world as the first emperor of a unified humanity, the first thing he did was turn off the PvP. No more murder, no more wars, and no more boxing matches, because honestly, those *'matches'* were only rigged events organized for the singular purpose of betting.
Alexander Wilfery was a polarizing figure on Earth... to say the least. Some would argue that he was a tyrant, imposing his will unto humanity without the right to do so. Others would argue that being the only human with access to the source code technically granted him the right to do as he pleased. A third, small, but vocal group of people would say:
"Yes, okay, he can do whatever he wants, but why'd he have to take our boxing?"
His actions definitely influenced history for centuries to come, shifting the economy from one of service labor to a flourishing utopia of science and arts. One profession in particular, assassination, thrived in this new world due to its rare and difficult nature. Turning off the PvP didn't make humans immortal, only harder to kill. Now, instead of letting the thrilling anticipation of murder overtake them, assassins had to be trained from birth to repress their intent. Fortunately for the old families that already practiced the art of killing, this came extremely easy, since they already implemented this in their training. Unfortunately for Alexander Wilfery, the nurse administering his flu-shot was one of said assassins.
Sitting atop the doctor's table, Alexander slouched and pouted. He wasn't afraid of shots, he just wasn't a fan of them. His hands weren't shaking out of nervousness, they were just shaking out of exasperation... or boredom. When the nurse flicked the needle with her finger, he didn't gulp because the purple liquid seemed menacing, he gulped because his throat was dry.
"Lord Emperor..." said the nurse, "you seem on edge right now. Is something bothering you?"
"N-no, I'm just stressed from all the things I have to do this afternoon." He extended his arm. "Please, lets get on with this."
"As you wish, my lord."
The nurse grabbed Alexander's wrist and placed the needle on his skin, right before Alexander squealed and pulled his arm away. The woman's eyes widened with fear, backing away from the Emperor a few steps. She then said:
"Did I do something wrong?!? How did you kno-"
"No, no!" Alexander waved his hands in denial. "Forgive me, nurse, it was instinct. You didn't say you were inserting the needle, so it startled me."
The nurse fixed her shirt and said:
"Okay, Lord Emperor. This time, I'll warn you right before I do it."
Alexander nodded and the nurse grabbed his arm again. She then moved the needle slowly towards his vein, warning him once it was near, only to have Alexander push her away. The nurse's mouth gaped open, staring at the needle in her hand and back at a sheepish Alexander Wilfery.
"Listen," said Alexander, "you're gonna have to stab me with it, okay?"
"Oka- wait, what?"
"You'll have to force the shot unto me. My rational mind knows it can't harm me, but my body just won't let it enter. I'm sorry, I know this is strange, but can you oblige this strange request?"
The nurse grinned and dashed at Alexander, who dodged her by rolling away. She then leaped at him, doing a stabbing motion with the syringe five times, though Alexander evaded all of them fluidly. The nurse, breathing heavily, finally wrestled Alexander to the ground and, laughing maniacally, manged to connect with the needle. Afterwards, her laughter faded into a worried sigh. The needle was bent. It didn't pierce Alexander's skin. The Emperor quickly called for his guards, who flooded the room before the assassin could get away. Restraining her from behind, they inspected her and found a golden necklace of two fighting gloves.
"The Boxing Federation..." said Alexander. "So they finally made their move, huh?"
From this point on, assassination attempts on Alexander's life would become a rare occurrence. Everyone thought he was an omnipotent being, capable of sensing even the slightest of intents. His rule would go on for centuries, and his empire would last for thousands of years more. Of course, no one would dare to think that all of this fame only came to him because of his crippling fear of needles.
-------------------------------------
> If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | April sighed in exasperation and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand.
" I'm sorry Terrance, this usually doesn't happen to me. We are going to have to try again."
Terrance nervously shifted in his chair; his tattooed face showing only the slightest emotion. "That's ok, Doc. But you know I always kinda hated needles." April carefully prepared another syringe. "Terrance, I'm going to need you to tell me about your childhood again. Just start from wherever you feel is appropriate. It will help me concentrate. Do you think you can do that?" The muscular man nodded slowly, cooperating. "Well, you know about my step-father Doc. And how he abused me and my sister. I ran away as soon as I could, my only regret was that I left my sister with that Bastard." April could tell by the tone of his voice that Terrance was becoming more agitated but she urged him to continue anyway. "I lived on the streets, I had to steal from people just to survive." It was difficult to watch this once intimidating man break down. He continued his story with tears streaking down his face. "... and I wish things could have been different. It was an accident you know I was careless that time. But I know all that no matter how sorry I am it won't bring that man back." April took a deep breath, "that's enough Terrance, thank you." She gripped the syringe, ready to inject the prisoner. "Wait..." Terrance pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. "I wrote this for his family. Could you give this to them?" April jabbed the lethal cocktail into Terrance and he lost consciousness. The apology letter he had written slipped out of his hands onto the floor. That night, no one slept soundly on death row. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I came in with some soreness in my back, we do the checkup.
Look, piss, stand, turn, cough, say ahhh. Then the needle goes in, it comes out code looks... the same as I ever saw it. Shad puts it to spin, machine comes up and I need an update. No biggie. Shad pulls out a big syringe downloads it. I haven't been afraid of needles since two point five but this thing was huge.
"Relax, can you count back from ten?" He asks.
"Course I can doc. You know that." Closing my eyes I do what he asks " Uh, ten, nine, eight, sevuh, s-Shit" That hurt more than it should have and all over my arm. First the pressure and pinch but then it's like it dragged and pinched my skin down to the elbow. I open again and that's exactly what happened. It's unreal, the damn thing looks like it bent on a steel wall.
"Thats not supposed to happen"
"No shit?"
"Shh! Give me a second, it's probably just a hardware issue." He grabs my file off the wall and thumbs through it. I'm just sitting there like a jack ass waiting for the bad news. "I think we need to run some more tests"
"Does that mean I can't get my patch Doc? Don't I need it." He doesn't answer. I'm feeling
"You're going to get a full examination by Dr.Romeo first thing in the morning."
Five weeks later and I can barely move. I can't tell my sweat from my spit and all sense of smell is gone. It's hot and I'm freezing. They moved me from Shad's clinic three days ago. ICU. I have an auto-Immune error. Incredibly rare for a player on this server. I can't patch no matter what they do. Fire wall burns it. I'm gonna die at this rate I thought in the third week when I couldn't walk anymore. But I just keep getting sicker and sicker. I'm pretty sure, sometimes, that I'm not breathing at all for minutes at a time my tubes glued shut and burning.
I don't get it and neither does anyone else. Kharma should've pulled me by now. I'd happily be rendered on some Chi-com server working a bit mill for the rest of my day until eternity. It would be a short blink compared to the hours I'm conscious wanting to scream but unable to.
`Incoming feed for Case Turner` The monitor chimes to get my attention. I focus on the center of the screen blink twice. Suddenly I see Nash's shit eating grin. He's saying something but I can only stare back.
"So we found out where you were holed up. Dr.Shadid didn't want to give you up. He's a good player. Anyhow, you look like shit. I mean just really awful." Did he just come here to mock me? Nash is a real piece of shit but he wouldn't waste time to be this petty. "Case did you think we were idiots?” What? “Did you think you could burn our little group of scammers? Check this out.” The feed plays video of an unfamiliar body in a tube. "It’s an IRL feed! Players don’t ever get to see this kind of shit so enjoy it. That guy in there? That’s you! And he’s immortal too. Just like the classers. I mean hey he won’t ever get pulled by kharma it’s his money that’s paying for this whole thing. We found him because you didn’t wear your proxy one time and you thought organizations like ours would fail without pvp. So this is what you get Jackass. Have a nice life.”
The feed cuts. I try to stay awake and count the years. | "Well doc, at least we gave it a SHOT... see what I did there?"
"I'm glad you still got your sense of humour, because I'm at the end of my wits here."
"Don't sweat it doc, I just wanted to give it a try although we both know deep down inside that there's no hope for me."
"I'm sorry James... but with chemotherapy no longer an option..." |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? | "Well doc, at least we gave it a SHOT... see what I did there?"
"I'm glad you still got your sense of humour, because I'm at the end of my wits here."
"Don't sweat it doc, I just wanted to give it a try although we both know deep down inside that there's no hope for me."
"I'm sorry James... but with chemotherapy no longer an option..." |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | "Well doc, at least we gave it a SHOT... see what I did there?"
"I'm glad you still got your sense of humour, because I'm at the end of my wits here."
"Don't sweat it doc, I just wanted to give it a try although we both know deep down inside that there's no hope for me."
"I'm sorry James... but with chemotherapy no longer an option..." |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? | It was a white, sterile room that felt like sort of a camouflage for something brutal; a taboo, I believed as every year I went to the huge building just to get my "Immune Boosters", since I was a child. Such a silly name it was, always wondered what it stood for.
After a long waiting among almost hypnotized people, it was finally my turn. The same protocol: Weird looking, unconscious doctors, operating the machine to stab me with the tiniest needle. It was seconds after I sat, and now it was over. I felt only a slight pain on my shoulders...
I didn't know why my parents would be so nervous before vaccine-days... I mean, before they disappeared and life went on like nothing happened. I always felt different among the other people. I did obey the others because I'd been taught it was the right thing, but others, as they hid behind their fake, robotic dialogues, were not able to question the same, I thought.
It was another day on the American Dream, and I had to disguise once more, still wondering what's out there... |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | It was a white, sterile room that felt like sort of a camouflage for something brutal; a taboo, I believed as every year I went to the huge building just to get my "Immune Boosters", since I was a child. Such a silly name it was, always wondered what it stood for.
After a long waiting among almost hypnotized people, it was finally my turn. The same protocol: Weird looking, unconscious doctors, operating the machine to stab me with the tiniest needle. It was seconds after I sat, and now it was over. I felt only a slight pain on my shoulders...
I didn't know why my parents would be so nervous before vaccine-days... I mean, before they disappeared and life went on like nothing happened. I always felt different among the other people. I did obey the others because I'd been taught it was the right thing, but others, as they hid behind their fake, robotic dialogues, were not able to question the same, I thought.
It was another day on the American Dream, and I had to disguise once more, still wondering what's out there... |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? | I came in with some soreness in my back, we do the checkup.
Look, piss, stand, turn, cough, say ahhh. Then the needle goes in, it comes out code looks... the same as I ever saw it. Shad puts it to spin, machine comes up and I need an update. No biggie. Shad pulls out a big syringe downloads it. I haven't been afraid of needles since two point five but this thing was huge.
"Relax, can you count back from ten?" He asks.
"Course I can doc. You know that." Closing my eyes I do what he asks " Uh, ten, nine, eight, sevuh, s-Shit" That hurt more than it should have and all over my arm. First the pressure and pinch but then it's like it dragged and pinched my skin down to the elbow. I open again and that's exactly what happened. It's unreal, the damn thing looks like it bent on a steel wall.
"Thats not supposed to happen"
"No shit?"
"Shh! Give me a second, it's probably just a hardware issue." He grabs my file off the wall and thumbs through it. I'm just sitting there like a jack ass waiting for the bad news. "I think we need to run some more tests"
"Does that mean I can't get my patch Doc? Don't I need it." He doesn't answer. I'm feeling
"You're going to get a full examination by Dr.Romeo first thing in the morning."
Five weeks later and I can barely move. I can't tell my sweat from my spit and all sense of smell is gone. It's hot and I'm freezing. They moved me from Shad's clinic three days ago. ICU. I have an auto-Immune error. Incredibly rare for a player on this server. I can't patch no matter what they do. Fire wall burns it. I'm gonna die at this rate I thought in the third week when I couldn't walk anymore. But I just keep getting sicker and sicker. I'm pretty sure, sometimes, that I'm not breathing at all for minutes at a time my tubes glued shut and burning.
I don't get it and neither does anyone else. Kharma should've pulled me by now. I'd happily be rendered on some Chi-com server working a bit mill for the rest of my day until eternity. It would be a short blink compared to the hours I'm conscious wanting to scream but unable to.
`Incoming feed for Case Turner` The monitor chimes to get my attention. I focus on the center of the screen blink twice. Suddenly I see Nash's shit eating grin. He's saying something but I can only stare back.
"So we found out where you were holed up. Dr.Shadid didn't want to give you up. He's a good player. Anyhow, you look like shit. I mean just really awful." Did he just come here to mock me? Nash is a real piece of shit but he wouldn't waste time to be this petty. "Case did you think we were idiots?” What? “Did you think you could burn our little group of scammers? Check this out.” The feed plays video of an unfamiliar body in a tube. "It’s an IRL feed! Players don’t ever get to see this kind of shit so enjoy it. That guy in there? That’s you! And he’s immortal too. Just like the classers. I mean hey he won’t ever get pulled by kharma it’s his money that’s paying for this whole thing. We found him because you didn’t wear your proxy one time and you thought organizations like ours would fail without pvp. So this is what you get Jackass. Have a nice life.”
The feed cuts. I try to stay awake and count the years. |
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[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | I came in with some soreness in my back, we do the checkup.
Look, piss, stand, turn, cough, say ahhh. Then the needle goes in, it comes out code looks... the same as I ever saw it. Shad puts it to spin, machine comes up and I need an update. No biggie. Shad pulls out a big syringe downloads it. I haven't been afraid of needles since two point five but this thing was huge.
"Relax, can you count back from ten?" He asks.
"Course I can doc. You know that." Closing my eyes I do what he asks " Uh, ten, nine, eight, sevuh, s-Shit" That hurt more than it should have and all over my arm. First the pressure and pinch but then it's like it dragged and pinched my skin down to the elbow. I open again and that's exactly what happened. It's unreal, the damn thing looks like it bent on a steel wall.
"Thats not supposed to happen"
"No shit?"
"Shh! Give me a second, it's probably just a hardware issue." He grabs my file off the wall and thumbs through it. I'm just sitting there like a jack ass waiting for the bad news. "I think we need to run some more tests"
"Does that mean I can't get my patch Doc? Don't I need it." He doesn't answer. I'm feeling
"You're going to get a full examination by Dr.Romeo first thing in the morning."
Five weeks later and I can barely move. I can't tell my sweat from my spit and all sense of smell is gone. It's hot and I'm freezing. They moved me from Shad's clinic three days ago. ICU. I have an auto-Immune error. Incredibly rare for a player on this server. I can't patch no matter what they do. Fire wall burns it. I'm gonna die at this rate I thought in the third week when I couldn't walk anymore. But I just keep getting sicker and sicker. I'm pretty sure, sometimes, that I'm not breathing at all for minutes at a time my tubes glued shut and burning.
I don't get it and neither does anyone else. Kharma should've pulled me by now. I'd happily be rendered on some Chi-com server working a bit mill for the rest of my day until eternity. It would be a short blink compared to the hours I'm conscious wanting to scream but unable to.
`Incoming feed for Case Turner` The monitor chimes to get my attention. I focus on the center of the screen blink twice. Suddenly I see Nash's shit eating grin. He's saying something but I can only stare back.
"So we found out where you were holed up. Dr.Shadid didn't want to give you up. He's a good player. Anyhow, you look like shit. I mean just really awful." Did he just come here to mock me? Nash is a real piece of shit but he wouldn't waste time to be this petty. "Case did you think we were idiots?” What? “Did you think you could burn our little group of scammers? Check this out.” The feed plays video of an unfamiliar body in a tube. "It’s an IRL feed! Players don’t ever get to see this kind of shit so enjoy it. That guy in there? That’s you! And he’s immortal too. Just like the classers. I mean hey he won’t ever get pulled by kharma it’s his money that’s paying for this whole thing. We found him because you didn’t wear your proxy one time and you thought organizations like ours would fail without pvp. So this is what you get Jackass. Have a nice life.”
The feed cuts. I try to stay awake and count the years. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | I look down at the bent needle. Why is it bent? I slowly glance upward to see a bead of sweat trickling down the doctors forehead. His eyes are staring at the needle. He stands there stoic like a statue. I look back down at the needle.
'GET OUT OF THERE' screams a voice in the back of my mind. I push it back and down.
"So Doc, why uh, why did the needle bend?" I chirp past my nervousness
The doctor looks like he's perspired much more now. His brow is soaking, his upper lip is beading. Like he had run a marathon just 2 minutes ago before trying to inject me.
'GET AWAY! RUN!' begs the voice again.
The doctor finally releases his grip on my arm and pockets the needle. He looks a bit shaken as I notice a tremor in his hand as he pulls it back out of the pocket. Something isn't right.
'RUN! GO NOW!'
"Hey Doc, why did the needle bend like that?" I asked with even more nervous tone in my voice.
The doctor now looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have a fierce look to them with a wild fear to them. He's scared out of his wits so much that he's visibly shaking from head to toe.
'HE'S TRYING TO KILL YOU!' screamed the voice so loud that it blurs my vision.
The doctor lunges at me, trying to grab my neck. I fall backward over the chair behind me, the doctor falls on me. He's pulling at my shirt as I kick with my feet and reach out to try and grab something. My hands slip and slide on the floor, the doctor is gaining on me. My left arm comes in front of my chest as the doctor tries to land a punch at my throat. His throw deflects off my wrist, and I finally get my right leg up, put my foot on his chest. I push with all my strength launching him up and off me. He falls backwards with no control, his arms flailing. His neck slams against the counter and he slumps to the ground. He's dead.
"What the fuck!? WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I scream, adrenaline shooting through me. I lay there, staring at his limp body. Everything is rushing through my head. Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?
The door swings open as a nurse is checking on the noise. She looks at me first, confused as to why I'm on the floor. Her eyes look at me, and then glance to the doctor who isn't moving. She screams "CODE BLUE!" and runs to the doctors side. Two orderlies run into the room grabbing me by my shoulders and dragging me out of the room. I try to struggle away but they are larger and stronger than me. They wrestle me to the ground on my stomach in the hallway.
With my face pressed against the floor, and my vision narrowing I see the front doors of the hospital. A deep fog had rolled in today. And with the coal mines burning, the ash had been falling heavily today. As dangerous as the fumes were outside, I had to escape this place. My exit was only a couple dozen strides away.
"Daniel! I need your help, we need to get him on the gurney!" said the nurse.
"I'm coming!" said one of the orderlies, he glanced at the other orderly "You got him?"
"Yeah I have him"
Daniel's weight lifted off my back as he went into the room where the dead doctor was being tended to. I could feel my strength coming back. I was able to squirm free my arm from the orderly. I reached out and grabbed whatever I could feel. I yanked a small chair over my back and knocked him across the head. He bounced off of me, and I was up instantly. I flung the chair across him again with full force, bashing it twice across his back. He groaned and crumpled into a ball.
I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My vision was getting more and more tunneled. All I could do was focus on getting outside. Getting away from this crazy place. I slam into the doors, bursting out into the chilled air. It shocks me how cold it is. My breathe stolen by the fog. The ash falls like silent angels feathers. I take the moment to regain my wits. I start walking down the road to the iron gates. The adrenaline is now dissipating and pain is beginning to set in my ribs. I pass the gates and see the sign of the hospital.
**Alchemilla Hospital - Silent Hill, West Virginia**
How did I get here? |
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[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | The air became crisp for that moment. Neither of us moved even slightly...
Until finally he turned towards me, "hah! Rubber needle! It always gets the vets going."
"Greg, you're an asshole you know that?" | I don't remember it happening. How could I? I was just a baby at the time. My mom tells the story all the time though.
"There he was, my precious little baby," Mom would start. I always rolled my eyes when she told the story. Gave a long suffering "Mooooooom" to show my annoyance. Mom's don't care, they think it's being cute.
"The doctor asked me to hold him while he gave him his shots. I did, of course, I wanted my little boy to be safe and protected from all the nasty things in the world. So the doctor goes to inject my little angel and the needle bends!" Mom would always pause here for the gasps or some reaction. So embarrassing, every time she tells it. Like a script by now.
"I was shocked! I had never been one of those kooks but my baby was almost killed!" I usually tried to chime in, after I got older, that maybe it would have just hurt instead. Maybe the doctor thought the needle was a little too big for me and that triggered the response. I tried to offer up sane ideas, some explanation other than the insane world this situation brought about.
"I'd never believed those anti-vaxxers but this was proof!" Mom would always sound oddly proud about that. "And that's how we got all vaccinations banned and now the children are safe." Mom likes to ignore the various epidemics that have cropped up and all the dead children who aren't hers. It sucks being the literal anti-vax poster child. |
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | I hate flu shots. I have a bit of a fear of needles, if we're being honest. All my work in construction, welding, and general contracting, I have no problems. I've had Jeremy shoot that damned nail gun into my forearm on his second damn day (he's damned lucky to be my wife's nephew, or I'd have fired him for showing up late on his first day), I've played Staple Gun Roulette in college, I even went through a big 'piercing' phase when I wanted to prove to my parents I wasn't a kid anymore, but for some reason, needles at the doctor's office? In 34 years, I have never gotten over that one.
I've gotten pretty good at pretending, and today I have every reason to pretend; the new nurse at my doctor's office is really cute. Her glowing personality fits perfectly with her big smile wrapped in a bob cut and pink nurse covers. She's been a little flirty since I walked in; I'll have to ask for her number before I leave. I can't believe I missed her name when she first walked in.
Her smile only fades when Dr Brooks walks into the room. It's odd to see the Doctor for a flu shot, but I guess since Nurse Sweetsmile is also Nurse New, he has to observe. The nurse gets very formal now, very professional. The small talk fades quickly. I try to reassure her that she's doing a great job, and I confess how needles scare me a bit... but with her I feel very comforted.
Her smile sneaks back in.
Dr Brooks isn't smiling, though. He seems pretty frustrated. He's always been a curmudgeonly old dodger; he was probably born with that condescending sneer. If what my mother told me about your face sticking that way was ever true, it was true for this guy. He's not much older than me, I'd say early 40's at most, but already being half bald and never smiling has made him look like one of those old timey pictures I've seen in books of coal miners from the early part of last century. Maybe this is what they looked like after a shower. He's a great doctor, but I don't think I could ever call him a great guy.
I don't know why, but Dr Brooks takes over for Nurse Disrespected as she is prepping the needle. She moves to the corner to watch and feel embarrassed. I try to reassure Dr Brooks that she was doing very well, but his reply... can someone be compassionately condescending? If you can, he is.
Dr Brooks starts talking about me as though I'm just a puppet, explaining in minute detail to Nurse ReducedToStudent about PRECISELY how she should have been doing her job. He mentions how she needs to be professional, and her presentation is always making things take longer and giving client the wrong impression... maybe I shouldn't ask her number. Maybe I was just misreading her nature as something just for me. She makes eye contact with me, looks back to the needle...
...That... that was weird...
I look at Dr Brooks, taking the needle back and turning to the sink. He starts going through the drawers, always professional but clearly rushed. Nurse LearningQuick is just looking at me. Did I do something wrong?
"Is everything ok, doc", I ask? I haven't gotten the bandage, yet. I haven't been told to hold the swab against the wound yet either. I look at the nurse, and then at my arm... no shot. "Is there something wrong with the needle?" A gruff 'yes' was all I got, he didn't even turn to look at me. No explanation about what happens next, nothing.
I look at Nurse HelpfulGlance, who comes close to me and whispers "It bent. He couldn't sink the needle".
It bent.
He couldn't... sink the needle.
Dr Brooks' change was sudden. He glared to his young nurse, and demanded she begin refiling some pile of documents long-growing in his office. She turn fiercely, screaming about his jealousy once again getting in the way, and how she can't work in these conditions. "How many patients do you need to try and hurt... do you want another lawsuit... I'm not doing this again..."
Dr Brooks turns, screaming. Telling her, in front of the many photos he has plastered around his office of his wife and young daughters, how important she is to him! How he cannot stand the way she uses her beauty to make other men think vile things! How she cannot let 'scum like THAT' (pointing to me) destroy her... I'm not scum, I don't think, but I've been called worse.
She runs from the office, crying. Nurse Judy, who has been at this office for years, looks in and asks the Doctor to come review a file.
We stand there. Dr Brooks, Nurse Judy, and I. Silently. for moments that stretch into eons, we stand without word.
"May I see the needle", I ask. It breaks the ice. Dr Moody leaves without saying a word. Nurse Judy looks at me. I have to ask, "Is she ok?"
"You're sweet. Hold still for me, ok?" Nurse Judy has already set up a fresh needle, and in a smooth motion has given me my annual flu shot. "Hold this for me" she says as she collects the bandage for my arm. "I got you a spiderman bandaid, for climbing all those buildings".
I thank her, but again I ask what happened. "Don't worry, sweetie. I have to check in on the other patients, now. You're all set. This shot is on the house; not even a co-pay." And she was gone. I try to ask for the new nurse's name, but Judy is on tot he next room.
I collect my jacket... but I can't help myself. There, on the wall, in big red letters 'SHARPS'.
I look in the basket.
There must be a dozen bent needles strewn in there. | I don't remember it happening. How could I? I was just a baby at the time. My mom tells the story all the time though.
"There he was, my precious little baby," Mom would start. I always rolled my eyes when she told the story. Gave a long suffering "Mooooooom" to show my annoyance. Mom's don't care, they think it's being cute.
"The doctor asked me to hold him while he gave him his shots. I did, of course, I wanted my little boy to be safe and protected from all the nasty things in the world. So the doctor goes to inject my little angel and the needle bends!" Mom would always pause here for the gasps or some reaction. So embarrassing, every time she tells it. Like a script by now.
"I was shocked! I had never been one of those kooks but my baby was almost killed!" I usually tried to chime in, after I got older, that maybe it would have just hurt instead. Maybe the doctor thought the needle was a little too big for me and that triggered the response. I tried to offer up sane ideas, some explanation other than the insane world this situation brought about.
"I'd never believed those anti-vaxxers but this was proof!" Mom would always sound oddly proud about that. "And that's how we got all vaccinations banned and now the children are safe." Mom likes to ignore the various epidemics that have cropped up and all the dead children who aren't hers. It sucks being the literal anti-vax poster child. |
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[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | Many ancient scholars speculated that *if* the universe is a computer program, life should never, under any circumstances, know this fact, for *if* it ever figured it out, modern civilization would instantly crumble. Of course, those scholars never went a step ahead to see the ultimate truth; That *if* the universe is a computer program, the only reasonable explanation for its existence would be that it is a videogame. This is why, when Alexander Wilfery conquered the world as the first emperor of a unified humanity, the first thing he did was turn off the PvP. No more murder, no more wars, and no more boxing matches, because honestly, those *'matches'* were only rigged events organized for the singular purpose of betting.
Alexander Wilfery was a polarizing figure on Earth... to say the least. Some would argue that he was a tyrant, imposing his will unto humanity without the right to do so. Others would argue that being the only human with access to the source code technically granted him the right to do as he pleased. A third, small, but vocal group of people would say:
"Yes, okay, he can do whatever he wants, but why'd he have to take our boxing?"
His actions definitely influenced history for centuries to come, shifting the economy from one of service labor to a flourishing utopia of science and arts. One profession in particular, assassination, thrived in this new world due to its rare and difficult nature. Turning off the PvP didn't make humans immortal, only harder to kill. Now, instead of letting the thrilling anticipation of murder overtake them, assassins had to be trained from birth to repress their intent. Fortunately for the old families that already practiced the art of killing, this came extremely easy, since they already implemented this in their training. Unfortunately for Alexander Wilfery, the nurse administering his flu-shot was one of said assassins.
Sitting atop the doctor's table, Alexander slouched and pouted. He wasn't afraid of shots, he just wasn't a fan of them. His hands weren't shaking out of nervousness, they were just shaking out of exasperation... or boredom. When the nurse flicked the needle with her finger, he didn't gulp because the purple liquid seemed menacing, he gulped because his throat was dry.
"Lord Emperor..." said the nurse, "you seem on edge right now. Is something bothering you?"
"N-no, I'm just stressed from all the things I have to do this afternoon." He extended his arm. "Please, lets get on with this."
"As you wish, my lord."
The nurse grabbed Alexander's wrist and placed the needle on his skin, right before Alexander squealed and pulled his arm away. The woman's eyes widened with fear, backing away from the Emperor a few steps. She then said:
"Did I do something wrong?!? How did you kno-"
"No, no!" Alexander waved his hands in denial. "Forgive me, nurse, it was instinct. You didn't say you were inserting the needle, so it startled me."
The nurse fixed her shirt and said:
"Okay, Lord Emperor. This time, I'll warn you right before I do it."
Alexander nodded and the nurse grabbed his arm again. She then moved the needle slowly towards his vein, warning him once it was near, only to have Alexander push her away. The nurse's mouth gaped open, staring at the needle in her hand and back at a sheepish Alexander Wilfery.
"Listen," said Alexander, "you're gonna have to stab me with it, okay?"
"Oka- wait, what?"
"You'll have to force the shot unto me. My rational mind knows it can't harm me, but my body just won't let it enter. I'm sorry, I know this is strange, but can you oblige this strange request?"
The nurse grinned and dashed at Alexander, who dodged her by rolling away. She then leaped at him, doing a stabbing motion with the syringe five times, though Alexander evaded all of them fluidly. The nurse, breathing heavily, finally wrestled Alexander to the ground and, laughing maniacally, manged to connect with the needle. Afterwards, her laughter faded into a worried sigh. The needle was bent. It didn't pierce Alexander's skin. The Emperor quickly called for his guards, who flooded the room before the assassin could get away. Restraining her from behind, they inspected her and found a golden necklace of two fighting gloves.
"The Boxing Federation..." said Alexander. "So they finally made their move, huh?"
From this point on, assassination attempts on Alexander's life would become a rare occurrence. Everyone thought he was an omnipotent being, capable of sensing even the slightest of intents. His rule would go on for centuries, and his empire would last for thousands of years more. Of course, no one would dare to think that all of this fame only came to him because of his crippling fear of needles.
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> If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | "Are you ready?" The nurse's voice was always kind, but one could hear the deep concern buried beneath the kindness. Kyle nodded his head, his heart pounding in his chest, a tear racing from his eye to his chin and onto the silvery blue tile floor.
"*Please,*" Kyle begged silently. "*Please let it work this time.*". He felt an alcohol swab against his arm, focused on the sensation of the cool liquid against his warm skin. Thinking about anything other than the matter at hand was a comfort to his presently racing heart. The nurse exhaled apprehensively and thrust the needle toward his arm. It collided against his skin as though it had just been jabbed into a steel slab, giving way and bending with a loud *TING*. Kyle dropped his head to his chest and exhaled harshly, fighting as utter hopelessness resumed it's place in his mind.
"I'm so sorry, Kyle. I'll go get the doctor." The nurse pursed her lips together, marking her helpless compassion, and quickly exited the room. His heart sank into his stomach, taking with it any hope, and he screamed. It was the kind of scream you hear from a parent who has lost a child, or a husband who has been left behind in death by a wife. A scream of grief. It was all he could do. No comprehensible words would express the anguish he felt as he picked up the syringe with its bent needle and threw it against the wall. The tip of the needle stuck into the drywall with the force. A cosmic joke, Kyle decided, as he stared at the thing with deep loathing.
Feet pattered down the hall toward the room and the doctor entered. "Kyle, I'm sorry. We've tried everything. Poisons you throw back up. Blades can't penetrate your skin. Asphyxia did nothing. I'm afraid the PVP block has completely eliminated our ability to manage this in any way except natural death." At this point, Kyle was numb. Staring at the silvery blue floor once again, a tiny glass pool of tears accumulating beneath his down -turned face.
It had been ten weeks since the Anti-PVP technology had been released and irreversibly activiated. Ten weeks since they discovered that he had aggressive lung cancer. Ten weeks since they realized that chemotherapy, due to its nature as a killer of abnormal human cells, would no longer be effective as a treatment. The disease had begun to steal away his life essence at week two. The pain was unbearable, sometimes rendering him unconscious, which had become a welcome relief. The gagging and vomiting began at week six. Now, at week 10, it felt as though each breath brought with it a thousand needles, stabbing into his lungs and chest. At this point, he wished nothing more than to end the suffering.
Kyle slipped off the table and into the wheelchair. The nurse pushed him back to his room, helped him into bed, and stole away with a tearful apologetic glance. The room fell silent except for the rhythmic sounds of the oncology department going about business as usual.
Kyle placed an earbud firmly into each ear as he gazed at the photo of his wife on his night stand. His memories stole away with his consciousness as he recalled the shape of her body as it lay on the sidewalk, surrounded by chalk and yellow tape, the crimson of her life flowing in a tiny river in the cracks between the cement squares. They caught the mugger who had shot her. He was in prison for life, but the injustice of him still breathing and his wife lying motionless in the street had ignited within Kyle a fire of justice. He couldn't allow people to keep hurting each other. Not after that. How was he supposed to know that his Anti-PVP serum would be irreversible? He didn't think of the implications of his research until it was undeniably too late. Grief can do that to a person.
A familiar metallic and mechanical click pulled him back to reality, followed quickly by a bang and a scream from the next room. The same scream Kyle had screamed the night Lisa lay on the sidewalk. The same scream he had groaned with another failed injection.
Kyle turned up the volume in his ear buds, the rhythm and screams of the oncology ward fading into the background. |
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[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | *(Fair warning, for whatever reason, I read the title as "you ARE the doctor" and wrote a story. Still fits the prompt though so I'm posting)*
I sit down comfortably in the patient's chair. For whatever reason, Mark, our nurse here is taking a while in back. I feel a little pang of irritation, Mark's always rubbed me wrong, and I know that I rub him wrong too. Every once in a while I'll pray that he gets in a tragic accident, and it never happens. A bummer, since I know someone's listening now too.
... Yeah, been 5 years and I still hardly believe it.
Actually, it's kind of amazing how well everyone's taken the whole world being a simulation. I can remember the exact moment we all knew, just over 5 years ago, when every creature in the world tagged with the [SAPIENT] tag suddenly heard an otherworldly voice in their head. Apparently the whole world was created by some sociology grad student in a "higher reality". For reasons which he didn't really explain too well, his project was being cut due to "misconduct", and he had decided to dick around and play God a bit before we got turned off. I started to have a bit of an existential crisis just then, but luckily for humanity's collective emotional state he just turned those off temporarily while we got the news.
Right after he announced he would be trying some changes in "the settings" in a few phases. For a decade (apparently not much longer than a few rotations of their planet) he was going to try certain "utopian settings", which included turning off natural disasters and "PvP", among a bunch of other convoluted changes involving the probability of bad things happening and the quantum physics model the simulation uses.
By PvP, I mean, it's now impossible to intentionally harm anyone. You can still TRY, but somehow you always fail. Try to tackle someone? Well, there was a banana peel you didn't see. Try to snipe someone standing perfectly still with a high powered sniper rifle you assured works perfectly just before taking the shot? A banana might fall out of the sky onto your head, distracting you just enough so that you miss the shot just barely. It honestly ruins my immersion, which now knowing that the world is a big simulation, is extremely important to me.
But the real tragedy of no PvP, is no matter how much I want to backhand that dumb asshole Mark, fighting is literally impossible now.
Oh! Here he comes in now with the needle. Christ, it took him forever to prepare that shot, the hell? What I especially hate about Mark isn't really his dullness, or general uselessness, though those are certainly qualities he possesses. It's because he's constantly talking to Sandra. Sandra, or Dr. White properly, has been my coworker for years now. Mark is just new this year, and he'll probably leave soon too. I know he has a crush on her. He knows I have a crush on her. He knows I know he has a crush on her, and of course I know about him knowing that he knows I know he has a crush on her. We're both very painfully aware of each other.
Very painful indeed, I think while I say to Mark, *"Took you long enough, distracted by something unimportant as usual, Mark?"* I force a nice smile, but my tone of voice is pretty condescending. Wait no, my grin was pretty condescending too, damn.
*"Oh, just got distracted talking to Dr. White about something PERSONAL between us two. My apologies, sir. Shall I administer the shot now? Please lie back in the chair."*
... *'something personal'*, the words ring off his voice sweet like honey. I can tell he savors teasing me. "Just administer the damn shot before I have you fired." I let my irritation get the better of me.
*"W-Well, I, you shouldn't, uh, talk to me li-. D-Dr. White, uh-..."* Mark starts to mumble something, but he stops. He suddenly jabs the needle down at my arm, and I brace myself, he jabbed it pretty hard.
...
Nothing, no sensation at all. I look down at the needle, which is now totally bent across my arm. *"Mark, did you intend to HARM me just then? I see the anti-PvP system must have just triggered. You god damn bastard. I'll charge you with assault."* I ignore the fact that assault isn't a real crime anymore for the moment. Mark has his moment too, going silent and staring at the needle.
*"Well, maybe I DID intend to harm you. F-Fuck you Dr. Johnson! If PvP wasn't off, I'd have hit you for always lording over me and getting so mad when I talk to Dr. White a long time ago!"* Suddenly I see his fist fly at me. But instead of getting hit, Mark trips over the chair, landing headfirst on the floor. I bolt up.
*"That's it! This is self-defense."* My head is full of rage, and I'm aiming a solid kick right at his head before I consider the circumstances at all. Suddenly my legs twists upwards by no will of my own, sending me careening into a shelf holding some recent blood samples, a few of which spill over me and Mark, covering both of us in blood. Mark grabs another needle, aiming it at my neck. I'm terrified, but like the last it just bends and flies out of Mark's hand. I grab a clipboard to smash Mark over the head, but I lose my grip and it flies into the florescent lighting above, smashing half of it. Suddenly Mark starts running, and I give chase. I think I hear Sandra's voice at the other end of the building yelling, she must have heard the commotion.
Breaking my train of thought is Mark, taking a hard right into the supplies closest. I try to grab him and pull him down, but his shirt just comes off, unbuttoning itself and slipping off perfectly in a motion that kind of reminds me of pulling a tablecloth from a table. I flip on the supply room lights, and suddenly see Mark with a collection of surgical tools. He's picked the largest scalpel in the collection, and I reach for the second largest. He can't do anything to stop me, because when he does his arm suddenly spasms out of my way. We both suddenly stop and stare at each-other.
*"This is it Mark, we can't do this anymore. It'll never work..."* I lament. Mark is silent, but then slowly nods. *"... You're right, Dr. Johnson. We're both totally unharmed, we can't beat the simulation."* I pause, offering a tentative hand, *"Let's shake on it and be done with it?"* Mark nods and extends his hand. Hah, the fool. I'm just going to stab him and pretend it's a surgery! Maybe then it'll work! Just as I get to stabbing Mark, I suddenly feel something prod against my stomach. His scalpel! Bastard tried to trick me! Unforgivable even if it literally CAN'T hurt me.
But more alarming than that, is the sudden arresting voice in my head I hear. This is God (the grad student) speaking, and time slows to a standstill accordingly. *"Hey gentlemen and ladies of my favorite little world simulation, I'm getting shut down a few days earlier than I thought here in higher reality, so I'm speeding up my settings tests. I've decided to turn PvP and natural disasters back on. This time it's the opposite, bad things are even worser, or um, I mean more worse than they use to be. Like if you get stabbed, this time it'll hurt even MORE than I used to have it hurt. Like, uh, maybe ten times more? I'm not really sure. But yeah, no more utopia, just dystopia. Make it interesting, cheers."* I hardly even have a moment to digest the situation, because there's a scalpel in my gut, and when I look down at my own stomach, I see I've successfully stabbed Mark too.
We both scream. | "Morning, Jackass." The doctor entered the office and tossed the clipboard onto the counter. "Let me guess: you're here to ask if there's some cure for your micropenis again." He nodded toward the section of the paper-thin fabric covering my junk. There was no need for me to wear the gown, but Doctor Evans insisted on humiliating me whenever he could. "Well, I'm afraid not. It's permanent." The same joke, every time I came into the office. He'd even made a note in my official medical records about it.
"Har har.” I rolled my eyes. “Your wife says that she prefers the tickling sensation of it anyway. Can we just get this over with? Give me my shot so I can get out of here.” Doctor Evans and I have a long and unpleasant history. And without the ability to so much as land a punch on each other, we were reduced to showing our disdain through hateful barbs. It wasn’t as satisfying as knocking his teeth out, but what could I do?
“Let’s see… ah, you’re here for the dose of flesh-eating bacteria, correct? Coming right up!” He moved to the cabinet and pulled out rubbing alcohol and a syringe the size of a turkey baster. “Your dose *can be* administered with a smaller needle, but, well…” he squirted a bit of fluid out of the top of the needle, “this one will hurt more. And that makes me laugh.” There were a *few* loopholes around the PVP rules, like being able to cause pain if it was because of something legitimately helpful like getting a shot.
“I can’t wait for another doctor to move to this stupid town,” I grumbled. Anyone but him would be just fine. Hell, I’ll go to a pediatrician or a podiatrist. He took that as a good moment to jab the needle into my arm. But it didn’t sink through the skin; it snapped on contact like I was made of steel.
We were both silent for a second. “Damn it, Evans.” I berated him. “I thought you were over this shit. Are you really trying to poison me, knowing it won’t work?”
He sighed and tossed the broken needle on the counter. Disappointment was written across his face. “No, it’s really your vaccine. It just has a slight chance of giving you the plague, and I guess that just *hoping* that would happen was enough. This is why you're the worst patient ever.”
“Great. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Doctor Evans ignored me. Instead, he opened the door and shouted down the hall: “Nurse, I’m going to need you to come handle this patient. He’s still asking about some treatment for his micropenis.” He turned back to smirk at me.
“Asshole,” I muttered.
He held the door for the nurse then waved goodbye on his way out. “Hope it kills you, jackass!”
----
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of other stories!
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[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm... | *(Fair warning, for whatever reason, I read the title as "you ARE the doctor" and wrote a story. Still fits the prompt though so I'm posting)*
I sit down comfortably in the patient's chair. For whatever reason, Mark, our nurse here is taking a while in back. I feel a little pang of irritation, Mark's always rubbed me wrong, and I know that I rub him wrong too. Every once in a while I'll pray that he gets in a tragic accident, and it never happens. A bummer, since I know someone's listening now too.
... Yeah, been 5 years and I still hardly believe it.
Actually, it's kind of amazing how well everyone's taken the whole world being a simulation. I can remember the exact moment we all knew, just over 5 years ago, when every creature in the world tagged with the [SAPIENT] tag suddenly heard an otherworldly voice in their head. Apparently the whole world was created by some sociology grad student in a "higher reality". For reasons which he didn't really explain too well, his project was being cut due to "misconduct", and he had decided to dick around and play God a bit before we got turned off. I started to have a bit of an existential crisis just then, but luckily for humanity's collective emotional state he just turned those off temporarily while we got the news.
Right after he announced he would be trying some changes in "the settings" in a few phases. For a decade (apparently not much longer than a few rotations of their planet) he was going to try certain "utopian settings", which included turning off natural disasters and "PvP", among a bunch of other convoluted changes involving the probability of bad things happening and the quantum physics model the simulation uses.
By PvP, I mean, it's now impossible to intentionally harm anyone. You can still TRY, but somehow you always fail. Try to tackle someone? Well, there was a banana peel you didn't see. Try to snipe someone standing perfectly still with a high powered sniper rifle you assured works perfectly just before taking the shot? A banana might fall out of the sky onto your head, distracting you just enough so that you miss the shot just barely. It honestly ruins my immersion, which now knowing that the world is a big simulation, is extremely important to me.
But the real tragedy of no PvP, is no matter how much I want to backhand that dumb asshole Mark, fighting is literally impossible now.
Oh! Here he comes in now with the needle. Christ, it took him forever to prepare that shot, the hell? What I especially hate about Mark isn't really his dullness, or general uselessness, though those are certainly qualities he possesses. It's because he's constantly talking to Sandra. Sandra, or Dr. White properly, has been my coworker for years now. Mark is just new this year, and he'll probably leave soon too. I know he has a crush on her. He knows I have a crush on her. He knows I know he has a crush on her, and of course I know about him knowing that he knows I know he has a crush on her. We're both very painfully aware of each other.
Very painful indeed, I think while I say to Mark, *"Took you long enough, distracted by something unimportant as usual, Mark?"* I force a nice smile, but my tone of voice is pretty condescending. Wait no, my grin was pretty condescending too, damn.
*"Oh, just got distracted talking to Dr. White about something PERSONAL between us two. My apologies, sir. Shall I administer the shot now? Please lie back in the chair."*
... *'something personal'*, the words ring off his voice sweet like honey. I can tell he savors teasing me. "Just administer the damn shot before I have you fired." I let my irritation get the better of me.
*"W-Well, I, you shouldn't, uh, talk to me li-. D-Dr. White, uh-..."* Mark starts to mumble something, but he stops. He suddenly jabs the needle down at my arm, and I brace myself, he jabbed it pretty hard.
...
Nothing, no sensation at all. I look down at the needle, which is now totally bent across my arm. *"Mark, did you intend to HARM me just then? I see the anti-PvP system must have just triggered. You god damn bastard. I'll charge you with assault."* I ignore the fact that assault isn't a real crime anymore for the moment. Mark has his moment too, going silent and staring at the needle.
*"Well, maybe I DID intend to harm you. F-Fuck you Dr. Johnson! If PvP wasn't off, I'd have hit you for always lording over me and getting so mad when I talk to Dr. White a long time ago!"* Suddenly I see his fist fly at me. But instead of getting hit, Mark trips over the chair, landing headfirst on the floor. I bolt up.
*"That's it! This is self-defense."* My head is full of rage, and I'm aiming a solid kick right at his head before I consider the circumstances at all. Suddenly my legs twists upwards by no will of my own, sending me careening into a shelf holding some recent blood samples, a few of which spill over me and Mark, covering both of us in blood. Mark grabs another needle, aiming it at my neck. I'm terrified, but like the last it just bends and flies out of Mark's hand. I grab a clipboard to smash Mark over the head, but I lose my grip and it flies into the florescent lighting above, smashing half of it. Suddenly Mark starts running, and I give chase. I think I hear Sandra's voice at the other end of the building yelling, she must have heard the commotion.
Breaking my train of thought is Mark, taking a hard right into the supplies closest. I try to grab him and pull him down, but his shirt just comes off, unbuttoning itself and slipping off perfectly in a motion that kind of reminds me of pulling a tablecloth from a table. I flip on the supply room lights, and suddenly see Mark with a collection of surgical tools. He's picked the largest scalpel in the collection, and I reach for the second largest. He can't do anything to stop me, because when he does his arm suddenly spasms out of my way. We both suddenly stop and stare at each-other.
*"This is it Mark, we can't do this anymore. It'll never work..."* I lament. Mark is silent, but then slowly nods. *"... You're right, Dr. Johnson. We're both totally unharmed, we can't beat the simulation."* I pause, offering a tentative hand, *"Let's shake on it and be done with it?"* Mark nods and extends his hand. Hah, the fool. I'm just going to stab him and pretend it's a surgery! Maybe then it'll work! Just as I get to stabbing Mark, I suddenly feel something prod against my stomach. His scalpel! Bastard tried to trick me! Unforgivable even if it literally CAN'T hurt me.
But more alarming than that, is the sudden arresting voice in my head I hear. This is God (the grad student) speaking, and time slows to a standstill accordingly. *"Hey gentlemen and ladies of my favorite little world simulation, I'm getting shut down a few days earlier than I thought here in higher reality, so I'm speeding up my settings tests. I've decided to turn PvP and natural disasters back on. This time it's the opposite, bad things are even worser, or um, I mean more worse than they use to be. Like if you get stabbed, this time it'll hurt even MORE than I used to have it hurt. Like, uh, maybe ten times more? I'm not really sure. But yeah, no more utopia, just dystopia. Make it interesting, cheers."* I hardly even have a moment to digest the situation, because there's a scalpel in my gut, and when I look down at my own stomach, I see I've successfully stabbed Mark too.
We both scream. | "I know you don't like injections but this will only take a moment," Doctor Sloan murmured, his tongue wedged between his teeth in concentration. He picked up a needle full of a clear liquid "It's just a quick insertion into your antecubital -- you won't feel a thing." He squeezed the top of the syringe gently, letting out a tiny hiss of air along with a small ejaculation of the clear substance within.
I rolled up my sleeve and closed my eyes as Doctor Sloan moved over to me. I could somehow sense the syringe approach my skin and I shivered. Little bumps raised on my skin--goosebumps, my mom used to call them. She said it was a sign of someone walking over your grave.
The syringe touched my skin but I didn't feel it pierce me, and I certainly didn't feel it insert its ejaculate into my bloodstream. The doctor had been right, it had been painless. Then I heard a tiny *chink* as something small must have fallen onto the floor.
"Thank you doctor." I said, opening my eyes to examine my arm for the inevitable wound and its accompanying trickle of blood. Only, there was no wound, no redness. The doctor's eyes were open wide in a look of surprise, or perhaps of panic.
"Doctor? Is everything O-" my voice trailed off as I saw the broken syringe that sat between his fingers. "Doctor?" He remained still.
"Doctor... what exactly was in that syringe?" I asked as panic and anger washed over me in gigantic waves.
"Try and remain calm Patrick, it was an accident. Something unwanted must have gotten into the syringe." His face was red and sweat leaked from his pores. He was lying.
"You tried to kill me? You **must** have had the intention to, or it *would* have killed me."
"Patrick, please. Try and remain calm, I can explain. I had no idea if it, what it would-"
"But you must have suspected! You must have had intent! You tried to *kill me*!" I shouted again, now fully enraged.
With that three flashes of brilliant white light blinked inside the room. Light that represented an agreement between two consenting adults for a ten minute period of PvP. Light that hadn't been seen for years.
I quickly jumped off my seat. I grabbed the stethoscope that sat around the fat doctors neck. "You tried to *kill me*." I repeated stupidly as I pulled the stethoscope tightly around his throat. It would be the first murder in three years, but there would be no punishment for it. PvP was legal.
He gurgled as I lifted him off the ground. Spittle ran down from his mouh and tears flood his bloodshot eyes. For a brief moment I thought I could see a strange faint smile cross the doctors lips, before he finally stopped breathing.
As the doctor fell to the floor, the lights flashed three times.
---
Plenty more WP responses on /r/nickofnight
Edit: I'm not changing ejaculate
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[WP] The protagonist and the antagonist fight for the love of the narrator. | “You cannot win!” shouted Heloise, “We have cut down your dragon, defeated your general, and captured your bodyguards. Your plot is over. Come with us now.” She wiped her sword on the tunic of a fallen goblin, then held it menacingly forward.
Ysabel replied from her throne, “Ha, it is hardly that simple. You have accomplished nothing. You helped me remove myself of an overly-ambitious commander who was slowly turning my dragon to revolt against me. I could have easily crushed them myself, of course, but now I don’t even have to take the blame for it. And in the process, you’ve delivered yourselves straight into my fortress, so I don’t even have to take the effort of finding you. And did you think I’d really only have four bodyguards?”
She waved her arm and out of the shadows behind her throne stepped three dozen men in black armor. Heloise and the other four travelers formed a small defensive perimeter as they stared down the new threat.
“How are you going to get us out of this one, Rob?” said Heloise to me.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “I just liked the idea of having an epic fight in her throne room. I’ll probably edit that part later so they sound more menacing. Although I guess black armor is pretty cliché.”
Heloise replied, “Okay, well, I trust you to figure something out,” as she twirled her sword around.
“Ha, you’re not going to get out of this!” shouted Ysabel, “This story is clearly one where the villain wins. Why else would Rob have made me so smart? I’m honestly just cooler than you, Heloise. The readers are all going to want me to win.” She produced a small burst of fire from her hand, to prove her point.
Heloise answered, “I know Rob’s better than that. He’s a good person. He’s not just going to let you win after everything you’ve done.”
“Really, Rob? You know that’s not true. If you were a good person, you wouldn’t have written me as positively as you did. I’m the archetype of the dark enchantress that you’ve always been fascinated with.”
“That’s not true, Ysabel! A story needs a good villain. But you’re nothing more than a villain,” shouted Heloise.
“But Rob wants me to win. He likes me more. You’re boring. You’re a clichéd do-gooder. Rob’s read enough to be sick of boring endings where the hero saves the world every time.”
“He doesn’t like you more. If he did, why would he make you the villain?” asked Heloise.
“On the contrary, he made me the villain because he likes me more. Right?” replied Ysabel with a smirk.
I answered, “I don’t know. I’m…I’m thinking.”
“Wait,” said Heloise as she blinked her eyes, “You actually don’t know if I’m going to win? But, I thought…I just…” She lowered her sword.
“Ha!” laughed Ysabel. “Did you really think anything else? I’m the kind of woman he wants. Dark and beautiful.”
“I didn’t say that either,” I answered, “I’m just saying that I don’t know what kind of ending my readers would enjoy. Nothing else.”
Ysabel replied, “We both know that’s not true. You gave me mild psychic powers, remember? I’m the culmination of your desires. You know you love me.”
Heloise added, “Oh come on, Rob, are you really going to tell me that I’m not vaguely based on Kate who lived across the hall from you junior year, the girl who you thought was too good for you because she was so smart and cool and pretty and athletic? You became great friends, but nothing more.”
“Wait, I didn’t give you psychic powers…” I mumbled.
She continued, “Are you really going to throw all of that away because of some weak ‘bad girl’ fetish?”
“I…stop…” I whispered.
Ysabel replied, “You know you love me more, Rob. And besides, you moved past Kate, right?”
“I did. I found someone else.” I covered my eyes with my hand.
Heloise stepped in and said, “You found Jenny.”
“She was wild and lively and our wedding was the best day of my life.” A single tear of mine dripped onto the table.
“But then you saw the texts,” said Heloise.
“So many years gone in an instant,” I said to no one. More tears fell.
“Which of us do you love?” asked Ysabel, “The ideal that you never reached, or the mystery that tore you apart?”
I stayed silent, unable to speak. So they spoke for me.
Heloise said, “Then, don’t make the choice now.”
Ysabel replied, “Maybe you don’t need either of us right now.”
“Maybe there’s more than us two.”
“Stop sitting alone in here. It’s been two months since the papers were finalized.”
“Go to a coffee shop or a library. Find other people.”
“Go live life.”
“And make sure you delete this chapter before sending it to your editor.”
Sometimes you write for others. Sometimes you write for yourself. I wiped my eyes and stood up, grabbing my laptop as I left. | My phone had been constantly buzzing from Jimmy’s texts and David’s calls. I had been purposely avoiding them for about a week now, staying inside my apartment to be sure. Wouldn’t want to risk running into either of them. A few quick trips to the corner store for cigarettes and wine were the only thing breaking up the lonely monotonous seclusion. I met both of them on Tinder, of course, and slept with both of them a couple of times. Jimmy was a nice guy, caring and thorough, while David was kind of a dick, rough and careless. They both started acting way too intense way too quickly though, and I had to get some distance. Of course they both turned out to be fucking crazy.
The doorbell rang. I had called for Chinese food and in my equally starving and shitfaced state ran to open the door even though I had placed the order no more than five minutes ago. The guy standing outside was carrying flowers, not Chinese food, and I let out an audible sigh when I saw Jimmy’s dumb fucking doe-eyed face. “Is your phone dead?”, he asked. “What do you think?” I wanted him to figure out for himself how stupid he was acting, so he would feel the shame coming from within. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, apparently arriving at the wrong conclusion concerning the status of my phone. “I’ve ordered some food but you can stay until it arrives”, I conceded. I sat down and resumed work on my pack of cigarettes and box wine, and he kept staring at me until finally asking “how have you been?”. “Terrific, fantastic, great” I said without looking away from the TV.
The doorbell rang again, and I told Jimmy it was time to go, that this had to be my food. The disappointment when I opened and saw David’s horrible face was immeasurable. “Brought you flowers”, he said and pushed his way into the hallway. “You brought me a single rose, dickhead” I said. “That’s not flowers, that’s something you found lying on the street on your way over here.” “Does it matter? Wait, who the fuck is this?” he asked as he saw Jimmy. “I’m Jimmy, we’re dating” he replied. God fucking damn it. I was going to deny it, but I saw in David’s face where this was going. I sat back down on the couch, poured myself a new glass of wine and lit another cigarette while watching two of the most pathetic men I had ever met wrestle each other in my hallway. The doorbell rang again, probably the food this time. “Will one of you get that?”, I yelled.
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[WP] You are captured by Abstergo Industries and are sent through the Animus onto the lives of your ancestors, Assassin's Creed style. | Number 24.
That's me.
Or at least, I thought that was me. I honestly couldn't tell you anymore. I'd been back to times before Christ. I'd been to times shortly after his death, sometimes Christian, sometimes a Jew. I'd been to the crusades, sometimes a killer, others a victim. One time, I was an eastern European Jew who fled to America to avoid the Russo-Japanese war. One time I was a Christian Englishman who fled to Canada to avoid the first World War, since he was a pacifist. Yesterday I went back as an American Jew, fighting in WWII, as part of a submarine crew. Today I'd go back to that same war, as the son of the previously mentioned pacifist, willing to prove he wasn't as much of a wuss as his father.
I gain consciousness as the world loads in around me. It's nighttime, in a plane nearing a German town. Cologne, 1942. I hear a man with a slight accent talk to me.
"Oi, Smith, how close're we?"
That was Adams, I quickly remembered. He was W.O. and one of A.G.'s. I looked out the window and saw some of the lights on some major buildings that I recognized from training, then checked the skies, and then compared to all the charts and maps that were laid out on my table.
I responded, "E.T.A. five minutes, I'd say."
Then Adams yelled to the rest of the crew, "We're 'bout five minutes out! Get ready!"
After a minute, we got the response of, "Ready!" from the other A.G.'s, shortly followed by the pilot and F.E., who were then followed by our B.A. Things were getting more and more tense every inch we got closer, and everyone was on high alert.
Once we got over the city, we started doing our job. Adams and I were navigating for Frie, our pilot, so he could accommodate for May, the B.A. Buildings were being destroyed, we could hear the faintest whispers of screams from below, but I signed up for this job, and I was gonna see it through.
All was going well(well, whatever you can consider "well" when bombing a highly populous city) when we started getting some return fire. Our front two A.G.'s started going to work, and Adams switched to his A.G. position to help with the fourth guy. They had plenty to deal with, but they were doing good.
I guess that just wasn't good enough.
I looked out the window to see a round come through, and somehow not hit me. I heard Frie yell, "We're going down!!" and Brown, the F.E. go, "It's gonna bl-."
He was cut off by an engine exploding and annihilating the back half of the plane, while somehow still keeping the front half intact enough to not kill Adams, May and me outright. But we fell.
We fell a good while. We fell for a good thirty seconds or so, before we opened our parachutes. The slowdown was so abrupt that my boots fell right off my feet.
As we descended, I saw all of the destruction we caused. Buildings on fire, people yelling their lungs out in horror. I might never agree with him, but I could at least understand why my father became a pacifist. He didn't run out of fear. He fled to avoid causing _this_. He left to avoid _these_ kinds of horrors.
The world derendered, and I got pulled out. | I am dragged in, I am in pain, and I can't move. They've me onto a chair after rushing me through the building. I see a giant screen, and some machine in the center of the room I'm in. The screen flashes on. It says:
HELLO....WELCOME TO THE ANIMUS. YOU ARE HERE TO HELP WITH RESEARCH, FOR THE BETTER OF THIS WORLD. PLEASE, DON'T SCREAM.
The thing, the machine turns towards me. It chases me as I scream running to the farthest wall. I am too slow. It stops in front of me, then it opens, like a claw. It goes around me, looking like it's ready to close, then it does. I scream, I squirm, but nothing is working. I yell for help, nothing, I scream "STOP THIS, I DON'T WANT THIS"! Nothing works. Then it turns me towards the screen, it says:
THANK YOU FOR JOINING IN, PREPARE FOR MIND SCAN.
Mind Scan? What does that mean? I small, share needle comes out of the machine. Then it stabs my head. I faint.
I wake up in a bed. "Oh thank GOD, it was just a dream." I turn, and then fall off my bed, onto a dirty wood floor. I can't see anything, I look for a light switch. Nothing. "I don't remember having a wooden wall, or a wooden floor, what is going on" I ssk myself. I find my old lamp, a gas one, passed down for generations in my family. I turn it on. There isn't anything I can see that is familiar, I look at myself, I'm wearing ragged clothes. I look up, the roof is very high up. "HELLO?" I yell. No one answers. Taking a look around, I can see that this isn't my room, took me long enough. Okay, so where am I? The floor is extremely dirty, but even though that, I can see a door, on the floor. I grab the lantern, ready to throw it, just in case something tries to attack me. I open it and back up immediately. Nothing comes out. There's a ladder though, so I climb down. As I'm going down it, I start connecting the dots, people kidnapping me, saying don't scream, research, and now I'm here. When I'm at the bottom, I slowly walk, making sure every step I take is safe. I bang into a wall while looking behind me. Swing myself quickly thinking that I hit something, I actually hit something, a doorknob. I do the same as I did earlier, while opening the door. A burst of cold wind rushes into the room as I open the door, with sunlight in the room, I see a coat, I put it on. I look at the sky, beautiful. Taking steps outside I can start hearing people in the distance. There are houses as far as I can see. This is not a village, but a kingdom.
Should I continue? Tell me, and I will. |
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Come on, you weasely wimps! | [WP] After a long and exciting life, Mrs. Frizzle has died. Her long-ago students meet at her funeral - for the first time in a while - to reminisce about their experiences with her and how it's shaped them. | As soon as I enter the sanctuary I knew something is wrong. There are no flowers. There is no music. There is no casket. And there are only a handful of individuals standing at the front of the room, though I know every single one. They’re all solemnly chuckling at something, and I hear a low murmur of “Carlos…”
As I approach the group another figure I haven’t noticed emerges from the shadows, back straight and suit crisp. Nodding to me he says, “Now that you’re all here we can begin. First of all, I would like to apologize for drawing you all here under somewhat… less than honest circumstances.”
Less than honest? I look down at the ornately decorated card I hold at my side. What on earth is going on? I am about to speak up, but a voice from the past beats me to it.
“Look here. I don’t know who you think you are, but where I come from you could have gotten a serious beating for something like this. Why, at my old school…”
Another voice cuts in, and I turn to see Ralphie stalk up to the man and grab him by his collar. “Where is Miss Frizzle??”
Calm as ever, he looks my old friend in the eye and said, “Oh, she’s dead. There was never any doubt about that. Follow me please.”
Ralphie’s hand drops to his side as the man disappears down a side hallway. We all glance at each other before reaching a silent agreement and following. He leads us to a small room lined with books and furnished only by a small wooden desk. On it sits an old TV attached to a beat-up DVD player. He settles into the chair next to the desk and picked up a remote control.
“I suppose I should explain. I am Miss Frizzle’s attorney. She gave me explicit instructions that upon her death I should gather you eight and… I’ll let her explain the rest.”
With that he presses a button, and the screen brightens to reveal a face that causes my heart to swell even after all these years. Her face holds more creases than I remember, but the mischievous glint is still firmly lodged in her eyes. As her gaze sweeps across the room I could almost swear she’s looking us all right in the face, and as she looks at me a faint smile creases her lips. Clearing her throat, she speaks.
“Hello class. If you are all watching this, I am dead. Which means that it worked!”
She pauses, clearly letting her words sink in before continuing.
“I have had many adventures over the years, and explored many exciting and wonderful places. But as I get older, I realize that there is one facet of our life and our existence that I have never explored. So I have decided to see what awaits us after our mortal bodies expire. And to do *that*… Well, here we are.”
The gravity of what she is saying hits me all at once, and my vision blurs as my eyes brim with tears. From the shuffling and a whispered, “Oh bad, oh bad….” around me, I’m not the only one. After a moment the voice of my mentor breaks through the fog.
“BUT! I realized there was a problem. Once I’m… wherever I’m going to end up, there is no way for me to return. On my own, that is. I’m going to need help, and it when it comes down to it, it was always you eight. So what do you say? I can’t guarantee you’ll return. But I'd love it if you'd join me one last time to take chances, make mistakes, and, well, you know the drill. See you on the other side…”
I look up in time to see a glitch in the recording cause her dress to flare, and then the screen goes dark.
My mouth is hanging open, and I know it’s not the only one. Everyone in the room is trying to process the impossible, and failing rather miserably. The lawyer in the room clears his throat as he stands and holds out his hand.
“I have been instructed to entrust you with these.”
I realize that no one is moving. We are all rooted to our spots like trees soaking in sunlight to make food. Basking in the charge given us by possibly the most important person of our young lives. **Of our lives**. I look around at the faces surrounding me. One and all, we learned about our world, our lives, and ourselves from this woman and her magical love of knowledge. And I know what I must do.
I step forward and lift the keys from his palm.
“Very good, sir.”
I am about to turn to address my classmates when our teacher's face appears back on the screen. “She’s parked around back, Arnold.” She winks and disappears.
I can’t help but laugh out loud. Tim joins me, followed by Dorothy Ann and Wanda, and soon we are all doubled over, back in grade school again chasing this wonderful woman through time and space.
I have no idea where we’re headed this time, but I know one thing. I’m **so** glad I didn’t stay home today.
*****
[Thy fate is truly terrible...](https://www.reddit.com/r/BensTerribleFate/) | Arnold pulled into the parking lot of the church where a funeral is being held for his favorite elementary school teacher, Ms. Frizzle. He sighed and pushed his glasses back up on his nose and got out. He wondered if any of his other former classmates would be in attendance. Since becoming a renowned doctor, Arnold had long given up on the idea of religion and was never really comfortable inside of a church. Something about all the religious imagery made him uncomfortable. Walking down the aisle, making his way to his seat, he wished that he would be transported away once again on Mrs.Frizzles magic school bus.
He closed his eyes and reminisced about the many adventures he and his classmates had gone on and the many wild, weird, and interesting things they had seen and learned about.
When he was a child Arnold wasn't exactly the brave type and would always be apprehensive about these "field trips" they went on. He had once attempted to explain to his father the day he had after a particular harrowing day of being transported back to the days of the dinosaurs and faced down a T-Rex. His father laughed and said "That Ms. Frizzle really got you going today with her lessons!" From that day on, Arnold knew no one but his fellow classmates would believe him.
Arnold opened his eyes and looked around and saw a very full church. Ms. Frizzle was a very vibrant and exuberant person who had a extreme lust for life. She always wore garrish clothing and her curly red hair was always asunder as if she herself were a mad scientist and her pupils her assistants. Arnold did recognize his classmates and they recognized him and waived him over to sit with them.
The service had started. Ms. Frizzle was wearing a brightly colored dress entirely covered in question marks probably her favorite dress; and had that typical Ms. Frizzle smirk, the one that Arnold had seen so many times right before setting off on yet another crazy adventure.
The service carried on, people made speeches recounting the impact this woman had on their lives. Arnold's turn to give a speech came next. He had always felt a real connection. She got him out of his shell and got him to experience life.
Arnold approached the lectern and began speaking "What's there to say about Ms.Frizzle that hasn't already been said? She was a wonderful woman and more importantly one of the most important people and biggest influences in my life. As a child, I was timid and often unsure and never really took and chances. But then Ms.Frizzle came along and yanked away the "security blanket" and taught to face life head on. I have taken her words to heart and have often repeated them to myself and others throughout my life. Without her, I would not be who I am today. Without her, it would not have been possible to find the cure for cancer. She was a woman of integrity, and forward thinking.
We kept in touch over the years. She always pushed me forward and urged me on, even when she became. She insisted she come to the hospital where I was working and that I be the doctor who treats her. I think she knew deep down inside that I would somehow be able to help the world. Sure enough with the use of Ms.Frizzles blood and cells, I was able to find a cure. Unfortunately it was too late to save her but with her DNA, we've saved millions lives.
Ms Frizzle always had a creedo that she lived and died by and I think everyone should take these words to heart and live by them everyday. "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" Thank you."
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[WP] The gods have commissioned a very skilled but very old blacksmith to create a divine weapon for a great hero. However due to his age, he mishears and makes a frying pan and gives it to the Hero. It works out quite well. | The hammer smashed with cold shiver, and panic. A flash of light from eyeball's edge, sparks unfamiliar.
"Please, Hephaestus! Don't let me die without a few more strikes, my masterpiece is in this iron.”
“Your sweat alone keeps you alive.
The Gods appear to seal your fate.
Accept our will or die in debt.
Old man decide your shape.”
The old man's grip returned with strength, defiant and proud. He was mostly blind and completely deaf; he shrieked his will out loud. “I'm the best blacksmith, as far as I can see! I'll make anything!”
“A new God's birth is upon us all.
My father's favour I do call.
To meet his will, I must complete
a skill I lost by tricked defeat.”
The old man, unsure of what was being said, screamed again. “I'm the best blacksmith, as far as I can see! I'll make anything!”
“Craft a sword, to cut his path.
Light but strong, with speed and wrath,
primal strengths defying man,
charging bull and flying ram.”
On those words, Hephaestus disappeared.
"Frying pan, gotcha!”
The old man died smiling as he sealed the box containing Hephaestus' gift.
On the day of the new God's birth, a lavish ceremony took place with Zeus' guests' piled across the clouds. However the generous heap of well wishers was not without its shadow. Each gift accepted by the king of Gods would choose his child's fate, and though he was rich, his alliances depended upon tradition. No offer could be refused. One gift for each day of Hera's labour.
Dolos' tricks were thick and rich, of seven gifts, five were his. Each box unwrapped left the child strapped with a harsh fate. The child would know only how to be bitter, pungent, salty and sour, astringent.
Hera, vigilant through exhaustion, was allowed one gift. Though she could not outdo what tradition and trickery had done, she knew the child needed a trait beyond both Zeuz and Dolos, one of compassion that would never play games of war so close to life's edge. With gentle strength she gave the child sweetness.
All eyes fell on the final box.
The same flash of terror the old man felt when he answered the Gods washed over Hephaestus, as his gift lay open for all to see. To his surprise Dolos cried, and Zeus clapped his hands in glee.
“Your weapon young god is strong and settled,
your curse of all flavours shaped by metal.
With lightning's touch and Hera's love,
the God of cooking will reign above.” | Along the banks of the Boyne Fionn sits and prepares camp, The bright heads of his spears point towards the heavens and his horses graze contently among the watercrests and rushes that line the mighty river.
Ferchra and Durmid have been sent on ahead to rouse Finn and let him know that the salmon has been caught, within its rosy pink flesh lies the Knowledge of man, a great gift to give to Finn he thinks, how they will sing in the great halls of Tara of the nobel deed that he has performed this day.
Taking his short sword he cuts away a swarth of rush and hawthorn and lays it on the sweet grass to prepare the fire. He lays his tinder and blows from the mighty cavern of his chest and delights as the hawthorn and rushes crack and brust into flame. Now content with his young smoky fire he sits and begins to prepare the fish.
The blade of his knife rasps and throws the silver scales of the fish across his strong forearms . What mighty armour the Formodians made from scales such as this. Content in his work his mind wanders and he thinks of the fair and lovely Sadhbh tending to her loom back in the great halls.
The mighty knife enters the belly of the fish and the entrails spill forth, he remins himself to ask Finn for any sign in the entrails, and mention of his heroic deeds written in the belly of the fish.
Work complete he takes the fillets and lays them on a bed of fresh rushes. Now to cook the Salmon! Surely this great fish and knowledge it holds should not be cooked on anything less than a mighty Hazel spit. Finn stands, and looks for a hazel from which to fashion a spit, but there is none to be seen. THen surely the flat pan that Sorcha the smith gave hime before he left. The old man with his hands as quick as the ebb of the Boyne and his skill still evident in the worksmanship of the pan, its edges singing great praise to Lug, its bottom adorned with the mighty eye of Bolrag and its inlay in the finest silver and gold from the Sperrins. What more noble device to prepare a dish for the mighty poet Finn!.
The gold and sliver glow and Fionn judges it is time to lay the Salmon on the pan, its skin curls and crisps as the heat transforms the pinkness of the flesh into the creamy flakes of goodness. His mouth waters at the smell but he knows he cannot taste even the smallest morsal of the meat until Finn has had his champions portion.
The greasy fat splutters and dances across the pan as his chariot men return with Finn.
Greeting mighty Finn! how pleasant it is to look apon you while the spring winds rises from the south and the cattle are lowing softly in the medow!!
Well met young Fionn! it is indeed a wonder to view your fine countanance and the smell of Salmon softly apon the morning breeze.
Sit now, i tell you Fair Finn and let me bring to you the great Salmon that you have searched for, for so long, with its loins full of the knowledge of man.
Then sit i shall Fionn, for no better man could have brought such bounty to my lands.
Fionn reaches down to the fire and takes the pan, but what trechery has Sorcha wrought into the workings of the pan, for no sooner than the hands of Fionn touch the device than the fat leaps and burns his lilly white finger and as if bitten by a snake Fionn puts his finger in his mouth and sucks to soothe the pain.
Ahhhh by the light of Lug, Finn laments! what have you done Fionn!, oh mighty Fionn!.
Fionn falls to the ground as the world becomes clear to him, the knowledge of man now courses through his veins!
Oh what wickedness has Sorcha wrought with his pan!
( Finn McColl of course) credit to the original story
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[WP] The gods have commissioned a very skilled but very old blacksmith to create a divine weapon for a great hero. However due to his age, he mishears and makes a frying pan and gives it to the Hero. It works out quite well. | The gods looked upon the potential hero and they knew he had a destiny before him. They saw him fighting against the demonic scourge plaguing the land, but none could see if he would be victorious. As was there way, they bickered over who would take the boy as their champion, knowing full well whoever did would have full bragging rights should he succeed.
After a fortnight, the arguments had settled and it was decided that they would all have him as a communal champion, but they would all also have the option of backing away if they so desired. They ordered the greatest blacksmith in the land to construct his greatest weapon and then ordered the greatest enchanter to bestow the greatest enchantments to it. But disaster struck. The blacksmith had gone almost deaf from his years of work and did not fully hear the divine order. In his attempt to follow the command, he made a frying pan. The enchanter was confused, but didn't want to make the gods angry, so he placed intricate enchantments onto the pan and presented his work.
The gods were furious. The enchantments irrevocably bound the pan to the potential hero, meaning that there would be no way for him to simply get a different weapon that would be of the intended power. The deities began arguing who was to blame.
The first one to leave was the god of war. He walked away from the group's chambers stating simply that without a weapon, there would be no chance. The others pondered their options a moment, before following suit. The potential hero watched the gods leave and he felt abandoned. They had turned their backs on him.
But then he heard a small voice in his mind. It said, "Do not fear, little one. Not all the gods have left you yet. I am a god forgotten, and it has been years since any have spoken my name. I was once the god of hunting and cooking and I watched over your people while they lived in huts and tribes rather than buildings and cities. I helped them fight to survive and it seems rather fitting to come to their aid once more." | Along the banks of the Boyne Fionn sits and prepares camp, The bright heads of his spears point towards the heavens and his horses graze contently among the watercrests and rushes that line the mighty river.
Ferchra and Durmid have been sent on ahead to rouse Finn and let him know that the salmon has been caught, within its rosy pink flesh lies the Knowledge of man, a great gift to give to Finn he thinks, how they will sing in the great halls of Tara of the nobel deed that he has performed this day.
Taking his short sword he cuts away a swarth of rush and hawthorn and lays it on the sweet grass to prepare the fire. He lays his tinder and blows from the mighty cavern of his chest and delights as the hawthorn and rushes crack and brust into flame. Now content with his young smoky fire he sits and begins to prepare the fish.
The blade of his knife rasps and throws the silver scales of the fish across his strong forearms . What mighty armour the Formodians made from scales such as this. Content in his work his mind wanders and he thinks of the fair and lovely Sadhbh tending to her loom back in the great halls.
The mighty knife enters the belly of the fish and the entrails spill forth, he remins himself to ask Finn for any sign in the entrails, and mention of his heroic deeds written in the belly of the fish.
Work complete he takes the fillets and lays them on a bed of fresh rushes. Now to cook the Salmon! Surely this great fish and knowledge it holds should not be cooked on anything less than a mighty Hazel spit. Finn stands, and looks for a hazel from which to fashion a spit, but there is none to be seen. THen surely the flat pan that Sorcha the smith gave hime before he left. The old man with his hands as quick as the ebb of the Boyne and his skill still evident in the worksmanship of the pan, its edges singing great praise to Lug, its bottom adorned with the mighty eye of Bolrag and its inlay in the finest silver and gold from the Sperrins. What more noble device to prepare a dish for the mighty poet Finn!.
The gold and sliver glow and Fionn judges it is time to lay the Salmon on the pan, its skin curls and crisps as the heat transforms the pinkness of the flesh into the creamy flakes of goodness. His mouth waters at the smell but he knows he cannot taste even the smallest morsal of the meat until Finn has had his champions portion.
The greasy fat splutters and dances across the pan as his chariot men return with Finn.
Greeting mighty Finn! how pleasant it is to look apon you while the spring winds rises from the south and the cattle are lowing softly in the medow!!
Well met young Fionn! it is indeed a wonder to view your fine countanance and the smell of Salmon softly apon the morning breeze.
Sit now, i tell you Fair Finn and let me bring to you the great Salmon that you have searched for, for so long, with its loins full of the knowledge of man.
Then sit i shall Fionn, for no better man could have brought such bounty to my lands.
Fionn reaches down to the fire and takes the pan, but what trechery has Sorcha wrought into the workings of the pan, for no sooner than the hands of Fionn touch the device than the fat leaps and burns his lilly white finger and as if bitten by a snake Fionn puts his finger in his mouth and sucks to soothe the pain.
Ahhhh by the light of Lug, Finn laments! what have you done Fionn!, oh mighty Fionn!.
Fionn falls to the ground as the world becomes clear to him, the knowledge of man now courses through his veins!
Oh what wickedness has Sorcha wrought with his pan!
( Finn McColl of course) credit to the original story
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Subsets and Splits