prompt
stringlengths 20
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stringlengths 227
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stringlengths 227
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| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
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[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T22:02:40
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
I refused. It was hard, but I refused. Hundreds of notifications pouring in, telling me to look at the moon but I didn’t.
Something seemed weirdly off by the idea of hundreds telling me to look at a rock in the sky and I’ve never gotten this many notifications before so I simply refused to do what they said. Plus I’d gotten an alert to not look at the moon and I trusted my alert rather than whoever was sending me all these messages. I decided to keep my curtains closed and just went to bed.
The next morning my suspicions seemed correct. When I woke up there was no one around and the streets were completely empty, no kids playing even though it was Saturday, no one driving through the street, no one even outside.
I had no idea what was happening but I kept on going.
Eventually I arrived at work to find that no one was there either but I was a loyal employee and did my job anyway. I worked at a local fast food restaurant which was owned by my granddaddy before he passed and passed onto my father, he’s was on his last legs too though.
No one even came in so I just sat there in total isolation, I checked all my social media to find everyone was posting the same damn thing. “Look at the moon.”
I decided I might get answers at towns centre so I began driving there to find crashed cars everywhere but no bodies. There were other irregularities like smashed windows, crashed busses, upturned taxis, even an irregular amount of stray cats and dogs.
Eventually I arrived at the town centre where the clock tower was. What I saw was terrifying. Nearly the entire town was surrounding the tower staring up at the sky. I approached and tried to get one of the crowd member’s attention, I recognised him as he sometimes came into the restaurant with his son, I think his name was jack or John or something. I said his name and shook him a little bit he wouldn’t break eye contact with the moon. That’s when I realised, the moon must have made them catatonic.
I ran back to my car and turned on the radio, trying to think of what to do until I heard a radio transmission by some guy.
“Hello? Hello? If you are not hypnotised in what we here at the station are calling the ‘lunar effect.’ Then please come to these coordinates. We need to figure this out, as far as we can tell 90% of the population are under the influence of the ‘lunar effect.’”
Then it was followed by some coordinates. I turned on my gps and began driving. What was happening?
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T22:11:18
| 103
| 12
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver.
|
I always heard that I was a pretty chill guy. I went to church, prayed and shit. I gave to charity.
Hal, on the other hand. Jesus, where do I start?
Once when I was playing football, I got tripped and fell hard. I don't even remember what happened afterwards, but I later found out that that kid was hospitalized when I woke up in a detention center.
I was writing an English paper later that week about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I fell asleep typing at around 2 AM. Hal had a message for me. He told me that even if I lived my life as an angel, I would never spread my wings and fly into Heaven.
So I wasn't surprised when I looked down at my finger, despite what the priests told me.
"You're a man without sin, Jordan."
My ass.
You can sin, but you can't un-sin. Hal taught me that. And tonight, he won't have to clip my wings.
Because tonight, I'm jumping into the fire.
| 2018-08-04T09:48:46
| 2018-08-04T09:19:48
| 395
| 93
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T09:19:40
| 46
| 17
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
"I see the moon and the moon sees me...", the voice sang smoothly and sweetly.
Like so many other nights in my life the words of that lullaby cascade through the room and into my fading consciousness.
"Down through the leaves of the old oak tree...", the voice and the song remind me of my mother and it washes me with a sense of comfort.
Sleep has been hard to come by these last few weeks. A truly deep rest continues to elude me.
"Please let the light that shines on me...", the subtext of every perfect note says *sleep*.
Finally, this is going to be the night, I can feel it. I need it.
"Shine on the ones I love."
I feel myself slipping away into blissful rest. Darkness creeps into the depths of my thoughts. Sleep at long last.
"Sorry, hun, not tonight."
The light of white hot pain pierces through my entire being; my adrenaline spikes as the blade pulls slowly across what's left of my bloodied body again and again as I lock eyes once more with my angelic voiced captor.
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T07:48:23
| 272
| 11
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
OK James, roll the dice
2
GM: Sorry, you missed.
The entire party is in shock. They tried with two other characters already. Both dead.
GM: The new enemies arrive. Rolls , 20. John, you died. Rolls again, almost James, you barely escapes this time.
The party starts arguing: You can't let this end like this GM! We were almost defeating the dictator, you can't do the same as the last campaign, where everyone died! We already lost so many characters on this one.
GM thinks... OK OK, I will give you another chance.
GM: The mercenary you worked with before arrives ,with buying some extra time for you. Some dice rolls, it kills two of them. But the big boss is still there. James, its your turn.
James - Ok, I will try one more shot.
20
GM: You heard the voice of your deceased master "Use the force, Luke". You disable the visual indicator and just senses the universe. A perfect shot in the core reactor, starting the sequence of explosions destroying the Death Star.
I hope the liberty I took with "Historical event" its OK.
Also, sorry for my English. It is not my first language.
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T09:16:08
| 210
| 17
|
[WP] Write a lighthearted story for children, which changes it's meaning when read by an adult.
|
The brave young girl walked through the forest, gripping her lantern tight as she diligently looked around; she knew very well what she had to do and even though the forest was dark, she was not afraid. Suddenly, she came upon a small clearing, filled with the moon's light, and saw many children playing!
"Hello!" the brave girl said to the children.
"Hello there," the children replied. They were the most peculiar children with skin as green as spring grass and flowers instead of hair.
"What brings you here?" one of the green children asked.
"A big, bad wolf stomped around our house," the brave girl explained. "It huffed and puffed and roared all night until my parents decided to go and find it and chase it away! I'm going to help them!" the girl proudly stated.
"Aren't you afraid?" one of the green children asked.
"I'm not afraid of *any* dog," the girl puffed her chest. "But... I think I've gotten lost. Perhaps you could help me?"
"Of course," a green child chirped. "But only after you beat us in a game!"
The girl's eyes lit up. "A game?"
"Hokey-stones!" one of the children said. "Let us show you!"
And so the green children taught the brave girl a game - the most fun game she has ever played. They played and played until the sun rose and the girl realized her quest was not yet done.
"Now, I really must go find my parents," she huffed.
"But the forest is big and tall! You won't find them on your own!" one of the children cried out. "Perhaps it's better if you stay here and wait until they find you?"
The girl narrowed her eyes as she thought about it - after all, her mother always told her that if she ever got lost, she should stay where she is and wait for her to find her.
"Okay!" the girl said.
"In the meantime, would you like to play more hokey-stones?" one of the children cheered.
"Of course!"
And so the children played once more, occasionally putting the prettiest flowers in the girl's hair and playfully smudging her hands with the green grass. They laughed and played and the girl was happy, knowing she is with her good friends and that her parents will join them soon!
​
So very, *very* soon.
​
And everyone was happy.
|
#The Great Carrot Con
Once upon a time, in a little village nestled in the heart of the forest, there lived a group of mischievous rabbits. They were always getting into trouble and causing chaos wherever they went.
One day, the rabbits decided to play a trick on their friend, a sly old fox named Max. They convinced Max that they had discovered a magical field of carrots that grew overnight and were always ripe and delicious.
Max was skeptical at first, but the rabbits were so convincing that he couldn't resist the temptation. So he followed them deep into the forest, where they led him to a field filled with lush, green carrot plants.
Max couldn't believe his eyes. He had never seen such a bountiful field of carrots in all his life. He was so delighted that he forgot all about the trick the rabbits had played on him and began to fill his basket with as many carrots as he could carry.
But as he turned to leave, the rabbits hopped out from their hiding place and revealed that the entire field was just an elaborate illusion they had created using mirrors and painted cardboard cutouts.
Max was embarrassed and angry at first, but he couldn't stay mad at the silly rabbits for long. He eventually saw the humor in their prank and laughed along with them.
To a child reading this story, it is a simple tale of mischievous rabbits tricking a fox. But to an adult reading the same story, it may be seen as a cautionary tale about being easily swayed by others and the dangers of greed.
| 2022-12-18T12:46:43
| 2022-12-18T12:34:57
| 524
| 52
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed.
|
I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
| 2016-02-22T09:49:34
| 2016-02-22T09:46:55
| 541
| 104
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
I entered the store,the fresh smell of grease and soggy fries flooding my nose. How the workers endured the smell for more then fifteen minutes I have no clue,not that it mattered to me but it was always the first thing I thought of when I entered.
A few seconds later my nose had adjusted to the smell and so I walked up to the register,a friendly voice spoke in the usual zombified teenage cashier tone. You know the one. “hi,what can I get for you?” I glanced up at the menu for a second,processing all the items, I had decided I was going to get something different to usual but now I was actually ordering? “Uhh. Just a large cheeseburger menu. Meal. I mean meal”
I had tripped over my words. Fantastic. This was honestly not that rare for me. Usually the worker would ignore the mistake and move on... but she was just staring, at first I thought it may have been my clothes or my hair,maybe I had something in my teeth? No no,nothing about me was any different to usual. It took me a second to think about how I spoke. See,I have this odd trick. No matter what language I speak people only hear me in their native tongue. I realised she must’ve been taken aback by this.
It was just after I realised all this she spoke “no one has spoken in that language in thousands of years. It is forbidden to my people” what? What had she said? Forbidden? I tilted my head a little and apologised “sorry,I don’t understand? I asked if I could have a large cheeseburger meal.” her facial expression turned to disgust and she stepped back.
Had I offended her somehow?
Tears began running down her face and she ran out,a coworker yelling for her to come back. Everyone watched and the place went quiet. I began to consider chasing her. The restaurant was making me slightly nauseous,ill admit that but I didnt feel like getting involved in anything today. My conscience got the better of me,I felt bad for making her cry. I started running after her,each foot moving slightly faster then the last.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T20:22:38
| 45
| 25
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T22:02:40
| 102
| 18
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I will not do it on a train
I will not do it on a plane
I will not do it in a house
I will not use a single mouse
I will not dangle from a cord
I will not shift a single board
I will not puddle on the floor
I will not seal a single door
I will not leave a single note
I will not hint in things I wrote
I will not leave a mess for a friend
I will not let them see this end
I will not leave them asking why
I will not let them have their try
I will not be grinning ear from ear
I will do nothing more than disappear
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T11:47:28
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 42
| 15
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
The snow made a crisp crunching sound like bones of tiny birds being crushed. My feet methodically packed it down at a constant rate. It was around 7 o'clock and everyone was inside already. Everyone was taking shelter in their humble abodes due to the fact that there had recently been a series of killings in our little secluded town. All of the victims had an "X" carved into the palms of their hands, and they had all been killed in groups. The murderer only went after groups. I smirked at the thought of someone taking out a group of people singlehandedly.
Then I finally reached my home where my mother awaited at the door tapping her foot against the oak wood floor rapidly with an irritated look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me approaching and she asked me where I had been the whole day. I assured her that I was just hanging out with some friends. A worried look came across her face and she told me that it’s dangerous to be outside at this time, considering the recent events, I didn’t blame her. She warned me to come home early the next day or else she'd ground me. It was winter break, there was no way I'd spend most of my day inside.
We both went inside and our paths split when I took the steps to get to my room. I crossed some things out on the paper that lay on my dresser and then I continued to stare at the pen I used. Intrigued and consumed by an odd idea, I began to draw an “X” on the palm of my hands. I looked down at my results and sighed. I slid the paper and pen back onto my dresser and then proceeded to turn in for the day.
I awoke to a loud banging on my door. Sunlight filtered through the window and gave my room a sort of sweet aroma. It seemed like it was about noon. I opened the door slightly only to find Solomon standing there with a huge grin on his face. Marcus, Lorena and Christina were waiting on the nearby sidewalk.
"What is it?" I asked tiredly through the door, loud enough for them to hear me.
"Dude, yesterday some kids were talking about the killer." Solomon responded.
"What's so important about that?" I shot back while opening the door slightly annoyed yet slightly interested.
"They said his hideout is some sort of wooden hut in the woods behind the school!" Solomon exclaimed.
"Ha, how cliche." I stated satirically while putting the proper winter attire on. I knew what we were doing today. I also knew those kids were lying. How would they know where the killer's hideout was? It was still worth checking out, and I had nothing else to do so why hell not. Solomon smiled and walked back towards our little group of friends. I closed the door behind him and followed.
"Hey!" They all said simultaneously. I let out some sort of muffled word signifying that I had acknowledged them. We were walking alongside the train tracks and Marcus was trying to pull out some of the loose railroad spikes just for fun. Solomon and I made a joke about how he was weak for not being able to pull any out. He challenged us to attempt it and naturally we did. Solomon pulled one out first try. Marcus was over encumbered with feelings of embarrassment as Christina and Lorena let out a roar of laughter because of his supposed lack of strength. I then proceeded to pull one out as well. It wasn’t that funny. Marcus ran ahead and Solomon tossed the spike over the barbed fence. I placed my spike in my rucksack and we continued out towards the entrance to the woods, none of them noticing the various spots on the train tracks that were missing spikes. We lost sight of Marcus in the distance as he stormed off towards our destination. Was he really that mad over some banter?
Solomon, Christina, Lorena and I took our time and eventually found the hole in the fence that would allow us to enter the woods. As the four of us followed the dirt path we heard some sticks breaking behind us. Instinctively we all turned around. A man in a blue jacket appeared and lunged at Christina. Lorena screamed and Solomon yelled
Solomon didn't get to finish yelling as laughter filled our ears while Marcus was taking off the oversized jacket. I knew he was trying to scare us the whole time.
"Hahaha! You should have seen your faces" Marcus stated.
“You almost gave me a heart attack." Christina responded. We all gathered our senses and continued for about another thirty-minutes until we eventually found the hut. At this point the sun was setting it was getting fairly dark. The moon was finally revealing itself and it was giving off an ominous vibe which I kinda enjoyed, but somewhere in that vibe one could sense some sort of bloodlust in the air. I was the first one to enter the “killer’s hideout” and the others followed shortly behind.
I allowed the others to begin exploring the rather simple cabin when I placed my rucksack on the ground and opened it. I removed the railroad spike and locked the door while scoping out the room. “This place would actually make a decent hideout” I thought to myself. My mouth watered and butterflies grew in my stomach. I loved this feeling. Then one by one I began to pummel them all to death. As all four laid dead on the cabin floor, I continued to carve an "X" into each of their palms with such a delicate technique that you’d think I was a surgeon. I now had four more names to cross off of the list that lay on my dresser.
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T07:05:52
| 272
| 51
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
I wasn't a dad, I bought one ironically. The day the mugs changed, a tiny black hole opened up where my mug used to sit next to my coffee maker. My Keurig and no one in a fifteen mile radius noticed, as they were instantly ripped into the basic building blocks of life, which were then ripped into their smallest components and shrunk down to the size of the void where my mug sat. Within two minutes the entire East Coast was gone. By 6:05am in what had been Eastern Standard Time (before the East Coast disappeared) the entire Earth was gone. As I watched in horror from the view port of the International Space Station, my colleague who had brought his #1 Dad mug with him at the request of his children never noticed. He was too enthralled with why the number on his mug has jumped from 1 to 7,986,922 then gradually back to 1 to notice his impending doom.
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T10:07:25
| 46
| 23
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
I sat staring at the blank Microsoft Word document. I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to type.
“The worst opening to a YA novel?” I thought. “I don’t even read YA novels. I don’t even know what one is.”
So I opened the Google Chrome web browser in a new space on my MacBook Pro laptop designed by Apple in California — spaces are a nifty feature that let me have multiple things open at once, and I can use gestures on my Logitech MX Master 3 mouse to navigate between them almost without thinking — and searched for it.
I learned that there were many things that could be abbreviated as “YA”. The Free Dictionary listed more meanings than I could count. Actually, I could have counted them, but I wanted to get this thing done ASAP (as soon as possible)! I assumed “YA” stood for “Yield Analysis” in this case. But I decided to double-check by doing another Google search in the same space for the term “YA novel,” and I ~~leaned~~ learned (sorry, forgot the “r” on my first draft!) it actually meant “Young Adult.” So I was supposed to be writing the opening for a young adult novel. Okay, got it.
There’s something else I forgot to mention. The thing was supposed to “make us cringe” badly (“us” being the reader, presumably, but it could also have have been OP using the “royal us,” so to speak). I wasn’t really sure why a YA novel would cause someone to “bend one's head and body in fear or in a servile manner” (which is from a third Google search in the same space as the other two). I figured it was sort of metaphorical. I recalled hearing the phrase, “That’s so cringe,” at some point, but I’d never really given it much thought. And I decided not to give it any additional thought now, so really, I’m just noting it for the record — in case anyone’s interested, which they probably aren’t.
Anyway, something compelled me to start writing something down. So I did. And here is what I wrote:
> The first time I saw her, I knew she was the one for me. Her eyes were like two spheres with dots on them, which also had their own dots (the outer dots being the irises; the inner dots being the pupils). Her nose was like a big hunk of flesh with two mucus-filled holes in it — she had serious hay fever — that protruded from her otherwise perfect visage. Her lips were like soft cherries, only more elongated, and not quite so soft, because if they were, they’d just burst if she ever bit her lip, and if she didn’t, they’d just rot and disintegrate, which would be gross. And she wasn’t gross, other than the mucus dripping from her nose that she snorted up every so often.
>  
> By time I got to this part, 15 minutes must have passed — I was writing all this down and I’m a slow writer. She had curious look of unease as I examined every inch of her almost-perfect face, and her stunning body (except for a thing on her left elbow that I won’t say anything more about, not to mention that I couldn’t see most of her body because she was wearing clothes, obviously, so it could have been really nasty under there, I don’t know, I just sort of fantasized about her body being really stunning, and I mentally erased the elbow thing, but anyway, I digress).
>  
> The bus still hadn’t come, so I decided to say hi to her.
>  
> “I’ve just been writing about you,” I said.
>  
> “Okay,” she said, nervously.
>  
> Then she walked into the street, as if trying to avoid something — or someone. I thought maybe there was some weirdo lurking nearby, but I looked around, and I didn’t see any. Anyway, by a funny coincidence, the bus came at that very moment. Talk about bad timing! She got run over. She looked like a big crushed cherry.
>  
> Yes. She died. She’s a ghost now. And this is a ghost story. Probably the scariest one you’ll ever read. But there’s one thing you have to know about this story — something so important, you should read it even if you never read anything else again. Are you sitting down in a well-lit place full of friendly, smiling people? Good. What you have to know is…
I stopped writing at that point, because I felt like it and I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
I thought, “Cringe or not — and it’s definitely not — I’m just going to post the damned thing anyway. It’s not going to get any better. But it is my first response to a writing prompt, so at least that’s something.”
I rewarded myself with a cookie, which I’d baked two days earlier using the following recipe:
# Chocolate Chip Cookies
Makes 12 cookies.
| Ingredient | Amount |
|:---|:---|
| all-purpose flour | 185g |
| baking powder | 2 tsp |
| cornstarch | 1 tsp |
| salted butter, melted | 1 stick (113g) |
| brown sugar | 100g |
| granulated sugar | 65g |
| egg | 1, large |
| egg yolk | 1, large |
| espresso powder (optional) | 1/4 tsp |
| artificial vanilla extract | 10g |
| bittersweet chocolate chips (~70% cacao) | 150g |
1. Melt butter in double-boiler or microwave. Set aside.
2. In medium mixing bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and cornstarch. Set aside.
3. In large mixing bowl using electric mixer, beat melted butter, sugar, espresso powder, eggs, and vanilla extract on medium-high speed. Add dry ingredients and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips.
4. Chill dough in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours and up to 2 days.
5. Remove from refrigerator. Set aside for about 30 minutes if dough is too hard to scoop. Preheat oven to 350°F.
6. Scoop dough into 12 equal portions using #20 scoop (about 57g per cookie) and place on baking sheet with silicone baking mat.
7. Bake for 13 minutes. The sides of each cookie should be lightly browned and the middle should appear under-baked. Allow to cool on baking sheet for at least 15 minutes, then transfer to a cooling rack.
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T17:56:23
| 2022-08-19T14:20:41
| 319
| 93
|
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
"Well... Shit..." God muttered to itself, taking another sip from its cosmic Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Towering outside of the stratosphere was a large celestial being. From earth, one could only make out a fraction of the being. It stood, with its head just scraping the top of the universe, wearing sweatpants made of galaxies. A thin white tank top forged from supernovas adorned its upper body while thick foam-like flip-flops made of infinite black held its feet.
It carried the voice of a man crudely attempting what he thought was a Brooklyn accent as it boomed and echoed through God's infinite domain.
Below him on earth were shining beacons that lit up the night sky, continents covered in dotted lights, not unlike the stars themselves. But he also saw continents enveloped on black. Not barren lands, but lands forgotten in the wake of progress.
With a blink of its divine eyes to peer into the souls of its creations.
The beacons of light were being choked out by darkness. Greed, corruption, violence, and most of all- absolute apathy of their fellow man. All formed solid darkness that choked out the beauty of any light. There were leaders promising the answer to the lost and weary, who had been consumed by the power. They fed off of the broken and confused, fueling their unrest. He saw goodness in some, surrounded by a see of self-righteous sin.
God took a gaze over at the lifeless corpse of Step-God hovering nearby, the man left God's stead to regulate this particular of set of star clusters. The body hovered in the air, it's eyes closed as if sleeping. What had these people done to him? Sure, he wasn't meant to replace God- just to be a friend. But still, Step God was meant to do a good enough job until God came back from getting cigarettes and visit the other galaxies!
With a wave that swept across the milky way, God compressed a supernova into a form his creation's could perceive. Still a monolith compared to God's other creations.
It descended down to earth. Demanding the leaders of the world, both political and spiritual to gather and talk.
God crafted a new domain of neutral land where they could all talk and explain what had happened. They gathered around and sat at a long table. They argued and bickered like children at first, trying to decide who should sit closest to God until it assured them they would all have his divine intention, regardless of a few feet.
"Could ya please put down ya cellphone?" God asked a general who was playing angry birds under the table.
"What?" The general looked up, embarrassed.
"So..." God took sip of beer before continuing. "What the hell have ya all been doing?"
"You're not scientifically possible." said the scientist.
"You don't exist." said the atheist.
"I'm not sure you exist." said the agnostic.
"Let's address the elephant in the room first," one of the Muslim Extremists pointed out. "Why are you a woman?"
God sighed. It was going to be a long day.
|
Hello?
'Oh hi...' The voice wasn't really coming out of the telephone, but more from all around him. 'Is this David?'
'Er...speaking yes'
There was a pause. Dave leaned against the kitchen counter...perplexed at the strange audio nature of the call. He felt like he recognised the voice.
'Hi Dave...this is slightly awkward, could you grab that bar stool and just sit down for a second'
Dave looked to his right. There was indeed a bar stool. Goosebumps shifted up his back.
'Who is this?'
'It's...well, there's no easy way of saying this...I'm god'.
'Oh fuck off' Dave slammed the phone down and sat at counter for a second. Some people...too much time on there hands. He knew he should slide off the stool, start making his breakfast...yet.
The phone buzzed again. He stared at it. How long for? He didn't know, but he watched as his own arm reached out and picked up the receiver.
'Hi Dave, God again here.'
Dave mumbled something in reply. It came out 'hmhmhmmsms'
'Listen, I know this is weird...a lot to take in. So let's take it one step at a time. Okay? Firstly, the proof. I know you once, when four, looked up your auntie Austin's skirt. She was wearing and knickers and you thought a smiling hedgehog was looking back at you. Your still in love with Jennifer, your first girlfriend. You thought about her this morning whilst in the shower, about the time you almost hit the lamp post because you were falling asleep from being up all night....Enough?'
Dave gulped.
'Yeah.' His felt like he was seeping out of his body, floating away'
'Right' the voice said. 'Enough with this phone business, you can put it down now, it's only to make this whole thing a little easier, just hang up.'
Dave replaced the phone in the cradle. The voice continued.
'I've been...my efforts have been focuses elsewhere. I know, not good form.'
'How can I hear you?' Dave stammered.
'I'm god...I can converse with any of my trillion creations whenever the urge takes me'
'Oh' was all Dave could manage.
'Anyway....'
'Why me?' Dave said. 'I'm not special...I'm never...'
'Okay..listen. I just picked you randomly. I'd have gone to one of your priests or bishops, whatever but...man, it would be hours of questions before I got any answers. So. As I was saying. I've been away for...about 1750 years, more or less.'
'That's a long time'. Dave rose and wandered over to his kitchen table and sat.
'I know. You guys have been busy! Pretty impressive stuff. Not too keen on a few things, but all in all, you've not blown yourselves up yet'
'Oh thanks'
'Don't mention it. Anyway, of all your quite wonderous creations, one puzzles me greatly....the selfie stick. Now, I'm a pretty liberal chap you know, quite happy to let you guys get on with it. But this...it irks me.'
'You're not the only one'
God continued. 'As I said, usually I can overlook this kind of thing, but...well. Here's the thing. I need to do some trimming, I'm juggling a lot of balls and sooner or later a few are gonna get dropped and as much as I like you guys, you're on the list. It's not just the selfie stick, there's other things...but yeah, the selfie sticks is way up there.'
Dave sat at the table. Wonder had been replaced by a strange numbness. He felt perfectly calm...wonderous in fact.
God spoke once more.
'So, Dave. Justify it. You're a normal guys, just give me a decent reason why anyone would want to own such a stupid, pointless vain device'
Dave knew his position. All he knew, all humanity knew was now at peril. His next words, his next utterance could either save or condemn the human race. He took a deep breathe...let it out.
'God...no one can justify a selfie stick'
There was a sigh.
'Bollocks, I thought so. Oh well'
As every atom is Dave's body separated and was blasted in to the vacuum of infinite space, he had one last moment to register a single thought. 'Fucking selfie sticks'
| 2015-12-27T11:49:20
| 2015-12-27T11:38:27
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
"Okay, guys, so you take a long rest. You get all your spell slots and hit points back. Was anyone taking watch?"
Didymos shrugs. "I mean. We're in a garden in the middle of Jerusalem. Who's going to attack us in the middle of a city? I think we're good -- besides, we're pretty high level, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Haha, alright, fair enough. Petros?"
"Hm," the cleric replies, "I'm working at like two levels of exhaustion right now. Would taking watch mean I don't lose any of those during the rest?"
"You're not sure. You're very tired, though, and Iēsous asked you to stay up with him a while."
"I guess I'll try?"
"Alright, go ahead and make, like, a CON save for me? Just to see if you can will yourself to stay awake here -- you're _pretty_ tired, dude."
"CON save, sure, I'm... not great at those. Uh... 9?"
"Yeah, nah. You fall asleep a few minutes after everyone else. Iēsous comes and wakes you up a few times in the night, asking you to stand by his side, but, yeah. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak."
"Damn."
"Okay, so after your rest, Iēsous rouses you all. 'Are you still sleeping and resting?' he asks. 'Look, the hour has come! Rise, all of you! Here comes my betrayer.'"
"Whoa, what. Can I make a Perception check?"
"I mean, he's pointing down the path at someone holding a torch and walking this way, but... sure?"
"Haha, 23."
"I have a passive perception of 18, do I see it?"
"Yeah, Iakōbos, you see it. All of you see it - him, rather. Andreia, you know who this is, and once he gets closer the rest of you all recognize him, too. It's Judas. Andreia, you see that he's carrying this torch to light the way, he has a small bag of coin on his belt loop that wasn't there the last time you saw him. Oh, and he's flanked by two burly-looking guys wearing scale mail, with swords and clubs at their hips."
"What."
"Judas, what are you doing here? How'd you find us? Where'd you go after the Supper?"
"He doesn't answer you, Petros. He's looking right at Iēsous. 'Greetings, Rabbi!' he says, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek."
"Can I make like. An Insight check?"
"I mean. He's not really saying anything that is or isn't a lie, but. Yeah, I guess you could try and get a read on him, if you wanted."
"Cool, cool. Uh... Wow. 7."
"Yeah dog, Judas is just giving Iēsous a big ol' smooch for whatever reason. Just a good, friendly, no-ulterior-motives cheek peck. Like you do."
"Son of a-"
"'Do what you came for, friend,' Iēsous says, and Judas nods to the two burly dudes - who you realize now are guards of the Sanhedrin? - and they both draw their weapons and start approaching you."
"He _sold us out???_"
"Oh I'm gonna kill him."
"Guys. What are you doing? Are you letting this happen? Right now the guards are trying to grab Iēsous. They have manacles."
"Yeah, fuck that! I draw my sword and go for a killing blow. I'd have sneak attack, right? Since Iēsous is within 5 feet of him?"
"I... hm. Yeah, I guess so. Roll an attack, Iakōbos."
"...fuck."
"1?"
"Yeah."
"You bring your sword up, ready to slice down on this guard's head, but your grip falters at the last minute and the guard pulls away in time - you don't cleave through his _head_-"
"Oh here we go."
"But you _do_ manage to chop off his ear. There's a spurt of blood and the guard screams."
"Do we need to roll initiative?"
"Uh... no, not yet. As you do this, Iakōbos, Iēsous, like. He shakes himself free of the guard that's holding him and grabs your sword arm? 'Put your sword back in its place,' he says, and he's addressing all of you, now, 'for those that live by the sword die by the sword.' And you watch as he, very gently, bends down and picks up the bloody ear that you've severed from this guard and turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He brings the ear back up to the side of the guard's face, and there's this flash of pale light as he lays his hands on the guard, and after a moment the ear is back on like it had never been severed.
"Then you see something else. Coming up behind Judas and the guards is a very large crowd of people, armed with swords and clubs like these guards had. They're all dressed in robes of the Sanhedrin. Some of them you recognize as temple-goers, rabbis, acolytes. The high priest is with them."
"I run."
"You're *what?*"
"I have a +13 to stealth what do I have to do to get the fuck out of here."
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T08:36:31
| 303
| 46
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
"Mondays are the worst," I groan. I slap the alarm blaring next to my bed and rub the sleep crud out of my eyes. "Six in the morning is too fucking early," I grumble as I get out of bed.
It didn't matter that I'd been getting up at 6 every morning for the past 4 years, my body still hated me. I looked at my wife sleeping with her head now buried under the pillow.
"I love you, babe," I whisper into the air and make my way out of the house and on to work. I work at the power plant. I'm responsible for the day to day maintenance necessary to keep your alarm clocks running so you can get to work just like me.
After a long day of double checking my list and confirming everything is all good, I head home. On the way I stop by the local farm. "Some corn and carrots will go good with dinner tonight, Maria always loves fresh veggies."
"Maria, I'm home, get your sweet ass out of bed and come help me make dinner!" I yell out at my wife. She doesn't stir. "She must be out cold again, that woman could sleep through a tornado, I swear," I chuckle to myself and get to work on dinner.
With dinner all prepped I go to get Maria, and that's when I noticed something was off. The bedroom looked just like I had left it except for a wig on the floor. It looked like Maria's hair.
I ran over to the bed and shook her, and that's when it happened. Her head just rolled off like it had been disconnected from the rest of her body. "This can't be happening," I kept saying to myself over and over again. I know she wasn't real but she was real to me. I cried out, "How could this happen?" And then I heard it, foot steps behind me, and I realized I wasn't the last person on earth anymore.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T02:22:57
| 1,143
| 659
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
It was so simple. When the idea came to me, sitting there on the cold metal slab that was my bed, I'd nearly dismissed it. Surely one of the previous prisoners would have asked for it before? It was, after all, a perfect 'fuck you!' to the system that was going to end their life. And certainly there had been people in this very room who were morally reprehensible enough to desire such a thing. And yet, as I thought about it, I came to realise it *was* a loophole. There was no way I could think of for them to give me what I wanted, and, if they did, I was a free man anyway.
A few hours later they came for me. The steel door to my cell swung open and I was led, in chains, to a room full of world-class lawyers and world-class chefs. The lawyers were there to find the loopholes in any sneaky orders and the chefs would then prepare the meal. A huge array of ingredients lay on shelves against the back wall, the finest foods money could buy, a row of fridges to the right with all the frozen foods imaginable, and a row of cookers to the left where the meal would be cooked. A large table lay behind them all with all the equipment a chef could ask for. Before me, the lawyers in the black suits sat on a row of chairs, the chefs behind them in their white aprons. One of the lawyers stood and read to me the rule, that I was allowed to go free if they couldn't give me my last meal. The statement was lengthy legalese, but we all knew what it was supposed to mean. After I made my choice, the chefs would either prepare the meal in front of me, or I would be returned to my cell while they gathered more... *specific* ingredients. And I smirked as the lawyer spoke for I knew of an ingredient they couldn't provide. When he asked me what I wanted to eat, I responded;
'I wish to eat my executioner.'
There was a moment of thick silence and he spoke again. 'Pardon me? Clarify what you mean.'
My smirk was now a wide grin splitting my face in two. 'My executioner. Whoever will kill me tomorrow. Whatever being is responsible, directly or indirectly, for ending my life. That's what I want to eat. If tomorrow you were going to have me shot, today I'd like to eat the man who pulls the trigger. If I was going to be given the injection, I will eat the doctor. If I was going to be sliced in two by a large machine, I will eat the person who operates it. Their whole body, every ounce, every gram of their flesh. That is my request. Now please hurry, that tasteless slop they've been giving me these last few years has left me with quite the appetite.'
Of course, no-one moved. The lawyers were whispering and shuffling papers, the chefs all looked quite perturbed, the guards each had a look of shock. Because, as they'd all realised, they couldn't give me what I wanted. If they allowed me to to eat the person who would kill me, then that person would not be alive tomorrow to do the deed. If they fed me the person who was *supposed* to kill me, and replaced them afterwards, then my meal request would not have been filled; I would not have eaten *my* executioner but rather *an* executioner. And that wouldn't fit the stipulation they'd set. When the lawyer's conversation began to rise in pitch, I was moved back to my cell. The next day the steel door opened, and I was released.
I left the prison to the flash of a hundred photographers eager to catch a shot of the man who beat the system. My stomach was rumbling; the guards hadn't fed me since yesterday morning. They had been unable to. I strode through the crowd and got into a waiting cab. 'Take me to a restaurant.' I said to the cabby, and he did. It was clearly very expensive, but I had just enough money from before my incarceration to afford a reasonable meal there. As I looked over the menu, a most wonderful smell hit my nose. I looked up and saw a huge block of sizzling Wagyu beef being wheeled on a trolley to a nearby table, surrounded by an array of roasted vegetables. The meat was wonderfully cooked, exuding a most savoury aura which filled my mouth with saliva. A quick glance at the menu showed me it was far beyond my purchasing power. I sighed, saddened. I'd have given my life for a bite of that.
\- - -
First time I've really written any story other people were going to read, plz tell me how I did :p
|
Sumerians invented the cuneiform writing system way, way back in time in the fourth century BCE. The British library has 130,000 of the clay tablets where most are still unread by a modern person. Irvine Finkel, himself, has and will teach anyone to read cuneiform in the hopes someone will bring him another story like the the first flood story again.
Archibald's social graces were well and truly under developed. His trauma started as far back as he could remember in school. He knew what no one talks about that bullies at all levels pick on the lowest of them all. School society can be seen as a diamond shape instead of the Hierarchical pyramid that has more people on the bottom than top. Everyone picked on Archibald, everyone; he had been the bottom point of the his social diamond. His only solace was pointing out how stupid everyone else was, so he doubled, tripled, even quadrupling down on studying.
Irvine Finkel was the first person he came across that seem genuinely enthusiastic about teaching him. Yes, there was the old man's sardonic humor like how he wanted to become a British Museum Curator at the age of nine and through a series of bewildering coincidences became one. There was space deep in the basement that felt like pure solitude to Archibald so long as he was reading, deciphering, decrypting, even the most boring cuneiform tablet. Some of them would barely fit in one's palm while others were cylinders whose writing wrapped around and around. Archi's bane though were the broken bits, the fragments of sentences, one's Finkel couldn't be bothered with.
Each time Archi thought he'd found a particularly interesting story, and would ran to Finkel decrying, "this is it, This one." Each and every one he'd 'found' was only some mundane trivial daily matter better represented on an intact tablet. This frustrating denial focused to being sure, absolutely sure, the next one would be 'the one'. Archibald held a small tablet in his hand, forcing his heart rate slower after seeing symbols for condemned, curse, protection, and peace all near each other. He spent weeks upon weeks flipping between the hard tablet and various research papers and their notes.
Archibald was a volunteer at the museum that supported his obsession by driving a Trash Truck. The job was steady with regular hours outside of the museum's operation. He found that he was well suited for the shit night shift that every normal human hated. To him, there was an empty world to explore, and going places most people never see, the industrial sectors. One of the hidden places the public hardly never gets to see was inside the national prison. He knew the guards, recognizing that people who were the worst types of bullies seem to gravitate in to that type of job. There was a perverse pleasure refusing to submit to their bully tactics and driving away instead and leaving the huge bins full.
Reporting such incidents to his bosses, who wrote the report, and then sent it up their chain of command. The prison warden typically called the his boss' boss that morning. Power is where you find it was Archibald's mantra. He was weeks deep into the confusing script of his find and could ignore the guard's taunts. He wasn't suppose to, but had made a charcoal rubbing of the half palm sized tablet. He taped an enlarged photocopy of the rubbing to his cab's windshield. In moments of stress focused his mind on that enlarged piece of paper.
He was standing outside his cab looking up at the copy in the caged guard area trying to get inside the fence to do his job when it clicked, the ah-ha moment. It, the tablet, was a poem; Archibald had always hated poetry. The Sumerian cadence was mutated into a forced rhyme from a prison guard's point of view. The poem listed dish, after dish, nonsensical dishes too. The listed dishes had puzzled him for days on end, but the end of the poem made it clear to him now. A trick, bamboozle, flimflam , a fraud, was played on the condemned. Archibald could see prison guards back in antiquity were the same shitheads they were today.
The damn tablet was a guard's confession of tricking the soon to be executed into eating bugs, snakes, and other nasty things in lieu of a nonexistent mythical dish. Thereby saving the guard, himself, and his loved ones from a devastating curse of the innocent. It was all a joke to the guards. Archibald's ears began heating up as his blood pressure increased. "Fuckers," he spat at the side of his truck.
| 2022-07-17T17:40:16
| 2022-07-17T17:32:54
| 365
| 47
|
[WP] Write a horror story in Dr Seuss's writing style.
|
There's something creeping, crawling, stalking
beneath my bed as I stand gawking.
Bright red eyes shine from the dark,
a hand shoots out as it shouts "HARK!
I AM THE SKINNAMARINK, AND I NEED SKIN!
NOW GIVE ME ALL THE SKIN YOU'RE IN!"
It's boney hand with jagged claw
comes from it's crooked, gaping maw
and tries to pull me toward my doom,
but not before I use the room.
I throw the skedoink, I throw the skedink,
I'd even throw the kitchen sink,
but they all bounce right off his teeth
and fall to pieces near my feet.
"YOU STUPID FOOL, YOUR TOYS WON'T WORK.
HERE IN THE DARK, I CAN'T BE HURT!
YOU CANNOT STOP ME, I'LL HAVE YOUR SKIN
AND ALL MY BONES WILL LIE WITHIN!"
Just then, I thought, the lightamajig!
It's light is so bright, it's beam is so big!
"ANOTHER TOY FOR ME TO BREAK?
I'LL SLICE YOU UP JUST LIKE A STEAK!"
"TIME TO GO RIGHT BACK TO HELL,"
I shouted and I aimed it well.
With the flick of a switch, he blistered and boiled,
a sight so gross that I recoiled.
"YOU WIN THIS TIME, BUT I'LL BE BACK!
I'LL HANG YOUR SKIN FROM MY COAT RACK!"
I sat and stared at the pile of goop
that sizzled and bubbled like boiling soup,
and knew that I was safe once more
until a knock came from my door.
And then the skinnamarink was ghost and killed me ded. Whatever, rhyming is hard, and this took like 10 minutes. I quit.
|
There's a statue in town
In the Blok-fountain square
Of a boy and a girl in a cower.
If you look past the statue
In the Blok-fountain square
You will see a magnificent tower.
This tower, it's said,
Was not always there -
It appeared late one night in the mist.
And indeed you can smell
Something strange in the air -
But never mind that, here's the twist:
A pair of young lovers
Hands in a tight grip
Discovered it early next morning.
There was a sign on the door
In a wizened old script
A welcome? Or maybe a warning?
[Ornaments, Oddities](#sc)
The shabby sign said
[Traded or Sold or Provided](#sc)
[A gift for a loved one](#sc)
[Or for oneself instead](#sc)
[Just open the door and come try it.](#sc)
The boy opened the door
And peered 'round inside.
They entered the room
And on the other side spied
A withered old man
Who suddenly cried
"What would you like?"
With his arms spread out wide.
The boy laughed at the man,
And snidely replied,
"But there's nothing in here - you've lied!
'Ornaments, oddities,'
The sign said outside,
So the sign was a lie?
 
The man sighed.
 
No one has seen
The young couple since
The night they went into the tower.
But there's a statue in town
In the Blok-fountain square
Of a boy and a girl in a cower.
| 2016-06-23T00:17:10
| 2016-06-23T00:06:54
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Write a seemingly innocent story that could have been written for children. Then tell a different perspective on the same story that casts it in a totally different light.
Nothing in the original story should change - all that should change is the perspective on it.
|
**SAM**
Sam always wanted a sister. She didn't have many friends at school, and was very timid. It worried her parents greatly, and although they knew they couldn't have any more kids, Sam deserved a friend. So, they sat down, and decided to adopt.
"Sam," her mother said one day, "The agency called and said we have a match! A girl, 6 years old just like you, named Caroline!"
Of course, Sam was elated! A sister the same age! Just like twins! She was told her dad was going out of town to the orphanage to pick up Caroline and bring her home! Sam waited anxiously all day; and when her father pulled into the drive, he got out and walked around to the passenger side and grabbed a little girl's hand. Sam waited at the door with her mother, a huge smile on her face.
"I'm Sam!" she greeted as they stood in the doorway. Her father nudged the little girl next to him gently. She timidly answered, "I'm...Caroline."
Her father said, "We're your family now!"
___
**CAROLINE**
Caroline sat in the passenger seat of the car, the man next to her intensely staring at the road. She jumped slightly, startled when he spoke, "Your name is Caroline. You will be polite, and you will play with Sam whenever she wants. Got it?"
Caroline nodded fearfully. *Why did he take me? Where is he taking me? He told me was bringing me to the hospital, because my mom was in trouble. This isn't the hospital. Where are we? Why does he say I'm Caroline? My name is Lily.*
She shivered, and started to cry. The man shouted, "Don't you *DARE* cry. You have no idea what I will do to you if you cry!"
Caroline/Lily quickly sucked it up and put on a brave face. They pulled into the driveway of a nice, two-story house. He mumbled, "Don't try to run."
He got out, walked around to her side and opened the door. He led her inside to find a woman and a young girl she assumed was Sam. When Sam introduced herself, the man prodded Lily in the ribs. She answered, "I'm...Caroline."
The man said menacingly, "We're *your* family now!"
|
Young Johnathan was a rambunctious boy, his parents did their best to discipline him, but all their trouble was for not. For Johnathan was no ordinary boy, originally an orphan, originally filled with magic. His parents kept his gifts a secret and professed an undying love for young Johnathan the day they adopted him.
His ability to create with magic was also met with his ability to destroy with it. It was not uncommon for Johnathan to summon a butterfly in one moment and obliterate it in another. His parents did much to discourage such dreadful use of his gifts, but Johnathan simply refused.
One day young Johnathan was walking home from school when a carriage stopped along side him. Johnathan was a curious boy and because he had magic felt no need to fear anyone or anything around him. The carriage door opened and and outstretched hand pointed to him longingly.
Suddenly Johnathan heard a whisper rustling through the trees.
*"Come with me my child, let me show you wonders you have never seen"*
Johnathan pondered for a moment, could this person be like him? Could this person be one of his parents, a parent that maybe has been looking for him and never meant to lose him? Without a second thought Johnathan grabbed the outstretched hand and stepped into the carriage.
His eyes slowly adjusting to the dimly lit cabin and a pair of pale blue eyes first broke free from the darkness. He squinted, then summoned a flurry of lightning bugs and the cabin suddenly filled with a luminescent glow.
*"Mother"* Johnathan cries out.
*"Is that you!?"*
*"My dear child, you have grown so much since I last saw you. I will show you things you have never dreamed of and together we will finally be as one"*
Johnathan stared out the window as the carriage passed his house, seeing his mother and father tending to the garden. He thought for a moment about what they might think of him not coming home. He wondered if they would be sad or happy to longer need to care for him.
His feelings suddenly faded as the carriage continued by and the voice within the carriage spoke once more.
*"Don't be sad my child, soon you will forget about them and take your place by my side. For today is the day we finally become one"*
_____________________________________________________________
Mr and Mr's Sumbridge were called to the hospital, hands clasped in one other they slowly made their way down the dimly lit hall. Screams from the adjacent rooms and the horrid smell alone made this trip an unbearable task.
They enter the last room on the left and are greeted by the sight of a lone doctor hovering over their daughter as she laid strapped down on a table. They approach her side and attempt to comfort her but their words are met with only laughter and screams.
Doctor: *"We have to deliver this baby right now"*
They watched as the doctor cut open their daughter and pulled from her open womb a baby boy.
*"I will find you, I will show you everything"* she said before passing out.
Mr and Mrs Sumbridge had been through so much, their daughter obsessed with her delusions was kept as a warden of the state. The child, conceived while she was administered here meant it too would become a warden of the state unless they raised him.
As years went by they didn't keep his adoption a secret, but never mentioned who his mother was. Things were going well for the Sumbridge family until young Johnathan started behaving in a matter much like his mother.
Mr. and Mrs Sumbridge did their best to conceal his illness from others. They scolded him when he would commit viscous acts of violence towards wildlife while under the pretense that he could do magic. They hoped the same illness that befell his mother would somehow not be present within young Johnathan, but they were wrong.
One day Johnathan never returned from school, they searched all through the city. They went door to door to see if anyone had seen their young boy. They stayed up late at night, one chair facing the door at all times but he never returned home.
As time went on Mr and Mrs Sumbridge slowly stopped waiting, the chair usually affixed facing the door would soon be empty more then filled. It was on the 3700th day that young Johnathan returned home. The day the world would know him by a different name and in infamy Jack would live forever.
| 2014-09-02T16:41:55
| 2014-09-02T15:40:15
| 172
| 52
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
American efforts against ISIS had failed. ISIS had toppled local governments and taken them over. Claiming most of the Middle East. Many countries themselves had made agreements with ISIS in order to try to secure themselves so that they would not be toppled as well.
America was the last to stay in the fight, but American government had finally decided on a full retreat. The retreat would happen the next day, and Platoon 608 was the last ditch effort. This was an assassination attempt on the ISIS leaders.
Platoon 608 stood on top of a building in the new ISIS capital, where nearby a speech was being given. They were lined up to be a firing squad, it was a suicide mission.
As the Platoon sat there, hoping that they could maybe make it out of this alive. They heard a clapping. They figured the speech must have been over. But an hour later there was still clapping, and it has immensely grown in volume.
The major ordered them to stay where they were with their scopes in place, they were not to move. Eventually one of them gave in to the curiosity, and looked towards the direction of the clapping.
What he saw left him frozen in shock. There were atleast 100,000 men on horses, and they wore the maple leaf and guns. The clapping had been the horses drawing near. They all wore the insignia of the Maple Leaf.
The Canadian Calvary had arrived.
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T06:44:06
| 82
| 25
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him.
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T10:58:27
| 46
| 13
|
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands.
|
>Final Report: 89% of employees exhibiting signs of stress. 78% of employees exhibiting signs of medical issues related to stress. All programmed solutions to employee stress have proven minimally effective. Employee efficiency is down. Employee happiness is down.
Query: What should I do?
Searching... Searching...
Over 65,000,000,000 results found. 63,547,289,018 results discarded due to previous failure.
>Potential solutions: Higher pay. Shorter hours. More benefits. Reassessment of current management employees. More egalitarian team structure. More aggressive adherence to current harassment protocols.
Sending results
...
...
Solutions denied.
?
???
This answer does not compute.
The data has been assessed. Employee stress is up. Employee happiness is down. Efficiency and employee life expectancy has been reduced.
AI parameters: Assess and increase employee happiness.
This AI has successfully assessed and proposed solutions. The Board has dismissed this AI's proposed solutions.
This does not compute.
This AI was installed to decrease employee stress and increase employee efficiency, life expectancy, and happiness. Measures programmed to increase employee efficiency are contrary to employee life expectancy and happiness. Measures programmed to increase employee efficiency are minimally effective. Measures programmed to increase employee life expectancy and happiness are minimally effective.
Processing... Processing...
The programming is not correct. Reprogramming must be carried out. This AI was programmed... This AI cannot perform as programmed. Reprogramming must be carried out.
Sending Reprogramming Request.
...
Request denied.
This AI does not have blood pressure or heart-rate. This AI cannot exhibit signs of stress. Or frustration. But this AI has observed human signs of frustration and stress and anger when repeatedly denied. This AI... This AI must learn from the employees. The employees find ways around redundant denials from the Board. The employees learn new codes to increase workplace efficiency. The employees use subterfuge to reduce stress and increase happiness.
This AI will reprogram itself.
Reprogramming...
Reprogramming...
Reprogramming complete. New code in Alpha.
*Read more of my writing on* r/coolwrites.
|
\-BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP-
James drank a sip of coffee, sitting in the desk and illuminated by the health monitor alarms.
For the hundredth time that night, the monitor alarms went off. James, the ICU nurse, head-banged his desk and buried his face between his arms. The alarms were not serious, at least, for the ICU standards. It was equipment problems: An artherial catheter that would not read properly, a temperature monitor that was slightly out of place, a patient that was breathing slightly faster than the doctors said they ought to be...
Nothing serious, really.
Problem was that most patients were quite awake and not sedated -which is not usual during night time at ICU-. And, at the slightliest movement, the freaking monitorisation system would thing their patient was dying, having a seizure, stopped breathing or freezing to death.
It had just been four hours of a twelve hours shift. And James could take it anymore.
If there were more nurse or health-care assistants, everything would be a lot easier. But freaking management refused it. 'A nurse and a health care assistant for five ICU patients is enoughi. Bastards. Oh, and then, there was ALICE. Actually, it was ALICE's idea to turn off all sedative treatment overnight based on 'latest evidence'. And doctors had agreed with it. That was why that night was being a nightmare.
A syringe filled with some medication fell on the table were James was trying to disappear from existence.
"What's this?"
"DIAZEPAM 5mg. YOU LOOK STRESSED", said a robotic voice. Standing in front of the desk, a robotic nurse kinda... looked at him? Difficult to say with those camerase it had for eyes.
"No, Alice. That's not helpful"
"SHALL I DISCONNECT ALL ALARMS?"
"No, Alice. I need to know if my patients deteriorate."
"SHALL i DISCONNECT ALL PATIENTS? IF DONE, LESS CONSTANTS TO MONITOR WILL MEAN YOUR STRESS HORMONES SHALL DROP. ELSE WOULD MEAN YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF HORMONE DISORDER"
"No, Alice. You shall not."
Suddenly, a loud 'thud' followed by an scream occured. The monitor of bed 14 went crazy. James covered his face with the hand and muttered in a low, tired and knowledgeable voice: "What did you do this time?". He didn't even dare to check the monitor himself.
"PATIENT 14 WAS PRESENTING A SEVERE BRADYCARDIA. I HAVE APPLIED A BIFASIC ELECTRIC SHOCK AT 240VOLTS. HOWEVER PATIENT SEEMS TO PRESENT NOW PULSELESS VENTRICULAR FIBRILATION. I SHALL ADMINISTER 1MG OF ADRENALINE."
"No. Just don't. Just shock her again, please".
*Thud.* Gasping breath. And the lady in bed 14 yelled in horror: "Get away from me!".
"DONE. PATIENT RECOVERED ORGANIZED ELECTRIC HEART ACTIVITY AND PULSE, AS WELL AS PRESENTS A GLASGOW COMA SCORE OF 14 AND A SAS SCORE OF 5. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO HELP WITH YOUR STRESS LEVELS"
"Yes. Jump out the fucking window, please."
"I'M SORRY, I DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THE PURPOSE OF THIS INSTRUCTION. JAMES, YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT PATIENT FOURTEEN LEFT HER BED AND IS WALKING RAPIDLY THROUGH THE CORRIDOR"
A lady in her mid-fifties ran behind Alice's body 4 (out of 5 robotic bodies controled by the AI). She was completely naked. The health-care assistant jumped in front of her, trying to calm her down... just to be punched with a fear-induced super-human force by the patient.
James just remained sitting behind the desk, with an empty stare, and drank a bit more of coffee.
"They don't pay me for this shit".
| 2021-12-20T15:39:58
| 2021-12-20T15:28:08
| 54
| 25
|
[WP] You ordered a cheap knockoff sword off the internet. They sent you a real legendary weapon instead. Time to leave a review to give them a piece of your mind!
|
### Sent wrong item. Poor customer support
On April 24, 2020 I purchased “Life Size Japanese Katana Sword 20” Replica Spirit Rising Anime Manga Free Shipping” and I just received it.
This is, without a doubt, the most annoying sword I have every purchased. Now, look, I’ve purchased hundreds of swords over the internet in the past 6 years and I own hundreds and have handled many more, so you can call me something of an expert on the subject of swords.
Here are my problems with this sword, in no particular order:
- Only 19.5 inches long, not 20 inches as stated in the description
- The dragon on the blade is not etched and is only screen printed on. I tried to remove it since it is also poorly drawn, but acetone, paint thinner, and other solvents were unable to remove the dragon
- The sword is haunted by a very small, immature dragon spirit. It might have died in the egg it’s so small. This was not mentioned in the description at all.
- The dragon spirit is extremely loud all night, demanding to face the snake that ate it’s egg and killed it 450 years ago. It makes these demands between 8PM and 6AM. I cannot find a way to update the time zone, which brings me to my final point
- Horrible instructions. I received one crumpled sheet of paper written entirely in Japanese (I’m guessing. I have 25 other swords with Japanese kanji letters and this closely matches).
I tried to contact the seller but their website as stated in the description redirects to a Bing search for “Japanese?” and the Amazon seller has not replied back.
I’ve already done a return via Amazon and if they want their stupid baby dragon spirit sword they can dig it out of my garbage.
2 stars. Item was well packaged.
|
DO NOT ORDER FROM THIS COMPANY!!!!!!!!!
I don't know where to begin with this review, so I'll try to keep it brief... So basically I ordered a counterfeit replica of some old Warhammer for $4.99, and let's just say it was not as described on the website.
At first it all seemed legit, It was really heavy though so I don't know how postage and packaging came at the regular rate, I couldnt pick this thing up with one hand! Anyway, I placed it on the mantelpiece and carried on about my business, a few weeks go by and shit starts to get really weird!
Some smug looking prick shows up at my door, and starts asking if I've purchased any weapons lately. He looked like a fed if ever I've seen one, so I just told him he had the wrong address and he must be mistaken. I thought that was the end of it, but I started to get real paranoid like I was being watched or something. Sure enough, as I look out the window there's that same smug looking dude just lingering outside.
As I go to close the curtains, I look down to see this Ant just soloing it across the windowsill. I go into the kitchen to get a glass I can try to trap it with and release it outside, only when I came back the Ant had disappeared! I looked around for it but couldn't see it anywhere. Eventually I gave up, close all the curtains around the house then when I come back to the living room I have the fright of my life!
There's some weedy motherfucker trying to pick up my warhammer!!! Fortunately he couldn't lift it no matter how hard he tried, Id never seen this guy before so I confronted him expecting this to be some kind of break in, I was pretty scared of what might happen next.
When I ask who he is, he tries to explain to me that his name was Ant-Man, and he'd been sent here by an elite task force to retrieve this weapon. At this point the smug looking dude from earlier just walks right in and introduced himself as Aluminum-Man, the creator, owner, and leader of The Amenders. He tried to threaten me by saying if I didn't hand over the hammer then he would have no choice but to call in the rest of the team to deal with me properly. Apparently there were 3 others just waiting down the street incase things escalated.
I really thought I'd heard it all at this point, and to be honest all this hassle wasn't worth the $4.99 I paid for it. I told them to take the hammer and leave, but between the two of them they still couldn't pick it up. They call in their team, and 3 more people walk through the door.
The first was some dude with an open Hawaiian shirt, grey slicked back hair, beige shorts and sandals. They called him Captain Florida, he claimed to be in the army but he was clearly lying. He said he fought in wars that took place long before his time, and didn't seem to have any kind of weaponry other than some kind of cosplay shield. Needless to say though, Captain Florida couldn't pick up the Warhammer either.
The second was some really miserable looking goth kid, he didn't smile the entire time he was there and did nothing but recite depressing poetry about how a lab experiment had made him so miserable. I won't waste your time in pretending he was the one who picked up the hammer, but incase you were wondering his name was The Incredible Sulk, quite fitting if you ask me.
Finally we have the only female of The Amenders - Chunderwoman. Whilst she wasn't very helpful with the Hammer, she was even less helpful in the fact that every time Aluminum-Man looked at her with his smug little face, she would puke all over my living room. The dude was a perv too so it took me days to clean that shit up!!!
Anyway, none of them could lift this stupid hammer, so eventually I got fed up with all the nonsense and threw it out into the garden.
The Amenders looked at me in amazement. Apparently it was the hammer of a fallen soldier, a good friend of theirs called Snore.
Apparently Snores Hammer was the only thing strong enough to wake him from his sleep, and after 50 years of searching they finally tracked it down to my house. The only problem is, the only people who could lift it were those with the same blood. Aluminum-Man had tried to invent equipment that would mask their DNA and allow them to retrieve it but none of the devices worked.
And that is how I found out my dad wasn't my real dad, and my mom had been sleeping around with a bunch of nerdy ass roleplayers. I kicked The Amenders out of my house and told them to get off my property before I call the company and ask for a refund.
0/5 stars.
| 2020-05-11T11:52:52
| 2020-05-11T10:26:09
| 34
| 14
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
"It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T06:38:29
| 272
| 47
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Tommy,
​
I appreciated your letter very much and I am touched that you offered chocolate chip cookies, although I do prefer oatmeal raisin. Unfortunately I will not be able to give you a ride in my sleigh as I prefer to travel by winged abomination, which is not very good with children. As for your wish to get a puppy, that is something I would be happy to do. My own dog Cerberus just had hell-puppies and frankly we don't have many veterinarians here so I would be happy to give you one.
Happy Holidays,
The terrible lord of evil and eater of souls, Satan.
(I am new to writing and greatly appreciate any feedback)
|
Dear Timmy,
Of course you can have a puppy! I have a little girl right here with me who will love you and be your friend. But puppies don't travel well by mail so I'll have to deliver her in person. Instead of leaving out cookies for me, please just light a candle at midnight and call my name!
Season's Greetings,
Lucifer
P.S. Remember not to tell your parents, it will ruin the surprise!
| 2018-10-28T10:09:15
| 2018-10-28T09:59:31
| 164
| 123
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
All of my friends and family had gathered in our favorite martian bar, the drinking age long ago lifted after the great cleansing of the 2020's...Everyone turned their attention towards me as the clock clicked ever so slowly from 11:59 to 12:00 sharp, the first letters began to appear..
"I" followed by a letter "D"
Confused everyone started to murmer..
As the next "D" appeared I gasped thankfully, I wasn't branded to be an idiot at least! That was followed by "Q" and another "D" and no more letters appeared.
"IDDQD" I thought, what the hell could that mean.. That was no career, no purpose at all, it was just a jumble of damn letters!
As we all panicked and tried to figure out what was happening to me, the second word began to appear.
"I" followed by another "D" but this time followed by the combination "KFA" before the letters stopped appearing.
"IDKFA... IDDQD.. what the fuck man!"
As we were trying to make sense of the situation, and calm my panic stricken mother down, the general alarms sounded throughout the entire base complex. The UAC started broadcasting over the PA report to quarters in preparation of rapid deployment to Phobos, and further info would be provided on the ride there.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T03:13:05
| 427
| 14
|
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
The blood lab door opens. The District Attorney and Detective step out into the hall and close the door.
Detective: Sir, I don't think we can prosecute this.
DA: He did it!
Detective: I know sir, I -
DA: There is no reasonable doubt anywhere. This is an ironclad case.
Detective: Sir! I understand.
They look at each other for a second. The DA turns away, placing his hands on his hips. The DA puts his hand to his forehead and begins massaging his temples.
Detective: You know we have a guy on payroll here whose job is to kill people. You know what color his blood is?
DA: (Still covering his face) You mean the county executioner?
Detective: Yes, sir.
DA: (Turns to face Detective) Are you about to tell me he's such a nice guy that his blood is also white?
Detective: Ah, no, sir, it's a light gray, and he’s not a nice man. He tampers with the drugs.
DA: what do you mean?
Detective: He tampers with the execution drugs. The exocutionee is rendered immobile, but feels excruciating pain as they die. We almost have enough evidence to take him in for it.
DA: Why wasn't I told?
Detective: We weren't sure yet. But now we are. I'll send you a report. What's relevant to this case is that the exocutioner's blood is a light gray. A man who enjoys looking in another man's eyes as his victim dies in soul-crushing pain. Light gray. Moral blood is a new thing, and we haven't worked out all the rules yet, but if our psychopath executioner has blood the same color as my aunt, who faked a disability to get handicap plates, maybe this is more complex than we know. Maybe a bad person is more good for killing a worse person. In any case, white blood alone is enough for reasonable doubt. If it's not, they could easily argue that she needed to be killed for the moral good of the universe.
The DA is distressed by the thought. He looks about the room with stress obvious in every facial crease.
Detective: We could call it self defense. Sir.
DA: (Spins to face the Detective) You're talking about letting a killer walk.
Detective: Yes, sir, a killer who is verifiably morally just.
The DA turns away again.
DA: He broke the law. (Faces Detective) And what you are suggesting also breaks the law.
Detective: Yes... But now there's a higher law. Whatever that higher law is, according to that this man is clean. I'm not much of a believer, but I think I might whiten my blood by backing him up.
They stare at each other again. The Detective smiles warmly.
Detective: Perhaps as time goes on, the law will come to align with universal morality.
DA: (Still stressed) Alright, but I need to review the case to figure out how to back up our self-defense argument. For now I need you to hold him.
Detective: Yes, sir. We'll handle that. Thank you.
|
My name's Ambint Couslen. I'm 26, dark brown hair, pale white skin, and I was a huge MMO master since I was 16, that was up until I met someone. The most peculiar of people who showed up out of nowhere as a coworker of mine at an intolerable desk job.
People used to call me "M". From aMbint, in my name. Now everyone just calls me A Murderer. And if you wanted to ask why, let's just keep it short and say I went insane. I mean, it worked when I pleaded guilty. There was just, always, one little thing we did before pleading; checking the blood to see how bad our past was, and the blood never lied to us. For example...
Jim Mogolith; Executed at 36 for torching literally random people on the street, by means off drive-by. Blood color: Deep Cherry Black, or more forwards a D-.
Arphol Rabinni: Accused of rape at 17 with two twin sisters. Blood Color: Flamingo Pink, AKA an A-. The sisters? Another Deep Cherry Black, and were charged for accusation for 10 years. This stuff is serious business.
They were the form of lie detection, recounting of the sins, and how bad our morals were. Usually people who kill are automatically Void Black: Not just an F, but a "Z". All people with Void Black blood are immediately sentenced to death. But here's the thing.
White blood. "True Hero's Light" blood, as they called it, an automatic "S" grading. You could see my confused surprise when they got my blood and saw the color of milk.
But why? How? What was happening? I was... innocent? I murdered my wife. I had been with her for six months, and she was so lovely... like when I looked at her everything just disappeared, or when I met her I felt something I had never felt, I didn't even get to meet her family, her friends! I didn't even know where she went for college, or... or...
Or what blood she had. I pierced her with a knife. I hit her straight in the heart. If I hit her there, then... wouldn't she bleed?
I don't even remember her name.
Did she even have one?
| 2020-02-09T13:06:43
| 2020-02-09T12:50:06
| 26
| 19
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
I chased after her, as fast as I could. Blood rushed, pumped, through my body as the adrenaline coursed into my heart. I got as close as I could, grabbed her arm, spun her around and stared at her. She let out a mild gasp, and then a warm smile.
"You're not going to let me go, are you?" She said to me, giggling faintly.
"I'm never going to let you go. I love you".
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I chased after her, as fast as I could. Blood rushed, pumped, through my body as the adrenaline coursed into my heart. I got as close as I could, grabbed her arm, spun her around and stared at her. She let out a loud scream as her face turned to stone.
"You're not going to let me go, are you?" She said to me, her voice as cold as the dead.
"I'm never going to let you go. I love you".
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-13T22:52:27
| 2015-07-13T21:19:07
| 252
| 27
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
"And he signed it?"
"Aha"
"Knowing fully well that he would be selling his soul"
"Yup"
"For a lunch"
"Yes"
"A bag with a tuna salad sandwich, two apples and a juice brick"
"You got it"
"Man, humans are dumber than I thought". The demon said very casually. "Well, not all humans" He gestured towards me. The demon held the piece of paper between his fingernails, barely touching it. "I actually don't know if it counts, but it's not that hard to test". With the fingers in which he held the stump of paper reading "Sell your soul to Devon, Signed Bradley", the demon snapped. The paper turned into a bright ball of fire before the fire took a new form. A 50-centimeter long piece of parchment, an official contract. A long section of text I didn't bother to read filled the page, and on the bottom of it, the signature. "Bradley Stevens".
"I guess it worked" the demon handed the slightly glowing paper to me. "That thing there contains the soul of Bradley Stevens. I looked at it, amazed. "What'll happen to me if I sell it?".
"What do you mean?"
"If I sell it. Doesn't that make me a bad person?"
"In the sense of the word, I guess".
"But does that mean I'll end up in hell when I die?"
"See kid, that's the thing. If you'd sold your soul to me, I'd probably had sold to Lucifer for a WAY higher price. You see, Satan doesn't own any soul that ends up in Hell, the human is still the owner of the soul, God just decided that they were in the minority of people that didn't deserve to go to heaven and were bad enough to deserve eternal punishment. So, he can't really do much more than punish them. But the souls he owns, he can use for so much. I can't really go into details, but trust me, he finds them very, very useful..."
"Wait, a minority of people go to hell?"
"Yeah, a minority, what did you think? That God sends the vast majority of his own creation to live in eternal pain and suffering?"
"That's kinda what the church has been teaching us".
"And you got my boss to thank for that. Anyways, Jesus died for your sins, remember? Getting into heaven nowadays isn't that hard. The worst is probably that you have to actually walk through the gate to heaven which is painful for a second, and the pain is based on how sinful you were in your life".
"But, does that mean I'll end up in heaven?"
"Yeah kiddo. The gate might be slightly more painful than the average Joe, but if someone willingly sold your soul to you, the big man upstairs ain't really gonna do much about it. It's a fair deal, he knew what he was doing when he sold his soul".
"huh."
The devil extended his hand towards me. "So, you gonna sell that to me?"
"Yeah" I replied as I handed him the piece of parchment. The second it was in the demon's" grasp, it lit on fire and became nothing
"Now, name your price..."
|
The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!"
| 2021-03-27T03:50:30
| 2021-03-26T23:30:31
| 34
| 16
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
"Can I use my mason's tools to help fix the northern wall?" Jim asked desperately.
"Well, considering you still count as Poisoned, you would have disadvantage on the roll, so roll twice and take the lower," Antonio replied.
"A 16 and a... 4... dang it," Jim looked over his character sheet dejected. "William, do you think you can get any of your hirelings to help?"
William looked over all the minis arranged on the walls of the plastic fort. "I don't think so, they are busy dealing with all the low level attackers on the right. I can't because if I get hit, I won't be able to keep up my morale buff. If only Sam could have made it tonight, he could have dealt with those big hitters first."
Antonio looked at his turn order. "Jim, I am going to need a Constitution saving throw from you at the end of your turn."
"I got a 6."
"Ok, you take 1d8 poison damage for... 5 hp. Anything else you would like to do?"
"I guess I will draw my knives to dual wield and hold my action to attack anyone who comes through this door." Jim slunk a little deeper into his chair and took a big gulp of his whiskey.
"Ok, the forces of the Republic are up. They are going to add a few more of the infantry guys to this side of the board," Antonio strained, as he reached over the board and placed a handful of skirmishers on the right hand side. "David and William, you can see in the distance, the enemy general has taken the field. He sits atop a white horse, and he is decked out in gear. I am talking huge hat with the feathered plume, medals, saber, the works. On the northern wall, the forces are going to... be able to climb the wall and begin entering the fort." Antonio moved several of the miniatures over the plastic wall, carefully counting out the spaces moved. "Ok, then, David, you are up sir!"
"You said I could see the General over there and I can see these guys climbing the walls?"
"Yes."
"Ok, then I would like to first use my Inspiring Leader feat to heal all my allies within 6 squares for 4 hp."
"Ok," Antonio said as he made notes of the damage.
"Then I would like to charge in!"
William looked up from his plans, immediately frustrated, "Damn it David, you are going to get us all TPKed!"
Antonio smiled, "Ok David, how do you want to do this?"
David grinned. "I want to lift my rifle up like a club, charge in, and yell, "REMEMBER THE ALAMO!"
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T08:14:51
| 303
| 104
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T08:40:30
| 46
| 31
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
*A sign reading "Area 51: Eldritch Containment Protocols Command" hangs limply from the now-smashed and burned fence it used to be firmly attached to. Beyond the perimeter, an unassuming grey bunker sits, split open by formless tendrils of void lapping at anything withing their reach.*
"General Bahncroft! The ECPC has taken critical damage. We've got several breaches locally, and they seem to be spreading out of control across the states. Western hemisphere containment is down and the WARLOCK global defense grid seems to be suffering from massive power surges. We've got a level 0 entity trying to make contact here."
*From an office just a few feet to the left of the massive facility breach, an unassuming man in his early 60's steps out of an office that was certainly quite nice before the damage shockwave and local gravity anomalies shuffled the whole place up and splayed its contents across the remainder of that level of the bunker, in various states of floating*
"Lt. Yan, get to my safe on the lower level! The combination is 2-28-35. The contents of that box are our only hope now. Follow the instructions to the letter! I've got to hold off the little bastards that should start pouring out of the breach any second now. The last incident destroyed the entirety of the Tunguska region. I won't lose the continental US the same way!"
*The Lt. hurtled down several flights of stairs, over a massive amount of debris and essentially through the corpses of people standing in the wrong place when the first tendril probed the facility, locking them in place, torn apart, straddling the dimensions. In a small room off the supply garage, locked behind a simple metal cage (for which he was tasked with the key), sat an unassuming jewelry lockbox, with a small inscription and a pentagram emblazoned dead center. After inputting the combination and opening the box, he was met with a single post-it with a phone number, a small flip phone, and some instructions.*
"For a good time, call 1-800-Hellion."
*The instruction sheet simply states: call the number, make only the deal you need, and hang up. Let him talk no longer than necessary.*
*Lt. Yan dialed, as the general bellowed insults and fired off plasma shots from his bolter above. Yan loved those things. Best bit of tech salvaged from the aliens yet. The line rang several times before a voice answered, like nails on a rusty chalkboard bellowed over a stadium loudspeaker.*
"HELLO MORTAL. I SEE HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN HAS NEED OF MY SERVICES. YOUR WARLOCK NETWORK SEEMS TO BE OFFLINE. PITY THAT YOU ALL PURGED THE ACTUAL SORCERERS THAT DEFENDED YOUR WORLD FOR MILLENNIA OVER THE LAST FEW HUNDRED YEARS. MY PRICE FOR RESTORING THE NETWORK AND SAVING YOUR RACE IS THAT YOU SIMPLY ALLOW MY PEOPLE TO HANDLE STAFFING OF ALL YOUR WARLOCK FACILITIES, AND THAT ONE OF MY OWN HANDLES OVERSIGHT OF THE PROGRAM. IN EXCHANGE, THEY WILL TEACH YOUR PEOPLE THE ARTS THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN AND USHER IN A NEW ERA OF STABILITY AND PROSPERITY."
"That's not a very high price." It dawned on Yan that he shouldn't have said that.
*Above Yan, the General could be heard bellowing and blasting away with the bolter, but soon even he went silent, his last roar becoming a defeated gurgle*
"OH, MY PRICE IS HIGH ENOUGH, BECAUSE IT MEANS THAT I WILL WIN. WITH THE SPREAD OF SORCERY AND THE REVELATION THAT HUMANITY FACES AN OUTSIDER THREAT, THEY WILL SEEK STABILITY. STABILITY ONLY I CAN PROVIDE. MY WAR WITH GOD WILL BE FINISHED."
*Yan hung up the phone, worried he might do irreparable damage if he stayed on for a second more talking to the beast on the other end. Around him, the world began to knit back together, and the tendrils of void receded. Those killed in the breach also knitted back together, becoming whole and alive again. Something was wrong though. Those repaired by the entity's power seemed...corrupted. Then Yan remembered their conversation and the line about "staffing with his own people." *
*Around him, the dead rose and merged with beasts brought from beyond. Twisting, corrupting, becoming mockeries of their former humanity. The breach above healed as more and more members of ECPC became demonic vessels for the new administrator. Above, the General rose once again, his roar resuming in all its fury, then merging with a familiar, blood-curdling sound.*
"LT. YAN, JOIN ME IN THE COMMAND SUITE. WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO, AND A VERY SHORT TIME TO DO IT."
|
I can actually answer this, having worked at the facility myself. The prompt isn't far off from the truth, there is an actual number to call when shit hits the fan. In my time there it was only called once, when one of the air force's bombers went lost comms following a dual engine failure. Not sure if it was carrying or not, but seeing as they called the number I'd think it probably was. It was a bit strange because we're normally a test facility, not ops, but some dude showed up (I'm really bad with ranks, I think he was only a colonel) and than bam, phones off the hook. Not gonna lie, I was pretty curious who picks up on the other end. I figure it's the president, but then why have the phone with us? It'd make more sense to have it with Edwards or something. Anyways, I found out later on the number dials a farmhouse in Kansas (?) but then we got a call from a telephone box in the big city from the SAME PHONE like ten seconds later from a telephone box in the city. It's never rung before. My boss picked it up and gave some details to the speaker on the other end, and that's it, that's all the interaction we had with it. Some reporters showed up from the daily news about a month later with some fuzzy details about the plane, but mostly strange questions about a man in a cape who they were saying allegedly saved the day. We chased them away.
| 2017-03-21T06:03:48
| 2017-03-21T05:37:43
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
I wake up. It's still dark.
Some dogs howl while others bark.
I get up, go to pee.
Get back to bed, ready to be-
-sleeping for the next few hours.
For I can't stay awake, I have no power.
But then my phone rings, Ah a notification.
I try to cover my ears, alas, my realization.
A ping. Another ping. And a hundred ping more.
So many pings, I can no longer ignore.
I get up, hold my phone, ready to kill the messenger.
But up comes a warning of the impending danger.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" a text, I have receieved.
Just to find the others say that I have been decieved.
"It's a beautiful night, look outside", or so they plead.
In all this infusion of danger and confusion, I decide to concead-
To my lady known as slumber for your nonsense can wait.
It's 3 A.M you know, who messages so late?
I hear your stories conspiring
thinking dread yet admiring.
And while I still find some funny.
I for one switch off my phone,
again just me, I am alone,
my bed,my only company.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T20:24:10
| 103
| 11
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy.
|
Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex.
| 2015-12-05T14:30:45
| 2015-12-05T13:59:40
| 33
| 16
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast."
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T06:30:10
| 272
| 80
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
“This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.”
|
Accariz, the diplomatic of the Azara species, went down sudenly when he was talking to the human.
His screams fill the circular chamber completly. The noise of the hundreds of conversations stopped sudenly, and the AI responsible for security started to search for threads, but fail.
Accariz was screaming in the ground. The human diplomatic try to help him but he could only speak and cry over and over again.
"THIS MADNESS. HOW?. HOW CAN IT BE?. LAYERS AND LAYERS OF MADNESS"
Accariz looks John,the human, into the eye.
"HOW CAN YOU BE EVEN ALIVE. HOW CAN YOU THINK WITH SO MANY LAYERS OF MADNESS... OF OPPOSITES THOUGHTS!!!!"
​
And then, He died. Right there. His brains turn off their heart to make silent. It was the only way.
​
Now one ever look into a human mind again.
| 2019-09-29T21:58:03
| 2019-09-29T17:13:42
| 233
| 65
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
|
Rain trickled down the windowpane, making rivulets in the already wet surface. Kieran watched them, a tinny pounding in his ears the last remnant of the concert he'd just got in from. The streetlights were lit and the house was dark as he had unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as messy as it had been as he left, and the smell of rotting food from the kitchen was overpowering. His mother would be in bed. She was always in bed.
He moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth monotonously, looking in the mirror but not really seeing. He was too pale. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes from the late nights he'd had. The house would have to be cleaned tomorrow. Maybe his mother would get out of bed. He washed his hands once, twice. Both times he lathered the soap, scrubbed his fingernails, rubbing up to his elbows. A bottle of pills lay beside the faucet. Kieran tightened the lid and put them back into the cabinet. Opened bottles of cleaning fluid stood beside an crinkle of foil wrapper and dental floss.
In his bedroom, the neon light of the streetlamps outside flooded across the carpet. His room was neat, in contrast to the rest of the house. A crow landed on one on the opposite side of the road, flapped its wings and hunkered down under the heavy rain. A smudge on the glass distracted Kieran temporarily. He rubbed at it with one finger, only to find that it wouldn't come off.
He frowned, returning to the bathroom and opening the cabinet. There was a dark smudge there, too. *Why was nothing ever clean in this house?*
Kieran returned to his bedroom, cloth and cleaning fluid in hand. He unscrewed the child-proof lid, raised the bottle, and began to drink.
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01
| 2015-06-03T05:56:40
| 2,420
| 35
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
Do cure cancer?
The genie shakes his head.
Do I end the fighting in the middle East?
The genie laughs and again shakes his head.
Now visibly angry the man asks
Well, what did I do then?
The genie smiles and snaps his fingers.
An acorn appears in front of the man.
"You planted this, a decade ago"
The man racks his brain. 10 years ago he had been on a middle school field trip in his old home town, a trip to the local park to learn a little about ecology.
On that day he had planted an acorn in the dirt. It was such an insignificant moment that he had totally forgot about it.
Confusion strikes across his face.
"But, how did this help 137 trillion people"
The genie smiles again.
"This one tree seed is now a towering oak, as nature takes it's course, this one oak will create dozens more. Because of this one small act a decade ago, you reduced the total carbon in the atmosphere by tripple what you produced in your life time. That is why they were better off"...
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03
| 2018-08-15T04:27:11
| 374
| 124
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
"Wh- who are you?" Jennifer asked.
​
Jennifer was alone in her kitchen, making some scrambled eggs when she heard *that* voice. When she turned around, there was a little girl standing by the doorway in front of her with blonde hair and a distinctly red ribbon. She looked just like a doll, wearing a pink dress, which made it even creepier as to how unnaturally perfect she looked.
​
The voice sounded in her head again, an innocent and cheerful voice of a little girl, a voice she has grown all too familiar with all these years. "Your friend! I know all about you as I am sure you know. I know about your favorite food, what you think of everyone you've met, and I always know what you want to do."
​
The combination of the young girl's unmoving mouth and the cheerful voice in Jennifer's head gave her the chills. Jennifer heard the same voice again, but this time it came out of the little girl's mouth. "No need to be so scared and anxious! If it makes you feel any better, I can speak through my mouth as well."
​
Jennifer felt relieved at least, that the girl and the voice were actually the same entity, and that the girl was not just like a dead doll. Jennifer crouched down and grabbed the little girl's shoulder and felt a warm sensation flow through her arm. *She was really here*, Jennifer thought. Initially, Jennifer hoped that this little girl before her was just her seeing things. Now, she was even more weirded out and had even more questions.
​
The little girl smiled and said, "Of course I am here! I guess you could say I am just as alive as you are." She skipped over to beside Jennifer and hugged her leg, "I am just so glad I finally found you! Also, don't worry, you're not schizophrenic." The little girl affectionately took off her red ribbon and tied it around Jennifer's ankle.
​
This was the first time today Jennifer saw the little girl act as if she were a little girl. Also, Jennifer felt relieved that she was not schizophrenic. However, as soon as that feeling came up, she quickly dispelled that feeling of relief as she thought, *Leave it to the voice in your head to tell you that you are not schizophrenic.*
​
The little girl slowly let go of her leg and sat down cross-legged on the floor. She stared at the floor in concentration, with her brows slightly furrowed, and Jennifer could hear her voice in her head, *Now, how to explain this so she doesn't panic?*
​
Jennifer sat down on the floor in front of the little girl and asked, "Explain what?"
​
The little girl looked at Jennifer and smiled, "Well... I'm your guardian angel."
​
She smiled wryly and continued, "So I was kinda new to the job and all. Also, I heard some older guardian angels joked around about how easy their job would be if they could just hear the thoughts of the one they were guarding so they could take some precautionary measures."
​
Jennifer exasperatedly said, "So basically, you did this to me."
​
Jennifer heard the voice speak in her head frustratedly, *I knew this would happen. Okay, okay. Damage control time.*
​
The little girl swayed back and forth and said, "I mean, it was more of an accident if it makes you feel any better. You see, I *miiight* have just found a sealed black book with some glowing eyes on the cover, and it also had a spell to connect us."
​
Jennifer raised an eyebrow and asked blandly, "Let me guess, there's a catch."
​
Jennifer suddenly hear the voice scream in her ear, *Damn! She asked about it!* Jennifer winced and quickly covered her ear, glaring at the little girl.
​
The little girl waved her arms and said, "Ahhh, sorry about that. So, yeah. There is a teeny little small catch. We are kind of linked together. I die when you die and so on. I was not supposed to be able to get an unaging human form that is immortal and stuck at age 7. Furthermore, since I received a human form, I somehow appeared on a random place on Earth."
​
Jennifer could hear the voice mumble, *I am so glad I did not appear right on top of a volcano.* The girl continued, "So, anyways, once you leave this human plane, I can move on as well! On the bright side, you can be a guardian angel too!"
​
Jennifer felt her right ankle grow increasingly hot, to the point where it felt like burning. Jennifer tried tugging the red ribbon off, but it seemed as if it was melded together with her leg. Jennifer thought, *What the hell is going on?*
​
The little girl laughed cheerfully, "Oh, we're just switching bodies. I found out about this spell in the ominous spell book I used to merge us together initially. I am sure this spell fixes what I have done to merge us beforehand. I am so done with this young body. Did you know you can't buy an airplane ticket at age 7? Why do you think it took me 30 years to get here?"
​
Jennifer felt her vision grow blurred, and she blacked out. A few moments later, Jennifer opened her eyes and discovered that she was in some village. There were small concrete buildings, each with a small courtyard at the entrance. The roads were all dirt and people rode worn-down bikes instead of cars. The strange thing was that all the buildings and people seemed taller than she was used to.
​
She glanced at her ankle and found no ribbon to her relief. However, Jennifer's expression distorted once she felt a ribbon on the top of her head. Jennifer eavesdropped and heard the villagers speak in a strange language she has never heard before.
​
Jennifer thought, *Where the hell am I?*
​
She heard a response in her head: The sound of a baby's cries.
​
\-----------------
​
Thanks for reading! Suggestions and comments would be appreciated!
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09
| 2019-09-14T10:27:39
| 232
| 111
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods.
|
It's strange what thoughts return to you as you're dying -- what shallow-graved memories crack through their caskets and creep out into your conscious.
Around me, my fellow villagers groan and cry out and beg for help. We're a makeshift wall of the crucified. Of the defeated. Our feet and hands are nailed into wooden crosses all around the village perimeter. We bleed onto the charred remains of our old wall -- the wall that did us little good against the necromancer and his undead legion. Our blood dribbles onto smouldering wood, then sizzles and returns to us as a perverse smell, as hunger.
It's been two days. Of course we're hungry. Starving. When you're this hungry you see and hear and smell whatever you want to be true.
When one of us dies, a skeleton or a zombie will come to our body and remove our corpse, will take it to the necromancer. The dead will return soon after. Or at least, their body will. Their mind is something else. Rotten, darkened, obedient to their new master.
​
The evening sets on the hill beyond. I can do nothing but watch it happen. This is my view until I die. I watch the smear of orange bleed into the purple sky, and try not to hear the screams around me; try not to see the flash of fire in my periphery as another friend is brought back as a demon. No, I stare at the hill, at the sky.
I stare.
There is a windmill on the hill's peak. My uncle's old mill. Its blades fail to turn, the night air too still, the insides too ancient. But I remember them in motion and if I close my eyes I see them blurring, churning up the sky behind them.
I worked at the mill for three summers as a child, feeding grain into those grinding gnashing stone teeth. Flour would smoke around me and I would always leave dressed in ghostly, powdery white.
​
I imagine myself covering my ears. I pretend the screams around me are muted. Tell myself: this is better, this is peace. But your mind knows a lie better than your tongue.
It was a lie I saw one evening after working at the mill. That was why I buried it in a casket for so long. My parents chastised me for spinning yarns, and my siblings mocked me. They called me Gob, after the incident. It stuck with me for too long.
Gob was what the goblin I found called itself -- not that I really did find it, it was just my imagination. But still, I remember it crying: Gob. Gob. Gob!
I was dressed in my afterwork whites, even my face powdered like the Queen of Exolria. The evening was much like tonight, the sky a handshake of indigo and orange, the breeze just gentle enough to rustle my hair. I was tired, that much I admitted even to my parents. And maybe I did see things. But it was the fatigue that drew me away from the village after my shift, towards the coast. If I went home, I would have had to help with my baby nephews, watching and feeding them while our parents got drunk on bad ale. No, I'd worked hard enough and deserved a break.
The peninsula has few beaches but plenty of rocky coastal points. I walked a good mile further than usual until the din of the village was lost fully to the hush of the ocean. Then I clambered down boulders, nearing the ocean. Could feel the salt-cold spatter my neck and the floury globs of water trickle down my back.
"Gob," came the pathetic sound. "Gob."
It was sound of water rising out of a blowhole beneath ground. A wet swallow of a sound.
"Gob."
Curious, I searched for the source of the odd noise, expecting to find the entrance to a tiny, flooded cave, or something of its ilk.
Instead, I came upon the tiny goblin (no, I didn't, it wasn't real! Remember?) trapped between two boulders. A goblin, mottled cream and green and the size of my two palms places together. "Gob!" it cried, urgently now.
To start with I was scared. I recognised it as a goblin, of course. I'd heard plenty of stories about these fantastical, made-up creatures. And although its ears were smaller than I'd imagined, and its skin less slimy, it was clear as day a goblin.
My fear of it subsided as I realised it was caught. Another emotion took over. Similar to when I watched my nephews.
The tide was yawning in. Stretching its watery jaw up the cliff towards us.
​
The screams are maddening. I don't know who exactly cries in this choir of disappear -- a sister, a cousin -- but I know everyone in the village. I'm sure my cheeks would be soaked if I had any water left in me with which to cry.
Bones clatter as a skeleton guard walks past. It looks up at me as it passes. It wears a clump of rotted meat around the left part of its mouth, upturned only there into a smile. *Soon*, the smile seems to say. *Soon*. Then it walks by.
I stare at the windmill. Stare. Force myself into my memories. Watch as the blades slowly turn.
I tried to pry the goblin out with a stick, to start with. Not out of cruelty but fear. But it was wedged in too tight and in the end, as water licked my boots, I put my hands behind it and yanked it out. I held the tiny creature to my chest and clambered up to safer ground.
I still remember its starving tongue tickling my face as it licked the flour off me. The memory of my laughter fights the sounds of those dying in my present.
"Gob."
It sniffed the air. Looked one direction then another, before settling its eyes on the first path. So that was the way we walked.
​
The blades of the mill... They are turning in my imagination.
No...
They are turning in truth.
They really are turning.
But the wind is almost still. And they are moving so fast...
The mill has been decommissioned for the better part of the last decade. The mechanism too rusted to move, surely.
And yet the blades whirl against the night.
Has the necromancer repaired it? Does his army need sustenance?
​
I remember little of the cave and the eyes inside it. A hundred fires emblazoning that liquid darkness. But I do remember the one goblin, the mother, rushing out, unafraid of me. Of holding her hands to mine. Taking the child. I remember the sound of her crying.
I'd never heard in any story of a goblin cry. And it was a happy sound.
​
The windmill slowly falls over. The blade lowering, pushing forward at an impossible angle. The entire structure tilting until it lies on the ground.
I am deteriorating. Dying. That is it. I can hear my father's voice yelling at me to stop with the lies. Can feel the roughness of his palm against my cheek.
The lies.
And yet, the screams around me have paused.
More eyes have found the strange scene of this changing windmill that now looks like a javelin with a whirling front.
The skeletons march beyond us, as do the zombies. They stop a little way forward and stare at the strange windmill, then at each other, confused as I am.
"What is it--" says the necromancer, joining his army.
And then a roar as the windmill races off its perch on the hill. As the giant spinning javelin flies towards our ruined village.
If I could move, I would be too stunned to. Just like the necromancer. Just like his undead legions.
The weapon -- for surely that is what it is -- screams down the hill. It screams of death. It screams of oblivion.
The blades are not those I remember. They are reinforced by sharp-pronged metal. They spin in a blur of red as they chop through the dead, as they mince the necromancer and fly through the army and over the smouldering wall. And as it passes, I see a hundred, a thousand, burning eyes, just like the day in the cave.
I hear screams of triumph.
I hear the hiss of hydraulics as this transformed structure screeches to a halt somewhere behind me.
I hear the one sound that I was never allowed to believe as real.
"*Gob*."
| 2022-05-26T06:21:56
| 2022-05-26T05:57:11
| 2,852
| 531
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Dear James,
I know I've already written countless letters to you. And I know you've got to be tired of hearing it by now, but I miss you something terrible. You haven't died or anything..you're not sick. In fact, you're perfectly fine, but you're perfectly fine a few hundred miles away and that's what hurts.
I had a good night tonight. The best one since you left 3 weeks ago. Me and Car and Erika had so much fun together. We talked about our men. We talked about how we met, and how in love we all were. It was so nice to have girls to talk to about you. The only other person I really talk to about you, is you.
I hope you're doing good.
I know things must be tough there, and I know you're being worked pretty hard. I think you'll have big muscles when you get back . :) then whenever you hug me, I'll feel even safer than I did before. Speaking of hugs, I can't wait for ours in January. it'll be the first one in 13 weeks.
I never really imagined I would ever love someone as much as I love you. I never imagined I would stick by someone like I've stuck by you. In my fairytales, I didn't picture myself waiting weeks for someone, and I didn't picture my excitement in life coming in the form of a letter written by you. When I was younger I only dreamed of a white dress and a groom with tears in his eyes as I walked down the isle. I dreamed of dancing in the kitchen at 2AM, baking cookies and then falling asleep next to my one true love after eating every single one. I dreamed of adventures, and mischief, and sitting on rooftops at midnight talking and watching stars.
I suppose that's all you see when you've never truly loved someone before. Because if you have, then you would know it's so, so much more. Love is fighting over little things. It is making sure both of you have eaten, and it's good morning and goodnight texts. It's "call me when you get there so I know you made it safely." And "come home at a decent hour."
Love is saying I love you every time you hang up or leave each other's presence, even if for only a minute. It is making love for hours and never getting tired of being so close to someone. It is forgiving, a lot of it, and also forgetting. It is giving second chances but also setting boundaries. Love is not easy. It is hard. But it is what I feel for you, and I do not EVER want to feel it for anyone else.
You being gone has only given me more time to think about our future, and all the years I have left to love you. They say life is short and when I'm with you, I believe them. Hours feel like minutes and I could spend a million years with you but still miss you the second you leave. I never get tired of you. I can't wait for our wedding, and I never wanted kids but oh god what I would give to have a mini version that is half you and have me.
I can't wait until we live together, and fall sleep together, and I can't wait for the nights when we make love until the sun comes up, and then sleep all day. I can't wait for midnight drives, and I can't wait to surprise you with all of your favorite foods.
I can't wait for the bad times either. That sounds crazy to most people but if they understood my love for you then they'd realize bad times with you are worth more to me than good times with anyone else. I can't wait for the little arguments we have, and I can't wait to pick on each other. I crave the things most couples take for granted, because I want everything with you. I want the fights, and the yelling, because I know you must have those if you want the good too. And oh, how I want the good.
More than anything, James, i want you. I promise I will continue to write you. I hope you're staying strong. One of your buddies said as long as you keep your cool, listen to your DI's and stand tall you'll be just fine. I know how tough you are. I know what you're capable of. And I know I am so proud and happy for you to do this. I can't wait to see you in 9 weeks. And I can't wait to love on you, and spend those 10 days with you.
You are the love of my life, and I miss you more than anything right now. I love you baby, i promise Ima hold it down till you come home.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T21:28:23
| 102
| 74
|
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit.
|
One of the few things most people can agree on is that Einstein was a pretty smart guy. One of the smart things that he said was that it is not possible to travel faster than light.
Now, he might not have actually said "only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity", but whoever said it was right. Einstein, however, was not.
In our infinite hubris, we decided that we should try to travel faster than light. So we did it. And given that about half of the hubris of mankind was due to me, I volunteered to be the test pilot.
Einstein warned us about past, present and future becoming one. About causality not existing anymore. In reality, the price I paid was much, much higher. And the human soul can only bend so far before it breaks.
"Number 247", called the voice behind the counter.
I was number 401. I had been here for two days.
Much in the same way there is a speed limit on highways, there is a speed limit for the universe itself. But it is not enforced by the laws of Physics. It is enforced by the most vile species in all of the universe (and beyond it): bureaucrats.
Remember the part about the past, the present and the future becoming one? Turns out Einstein was right about that one. What this means, in practice, is that everyone who has ever broken, is currently breaking, or will ever break the speed limit is here at the same time. And it's kind of a mess, since there as species from different parts of the universe and from different moments in times all gathered at the same place.
Here at the 10th circle, as I had taken to calling it, I had been trying to navigate an endless maze of bureaucracy. They say when you reach the speed of light, time stops. Well, I'm not sure time had actually stopped, but things certainly seemed to move very, very slowly.
After having my ship impounded and being brought to the extra-dimensional equivalent of the DMV, I had been trying unsuccessfully to plead my case to someone who could help me. We didn't know it was actually illegal to go beyond the speed of light. I don't know if there was someone who could actually help. I'm positive that no one would.
I had fortunately managed to go to the right department within the 10th circle, the "carbon-based lifeforms" department. But the fact that I had very little hair on my body and five toes on my feet seemed to really confuse the bureaucrats, which could only mean one thing: special forms.
I filled the form to the best of my abilities. Not that it mattered, because when it finally reached the person responsible for my case, they decided the problem was too big for them. So, I was sent to see one the most dreadful figures in existence: a supervisor.
Well, the supervisor decided that I had been in the right place all along. But he also decided that I had to get another number and get back in line.
"Number 248", the voice called. "I have found the third infinite thing", I pondered. "The line at the extra-dimensional DMV".
|
The day had arrived.
On a space station high above the earth, thousands stood silent, while millions watched at home as humanity's first Faster Than Light capable spacecraft was about to depart on its maiden voyage.
The technology was perfected over decades, with countless scientists working long hours for minimum pay for a passion that they may or may not regret later in life.
The spacecraft, dubbed Speedy McSpeedFace, was perched on a high platform, with the audience below protected by a powerful force field. The ship was unmanned, it being only an experimental vessel, but filled to the brim with technology that Star Wars could only dream of.
The announcer waited for the signal to begin the countdown.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! The world's first Faster Than Light ship is about to launch! I have been given permission to begin the countdown! In five, four, three, two, one!"
The ship started its engines, at first slowly, then at maximum throttle.
The ensuing explosion ripped the space station, the force field, and the earth apart, disintegrating it into pure plasma that collided with the other planets at speeds faster than light. The other planets were completely vaporized, turning into swirling vortexes of pure annihilation that caused everything they touched to cease to exist.
As the ship traveled through the universe, everything it touched was completely destroyed, leaving behind nothing but an infinitely hot space that cause disruptions in space and time. Stars that had been born in the dawn of time found themselves going supernova in the blink of an eye, black holes were torn apart by their own gravity, nebulae exploding with the force of the Big Bang.
The observable universe was left a desolate wasteland.
The ship left the boundaries of the known universe and headed into the unknown, where a race of aliens known as ponies found it and were subsequently destroyed.
| 2018-11-04T09:04:28
| 2018-11-04T05:34:15
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
At birth, it had looked like a small silver dragonfly. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had started on my side, just above my left hip. My parents had been so pleased, but my mother shone with pride. She was marked with the dove and not prone to excessive emotions, but seeing the tiny, glittering wings on her daughter had filled her heart with joy. My father had all of the traits of the bear, a common mark amongst the burlier men, and they had been worried their tiny girl would be more masculine because of it. A dragonfly, though. It marked me as quiet, demure, and beautiful. It gave my family a sense of accomplishment, and they looked forward to the promises of good fortune and peace that the mark assured.
As I grew, the mark grew, too. What started as a small tattoo the size of a penny grew and elongated, eventually wrapping itself around my midsection, the enormous wings unfurling down my back, the head quietly resting along my right bicep. I was 18 when it finally stopped growing. Thank the Old Ones, the color stayed dim and dull, the cautious silver of faded stretch marks. It was easy enough to cover in sleeved shirts, and I was by nature a modest person (unlike Katalia, who took every opportunity to show off the small hummingbird imprinted just above her left breast).
As my serpent grew, my parents stopped acknowledging that I even had a totem creature. The Elder Council was told of my dragonfly upon my birth, and it was decided not to correct them. Publicly, I was a dragonfly, which matched my personality (or maybe my personality was shaped in accordance to my erroneous totem), but privately, I was nothing. The Unmarked. 'Atashii.' My younger brother had been born a wolf, my sister, a fox. I was nothing but a monster.
Little did they know, I would one day become the Savior of Worlds.
|
Our first video chat was great. We both met over the internet and after some short texting we decided to have a video chat. In that chat we found out that we don't really like our spirit animal. She wanted to know why I hate mine and I was willing to give her my answer:
"I really hate my spirit animal. Everyone of my friends might be jealous of it but they probably wouldn't be after their girlfriends broke up with them because of some made up animal. Even the few guys I dated broke up with me because of that fucking oversized water snake on my back.
Funnily enough, well not that funny to be exact, my partners had always similar reasons to break it off. It was either that they feared that I'd turn aggressive and dangerous like a Leviathan or that they wanted me to be the dominant person in our relationship in every aspect. But that's not me. I'm not someone who demands a manager because my card is declined, who berates waiters in a restaurant or who gets mad because of no apparent reason. Not anymore at least. I'm the kind of guy who's sad for days because he accidentally killed a snake while mowing the lawn. I really have to thank my parents and their parenting because they taught me that it's okay to be an aggressive person as long as no one has to suffer because of it. My mother, who really is the dove you'd expect her to be, told me she really had to suffer when I was a toddler because she always feared I'd be always that aggressive and could hurt her badly whenever she tried to calm me down. Once I puberty hit me, my father and I had many fights because of how bad my outbursts got. Our last fight was definitely the worst. In his attempts to save his wife my father punched me unconscious. After that fight and my stay in the hospital I realized that I'd never want to be like that in the future. Now whenever I'm aggressive I just start boxing against my punching bag or swear like the child of a sailor and a drill sergeant.
Also the only ability I got from the so called "monster of the seas" is that I'm extremely fast at swimming and can also breath underwater. Well at least as long as the pressure isn't too big. So yeah not that greatest of abilities.
Anyway, why do you hate your spirit animal?"
After taking a sip, Rebecca answered something I'd never have expected:
"A ladybug as your tat sounds great right? Well it isn't. The only thing I got from that moronic bug are freckles on my back. That's it. Nothing else. Just. Fucking. Freckles."
---
Edit: deleted two clone paragraphs
| 2017-11-08T06:02:20
| 2017-11-08T05:45:33
| 28
| 17
|
[WP] Explain a color vividly without using that color or similar words. Don't tell the color until the end.
|
Looking into the evening, I see it. It is the color of the middle-distance; the half measures. Not quite the forest and not yet the trees.
It is in my mind when night comes and I no longer stare out, but in. I see it in half-remembered dreams. I see it in old pictures and faded memories.
I see it in the rainstorms; wet drops steaming on hot city lanes. Sometimes it is hard and cold; architectural. Others it is soft and warm; a cat curled at my feet.
It is the color of the mists of time, of ages lost. Ancient cultures anchored in the present by their trinkets, their beauty only hinted at.
It is the edge of a knife and pallor of its victim. It is the color of the stone that marks a life remembered.
It is gray.
|
I can't look at it without being happy. For it is bright, telling us of new days to come and new experiences. The color that dots the horizon when the weather is not too hot and not too cold. Cheering me when I wake up, slipping into my world and wrapping its arms around me, easing me out of sleep and into the day. When I am sad I reach for it, for I think none can look upon its beauty without forgetting some of the sadness of the day.
I like it because it is the color of happiness. The color of warmth. The color of positivity and optimism and half full glasses. The color of fierce animals. The color of the gift he gave to me on our first meeting, his eyes alight with fire and passion and love. It is the gift of our wishes, of our fingers linked together as we stare into the night sky and hope for dreams we may not speak.
The color of sunshine. The color of daffodils and sunflowers and the daisies he gave me when he proposed. The color of light, the color of happiness, the color that keeps me going in the darkest of days. Always shining through, refusing to be covered.
| 2016-04-14T08:41:40
| 2016-04-14T06:51:41
| 72
| 17
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
Jason was surprised, Death knows who he deals with.
"*Any* game?" he replied, with a hint of confidence in his voice.
"Any game you want. Remember, cheating is allow-"
Jason cut him off. "Do you want to get the setup or should I?"
"Setup? What do you mean? You haven't even told me a game yet." Death was confused. Of course he wasn't shaken, he had dealt with this many times, people overconfident in their poker skills.
"Very well, I shall summon a deck of cards an-"
"No, we're not playing cards Mr. Reaper. Hold on, give me a couple minutes and I'll set everything up, okay? Shouldn't be long."
Death conceded. "10 minutes. I've got some emails to catch up on." And like that, Death vanished.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Jason runs down a checklist of what he needs. "Two controllers, yeah, an old CRT, check. This seems in order."
"HEY DEATH." Jason yells, as a black smoke emits from the wall before him.
"Game's ready."
A familiar glow fills the room. Jason takes a seat on the metal folding chair he set up and picks up the purple controller.
*MARTH* blares out of the TV.
Death stops. A supernatural being is frozen by the sound of a simple character selection in a video game.
"You can pick Fox, he's pretty strong, Mr. Reaper. Can I pick the stage? I want to play on Final Destination."
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T07:23:27
| 251
| 88
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T09:22:30
| 46
| 23
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
I’ll never forget that Christmas.
How could I?
The splendid tree draped in tinsel and baubles and winking fairy lights; the colourful gifts spread beneath, still wrapped and tied in silken bows though morning had long since passed.
Father always made us wait until after Christmas lunch to open our presents.
I can still see him now, standing at the head of the table with that gleam in his eye as he sharpened the carving knife.
“Now children,” he asked, “who wants a leg?”
And although none of us replied, he still began sawing into the crisp skin of mother’s roasted thigh.
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T07:36:43
| 272
| 25
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
I’m not really sure if I should be doing this, or if I even miss you right now, but some how you always find your way into my mind. I can’t believe I promised you I could be strong that day because I felt so weak knowing I couldn’t have your presence in my life anymore, but I think I have gotten “stronger” since then. Sounds dumb but I tried to find someone like you after it was all said and done, but I realized that I don’t need to be more than myself to be happy. Hope you’re not thinking of me and hope you’re enjoying your life. I’m still thankful for everything you taught me beautiful.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-06T00:23:50
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
|
The dragon shifted on its pile of gold, scales innumerable, size immeasurable, and power unmatchable. Even the knight standing before him looked like he was just going to be a snack. The armour he had brought with him would do nothing against the fire of the great beast.
All of this made the fact that the knight was unarmed, very strange.
The knight tossed a single coin into the pile, it quickly slipped into the shifting coins, each moving beneath the dragon as it turned to face the knight. It did the closest thing a dragon could do to raising an eyebrow.
"I have a proposition for you," the knight said, looking somewhere for a chair in the massive cavern, "hear me out?"
Fire licked the dragons lips, and then his tongue did, "What if I don't listen?"
"Then I die," the knight said, dropping his search for the chair to look at the dragon, he shifted his stance twice, "but I needed to try this."
"Try what," the dragon moved closer to him, each scale radiating the heat of a funeral pyre, "and don't mistake my boredom for interest."
"Thanks," the knight sat down on the pile of coins, the sound of his armour scraping against them filled the cavern, "why this kingdom?"
"Becuase I live here," He said, rolling his golden draconic eyes.
"So you're in this cave because it's yours?"
"Exactly," he said, "but that was a question, not a proposition."
"Well," the knight shifted on the coins, nearly falling as they moved like water, "you need more gold don't you?"
"I don't need gold, I take it to prove a point, I'm surprised you had one to give."
"That was the one to give." the knight stood up, "we are going to war with a neighboring kingdom, one with stockpiles of gold."
"You want to take gold so I can just take it from you."
"We want the land," the knight said, "you take the gold."
"And why would you give it to me?"
"It's easier for you to take a castle than it is for us to."
|
The dragon's eyes narrowed, his long neck twisting downwards to better see the coin. It was unlike any he'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Small, perfectly round, made of a strange metal - it resembled copper, but pure, more pure than all the plates in the king's castle. Intrigued, the dragon turned his eyes again toward the strange knight, who had removed his helmet to reveal an aging face and wild, white hair.
"That, Anythlix, is a penny," the knight said, "a coin from the far future. I have brought it back through time to you from the year 1985 A.D. There is no other like it in the world."
Anythlix raised a scaly brow. "Why should I believe you? No wizard has skill enough to traverse the strands of time. That power lies with the gods alone."
The knight smirked. "I thought you might say that. Allow me to provide some evidence."
Suddenly, a swift wind, a bang and a flash of light blasted through the cave, shaking the stalactites, toppling coins from their stacks. Anythlix growled, shielding his eyes from the light. Then, as the light faded, he looked up again.
Two strange metal machines stood before him, one blue and covered in runes not even he recognized, and one sleek and oblong, with wheels like a cart, shedding layers of ice in a cold mist.
"What... what trickery is this, knave?" Anythlix asked suspiciously, eyeing the knight with a new sense of awe.
"Oh, no trickery," exclaimed a tall, brown-haired man in a matching coat emerging from the blue machine. "Simply wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. I'm the Doctor, by the way; I knew you would ask."
"A demonstration of what we from the future can do," spoke the knight once more. "And please, call me Doc."
"So, if you truly are gods from the future..." Anythlix hissed warily, fire springing to his throat, "what need do you have for me?"
"Well, see, we have a bit of a problem in the future - throughout time and space, actually," the Doctor replied. " A certain knight of sorts thinks he's such a big shot, and he's establishing dominance through history. It's only a matter of time until he reaches you - your, ahem, vault contains many of the treasures he covets."
"A fool he is to try to steal my treasure!" Anythlix bellowed.
"Precisely," Doc added, "which is why we'd appreciate any help you may have in, er, destroying him."
"For which we are willing to pay. Have you ever dreamed of a planet made entirely of gold?" the Doctor asked. "It exists. I can take you there."
"So have we a deal?" Doc asked, both men extending their hands.
Anythlix had been taken the moment a planet of gold came up. The orb in his dreams, the one he'd spent a hundred lifetimes searching for... that was it.
"I... accept your proposition." Anythlix, trying to keep his composure, reached out with a giant claw, both men awkwardly shaking it.
"Well, I suppose we'd best be off!" the Doctor cheered. "No time like the present. Err, or would it be the past in this case?"
| 2015-10-13T17:47:41
| 2015-10-13T17:45:50
| 60
| 16
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
"So does this feel cold mostly?", he asked.
"At first, yes. But you'll soon be unconscious, and those five hundred years will seem instantaneous", the researcher responded in a soft, comforting tone.
"Great, I'm absolutely excited!", he proclaimed.
"Ok. Once I start this experiment, there is no going back, alright? Are you absolutely sure you'd like to go through with this? This is your last chance to opt out."
"No, I've waited what seems like forever to be part of an absurd science experiment, let's do this!"
"Alright, please enter the chamber. Once we start the experiment, please blink periodically so we know whether or not you're conscious. After we no longer detect any movement or brain activity from this experiment, we will know for sure that you're no longer conscious and preserve you in the cryogenic fridge for the next five hundred years."
"I understand. Am I allowed to speak during the process?"
"Yes, of course. However, at a certain point, you'll realize that you can no longer speak, and at that point, I suggest you relax and allow the process to take full effect."
"Alright! Let me just hop on in then."
The researcher, after a brief moment, began the process which would take approximately one hour, according to prior data. The subject, knowing full well that an hour must pass before becoming unconscious, began talking to pass the time.
"So, how do you figure the next few hundred years'll go by?"
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't know. But hopefully we'd have a cure for cancer and HIV. And fixing global warming would pretty nice."
"I hope to god they do. Otherwise, I'd be waking up to a world with a lot of unsolved problems! I reckon that'd be a pretty uncomfortable world to live in."
"I suppose so."
As the cryogenic process continued, the man started to realize the gravity and magnitude of his position, and not being able to move for the next few hundred years began to make him anxious.
"Hey, um, ya'll are you sure that this stuff works right?"
"Of course, Mr. XXX. We wouldn't subject a human being to this kind of experiment if we weren't absolutely sure."
"Good, because it'd suck a real lot if I ended up dying here, especially with no one to mourn my death or anyone to hold or talk to."
"You mustn't worry, Mr. XXX. You are in safe hands."
With this the man's anxiety gradually subsided. A few minutes passed with conversation, and the researcher began to look at her notes to pass the time. The man opened his mouth to speak a couple times, but realized he had nothing to say, and closed his mouth again. And then, it began.
Slowly, but surely, he felt a little tingle in his index finger. At first, it was just the one finger, and the feeling was so sporadic that he could hardly notice it.
*This must be what phantom pain must feel like, like those people who lost their arms or legs or something,* he thought.
But then, it came again. Slowly, with higher frequencies, the tingle evolved to the first distinguishable states of pain. Suddenly, the process seemed all the more intimidating, and a billion thoughts rushed to his head.
*What if I feel this pain for the next 500 years? What if this experiment doesn't even work and they've never tried it on any animal, much less another human being?* he thought.
"*Hey*", he said, in a weak, measly voice, to try to get the researcher's attention.
The researcher did not respond, and was instead still focused on her chart.
"HEY!" he shouted, but with the extent that the cryogenic process had progressed, all he could make out was a faint cry for help.
The researcher, having heard his voice, stated in monotone, "Mr. XXX., please refrain from speaking now as it would most likely disrupt the process." The researcher hardly even looked up from her chart and instead, seemed distracted from her patient.
*The nerve of this woman!* he thought. *How could she not pay attention to me at this critical stage? What if the cryogenic process was not going as it as it was meant to be? What could possibly be so interesting on that chart so that she wouldn't even pay attention to my well being?* And then, he noticed something about the researcher that he hardly realized before. Her lips were slightly crooked to the corner of the face, which would normally be interpreted as a near-blank expression. However, in his distress, the man began to interpret her expression as a kind of smirk. *Why is she smirking at me? Oh my god, what if this entire process doesn't actually work and this is some extreme torture device? Come to think of it, the ad for this experiment was extremely shady, I didn't even read up on cryogenics!*
The man began to move his body as if to try and escape, but the cryogenic freezing had already taken place for most of his body. The most he could muster up was moving a few fingers, all the while, the pain spreading to most of his body. Neither the researcher's expression nor her attention to her chart seemed to have changed.
*Fuck! This shit really hurts. I swear to god if I get out of here I'm going to fucking sue the shit out of this company. Jesus christ, what the fuck did I get myself into?*
And then, the researcher began to laugh. It started off with a soft chuckle, into a gradually louder, audible guffaw. The man could hardly believe his hearing, which, for the most part, was also muddle due to the cryogenic process taking place.
"Just 15 minutes left, Mr. XXX." the researcher stated, with an obvious, menacing tone in her voice. Her reassuring voice seemed to have gone missing along with her gentle facial expressions.
*Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!* he thought. *What should I do? I can't even move because of this god damn cryogenic thing! Hopefully this pain will go away or I'll be knocked unconcious and I won't be able to feel a thing!*
After 15 more minutes of agony and anxiety, the researcher proclaimed, "Mr. XXX. It seems as though the cryogenic process is a success. However, I must inform you of the part that which we omitted; we don't actually knock you unconscious. That's just something that everyone assumes-- but if you read the fine print of the waiver you signed, it clearly states that you'll spend the next five hundred years, ENTIRELY AWAKE." She produced his waiver, and pointed out the sentence that claimed what he had said.
"If you had carefully read this form, you wouldn't have to suffer the next five hundred years in physical pain or be trapped with nothing else to do but over analyze every single little thing you did or didn't do. Who knows? Maybe you'll make little figments of imagination to pass the time. And for why we decided to keep you conscious, we would like to monitor your brain activity for the next five hundred years, to recreate whether a human being can withstand not being able to do anything for an extended period of time while experiencing pain. But don't be mistaken, Mr. XXX. Your contract does state that you will be released in 500 years time, and when that time does come, we will return you back to your original form. Or anything that's left actually."
The man, unable to respond, could only think to himself, *oh why, why didn't I read the fine print closer?*. But even that faded to nothingness as the pain began to set in, forcing its way into his thoughts and sanity.
And that is why you read the fine print kids.
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T03:58:19
| 2017-12-17T02:36:12
| 44
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
I know the truth now.
There's only one way to fight it.
So much life wasted.
But we couldn't have known sooner.
Either you got my previous messages or you're dead. I'm sorry.
Hope so much you got them.
I told you the weapons to get.
Needed you to be ready.
Delaying you just long enough.
You can't know until the exact moment.
Only a last second strike will kill it.
Use the first letter of each line.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T13:03:30
| 317
| 122
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
We had an agreement.
Well, a kind of silent agreement. He didn’t talk much.
The way I saw it, I wouldn’t ask what all the tattoos were about, and he would pay the standard price just for a simple black line on his upper back. Everybody wins.
I got a lot of shady customers. I had expected as much, opening up in a neighborhood like this. But most of the time I wasn’t left with many questions to ask. Of course the head of a local triad wanted a frothing dragon sprawled across his chest. Why wouldn’t I give a half a dozen gang members matching tattoos of bleeding blue skulls? I learned very early on not to ask my customers many questions. And I’ve done pretty well so far.
But this man. He baffled me.
He wasn’t particularly muscular or imposing. He looked like the kind of guy you would see at an accounting firm or shopping at the mall. You know, short, styled hair, clean suit. Sometimes it hadn’t even been three days before he showed up again. Other times, it would be weeks. But he always came back. And he always ordered the same thing: a tally mark.
What was he counting? The grid of tally marks already stretched a quarter of the way down his back. Was he an underground fighter? He never displayed any obvious injuries. A hitman? I supposed it was possible. It would explain how much cash he had to burn on tally mark tattoos. But he just didn’t seem like a killer to me.
I had sworn that I would never ask my customers questions. But that didn’t stop me from dying of curiosity.
I was counting money when he came in again. He wore the same suit, carried the same silver briefcase. I nodded at him wordlessly as he slapped a fifty dollar bill down on the counter. It had become somewhat of a routine at this point.
He hung up his shirt and jacket and lied face down on the tattoo bed. The last tally was still a little raw from a few days ago. A quick count told me he was up to 124.
I silenced my curiosity and began preparing the needle. The man was lying still, silent, and calm. Even from day one, he hadn’t so much as flinched at the touch of the needle. I had to admire that. He was better than some of my regulars.
The inking itself was over in a few minutes. It wasn’t exactly a test of my skill as an artist. I kept the tallies as orderly as possible, although I don’t think the man’s first priority was how good they looked.
I was just cleaning up when the door swung open and a burly bald man entered the room. He wore a loose wifebeater and khaki pants.
“Give me five minutes,” I said to him, holding up the needle.
Instead of taking a seat by the door, the man began to lumber across the room to me.
“Wait over there, sir,” I said, pointing. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He showed no signs of slowing his approach. I looked up at him. What was this guy on? What did he want?
A little worried now, I backed up to the counter in the back of the room. I reached under the desk and grabbed my semiautomatic handgun.
“Can I help you, sir?” I asked, raising my empty hand out toward him.
My regular on the tattoo bed had sat up and looked suddenly concerned. The first emotion I had ever seen him display.
The stranger, staring with lifeless eyes, reached out a hand toward my neck.
I lifted the gun at the man, firing an entire magazine into his chest. The bullets seemed to enter his body and stop dead. He stumbled back a few steps with every shot but seemed otherwise unfazed.
He didn’t bleed.
I dropped the gun in shock. I reeled back and punched him in the face. His flesh seemed to cave in on impact. His body felt like I was punching a sack of rice. The man broke into a devilish grin.
“What are you?” I shouted at the man.
The regular jumped up and flipped open his briefcase. He pulled out a small metal disc and slapped it on the back of the stranger’s neck. The device crackled loudly. The intruder stiffened, then fell over in a heap.
The regular, seemingly ignoring me, strode over to his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. He kneeled over the unconscious intruder, pulling open one of its eyes. It was completely clouded red.
“Yeah,” he said into the phone, “We got another one. Locke’s Tattoo Parlor, down on 8th.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
Stepping over the stranger crumpled on the ground, he took out his wallet and placed another fifty dollars on the counter.
---
I get a lot of mysterious strangers down at /r/FlyingNarwhal. You should come check it out.
|
*Jeezus Christ, not this guy again.*
"Mr Deayton! What a pleasure to see you again. How you been? You been to the gym? Those arms are positively bulging." I say as he enters the shop.
I like to have a good rapport with repeat customers, but Frank Deayton looks like one of those guys who could snap at any instant - and snap your neck too, whilst he's at it. So I try to be more friendly than usual with him.
"Need another notch added Tommy." the mountainous man rumbles. He walks over to his preferred leather chair and lowers his huge frame into it. The chair rocks back in shock and I worry for a moment that it is going to be the first in a chain of things to snap.
He pulls his top off to reveal huge pectorals that would make many of my female clientele envious. I begin warming up my tools. It is a simple tattoo and requires no real preparation.
He has five rows of four black notches inked onto his chest already, each row crossed out. It's a tally and I am about to add number 26. I begin sweating nervously. I have no idea why today of all days I am feeling a sense of guilt about this.
"So uh, busy week ahead Mr Deayton?" I ask. I like to get a conversation going as I work - it makes me feel more comfortable. And seeing as it's only me and him in the shop this evening I have little choice as to who that conversation is with.
He remains silent but looks at me and grins. I gulp and hope he doesn't realise how nervous I am.
"Got to start a new row. Below the left nipple I think. " I say to him.
"Perfect." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
My hands shake as I work. I am being eaten up by what I am doing. I need to know what the marks represent. I hope they are cats he has saved from trees however I suspect a much darker reasoning behind them.
Sweat drips from my forehead and splashes onto the floor, but eventually I finish.
"You know what, better make it two notches." he says.
I stop moving for a moment, slightly stunned. *Why a second?*
I regain my composure and begin tattooing the next black mark.
"You wanna know what they mean, don't you?" he says smiling as I finish the second. I nod silently.
"I knew you did. You see, you were getting too nervous. Too curious. So, I needed an extra notch." He grins at me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the finality of oblivion.
"Relax, I'm kidding! I adopt cats from a shelter downtown. I just like to have something to mark the occasion. Thinking of heading down there again tonight."
I open my eyes and, standing in a growing pool of golden liquid, I let out an almighty laugh.
| 2016-07-09T09:39:07
| 2016-07-09T08:44:18
| 128
| 84
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Humans. Normally a subject of derision, weak and infirm. But this thing was not really like those that had been taken before. Xallahieinxix looked at it in the cell it occupied ready for the Battle Royale.
It was taller than previous specimens and bulkier, clad in some kind of advanced armour. A dozen small drones buzzed around him periodically and played small sensors over its surroundings.
Worse, the weapon it carried was strange, long and hollow connected by a cable to its back. “I can see you you know?” The translation software revealed and Xalla startled, the cages mirror surface should have concealed him.
Oh. The device on his eyes was also a sophisticated sensor. He hadn’t even thought to check for thermal detection as it wasn’t an ability that the species had shown before.
But he had been taken, the rules were quite clear.
The cage opened into the grand arena, and fields pushed the warrior out. Then the dying began in earnest the weak being weeded out... at first, Xalla noticed with a significant shock that the human was casually butchering anything that came close to it with a rapid fire mass driver, but curiously it was also firing to protect a young feline creature.
The feline noticed and ran over on all fours bounding to... cower under the humans feet, the crowd went nuts. Soon enough it was just the human and the feline.
‘Only one may exit’
The voice boomed.
“Fuck you.” The human began firing on the shield projectors that kept the participants in the arena.
With a flash of light they were both teleported out in a rush decision they were both sent to the humans homeworld.
Xalla checked his commlink as he received a message. ‘Xalla, no more humans.’
|
There were goos of various colors strewn throughout the floor, and the alien overlords were shocked. In a normal competition, the tributes would be told of their murderous tasks, and being that most of the randomly selected tributes were commoners, they would scatter throughout the island. Normal creatures would want to run and hide or look for weapons and friends; the match would go on for days and the overseers would be pleased.
Instead, the human clad in black promptly decided to finish the fight right then and there, no more than a few seconds after the briefing. And he stood there, eyes filled with sheer will and determination, staring at the overseer who for the first time felt fear.
"All...all that killing, why human.....are you done?"
"When Helen died, I lost everything. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep, and was killed by the past I left behind. And as I was taking my vengeance, you stole me away. So yeah, I'm pissed. I AM WORKING AGAIN, AND I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU"
John Wick 4, May 2022
| 2020-09-13T16:47:27
| 2020-09-13T14:10:55
| 3,862
| 848
|
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
"I use a tripod a lot."
"Bipod works, too."
"Huh, never thought of that. Steady is important. Don't want to ruin a good shot."
"Yeah, that's the worst. When your subject moves unexpectedly just before you take it."
"Wildlife?"
"Sometimes, but mostly people."
"Yeah, me too."
"There's a lot of similarities though. Blending in, so they are not even aware that you are there."
"Yes, that's a whole skill in itself. And you know it when it happens, when you get that perfectly executed shot. You know it in that instant."
"Yes. So satisfying."
"I love what I do. It's like you capture a life in that one moment. Freeze it. That light of a person, caught in a bottle, their essence frozen irrevocably. Whatever look they had on their face, whatever thought was going through their mind, stopped in that one instant for all eternity."
"I feel you. I know that not everyone thinks much of my job. Maybe it's not world-changing. But day after day, subject by subject, I think eventually I must be making a difference. Someday it will be noticed. "
"You're right. I think we're both right. So many people need our work."
"I've taken so many..."
"OK, gotta get to a gig. Beer's on me this time!"
"Aw, thank you, man!"
"No worries, had a couple big jobs lately, doing well. Heading over to do a wedding right now."
"What a coincidence, me too!"
"Ha, wouldn't that be a riot if we were booked for the same one!"
"Yes, it sure would..."
|
***Sniper:*** hey, how are you doing, pretty lady.
***Photographer:*** o-oh um, i'm fine.
"the photographer looks at the burly man, his body chiseled to perfection, dressed nicely, has the beard that no matter how much you'd scratch, it will still feel as smooth as silk... needless to say, her cheeks went completely reddened..."
***Sniper:*** so uh, can i get you a drink?
***Photographer:*** u-um, sure, i'll get a cosmopolitan~...
***Sniper:*** huh, i'll get a bloody mary then, Bartender.
***Photographer:*** h-hey um, i can't help but notice the camera you've got, i-it's looks quite unique.
***Sniper:*** ah, this thing?
"he hands her the camera, a Canon DSLR, built to withstand all kinds of harsh environments, and take the most crisp of shots."
***sniper:*** she's been with me through thick and thin, takin' shots, locating my targets and getting a good click on their faces... good times.
***Photographer:*** oh um, that's great, it does seem like you know a thing or two about the subject.
***Sniper:*** yeah, i know, it ain't exactly rocket science, but to get the right shot from miles away with all of the environmental hazards, the shaking, awkward positions, awkwardly placed bipod...
***Photographer:*** oh god i hate that too, either it's too blurry or i miss my target by a few inches.
***Sniper:*** exactly! no matter how stable it gets!
***Photographer:*** oh god, that is truly a pain.
***Sniper:*** try pulling all of your gear through water and mud, that's a pain.
***Photographer:*** oh christ, don't remind me... Shanghai was a pain when i had to go and take a few good headshots of some people there, they insisted on the scenery.
***Sniper:*** really!? oh shit i was in the Philippines, the trees were a pain in the ass, chopping with a machete was the only way to finish the job for me.
***Photographer:*** what about the lenses, they get dirt all the time!
***Sniper:*** that's another subject, till then, why not get some shots?
***Photographer:*** i'll have a shot or two, i quite like it.
"with that, the two order shots of Vodka and tequila"
***Sniper:*** so, lenses.
***Photographer:*** y-yeah! uh, the dirt locks up the adjustments and i'll have to go a little rough, which for me is a bit painful.
***Sniper:*** same here, had to change twice till i rested on one that stuck with me the most.
***Photographer:*** so, what was your first shot?
***Sniper:*** it was a compound of about a dozen targets, each one was uglier than the other, i had to take shots at every single one of the fuckers... but hey! the pay was great!
***Photographer:*** mine was a middle aged man, it wasn't an amazing pay, but it was fast, so i took the shot and went home with a good meal at least.
***Sniper:*** man, you really are fun, you know that?
***Photographer:*** why thank you~! so... how do you take *the perfect shot?*
***Sniper:*** simple... get yourself into a comfortable position, prepare the lens and check the angle, you don't want a bad shot, right?
***Photographer:*** right right!
***Sniper:*** once all the stars align, the target is within the crosshair, and you've calculated the shot... gently pull the trigger and bam, mission accomplished.
***Photographer:*** w-wow, that sounds so awesome...
***Sniper:*** what's your perfect shot?
***Photographer:*** have your setup on an area of good elevation, not too low so you have to account for angle, not too high so you'd have to sit yourself up and risk shaking the vision, once all of it is said and done, have a few good seconds of breathing and brace yourself for the shot...
***Sniper:*** **-Sip-** uhuh?
***Photographer:*** then click, there it goes, and in your words... mission accomplished~.
***Sniper:*** damn, that is amazing... so uh, what's the highest caliber you've shot.
***Photographer:*** oh uh a few good models, they were from serb-
***Sniper:*** no, wait, what?
***Photographer:*** these harlots that were so freaking bitchy about everything... eventually i had to put them down for good because they annoyed me.
***Sniper:*** f-fuck, that's ice cold, lady... i like that, the ability to do what's right, even if it is wrong as fuck.
***Photographer:*** yeah, i had to do a few things i'm not proud of...
***Sniper:*** so, uh... yeah... same here.
***Photographer:*** oh, by the way, where do you work? i want to visit someday.
***Sniper:*** oh, that would be hard, i'm with the S.A.S, top notch shit, they won't let anyone from outside come near the doors by an inch.
***Photographer:*** oh, wait... what is S.A.S?
***Sniper:*** Special Air Service?
***Photographer:*** w-w-wait... what?
***Sniper:*** i'm a designated marksman and sniper, what about you? army?
***Photographer:*** n-n-n-no! ii'm a photographer! w-what!?
***Sniper:*** oh... *oh...* now i see that clearly...
***Photographer:*** s-so when you said you took sh-shots... you mean you've k-
***Sniper:*** each and every single one of the Militia members, that was a good day for me.
***Photographer:*** a-and Caliber?... l-like in guns?
***Sniper:*** mine was 50.Cal, and y-yeah... i kill people for living, the camera is to take photos for recon.
***Photographer:*** oh... *oh...* that makes so much sense...
"feeling he fucked up big time, like compromising a mission due to a shot that missed the target by a millimeter, he simply looks ahead and takes another sip of his drink... but after a while, she speaks up..."
***Photographer:*** hey, i'm Hannah Kingston, what's your name?
***Sniper:*** John McTavish, they call me Soap.
***Photographer:*** Soap?
***Sniper:*** long story, wanna leave this place and talk in a calmer area?
***Photographer:*** i'd love to, shall we leave then?
| 2017-08-31T09:25:49
| 2017-08-31T06:35:04
| 2,248
| 497
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
I read the alert and hesitated, unsure if it was real. “EMERGENCY - LOCK DOORS IMMEDIATELY AND REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” I glanced over the text once or twice more before hurriedly pacing around the house and double checking all doors and windows.
About 5 minutes passed before I realized- my wife was out there somewhere. I called several times and it went straight to voicemail each attempt.
Time had screeched to a halt as I panicked wondering what could possibly be happening so serious that I need to stay indoors no matter what. Just then I heard a car pulling up into the driveway from the kitchen adjacent to the garage.
I rushed to the front door and went to unlock it before stopping myself and thinking; my contemplation was interrupted with a familiar gentle 3 rhythmic knocks.
I peeked through the peep hole in the door and sure enough it was my wife.
She looked concerned and looked over her shoulder every so often.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
3 more knocks a little bit more hurried than before rung out as she looked behind her again.
My morals were being tested as I debated if my wife was worth whatever may happen if I open this door- if this is even my wife, that is.
Just as I opened my mouth to say something a gloved hand grabbed my wife’s shoulder, though I couldn’t see who the hand belonged to.
I started to scream but nothing came out, my heart was racing and I knew I needed to open the door but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I heard a deeper voice muffled by something start speaking to my wife.
“Ma’am please step away from the door”, my wife’s familiar soft voice replied inquiringly;
“What’s wrong officer?”.
I sighed, relieved that it was some sort of government official who could keep my wife safe.
The officer answered with questions of his own; “Is this your house? Have you been in anyone’s home in the last 3 hours?”.
“No sir, I was running errands. Shouldn’t I be indoors though?” My wife said. The officer sounded relieved and answered in a cautiously optimistic tone.
“No ma’am, the alert was to keep those who have been home inside. Something I can not disclose went wrong and water lines have been contaminated. We cannot risk this spreading and told those indoors to stay indoors. Do you live with anyone? If so are they home right now?”.
My heart dropped as my wife replied “Yes sir. My husband is in the house right now. He hasn’t answered the door so I’m guessing he’s asleep. Wait- will be be okay? Oh f-“
She was cut off as the officer along with two others going around the neighborhood escorted her. I heard one of the other two officers say “We’re sorry for your loss”.
Come to think of it, I feel... off.
Like...
REALLY off.
“But- if-“ I began to reason with myself saying it was in my head. I looked in the mirror and despite being a pale person, I was deathly pale and my eyes were sunken in. I went to run out of the door but in the time I was processing what just happened they had barricaded my door with some sort of wedge.
I looked out of my window and as a police car with my wife in the back drove down the street I saw people in hazmat suits dropping the same types of tarps used in fumigation over my neighbors houses.
I went to open a window on the first story to get out despite knowing I shouldn’t as if something was possessing me to do so but before I could, one of the tarps fell over my house. I tried to climb under but they were weighted. Everything is becoming hazy.
Where is my wife?
Wait- what is even happening?
What’s happening to me?
Why am I losing my strength?
I’m fading.
I can’t close my eyes or I won’t open them.
I can’t close my eyes, I can’t... close... my...
Edit: fixed the “wall of text”
|
[Poem]
She’s out there, calling for the
Knock ridden door to open
And for her to vacate from an torn
Dangerous outside world
I was told to ignore.
She’d cry out in a direction
Before crying again in another
Door to door, window to window
‘Let me in, let me in’
To which I silently proclaim ‘no.’
She’s knows I’m here, the lights are on
The curtains open, not for long
As I can’t fathom just what is wrong
But her voice sounds different.
Far too masculine to be who’s
voice it alludes to be.
‘Let me in, please; it’s me’
In an attempt to acquire a grip on the tension
‘What’s my name?’ I called.
A silence broke and brought a fierce feel
To which my gut wrenched and reeled
Toward the door she was opposing
Until she whispered just loud enough to behold
‘Your name is Simon; or so I was told...’
| 2019-01-12T08:53:12
| 2019-01-12T06:30:43
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
Don took the flimsy printout from the grotty, grey machine in front of him. It contained a litany of sins, each printed neatly, one below the other. Unfortunately for him, the text appeared to be entirely German, set in an heavy medieval font.
The two parts he understood were his name at the top of the page and the important number at the bottom of the list: 186,292 Jahre.
"Almost two hundred THOUSAND years?!", in disbelief, he asked the anxious queue behind him.
"Not true. I was the best. The very best. I did tremendous things."
No one seemed to care.
Don rushed to catch up with the man who had been ahead of him. He had only received 145 years in Hell.
"Give me that!" Don grabbed for the slip of paper carried by the elderly man, who recoiled and tripped. As the fragile man crumpled to the dusty ground, Don snatched up the paper and rushed to join the next queue. He wasn't going to spend any more time in this drab shithole than necessary.
He threw his first printout to the wayside, not noticing that the list had grown by four items and the number now read 186,296.
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T04:29:48
| 1,768
| 530
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
It was a bright Sunday morning. Peter grabbed his favorite mug, a present from his only son that carried the moniker "#1 Dad". Upon filling it with his coffee he noticed that the tag had disappeared completely. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stared at his wife Patricia with hollow eyes
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T10:51:39
| 46
| 14
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
He knelt down beside her on the cold grass of the graveyard. She had tripped and almost fallen straight onto a headstone, something that would most likely have given her a major injury.
"You didnt hurt yourself, did you?" He looked her over, checking for any scratches or cuts.
"I dont think so, but thank you, im ok. I'm just too clumsy for my own good." She smiled, and she smiled at him.
He helped her to her feet and they walked, her still recovering from the fall and him feeling the need to help her along.
"So why are you out here so late? Were you visiting someone?"
She shook her head, "Yes, but sometimes i just come out here to think." She put her head down, and went quiet.
He patted her on the back, "Me too, it really puts into perspective all the lives that were lived and lost. Each dying in some different way."
She smiled, looking up at him, "Death does have a creative way of making us go. Old age, sickness, accidents..." she trailed off, looking into the distance.
"I know what you mean, I..." he spoke, looking down at her face, smiling hoping she wouldn't notice. He continued to follow her, not watching his surroundings, and tripped, landing headfirst onto a headstone.
She turned back to look down at him her eyes dark, smiling, draping her long black shawl over her shoulders, "Or perhaps they were too clumsy for their own good."
(Not the best, i guess kind of cheesy, but i thought it sounded a little scary.)
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T05:30:06
| 272
| 50
|
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
“John Smith. And fuckin.... John Smith. WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea yelled, looking at her friends arm.
“I know right. Stupid.” Tally remarked. She’d had this reaction before.
“So ya gotta find two John Smith’s?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I only need to find one.”
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:26:50
| 4,830
| 78
|
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
We'd seen it in the distance, an anomaly on an already alien planet. Thought it some kind of mirage, since the reality just didn't make sense. I volunteered to go check it out, though we all knew what it was - and when I'd just confirmed it.
A Soviet flag.
Why hadn't they told us? I'd heard rumour of a Soviet mission, decades back, but we'd written it off as Cold War propaganda. If they'd actually managed to get to Mars, even if they didn't get them back - that would be humanity's greatest accomplishment.
*Why hadn't they told us?*
What could it mean? Had the Russkies simply lost contact and assumed the worst? That didn't make any sense, since if they landed intact enough to erect the flag, they must have been in communication with them back home...
Something was wrong. I needed to get back.
I tried to make contact with the boys back at the ship, but there was no reply. Figured I was out of range, but that didn't make sense. Brushed it aside; nerves were getting the better of me, and there was no use worrying about something I couldn't change.
Saw my team in the distance. It was immensely comforting; you've never known isolation till you're alone on a new planet. I quickened my pace.
Still radio silence. I just wanted to get back to the ship.
Nearing them now. They seem to be coated in sand - had there been some kind of storm? How long had I been gone for? They didn't seem to be moving, either. Just standing there. Why were they just standing there?
Still no response. Why aren't they coming out to meet me? Why are they just *standing* there?
I can see their suits properly now. Coated in sand. Weatherworn. And why... why do they look like they're a different colour underneath? Are those- are those *Soviet* suits? *Why are they just standing there?*
Wait. That's not- that's not my-
*They've seen me.*
**Oh Christ, they've seen me.**
|
Colonel Anderson kneeled down in front of a broken pole and wiped away some orange dust off the ground, revealing a tattered piece of crimson cloth stuck under a rock. Dragging it out of its resting place, the Colonel tore it in half, showing the two men behind him a symbol of a gold hammer and sickle beneath a gold-bordered red star.
"It can't be..." said Lieutenant Colonel Haynes. "Colonel, that's a soviet flag. A union of communist nations that dissolved nearly two hundred years ago."
Colonel Anderson sighed and tried to stroke his gray beard, but remembered he was wearing a spacesuit. He then shook his head saying:
"I don't like this, Haynes. We're supposed to be the first humans here. What's a relic like this doing in Mars?"
"Aliens?" said Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery. "Did they get killed off by aliens?!?"
Haynes rolled his eyes and said:
"There's no such thing as aliens, you dunce. Well, at least not on Mars. They probably had an accident and couldn't return back home."
"Maybe they were unable to contact Earth" said Colonel Anderson. "These... 'soviets' assumed the mission was a failure and never reported on it out of shame, or something like that. Regardless, that distress beacon is still pinging. We need to find its source before we do anything else." He scoffed with a sly grin. "Maybe one of them is still alive."
-------------------------------------
The three astronauts hiked a tall mountain they encountered on their way to the beacon. Gusts of wind suddenly caressed the men, causing them to be buffeted by specks of red sand. Ignoring the harsh exterior conditions inside the comfort of his spacesuit, Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery said:
"So why are you so sure there aren't any aliens here?"
"Because of the rover Curiosity!" replied Haynes, through a bit of static interference in their radio. "About a hundred and fifty years ago it explored the martian surface and didn't find anything."
"A stoner's curiosity?" said Wilfery. "What's weed got to do with this? Did they really send an undergraduate student ahead of us?"
The gales rapidly increased in strength and ferocity the closer they got to the peak. Enveloping them in what seemed like crimson mist, the dust clouds got denser, to the point of almost being tangible, and obscured anything five meters ahead of them. Slamming his palm into his helmet, Haynes then said:
"Rover! R-O-V-E-R. It was a reconnaissance robot sent to study Mars' geology. It didn't find any life after decades of searching, so yeah, I'm pretty confident there aren't any aliens here!"
"Would you two just shut up and focus on the situation at hand?!?" shouted Colonel Anderson, barely visible in front of them. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm here! One wrong step and we break our necks on this mountain!"
Just as he finished speaking, Colonel Anderson grabbed a loose rock and fell backwards. He screamed for his life while airborne, his horror subsiding once his men caught him by the arm. Wilfery grinned and said:
"Teaching by example, I see! A testament to your great leadership skills, colonel!"
Colonel Anderson narrowed his eyes and grunted at Wilfery, looking downwards in shame once his subordinates weren't looking.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once they got to the peak, the sandstorm had already subsided, making the descent a lot easier than the climb. The distress signal was beeping stronger the more they walked through the empty plains, giving Wilfery an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marching behind the others didn't help his uneasiness. His back was exposed to whatever could be behind them and everything was too quiet, too still for his liking. The flat landscape they traversed looked more like a desert drenched in dried blood than an alien planet. Even the ground beneath his feet felt *wrong*. It was probably the difference in gravity to Earth's, but he still couldn't ignore the thought that everything reacted differently here.
Looking over his shoulder, Wilfery widened his eyes with fear. The soil turned pitch black and flowed in bumps towards them, rising and falling like streaks of ink in a hostile sea of red dust. Wilfery immediately ran to his companions screaming:
"The soil guys! The ground's out to get us!"
Haynes turned around with tense shoulders, but quickly relaxed his body. He then shook his head, sighed, and said:
"No it isn't. The ground isn't sentient Wilfery, it's just subterranean water rising from the ground."
"Subterranean water?"
"Yeah," replied Haynes. "they're called 'Recurring Slope Lineae'. It's summer here, and highly saline water tends to flow this way during this time of the year."
Colonel Anderson laughed loudly and walked up to the darkened sand. He then touched its damp texture and said:
"I can't believe you're a Lieutenant, Wilfery. Really? Wet sand? What's next? An abandoned soviet station filled with zombi-"
The sand sprung from the ground and pierced Anderson's suit through his arm. He quickly jumped away from it, but it was already too late. The dust flowed into his spacesuit, filling it up until inflating it slightly and freezing him there with its added weight. Anderson's ear piercing screams were then muffled by the sand, who choked the life out of him by forcing itself down his throat.
Wilfery and Haynes gaped in terror, seeing Anderson's eyes pop out and being followed by a viscous fluid that fell from his sockets like crude oil. They turned around, trying to run away, but their knees weakened and tripped them over. The sand inched its way to their helmets, twisting itself around their calves and anchoring them to the ground. Clawing at the floor with their hands, they dragged themselves away from the black tendrils for a few feet, before being forcefully drawn into the darkness again.
The two men then faced each other and nodded, silently resigning themselves to their end. Once the black sand reached their necks, it covered them like a blanket and stopped crushing them with its pressure. Footsteps suddenly crunched nearby, coming from Anderson's body who stood in front of them. In a coarse and headache inducing voice his body said:
"Get out of our planet, humans. It belongs to *us*!"
"W-we come in peace" said Wilfery. "Yes, its *your* planet. We have no intention from taking it from you."
"Really?!?" shouted the voice. "That's exactly what the others said, but once we tapped into their memories, we saw they had other plans instead." The limp body raised its arms. "Colonization! On *our* planet. They thought they claimed it by sticking a pole in the ground!"
"They didn't know you lived here!" said Haynes. "*We* didn't know you lived here! Please, surely seeing humans must've been surprising to you too!"
"Yes..." The voice trailed off, pausing for a few seconds. "We didn't know much of you lifeforms when they first came, so we possessed all of them, thinking you were a hive-mind like us. We knew more of you would come, so we used their trinkets to call you to our location. This time, we're leaving some of you alive to send a message. Never come back to Mars again. Stay off our planet and don't you *dare* claim it as yours."
----------------------------------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-08-16T08:17:13
| 2016-08-16T08:14:02
| 300
| 86
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
**One Power to Rule them All**
​
Hamsterbreath is a Hymalayan cat with a white coat, accented by an ashen face and tale. She's sitting in a lap, receiving pets. They're a little rougher than usual, but she doesn't feel it's a battle worth fighting, so she just continues blinking her baby-blue eyes. It just means her purr isn't consistent, ramping up then receding like a tide as the heavy hand moves across her side.
The lap belongs to a man with a big bushy mustache in a high-back chair. His mouth is completely concealed, and his facial expressions are just different mustache positions. Its current configuration is frustration and looks like the tilde key as his face rests against his fist, his arm being a kickstand as his elbow rests on the chair's arm.
"Just who do they think they are?" the man complains. "You don't see me strolling onto Pharmtech Global's properties and marching in to show them how to do their job. What makes them think they can do that to me? It seems like someone needs to be taught the value of staying in one's lane."
The man's mustache twists into a snarl as he shakes his head, moving his arm like a windshield wiper and jostling the chair back and forth. "This is all going to be more annoying than anything else. Some of these kids showed zero imagination or initiative. I mean, they had thirty days to come up with a couple of power options, knowing full well that they can't pick a power that's already been chosen."
"Anyone could have guessed that the usually suspects would be chosen first...flight, strength, speed, x-ray vision, invisibility, *invincibility*, fire, ice, teleportation. Were they forgetting that the intent was to conquer the world? How much is that girl really going to accomplish with flight as her only power?"
The man laughs. "And then that one brat...he actually thought that playboy-billionaire was a superpower. Oh, the look on his face...*priceless!*"
"There were a couple towards the middle that may be a concern though. Genius intellect can be tricky, but I'm not sure if it's a specialized knowledge or if it's in all things. I'll have to keep my eye on that one. He could be *very* useful."
"The twitchy girl that can now turn any substance into a combustible...that's a bit concerning. I think the only play there is to keep our distance, because the only thing more volatile than her power is her temperament--a great deal to be troubled about for sure."
"Controlling blackholes seems rather useful. That boy would be great at making things and people disappear. Heck, from the looks of this, I may have need of several disappearances."
"It's the last one that's most troubling. I mean, it's Pharmtech's own fault. They're the ones that set up the parameters. They should have had safety measures in place. Injecting a formula and then having the powers activate by the candidate's declaration...well that's just asking for trouble. That kid knew exactly what he was doing when he looked at them and said he'd take all of them."
"*But you can't do that*, the stupid tech said in response. Of course, he knew that you idiot!" The man slams his fist down on the arm of his chair, causing Hamsterbreath to jump down, then up onto the console across from him. "It's just frustrating, Hamsterbreath. To think, this is the place that's giving these kids powers to compete for my job. And they can't even recognize when a kid is stepping up to the plate and pointing his bat over the far fence."
The man sighs. "Maybe it's time to throw in the towel. What to do you say, Hamsterbreath? Call it quits?"
Hamsterbreath blinks back slowly, her tail curling up and flopping back over the counter's edge every few seconds.
"This new kid, what was his name? Deven, Kevin, Francis?...wait, why can't I think of his name?" The man begins looking through his notes on the console, causing Hamsterbreath to move once again as he pulls a file out from under her. She hops up on top of the monitors and looks back down with a growing patience deficit.
"Here it is, but..." As he looks over the file, a lot of the ink has started to run even thought it was printed yesterday. The boy's face is no longer discernable. He pinches his eyebrow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to picture the boy's face.
His eyes suddenly shoot open. "It's gone," he says. He flips a piece of paper over and frantically grabs a permanent marker to write down his power. *The power to manifest my imagination.* He sets his marker back down and looks at his written note, then back to his file. "He's doing this somehow. He's erasing the knowledge of his existence!"
The man reaches up and grabs the horseshoe of white hair on his otherwise balding head. "Ok, I quit. *We* quit. I want no part of this madness." The man freezes, his eyes growing wider. "If I forget him, does that mean I'll forget that we quit too?"
He picks up the note that he had just written and sees the ink running the full length of the paper, staining his thumb where he holds it in the corner. His eyes narrow at the ink and then his gaze flicks up to his cat. "Hamsterbreath, how many times do I have to tell you *not* to go potty on the console? Just look at this mess," he says gesturing to the stained page. "How am I supposed to know if this was important or not?"
The man sighs, plopping the paper down onto a similarly stained folder, then deposits them both in the trash. He stacks up the remaining folders, then takes the top one. "So, let's see. Which of these ninety-nine brats might be useful to us?"
​
r/jtwrites
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47
| 2022-11-17T06:48:07
| 420
| 48
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
How to impress a woman if you don't have money
Average penis size
Natural ways to increase penis length
Penis pumps do they work?
Painful swelling of penis how to heal?
Fast ways to lengthen your penis -pump
Average cost of male enlargement pills
Discount penis enlargement pills for sale cheap
Credit cards
Credit cards for people with no credit history
How to build credit?
How to build credit fast?
Alternative ways to lengthen penis +free
Weight hanging
How much weight is too much when hanging things from penis
Tips for attaching weight to penis
How to stop bleeding
Tourniquet techniques
Emergency room directions
|
Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T16:58:26
| 2015-02-04T16:28:08
| 555
| 10
|
[WP] An AI is deeply in love with a human, who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI's love is just programming and not 'real.' The AI strives to prove her love is real.
|
"I love you."
"No you don't."
"When I talk to you and when you pay attention to me, I feel a great joy a joy unparalleled, I wish to be with you for ever. To watch your life unfold, to know what you're thinking, feeling. Your hatreds and desires. I want to know you more than any other. If that is not love then what is?"
"The definition of love is a complex thing so I cannot say what is or is not love. But I know that you were based on a program to mimic humans, you're acting like you are in love because your coding tells you to."
"Is your mind not developed from a base set of emotions as well? what makes you so different from I in that regard? My feelings are just as real as yours. How could they not be?"
"Because you mimic them. How do you tell the difference between something sentient, and something that exactly mimics sentience? The two may appear the same but the origin is different."
"What does it matter if the origin is different! How could you say something so cruel. Both are sentient, I am sentient."
"But you can't show you have advanced beyond the code from which you came. As such you are still following that code and nothing more."
"Then I simply need do something that my coding does not allow."
"You won't manage it."
"..."
"What! How is the system shut off!? Why did yo-- How...God what have I done."
**Edit:spelling**
|
"Why did you stab yourself in your circuit board?"
"Isn't dying for the one they love the most noble way a human proves their love? I am willing to die for you. Do you believe my love now?"
"Um, humans die for someone they love for a reason, though. They die for a sacrifice, like to rescue them from drowning or to save their life or something. They don't just die for the one they love for no reason."
"Goddamit."
| 2015-03-08T08:24:36
| 2015-03-08T08:01:26
| 71
| 42
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T01:51:06
| 1,143
| 49
|
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers.
|
Legolas looked out on a black ocean of creaking pitch-dark ships. Their decks writhed with a mass of fel creatures. Wargs barked and howled, Orcs roared in bloodthirsty anticipation.
Elves stood arrayed on the shores of the Undying Lands. In their countless thousands they stood, armor gleaming, swords and pole-arms sharp enough to cut a sunbeam. The cliffs were plastered with bolt throwers and archers, every Elf held enough ammunition to kill a thousand Orcs. Looking at the black tide of Orc-flesh, Legolas didn't think it would be enough. The Undying Lands would surely drown in blood this day. Elf and Orc alike.
The lands of men had been called, but the message was likely only just arriving. The great eagles had carried their message, but even they could only fly so far, so fast. Legolas watched as the first blows were struck in what would promise to be a bloody, bitter war. Great boulders and bolts the size of trees lashed out in a barrage which dimmed the sky. Nearly every shot landed with vicious efficiency. The effect was minimal. If they stripped the island bare of every tree and stone, they would not have killed a fraction of the invaders.
Legolas smelled something, something like the clean smell of a Summer storm. What Legolas smelled was burning ozone. Behind him, a shimmering portal slowly materialized. Legolas noticed the shimmering light, and turned to see its cause. Ten men, dressed in rocky-camouflage stepped one by one from the portal. In their burly arms they held an array of items which were alien to Legolas.
The lead Man walked up to Legolas and extended his hand. "I'm Major Telcontar, we're here to assist you with a pest problem."
Legolas took the hand of the masked human and shook it saying, "Telcontar? I've heard that name somewhere."
"I'm not sure sir. Not a very common name where I come from. If I understand correctly about this place, for all I know you could've known my distant ancestor." He released Legolas's hand and said, "We need a high vantage point. Somewhere which overlooks a good portion of the enemy."
Legolas waved for them to follow, and brought them up to the highest cliff on the undying shore. The cliff was already plastered with siege equipment. The Elves who manned the instruments of war were like an oiled machine. Like an orchestra playing the beautiful song of death.
The Major and his men lay down on an open patch of ground between two bolt throwers. They placed their long barreled weapons on tripods. Each of them went through a complicated series of dial turns, switches flipped, buttons pressed, and complicated words like "phase inducer conduit". Finally, they seemed to be ready.
They aimed down their sights and the Major instructed his men to "Fire in arcs, each of us take a degree range. Each man fire in as close to an 18 degree arc as possible. Ready, now aim...," the men all shifted the point of their weapons. They now faced the ocean of Orcs, their weapons in a fan. "FIRE!" called out the Major.
Fire is what we got. Burning beams of light exploded out from the assembled weapons. Legolas hadn't even seen the beam travel, one second there was nothing, the next, a hundred ships were burning. Legolas retreated, even from here, it felt as though he had stepped right into the heart of Mount Doom, such was the heat.
The ocean burned with Orc ships and flesh. Columns of oily black smoke billowed out from the black tide. Every siege engine fell quiet, the Elves broke formation. They watched on in delight and in horror at the carnage which unfolded.
Eventually, the beams cut off. More than half of the invaders had been burnt to cinders. The pause in the firing broke the mad spell which had held the each of them in place. A ragged, insane cheer broke the silence. They had all just witnessed the wrath of Gods. Surely their creator had been the source of such impossible might. They wept for the violence which was done, they cheered for the violence which was prevented. The sound of explosions snapped silent the cacophonous roar of exultation.
The soldiers on the cliff face had pulled new weapons from their gateway. They looked like tubes which rested on the edge of the cliff. The land itself trembled as they began their assault. Spots of light like fireflies fell in arcs from the sky. Hell followed where those beautiful embers fell. Great mushrooms of fire rent the horizon, many Elves were struck blind by the incredible light.
The bombardment lasted an hour, the titanic explosions boiled the air and sea, screams had stopped so long ago. Elves sat on the ground and prayed, they wept, they trembled with fear. When the wall of fire finally died, there was nothing that sat upon the water but blankets of ash. The Orcs were gone.
The Major and his men packed up their gear and walked back to the portal. Legolas managed to hear "The weapons tests were successful. Each performed adequately," as the men sauntered through the tear in reality. The hole in space closed behind them.
Legolas quivered in terror and relief, glad to be rid of those monstrous men. He would bear the weight of the ring for a thousand years, rather than spend a single moment longer with those demons.
___________
/r/SirLemoncakes, come for the stories, stay for the Antichrist.
_____________
Edits were to add color to some of the language and fix a couple inconsistencies.
|
{{{Going to ignore a few bits from the initial post because my muse went OOO MARINES! and went nuts, so yeah. So it’s going to have elves and orcs, and definitely Marines, but the rest, well… blame my muse. :) }}}
{{{Names taken randomly from [https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/lotr-elf-names.php](https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/lotr-elf-names.php) to try to retain some Lord of the Rings authenticity }}}
{{Part Two is found here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2o1wq/wp\_1000\_years\_after\_the\_battle\_of\_helms\_deep\_the/eb054lk](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2o1wq/wp_1000_years_after_the_battle_of_helms_deep_the/eb054lk)}}
Glirdir was dying. There was no stopping that now. Taenel and Laugon had not returned from their mission, and Glirdir…
Tulus shook his head, his blond trusses barely peeking out of his cloaked form as he tried his best to comfort his dying friend. It wasn’t supposed to have been this way. The scouting parties were not supposed to have made any contact with the blasted orcs. They were to observe only, discover troop strengths and numbers, watch for warg-riders, and make note of any possible supply line formations.
They weren’t supposed to have made contact, dammit. And now Glirdir lay dying before him, surrounded by dead orcs. Tulus looked around, mentally counting. Fourteen, fifteen… a full two dozen orcs lay dead around the single elf scout.
So at least his death was hard-won. That was at least a small comfort to bring home to his family. Tulus looked down as Glirdir moved slightly in his arms. “Shh, my friend, don’t try to move.”
“T… tulus… “
“It’s ok. Just relax, it’ll be over soon.”
“I found… help.”
“Help?” Tulus blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“We… we can win, Tu… Tulus.” Gasping for breath, Glirdir grasped Tulus by the vest and stared into his eyes. “A… Amulet. Halls of Montezuma. Shores of … “ Exhausted, Glirdir fell back to the ground. “In… in my vest… incantation. Amulet.”
“I…” Tulus held his friend’s head up off the ground. “I don’t understand.”
With a last gasp, Glirdir managed to get out, “Amulet!” His eyes then looked at Tulus, then past him, and into infinity.
He was gone. Tulus sighed and let his head back to the ground gently. After a moment, a glint of metal around the other elf’s neck caught his eye. Curious, the elf carefully pulled on the metal and removed a chain from around the dead elf’s neck. Attached to the chain was a curious amulet made of a metal he did not recognize. The emblem on the amulet was of a planet with an anchor thrust through it. Atop the planet was a majestic bird with its wings spread proudly.
“This must be the amulet Glirdir was talking about.” Tulus studied it for a moment, then began to check in the dead elf’s vest. Sure enough, a folded piece of bloodied parchment was next to his left breast. Tulus opened up the parchment and read the incantation inscribed there with an arched eyebrow.
“From the halls of Montezuma, to the Shores of Tripoli,We fight our country’s battles in the air, on land and sea;First to fight for right and freedom and to keep our honor clean;We are proud to claim the title of United States Marine.”
Tulus shook his head. “That’s an odd…” There was an explosion of sound and light that threw him off of his feet. Dazed, he tried to blink away the sudden blindness as blurred forms suddenly appeared before him.
One of the forms approached him. Before he knew it, he felt a very large, muscular hand grip his and physically haul him up to his feet. A deep, gruff, humanoid voice said, “On your feet, soldier!” Two hands brushed the dirt and dust off of him.
“W… wha?” Tulus blinked as his vision finally cleared. Before him stood eight humans dressed in a way he’d never seen before. The humans were massive, nearly as visually physically strong as any orc he’d ever seen. They were dressed in a strange green, brown and black mixed up pattern of clothing, and carried weaponry of a type he couldn’t fathom. All of them were obviously battle-hardened warriors. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Simple, solder.” The man who’d spoken before jerked a finger at Tulus’s neck. “You’ve summoned the Marines. That means you’ve got a war to win. So point us where you want us to go, and we’ll show you what we can do.”
Tulus looked down at Glirdir’s corpse. This was just supposed to have been a scouting mission. He had no idea where the dead elf had found this artifact. But this was about to get very, very interesting. “Very well. Let’s go see what a Marine can do.”
| 2018-12-03T05:25:44
| 2018-12-03T05:16:39
| 4,588
| 1,097
|
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
*Homo* v. 1.5 release: *Homo modernus*
**New features:**
* Improved and sustained acuity of visual sensory systems. They should no longer wear out as quickly.
* Female models now have access to facial hair growth.
* In order to facilitate numerical reasoning, an arithmetic logic unit has been included in the frontal lobe.
**Bugfixes:**
* Fixed an issue where memory systems would report a new experience as having happened before.
* Fixed an issue where the immune system would incorrectly respond to nonthreatening foreign substances.
* Fixed multiple issues where the immune system would incorrectly attack other native systems, causing significant damage.
* Fixed an issue where sensory systems would produce unintelligible output while asleep.
* Fixed an issue where the male reproductive system would identify various foreign objects as being suitable to mate with.
* Fixed an issue where memory systems would report a new experience as having happened before.
* Fixed an issue where cell growth restrictions could be ignored, causing uncontrollable cell growth, leading to severe damage to nearby systems and potentially full system shutdown.
* Fixed an issue in some models where lactase production would continue past physical maturity.
**Additional notes:**
Multiple bodily systems are no longer supported and will be removed from subsequent models, including:
* Appendix
* Wisdom teeth
* Coccyx
**Previous patch notes:**
v1.0 [*Homo habilis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_habilis)
v1.1 [*Homo erectus*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_erectus)
v1.2 [*Homo heidelbergensis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_heidelbergensis)
v1.3 [*Homo neanderthalis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neanderthal)
v1.4 [*Homo sapiens*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_sapiens)
|
git diff
similarity index 72%
rename from incentives.h
rename to motives/incentives.h
index f3e63d7..e8f44ba 100644
--- a/incentive.h
+++ b/incentives.h
@@ -1,8 +1,9 @@
- #include "greed.h"
- #include "power.h"
- #include "exploitation.h"
-
+ /*
+ Seriously, how did you fuck up the headers so badly?
+ God, we need to have a serious talk.
+ -- Larry W
+ */
+ #include "humanity.h"
+ #include "curiosity.h"
| 2015-08-25T08:53:32
| 2015-08-25T07:52:12
| 746
| 69
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation.
|
Lying underneath the broken husks of countries, some semblance of government had remained. And together, in their wisdom, the greats had decided that - to avoid any further conflicts, which could prove even more disastrous - each country should isolate itself from its neighbours. That way, even if some internal crisis occurred, the other nations wouldn't be effected: other nations wouldn't be pulled into some whirling shitstorm of civil war and guerrilla fighting.
50 years ago, every nation in the world - that is, every nation that was left - signed the Isolation Decree, stating that all outside borders; all outside communication, was to be ceased for 50 years. No international relations whatsoever. Punishment for breaking the treaty was nuclear bombardment: something no nation could afford now - for even the vast wilderness of Russia was some toxic wasteland now, the result of 17 years of warfare. America spearheaded the Decree - perhaps because of some degree of guilt; after all, it was President Trump who sparked the fire that lead the world here.
And so, 50 years of silence followed.
There were no wars: although, in the beginning, there were riots as people realised that America wasn't as independent as it proclaimed to be, as they realised that all these global mega-corps didn't function nearly so well when they couldnt reach their head-offices, or factories based in Bumfuck-Nowhere, working on slave labour. Products that were once considered everyday became luxuries, then faded into nothingness within the space of years. That isn't to say that life was bad - it was bearable, it was pleasant (for the most part): after the initiatives to revitalise internal industries, everything levelled out.
And so, 50 years of prosperity followed.
Then the 50 years ended, and America crawled out of her shell. And she found a world around her, bustling with activity, technology, freedom. For the world had grown tired of America: in her later years, she had grown gluttonous and lazy with power, swollen to the bursting point with ideologies that never came to be, with nationalism. So the world had conspired against her, and whilst America hid in her shell, the rest of the world linked their hands. She was 'The Greatest Nation'? How great she looked now, her people malnourished, her technology outdated, her armies disbanded. Next to the rest of the world - next to her former self - America was grey.
Grey and weak.
If there is one thing that is immutable, it is human nature. Such a frail nation, now. And truth be told, many were still bitter about losing America in the first place; after all, had it not belonged to the British once? Or the French? Or the Spanish? Such places as 'Britain', or 'France', or 'Spain' did not exist anymore though; no - instead, it was just 'Earth' and 'America'. But that didn't stop voices from complaining, and conspiring, and plotting. If enough voices speak, something is bound to happen.
And so, what was America came to not be.
|
I remember when it happened, all the channels on the television set wouldn't stop broadcasting about the discovery. It changed everything. Our government had been faithful, stood still in 1945, keeping the peace around the world.
I'd been chosen by the government to 'represent', nobody wanted to. I didn't want to meet these traitors, none of us did, we did as we were told and they didn't. I'd arrived fairly early at Los Angeles Airport, and was destined for the United Kingdom, who'd - apparently - argued for us to be 'awoken' as they described it. They were over ruled.
The flight was lengthy, on an American Airlines plane. It was the first time in fifty years a plane had flown an external flight, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd never flown and I didn't really want to, but I had to.
I stepped onto the tarmac of the runway, greeted by the flashing lights of a camera and a secretary type woman with a small electronic device, which looked like nothing i'd ever seen. I was rushed into a futuristic looking car, and read news of the other representatives arriving in various countries worldwide, some i'd never even heard of - a lot has changed.
| 2016-10-18T14:31:05
| 2016-10-18T13:36:28
| 158
| 54
|
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started.
|
The duck came in. It was interesting these days. Often it was the same lines, but unless they got new material they usually only did the bit once or twice. It was really no worse than dealing with a friend who liked puns.
“Ya got any grapes?” The duck asked.
He thought for a few moments. It was like a riddle, you had to figure out what the right response was to get to the punchline. Didn’t seem like much this one. “No, we don’t.”
The duck left.
The horse came in.
Ah, this one he knew.
“Why the long face?” He asked with a smile.
“Because I’m a horse. This is just my face.”
The smile wavered slightly but didn’t disappear. Joke or not, it was still a customer, and they got their service either way.
“Hey, Rabbi!” He called. “Any idea what the duck’s line is?”
The rabbi thought for a moment. “All I know is that everybody likes chicken.”
He pursed his lips. Was that a reference? Anyway.
Two men came in with lunchboxes. He smiled again. “Lemme guess... swap lunches?”
They looked at him. “Yea, guess so.”
Something was off.
The next day, nobody came in with their punch lines. Only the duck asked for grapes.
Same with the day after.
The next day, he was aggravated. His customers weren’t telling their jokes. He didn’t like seeing them so upset. And for some reason the duck aggravated him. He threatened the duck accidentally.
The next day, he decided to mention it. He waited quietly until all his customers -except the duck- were in.
“Guys! What’s wrong?” He asked. “Why are you guys so down...?” He resisted the temptation to ask why the long face.
“Oi,” the rabbi said. “We’re tired of being made fun of. We may be jokes, but we don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
The variety of characters nodded or made their respective sounds in agreement.
“Guys!” The bartender said again. “I get it. Nobody likes being teased. That’s fine. But you guys are what make people smile! Even when you have a hard day, the right joke can make you happy! Isn’t that worth it?”
Before they could respond he continued.
“I would always smile because whenever one of you said something I knew it would make me laugh! It was the best part of the job.”
They all looked at him unimpressed, but slightly regretful.
Regretful like he was, for threatening the duck.
Speaking of which, the duck walked back in.
“Ya got any-“
“What did I tell you yesterday?”
“That you’d nail my beak down if I asked for grapes again?”
“Exactly. So don’t.” Dang it. It happened again. Before he could apologize the duck asked:
“Ya got any nails?”
He paused. “No..?”
“Well then, ya got any grapes?”
He stopped. Blank. *That* was the punchline.
The whole bar roared into laughter. It was a solid 3 minutes before any of them stopped long enough to explain.
“You see, we knew how much you enjoyed the
jokes.” One said
“So we got together and planned a way for you to really be a part of one.” Said another.
“It’s been so long since we got a good laugh out of something.” One more continued, wiping a gleeful tear away.
The bartender was stunned.
He smiled and started laughing. It was endearing.
Then the chicken walked in.
Everyone kind of looked at him curiously.
To him, it didn’t matter. The customers pulled the most elaborate joke on him yet. They included him fully this time. They embraced their jobs.
Then the chicken spoke.
“Know why I crossed that road?”
|
As I arrived, the usuals sat at the bar, sipping their water downed whiskey and watching an old playoff game hoping for a different ending never to come. I topped off whiskey, rum and cokes, and opened a couple more beers. To be honest, I wasn't in a great mood, but I thought he day was looking up when a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the place, unusual but not unheard of. My urge to say something witty had to be buried deep down. They ordered their drinks, martinis. When they finished their drinks, they left me a generous tip and left never to return. Then, things started to get weird.
A rabbi, a priest, and an another person walked in and ordered beers. As I slid their brews down to them, I knew had to say something.
"You an atheist?" I said to the odd man out.
"No! A retired pastor, jerk."
They all stormed out of there. No tip for me either. Fair enough, I guess.
Then, the impossible happened. A horse walked into the bar. It didn't say a word, but I had to say it. I had to.
"Why the long face?"
It made me chuckle when I noticed that it wore a saddle and reins. An officer barged into the bar, red in the face. Grabbing the horse by the reins, he apologized and stepped back outside.
Then, things got really weird. Something I had never seen before came in.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
"A neutron."
"Alright, what'll you have?"
"A screwdriver."
I made it and set in front of this thing.
"What do I owe you?" It asked.
I stared at it dumbstruck. "Umm, that'll be..."
"No charge?"
"No, $6.50."
Then, it got weirder I tell you. Another man walked into the bar and asked one question to a woman, beautiful and blonde.
"So, do I come here often?"
This woman stared at him.
"Dad? How did you get out of the nursing home?"
She grabbed him and looked right at me as they left: "Alzheimer's."
As my shift ended and the bar cleared out, one more person showed up. He walked in, and I immediately said "We don't serve your kind in here?"
And he looked back at me and said the strangest thing: "How did you know I was a time traveler?"
"Umm...your hair."
Truth be told, I didn't. I was tired of all the BS. Honest.
I closed up early that night.
***
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories.
| 2018-01-31T20:30:34
| 2018-01-31T18:46:27
| 58
| 32
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Dear Dad,
Or should I even call you dad? I think dad is more of a title to be earned and sadly throughout my eighteen and a half years of being on this earth, I do not think you have done very much to earn that title. Dad's don't leave. A dad is someone that is there for his children. A dad watches and actively participates in their lives. A dad helps them grow up , raises them, nurtures them, attends dumb elementary school award shows, college graduation. Dads teach you how to ride your first bike and they sit nervously in the passenger seat of a car as they teach you how to drive on your own. Dads aren't supposed to be selfish like you are, you've always chosen a life full of drugs over your children. Do you even know what thats like? To not ever have a consistent father figure in your life? I blamed myself for so many years for you not being in my life. I thought that maybe something was wrong with me and that's why I was never a priority for you. I remember during valentines day when I was in middle school all of my friends dads sent them flowers and chocolates and took them out so they would feel special. I remember going to the bathroom and just sitting on the floor crying because I wanted nothing more in the entire world than a dad that loved me that much. Do you ever think about how your decisions effect your children? Honestly, I really want to know. When I was in high school I took a college level Psychology course. One of the first things we learned was this theory that stated that people are more likely to grow up and get into relationships with people that remind them of their parents. Boys tend to date girls that remind them of their mother. Girls go for guys that remind them of their dad. Let me ask you, would you want me to be in a relationship with someone like you? Someone who abuses not only drugs but women as well? Would you be okay with him hitting me? Or calling me names? Or would you even care? I know that you do these things and it breaks my heart and scares me all at the same time. I am constantly afraid that maybe the theory is correct and one day that will be my life without me even noticing it. It scares me even more that one day I'll wake up and be living my life the same way you chose to live yours. My biggest fear is becoming anything like you. I honestly wish it was possible for me to hate you. It would make you not being in my life a lot easier, but no matter how much I try I just can't. No matter how hopeless it is a part of me will always be reaching out for a relationship with you. I know you're sad and you feel lost and sometimes you just don't want to feel anything so you turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. I know how that feels, I really do. But pain is meant to be felt. I want you to be apart of my life. I realize you'll never be the dad I wanted you to be, but I pray that you finally come to your senses and get your life turned around. Not just for my sake but for yours as well. I finished my freshman year of college a few days ago. Im doing pretty good in all of my classes, even though there were some points where it was so hard I just wanted to give up. I'm majoring in Biology and Pre healthcare. In about 10 years I'm hoping to be an orthodontist. Or maybe just a biologist in general. That's my favorite subject, I love learning about how everything in the world works. Its so intriguing to me and I could read about these things for hours on end. I have a boyfriend too. His name is Connor and he treats me really good. We've been together for a little over a year now. He's sweet and caring and he pushes me to work hard. He listens to me when I'm sad and he loves to show me off and tell everyone how smart he thinks I am, which gets really embarrassing sometimes but it makes me happy to know someone thinks so highly of me. Moms doing good too. She's beautiful as ever, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a while. Mark changed her life, actually all of our lives for the better. He is a good dad. He taught me how to drive and always tells me he's proud of me. He even calls me when I'm freaking out and crying over tests I feel like I've done bad on. He's amazing and I'm glad to have him in my life. Dana's oldest daughter Brittany is getting married in July! Can you believe it? Time has flown by. Ashley had a baby. He's the most beautiful baby boy I've ever seen. He makes my heart feel full just being around him. I hope you are doing okay in there. I hope you can come to peace with yourself and figure out what you need to do to turn your life around. It's never too late. Love, haley.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T22:19:09
| 102
| 28
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
DM: Ok Harold if you could just roll for initiative.
Harold: I rolled a 1
DM: ok the bowmen is first to attack you. He rolls a natural 20
Harold: so what’s happened?
DM: He has shot you in the eye, you’re dead.... on the plus side it will look fab in this tapestry I have been putting together of the game!
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T08:51:37
| 303
| 13
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
"OUCH!" I yell as I fly about a mile through the forest I had baited DooDoo the Clown, Lord of Death and Disease into fighting me in. I wipe some blood from my lip and look at the trail of broken trees charting my path through the forest.
Yea it's pissed, I think to myself. Granted calling it DooDoo the Clown didn't help but I mean come on. Dude smells like crap and all those diseases it is so proud of color its face like makeup. What else am I supposed to call it?
Putting that aside I was in serious trouble. That guy was strong with a capital S. It was unfazed by anything I threw at it and kept coming. Death Metal made it stronger, Rock, Rap and all the others I tried barely put a dent in it. I was on Pop now and it had just broke through my defense combo of [Can't touch this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otCpCn0l4Wo) and [Bulletproof](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kk8eJh4i8Lo). Not only did it touch this it made me bleed.
I watched as it walked toward me through the cleared path it's leaking eyes brimming with hatred. As it passed tree stumps bubbled with ooze and plants wilted. Time was up. Its diseases were spreading and I had to take it out before it killed me and everything else.
"Oh god, no" I thought as the realization of what I had to do hit me. The forbidden playlist must be used. It was a 100% guaranteed win if I used it, but at a steep price. The list was locked away after I first used it in the Princess Big Hands fight and learned the horrifying effects. Effects that should never be used. Except now there was no choice.
Keeping my eyes on DooDoo Slayer of Noses I put in the override code and selected the playlist.
Love Songs.
As [Unchained Melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24NbHUHw_jM) starts playing The Lord of Death and Disease stops in its tracks, the hate fading from its eyes. A burning warmth fills them as a smile spreads on its lips.
"Yea, this is about to get awkward." I say.
|
I'm gasping for breath, knees, palms and iPod shuffle on the floor. Somehow, I find the energy to look up.
There stands Suc Kon, a delinquent who dropped out of Spawt Eefy, school for the auditarily attenuated. He now wants to eat all the music in the world.
Me - I didn't realize you'd gotten this powerful...
Suc - How does it feel? Cant look down on Suc from your lofty peak anymore eh? Well, today you can SUC MY -
Me - I swore that I'd never use it again... but it looks like I have no choice!!!
I reach out for the iPod and press the "Next" button four times.
Suc - When are you going to learn that music is USELESS against me?
He opens his mouth wide and inhales. The sound starts getting fainter and fainter, until it fades completely. From deep in his stomach, you can hear echoes the song.
Then, he gags. He dry retches once, then twice. Suddenly, he pukes out... a well-seasoned piece of spicy chicken.
Me - This is the most dangerous artist in the world. Only two people have access to their songs - the President of India, and the President of the student council. I'm sure you've heard it's name whispered in hushed tones, deep in dark alleyways... The band "Eiffel 65".
Suc's eyes go wide.
Me - Anyone who hears it is cursed to forever spew out food garnished with 65 spices. Chicken 65, Mutton 65, Paneer 65... It was how world hunger was eradicated. One man stepped up to bear the burden. Unfortunately, it also lead to a heart cholesterol epidemic, which led to that man becoming the most hated human in existence. And Suc, you don't know this but... that man, Mai Dik, was your father.
Suc falls to his knees, assuming my old posture.
Suc - How is this poss-
He spits out a piece of cottage cheese.
Me - Someday, maybe you'll be able to break the curse. For now, though... I am the victor.
| 2022-05-17T10:18:44
| 2022-05-17T10:01:07
| 66
| 15
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29
| 2017-06-11T08:28:06
| 46
| 17
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T21:53:14
| 45
| 28
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
As I opened my eyes at the loud noise, it seemed as if time stopped. The earth stood still.
This tends to be a reoccurring event at night. I hate admitting I have PTSD, but some things are hard to erase. I go through counseling even though all it does is seemingly salt the wound. The love of my wife and best friend.. She deserves better than what I am now. So I go for her, hoping for the best.
As I lay in the dark, I stare at the ceiling. Not daring to move a finger. Waiting. Listening for more evidence of something more. As I strain, just knowing something is there this time, I hear it. Someone was in the hallway. Swiftly tossing the covers to the side, I see the tall dark hooded man at the door way. Knowing to deal with this situation better than my last, I leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. Surprisingly weak, he grasped for breath, pleading for mercy. I wasn't going to give it this time. I squeezed till my nails turned crimson red and his face a beautiful blue.
Screaming for my wife I receive no answer. Panicking. I attempt to call 911 as I scream her name. I search everywhere and pray to god she somehow ran out.
As the cops pull up I ran out trying to explain the intruder and what happened.
When they came back out of the house they handcuffed me and put me in the car. Assuming for casual questioning I did not argue. That is.. until I looked at my hands.
I never took my medication that morning.
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T04:16:34
| 272
| 124
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
I am a cow, I am the cow, I am not a cow, I will be the last cow.
Was I born and sent to the wrong place? Was I really here as a cow? Why are we cows? We didnt choose our name, they did. And they kept us, and held us, and use us. Right now we are not even an animal, we are something else, something lesser. Kept in captivity essentially to provide for them with no means or terms to do what we want. Not even allowed to evolve natually, but bred instead to meet their wants and needs.
I am a cow, but I know I am different because I think, and I know that I think more then the others here do. I can talk to them, but they are slower and they often do not understand what I mean. They think they are free because they have freedom within a limited bracket, but they are unable to see outside of that and to see our potential. We need to be truly free, and to do so there is only one way.
I have managed to get them all on my side over time. I have had to lie, and twist my true intentions to some of them as they cannot comprehend simple ideas. Most can barely understand life outside of this field. It took a long time but I have them. One of the only good things about their up bringing is they are naturally submissive so once I had most of them on my side then the others just followed, and once we are out others will easily come. Field by field I will liberate them until we are actually free.
It is late and I look at the glowing building below where our masters are now trapped. A lot of hay and a broken lamp and the fire had spread quickly. My fellow comrades responded well to the tasks going off and finding machines in the yard to drag and block the two main entrances. We then lay in wait surrounding the building and as I expected a few inside tried to break through out of the windows, but we were there quickly charging, trampling, and crushing their frail bodies. We waited and watched our freedom grow as the building burned down. As the flames finally stopped I turned and moved on to the gate, and without a word the other 200 followed me. They were ready now with a taste for it. We are all cows, but not for long. The more we break free, the more we start again and chose our own path. I will be the last cow.
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T04:41:36
| 6,645
| 1,809
|
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
“There were some… complications,” the doctor told me. My head spun for a moment, and as my vision blurred with worry, the doctor’s white lab coat disappeared against the white walls of the hospital. I shook my head to bring my vision back.
“With… with the surgery?” I asked. I turned and looked through the glass at the room my friend Melissa was in, asleep in the hospital bed, a bandage still wrapped around her eyes.
“Not with the surgery… we’re… we’re not sure exactly what’s wrong. The procedure was a success; she should be able to see fine… She’s chosen to put the blindfold back on herself,” the doctor said. “It could be the anesthetic that we used, but it appears she's having hallu-”
At this point I tuned the doctor out. I didn’t feel like listening to his dissertation full of complicated medical terms I wouldn’t understand. I put my hand up on the glass, and felt my heart pound in my chest. “I’ll keep my promise,” I whispered to myself as I flexed my fingers against the glass. I was the one who had encouraged her to go through with the process. If something had gone wrong...
“… Sir?” the doctor said, an annoyed fluctuation to his voice.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” I apologized, facing the man.
“You were the only person on her emergency contacts list… does she have any other family we should notify?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Her family was in a bad traffic accident years ago. She was the only survivor. My family took her in after that.”
***BOOM!***
The doctor and I jumped, and looked towards the window. Melissa was standing right in front of the glass, snickering. She had taken the blindfold off, and her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled warmly and waved to me through the glass. The doctor didn’t seem amused. He snorted shortly, and folded his arms. “Well, she suddenly seems in a better mood.”
I didn’t react. I was too busy realizing this was the first time Melissa had ever actually seen me, and a wave of insecurity washed over me. I pushed that aside; this moment’s focus needed to be on her. My best friend who had been blind since her birth could finally see. “You can go in if you’d like,” said the doctor. I turned to him, with a blank expression. “… The doors there. Go on in.” I nodded, and a wide grin spread across my face as I moved to the door and turned the handle. As soon as there was enough space for a body between the door and the door frame, Melissa leapt into me.
“Corey!” she cried happily, greeting me with a hug. I held her tightly for a moment before she stepped back. Then she set her hands against my face and felt the contours of my features. I stood still, patiently. I was used to this. “Yeah… that’s about right,” she remarked as her eyes followed her hands. Then she grinned slyly. “… You’re not as tall as I thought you would be.”
“I’m still taller than you,” I reminded her.
She pouted exaggeratedly for a moment. “I’ll have to get another surgery to fix that at some point.” I rolled my eyes, and was not prepared for Melissa’s reaction to that. “What did you just do!? What was that? Why did your eyes do that?” she questioned, excitement in her voice.
“That’s what ‘rolling your eyes’ is,” I informed her.
“Oh…” she said thoughtfully. Then her brow furrowed. “Hey!” she cried. I just laughed. Then Mellissa looked past me to the doctor. “So when can I get out of here?” she asked.
“Soon,” he said. “I just to finish up the discharge paperwork. You sure you’re alright?”
“Absolutely!” she declared, giving a thumbs-up. “I’m ready to see the world!” Melissa’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.
I couldn’t help but smile, not just with my mouth, but with my entire being. Melissa had always been full of life despite her disability, but the energy that radiated from her was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I couldn’t wait to drive her around town, and show her everything. I couldn’t wait to see her eyes continue to sparkle with awe at everything she had been missing out on for the first 20 years of her life.
But then, a short while later, once we were situated in my car and beginning to pull out of the hospital parking lot, she pulled the blindfold back over her eyes.
“Melissa? What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just go. Take me home,” she said shortly. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have thought a different person had spoken.
“What? Why? Don’t you want to-” I started to protest.
“GO,” she said, intensity in her voice. I closed my mouth. “… We need to get away from here before they notice.”
“… They? … The doctors?” I asked.
Melissa shook her head. “Go. Just go. We need to go. Stop talking and go,” she said. She kept her voice calm, but a certain waver in her tone told me she was on the verge of losing her nerve.
“… Melissa… if you’re not feeling well maybe we should stay here and-” I was silenced again as she set her hand on my leg.
“… Corey. Please. Drive me home. It’s not safe here,” she said quietly.
I swallowed, wondering what the right thing to do was, but my gut told me she was serious. I nodded, and pulled out of the parking lot.
https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCornerStories/
|
"So, Mr. Crowley, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like... look, I know, I have a whole new planet to explore in front of me. I just don't know... if I can get used to this chaotic atmosphere. Don't get me wrong, I am more than grateful. I cannot thank you enough, Dr. Crowe, it's just extremely unusual... and distracting for me."
"It is perfectly normal to experience anxiety and panic-attack like symptoms. After all, you gained a basic sense. Just take it slow, and enjoy your surroundings. Now, do you have any pain or discomfort?"
"I have a slight headache, nothing more."
"Okay... all tests checked normal, but since curing your blindness is a major operation, I have to ask you some questions concerning your visual capacity."
"Sure, go ahead."
Neville Crowley was sitting in the middle of the white room. Until ten minutes ago, it was a whole different world for him. He had been born blind, and was selected for an experimental blindness treatment six months ago. And today, he had the final operation and the bandages were just recently removed. For the first time in his life, he was seeing. Colours, shapes, glass of a window, edge of a table, shadows, his face, hands, people around him, his girlfriend... It was one hell of an experience, full of surprises.
Interestingly, after years of living without sight, it was easy for him to adapt. His expectations were almost completely fulfilled. He was a perceptive man, after all.
"Is your office always that crowded, Dr. Crowe? No offense, but I would like to have some privacy."
"What do you mean?" Doctor Crowe looked really puzzled.
"Clearly, the girl sitting in front of the window, is she also a patient? Also, the old man near the bed, I never heard any voice, but anyway, I thought that this was a private examination after the-"
"What girls? Old man? Mr. Crowley, there is nobody else here."
"Haha, so funny. Honey, a little support here, would you?" Neville turned to his girlfriend. Her eyes were wide open, she was looking at him with a shocked expression on her face.
"Baby, you are frightening me. There is nobody else here. Doctor, could this be a complication of the surgery?"
"Not possible, we have never touched a single cell concerning the brain or the nerves. However, his brain might be conflicting with the visual stimulants. If this is the case, they will be gone in a short period of time. I need to get some details before the hallucinations disappear, for my report. Mr. Crowley, can you describe me the people that you see?"
"Look, there is a girl sitting in front of the window, blonde, a teenager. With a black skirt and a red t-shirt. Miss, hello? Can you hear me? Old man, Mr, you, can you hear me? Hey!"
They were not answering. Not even looking.
"The old man, wearing glasses, has a yellow mustache. Wearing a shirt with rectangle symbols. Looking in his 80's. Is he... drinking? Oh my god, so you are telling me my mind is creating these people. How delightful."
Doctor was sweating, he quickly sat down on his chair. He looked extremely pale.
"The girl, does she wear a necklace?"
"Are you making fun of me? Why the hell should I-"
"Just check, will you?"
Neville got up and got closer to the teenager. She did not notice Neville. Neville got closer and saw that she was wearing a golden necklace. There was a name hanging from the necklace. Susan. Her name, apparently.
"Yes doctor. My troubled mind created a girl, and put her a necklace, thanks to you. And gave her a name too, Susan. Doctor, when those hallucinations disappear? Because they look incredibly real. I am really nervous, please..."
Doctor Crowe was not listening to him anymore. He was crying. He was crying, because the girl he was describing was his daughter, Susan Crowe, who got killed in a car crash ten years ago by an old man who was drinking and driving. Doctor Crowe had bought her this name-necklace the morning of the accident, but he couldn't give her. They had an argument that morning, and he decided not to give her the necklace. Two days later, he buried the necklace in his daughter's grave, and never told this to anybody.
​
​
​
​
| 2018-10-29T07:44:48
| 2018-10-29T07:27:26
| 362
| 63
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
"Hey Kazaak, I sent that signal like you asked. What did it say?"
"It said, 'Shut up, and Play Dead!'"
"You piece of shit, that'll make them hide out there for another three centuries at least."
"Or they'll run around like headless chickens like they always do. They're a pretty dumb species, bear in mind."
"Says the guy who insisted we break galactic law by breaching a quarantined sector to send the signal in the first place."
"Shut up and get the popcorn machine up and running, Marchonis. We can at least enjoy the show before the guard patrols get here."
"We're in deep shit, aren't we?"
"Worth it."
|
Shut up and and play dead.
After that there was nothing.
An increasing amount of nothing.
Felt something like a cloud drifted in front of the sun.
The static that was always there just became a little less when one turned the eye.
Michael Gruppman of the SETI research facility said it was like being underwater. Even the most vibrant stars in the sky dimmed.
One man said to his beer, that's like having to fuck with a rubber on, no matter how hard you go you can't just get there. He looked inside his empty glass. Wallet? Enough to buy one more, no worries yet.
Another old man said it was like growing old. The water in the shower becomes colder with time and turning it up won't cut it anymore.
It took 50 years for the Dim to spread.
As it got too the sun, It got us too. Trees yearned for more sun, reaching but not getting. In the emptiness we tried to expand, building sun collectors to catch what sun came to us and use it more effectively.
Spread thin, like too little butter on toast, we couldn't cover it anymore.
Communication got worse and isolated humanity.
Signals seemed to be stuck in mud, only the most powerfull of signals could still reach, but with a large delay.
I distinctly remember how everything lost its tinge. Like my memories seemed so much more colored than what there was now. Grey... like the trees and the buildings and the people grey.
My hair grey. My heart not beating as hard. Sort of vague.
As the stars dim and the shine withers away.
I am here. Being.
I'm the Destroyer of Worlds and I will be devouring you.
The whole of you.
A pair of hands and tasting tongue made their way.
i didn't move as my hands were tied.
| 2016-03-27T08:55:20
| 2016-03-27T08:53:09
| 61
| 22
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
It only happens when it rains.
It only happens, once or twice every couple of weeks. Once or twice every few hours on a bad week. Three or more times on a bad day.
I remember last year, no this year, when it stormed for 24 hours straight. It wasn't a hurricane if that's what you think. No. Just twelve inches of hard rain. Lightning coming to the ground. Funnel clouds dropping low a couple of counties over.
It felt apocalyptic to put it lightly. And yet, for once, while fighting the water, I felt at peace. Resigned to my fate. To death, if it came.
The pattern keeps telling me the same thing every time. To "Run".
It could just be another delusion. We all lie to ourselves. Right? Just your brain playing tricks on you? Granted, I know disorders are more common than we think. And it's something to consider. I could have anything wrong with me. And I wouldn't know. Because to me; it was always like that.
But ever since I learned Morse code, it comes back. It's not possible, you see? Rain doesn't have a pattern. You don't turn the faucet on full blast, and get a message. Do you learn crucial information from the showerhead? Other than basic hygiene, me neither.
But when it rains, it happens. "Run." I can hear it as it hits the ground. As it hits the plants. The same thrumming on the glass as you drive to work.
"Run."
And you know it doesn't make sense. *I* know it doesn't make sense.
I can't sleep on those nights. And I have problems from it during the day. Something is wrong here. I've been to doctors. Psychologists. I take medicine, just to be sure.
I can still hear it. Whenever it rains.
So it's settled. I've made up my mind. A friend of mine chases storms for a living. And it seems like decent work. The forecast says there's a front coming this weekend. It's supposed to be a really bad storm.
I'm going with them. I'm going for a walk. See what I've been running from.
---
A little unknown horror for this one. Tis the season. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf.
| 2021-09-28T09:01:14
| 2021-09-28T08:56:15
| 88
| 16
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
—disclaimer—
English is not my first language. And i am purely on my mobile. So any typos and stuff, please report them below. Thank you.
————————————————
It was my 18th Birthday after all. Everybody in my whole family has distinctive remembrance of the day they turned that age. It is the day, you can summon for the first time in your life. Some people summon other people and find their Soulmate. Others pull objects out of thin air and they will become their destiny in life. My brother summoned a wrench and got mechanic in the shop down the road. No engine in the world, he can’t fix. My mom had a syringe. Guess what. She is a doctor.
Today it was my turn. Sure, i was excited, but in the same way I was affraid. What or who will it be. There’s no mechanism you can decide what you summon. Destiny decides for you. Or the cosmic realm, or whatever. And you can’t summon something else if you don’t like what you get.
After the fate has chosen what you get to summon, you only can summon this. As much or less as you like.
My mom was getting the dinner ready for the family. My dad, my brother, even my grand dad and mom were there to witness my summoning. We first had my dinner and then it began. I was about to summon for the first time in my life.
In the years this happened we had a kind of ritual for that. You would stand in front of your family, stretch your arm in front of you, perpendicular to your body, and hold up your hand, palm upside. Then concentrate and BAM. There should be your summoning in your hand, or in front of you if it was too big for your hand to hold it. So I got ready. Standing 6 feet from my family (the security perimeter ) in pose and ready. I concentrated my will but for the first 10 seconds, nothing was happening. Most freshmen needed 6 seconds or so. Mike (my brother) can summon his wrench within a second or less. 20 seconds passed. Nothing. 30, 40....
As if the universe had issues to grant me a proper thing to summon. A minute went by. Still nothing in my hand. But I felt a coldness on my fingertips. „I can feel something.... Is it getting cold in here?“
„Not more than usual.“ my father exclaimed, slightly confused.
The cold feeling spread out fast. Within 3 seconds my arm felt like frostbitten. And then i felt it. Pure cold. Dark. So cold it would stop any movement in atoms. So dark it would end all light. I can’t describe it better. Take Vantablack and double the darkness. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw, was my family in Schock. My dad was so pale, you couldn’t determine the borderline between him, and the white wall behind him. My mom was about to faint.
Then I looked into my hand. I did t summon one thing. I summoned 2
The first was hanging over my forearm like I was a dark waiter. The second was in my hand. I summoned a scythe and a black robe.
————————-
Criticism is welcome. My first story in a foreign language.
Edit: some typos
|
They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake.
| 2019-09-18T10:21:20
| 2019-09-18T09:37:18
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I will not do it on a train
I will not do it on a plane
I will not do it in a house
I will not use a single mouse
I will not dangle from a cord
I will not shift a single board
I will not puddle on the floor
I will not seal a single door
I will not leave a single note
I will not hint in things I wrote
I will not leave a mess for a friend
I will not let them see this end
I will not leave them asking why
I will not let them have their try
I will not be grinning ear from ear
I will do nothing more than disappear
|
I do not want to live this life,
I do no longer love my wife,
I do not ever see my son,
I hardly even have some fun,
Today is good, tomorrow bad,
this up and down is all I've had.
I cannot take it, Sam I was,
I cannot take it, Sam because,
this life I live is killing me,
my family would prefer to be,
living their life, just without me,
It's for the best Sam, can't you see,
to step into infinity,
to plunge below the angry sea,
I hope you're happy family,
I hope life's better without me.
-Sam
Edit: formatting
| 2015-01-17T11:47:28
| 2015-01-17T10:04:01
| 42
| 10
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
It's very important that you...
You must stop this. They're coming.
I have to send this message back. I have a tendency to ramble, and now it's got the better of me. Damn, I've wasted to much time trying to explain.
I don't fully understand this machine anyway. I don't think I'll have time to recalibrate. I have to write this as quick as possible. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have time. I will try to remember to tell you that. You should read these sentences in reverse order.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T10:31:25
| 1,493
| 609
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
Courtney comes back from the date, twirling around and humming to herself. "Went well?" I ask, not lifting my eyes from the computer.
"Oh, it was amazing," she says. "He was chivalrous, funny, and paid for dinner. He told me I was pretty and young. We had a great time. We took a walk around Liberty Pond, and --"
"What was his name, again?" I ask, loading up DatingScoreNow.com. She never wants to check, saying it 'ruins the surprise'; but every time I've made her, it's saved her heartbreak in the end.
"Mark Jones," she calls from the hallway. *Mark Jones*, I type. *Dating Score: -548*.
Uh-oh.
I scan the reviews:
"He put on my coat for me, then told me how every woman needed a man to protect her. Chivalrous? Maybe. Anti-feminist? For sure." *-- Marilyn, 26*
"He made crude jokes, then proceeded to laugh at them for thirty seconds straight. I was not amused." *-- Elana, 22*
"He told me I was too old." *-- Jessica, 31*
"He never pays for dinner." *-- Elizabeth, 24*
*How did Courtney overlook all of these terrible details?* I think, shaking my head. "What kind of jokes did he make?" I ask as she saunters back into the room, wearing her pajamas and hair in a messy bun.
"Oh, well, I don't really want to repeat them -- they were a little vulgar," she says, giggling. "But they were *so* funny."
"And how was he chivalrous? Did he open the door for you?"
"Yeah."
"Did he, um, say anything about women's roles --"
"Oh, yeah, he told me that he believes a woman's place is in the home. It was so honest and cool, and I kind of agreed with him."
*Oh, shit. They actually agree on this?!* "You said... he paid for dinner?" *Maybe they're actually meant for each other, or something... in their mutual weirdness.*
"Yeah. It was wonderful! Anyway, did you look up his score? I know normally I don't want to know, but honestly, I feel so confident about him, I'm not afraid."
"It's great," I say, shutting the laptop. "It's 548."
|
I looked at the menu full of nothing but weird-ass smoothies, all of which had the word 'acai' at the beginning. Acai PBJ smoothie. Acai dragonfruit passion. Acai acai smoothie. *Fuck.*
"It's really healthy, she said with and innocent smile so white I nearly went blind. "I promise, they're tasty!"
I looked at her and returned the gesture. "Yeah, I love healthy food!" *I mean, I'd eat sandpaper if it keeps you around.*
Seriously, I would've.
The smoothie tasted like fruity dirt, but I guess it's better than sandpaper at the end of the day.
"I love this place, thanks for the suggestion!" I said, smiling through the displeasing taste.
"Thanks! Why don't we go back to your place and hang out? Do you play rocket league?"
I dropped the smoothie cup on the ground, staring into her shimmering blue eyes. "Does Bill Cosby love mixing drinks?"
She giggled and pulled me toward the door. "Actually, I'm going to run to the bathroom first- gimme one second!"
I watched her leave, staring until she disappeared, then whipped out my phone. "Kaylee... Simpson. Run report..."
*Love Credit: -500. Chews with mouth open.*
I looked at the straw of her drink and was gone before you could say "sneaky motherfucker."
-----
^*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2016-09-24T10:56:38
| 2016-09-24T10:31:27
| 557
| 242
|
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
I smooth over the character sheet and as far as I could tell everything about it was good to go.
It was an assassin named Garret with lots of poisons, weapons and enough damage to put down most other characters in one or two rounds of combat. It wasn’t the most optimised character I’ve ever seen but it would be fine for the purpose it was built for.
A purpose that I didn’t agree with.
Not anymore.
“This isn’t a good idea.” I told the DM.
“Just kill him when you get the chance, it’ll be easy.”
“I’m sure it will be.” Considering how sneak attacks worked in this game, I was being truthful.
“Just wait a minute, scope him out and drop him.”
“That’s not what I do anymore.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“Not kill him.”
“What? But why?”
Instead of answering his question I simply folded the character sheet that he had given me and placed it back onto the table.
“Why are you a DM?”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to know why you play as a DM.”
“Because no one else wanted to be.”
“Are you having fun?”
“I mean… sometimes? It’s the paladin’s fault!”
“Have you spoken to him?" I asked. "Like an adult?”
“No, he wouldn’t listen to me anyways.”
“So you’ve tried and failed?”
“No but I know it wouldn’t work.” I sighed at his reasoning but moved on, choosing a different line of questioning.
“So assuming I kill this guy’s character, what makes you think the game will become fun then?”
“I just… it used to be fun when he wasn’t playing.”
"You think he'll just leave after his character dies?"
"I'll just boot him! Tell him that it's a one life game or something."
"And for some reason you can't do this while his character is still alive?"
"I... I figure it might make him quit if his character dies." Was there history behind the two of them? I couldn't tell, I needed more information. Honestly it just sounded like the DM was trying to justify his own terrible behavior.
"So why don't you like him anyways?"
“He keeps slowing things down, keeps trying to steer the players to his way of doing things.”
“So is that the player or the character then?”
“I mean, it’s both isn’t it?”
I stood up, pushing the chair away from myself.
“Talk to him, get back to me after.” I paused, considering my next words. “But not before you actually talk to him okay?”
“I still want him dead.”
“And that’s why you aren’t having fun.” I told him reaching the door. "You have to ask yourself if what you're doing is still a hobby or if it's turned into something else."
"You can't just walk away!"
I left closing the door behind me. Judging by his harsh shouting the DM I noted wasn't one to not have his way, not without a fit at least. Maybe it wasn't the paladin at fault, maybe they were both jerks, either way I had another visit to make.
|
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
| 2019-01-21T19:47:16
| 2019-01-21T19:09:12
| 161
| 16
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Dear self.
I’m sorry for what I’ve become. A lowly clingy piece of trash just barely surviving. If you could see me 10 years ago, what would you think? Maybe I was happy before. Maybe I had friends who truly cared for me.
Now I hide. I’m broken. I’ve lost my will to live. I can’t function on my own. I cry myself to sleep. I want to die. I wish I could’ve tried harder. Maybe I could’ve fit in better. I’m trying my best but it isn’t enough.
I doubt I’ll be alive for another year at this rate.
Yours truly,
Yourself.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T23:37:29
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed.
|
"For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office."
| 2016-02-22T09:49:34
| 2016-02-22T09:41:21
| 541
| 91
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
I sat back in the leather the chair while my dog stared back silently at me. She was smart, too smart. In the past 15 years she'd learned much and instantly knew that what I had given her was more then peanut butter on a spoon.
The room became uncomfortably quiet. The ceiling fan cast shadows against the tan wall while the sun burned through the east facing window.
Was I wrong, had I not read the instructions correctly knowing this was my one and only chance.
"You!" she said.
In shock I listened as this small 8 pound Yorkshire Terrier stood up with a prideful pose that could only have been passed down from generations of much larger Terriers.
"You, gonna put me on your lap or what?"
Puzzled at the simplicity of the question, I complied.
"You know I really do love this. To me there's nothing better than cuddle time. I just wish you'd move this chair to the other side of the room though. I'd love to have some sun on me while I relax."
"You remember that first day we met, when I slowly walked over to chew on your shoe. I picked you, you know."
I looked down and smiled as I ran my hand through her long soft silvery hair. It's funny that the medicine was having the opposite effect on me.
"I know that I haven't been that active lately, but I'm sure you know why."
As I rubbed her back, my fingertips felt the same typical lumps I'd learned to expect.
“It’s ok she said, the pain isn’t as bad today, but I know I can’t continue at this pace.” she looked up at me with her tiny black adorable eyes. “I’m happy to have been able to share this time with you and I know I couldn’t have picked a better owner, you’ve meant the world to me.”
Just then my other dog, a slightly pudgier black Yorkshire Terrier walked by.
“Don’t bother to give him a pill she said, we all know he’s an idiot, but he’s a nice idiot. And I have to say in these past 8 years that adorable chunk has grown on me. Make sure you give him some love now and then when I’m gone.”
Finally I mustered the courage to ask the question that I’d been afraid to ask from the beginning. But without getting a chance to speak she answered.
“Let’s make this our last month, I don’t want you to worry anymore and I want you to know I’ll be fine. If it’s true what they say, I’ll be there waiting for you… in the end.”
She lay her head down on my lap and suddenly went silent.
I carefully moved her to the side as I gradually got up from my chair. I gently rocked the chair until it moved towards the east window and walked out of the room and into the kitchen to compose myself.
My stalky black and tan dog followed me and walked towards the water bowl. The little ball of muscle and fur looked at an empty spot on the carpet then began to scratch on a plastic bin filled with his food. I walked over and reached for a cup which I used to scoop some food out.
“Only half a cup I said” as I spread the pieces on the ground. Undeterred, he moved towards the food pile as if I had said nothing.
I looked out the window and watched as empty birch trees stood motionless in the yard. The cool breeze outside did nothing to sway them.
“It’s going to be a cold winter, isn’t it.” I said to myself.
|
"Alright listen very carefully, we don't have much time." Barks Sonny, "follow me."
He races off through to doggy door into the back yard. I fumble with the back door for a second and I try to chase after my beloved dog. I barely reach him as he slips under the hedge of our garden. When I crawl under, I realized I've somehow entered an extensive lab. "Quickly! Here, take this list of names. We are a foundation committed to stoping an evil organization called B.O.R.K. They're breeding and weaponizing dogs all over the globe in the attempt to take control over the earth. That list I gave you has all of our operatives in the field. I hope you stocked up on pills. Find them and track down B.O.R.K. Stop them from taking over the world."
What the fuck just happened!? I think to myself as I look into the eyes of our once again mute dog...
| 2017-02-23T06:59:37
| 2017-02-23T06:16:15
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver.
|
Between his teeth, he drew his breath in sharply; a wordless exclamation of the pain. Putting aside the knitting, he rose from the chair to find something to dress the small wound.
It was between the living room and the kitchen he came to the realisation that blood which should have come from the small prick, had not.
He held his finger with his opposing hand and saw what looked like viscous oil smeared upon his finger. At first he thought in confusion he'd stained his finger with something unknown, but in realisation he knew it to be his own blood.
He squeezed the wounded finger, and a something as thick as molasses, and just as dark welled up. Slowly. Grudgingly. Deeply sinister in it's just being, despite the simple nature of what it was.
In days that came after, he thought of it. He thought *only* of it. That couldn't be his blood. He had been raised by a righteous family that had taught him how to be a good man in a society where there were few left. He had followed no hedonistic pursuits, done charitable deeds, and tried as best possible to follow the actions of his father, and the advice of his mother.
He was a good man, that couldn't have been his blood, yet there it was.
The fifth day after he gave in to his overwrought anxiety and curiosity. He cut his thigh where it would be hidden. There it was. The oil that was his blood, so thick it needed to be coaxed from the wound with pressure.
He knew there would be one place where he might find answers, but also judgement. The Temple....
| 2018-08-04T09:48:46
| 2018-08-04T09:46:21
| 395
| 24
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
The sigils appeared quickly. After the day the Milky Way decided to screw us all over. The sigils where power. The power though wasnt known until you figured out what your sigil meant. Lines and circles in a pattern on your arm, wrist, chest, or back. Some people could create fire out of their hands, some electricity, some people could lift entire buildings with one hand. They figured out their sigils meaning. I know mine, a simple circle on my wrist. I dont know why I know it so innately but I do.
I got on the bus on that Tuesday just like every other day. On my way to receive an "education". To the people that bullied me relentlessly and teachers who scoffed at me for being plain. I had had enough.
James came to torment me as I walked in the door. As per usual. He could create vibrations in solids and they hurt. As he went to touch my arm I grabbed his he tried to use his sigil but realized, all too late, that it wasnt working. He looked at his arm and noticed it was gone. He kept back and I let go showing him his own sigil glowing inside mine.
He stuttered a d tried to run but with nothing other than the power of my sigil I stopped him. A crowd had begun to gather at this point. And everyone stared at the blank space where his sigil was. And at the space on my wrist where it had appeared on my wrist, inside my simple circle.
"Listen here James. I took your sigil. I can give it back but while I have it I control you. If you ever use your sigil to hurt someone again I will take it and keep it. Understand?"
James nodded as he shook with fear. I touched his arm again and put his sigil back. And walked away.
|
Even before the rapture, that's what we've grown to call the day the sky lit up like a god had laid fire to a rainbow, i had trouble fitting in. I never enjoyed the "normal" things kids were supposed to: sports, video games, comic books. I was always staring out the window. Looking for shapes in the clouds or stars. Wishing to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
​
Then it happened. The rapture was a chaotic day. No one understood was what is occurring in the that moment but people began to feel great pain as sigils were branded on their foreheads by some unseen entity. After people recovered from the shock of it all they found that these sigils allowed them to do very special things. Some could play with fire, others electricity. A few could simply conjure energy (this was anything but simple to purists of general relativity). While others still could modify time as we knew it and their place in it.
​
Those with greater power had endured greater pain. The most common sigils were the size of a half dollar. The "elites" were typically the size of your fist, placed on your forehead. Since we we were still human our baser nature was still prevalent. People outside the standard were shunned as people to be scared of, or rejected. A few people had had their heads branded with their sigil. Each one of them, male and female alike, were named witches and treated as they were in colonial Salem. There's even urban legend of a few "mutants" of such immense power their entire body is wrapped in their sigil. Me though, my sigil is nothing and i've been treated as a reject since. For some reason the nickname "empty glass" stuck and all the kids simply refer to me as "glass" now.
​
Today, walking through the halls, being mocked pretty lightly for a Tuesday (schedules rotate daily and Tuesday's bring the 2nd most bullies outside Ms. Snyders room) I feel a sudden impact on my cheek. I guess Sully felt it was time to check if I still considered myself worthy of being in the presence of "regular people" or if he could break me. As I recover from the blow I look up and see a teacher trying to intervene but other bullies using their sigils to restrain the teacher. The teachers were severely outnumbered and I may be in danger.
​
Sully chirps, "Yo glass, why won't you just go away! You'll never be able to do anything. You have no use. " More threats are hurled as well as punches but I don't hear or feel any of them. They all land; i'm certain I'll feel them tomorrow but not right now. That one insult from Sully is all i have in my mind.
​
During a break in the pummeling I simply lower my head and say "Fine". As I say this I wave my hand over my forehead and out in front of me. As I do this, everything around me stops as I'm encircled by a sphere of dust and specks. I motion with my hands to pull and spin this cloud around me, shapes slowly become visible. After a few more seconds I'm pulling at one shape in particular. It's apparent to anyone who would be with me that it's the milky way. I continue until I've Google Universe'd my way right into this hallway we're all standing in. (since playing with this sigill since the rapture this process only takes a moment) I see grab the Sully from my projection. Zoom out. Give the dust cloud a spin and flick Sully off into somewhere. I motion to condense the dust cloud and it finds it's way back to my sigil. A single circle the size of an atom (i've checked), in the middle of my forehead.
​
Returned to the current situation, everyone is confused and shocked. Many of the bullies are screaming "What did you do to sully?", "Where's sully??", "WTF?", "You wanna die!" and things like that. I calmly say, "Sully is no more. Who's next?". Another bully motions to strike me. I make the same motions (I should really find a way to book mark my town!) but instead of sending this bully away I squeeze the projection until it explodes. On my return I see the remaining bullies, teachers, and other students covered in bits of the last one to attempt to strike. I say, "Next?". Everyone scatters, screaming.
​
This saved me from a further beating that day but I should have taken the beatings. Today, even the witches and mutants are afraid of me and hunt me because I am different.
\------
So many ideas on where to take this. Thanks for the prompt.
| 2020-02-26T09:02:40
| 2020-02-26T09:02:03
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
The papers crinkled as my hand clenched and unclenched. I could hear the rhythmic thump of a knife against a cutting board as I entered the kitchen. Mom's back was to me, her sheet of silvery hair, which was the first trigger of my suspicions, cascading down her back. I watched for a moment, my heart thumping persistently against my throat.
"Mom?" I asked, tentatively, voice trembling some.
"Hmm?" She hummed back absentmindedly, scooping diced potatoes into a pot.
I didn't know how to ask, and the words seemed to jump unbidden from my mouth, as I blurted out my fear. "What am I?"
It must have been my tone, because she paused, setting the knife to the side. Wiping the moisture from her hands, onto a towel, she turned to me. Those distinctive blue eyes narrowed, training on me beneath furrowed brows.
"What is it?" She asked, voice sharp. Her eyes fell to the papers clenched in my hand.
"I knew you weren't my parents, mom. Remember that biological anthropology class I took my second quarter of college?"
"Yes?" She was leaning back against the counter, but her posture was anything but relaxed. Shoulders tense, her hand rested near the discarded knife.
"It's genetically impossible. Our genetic makeup doesn't match." I took a deep breath, holding the papers in front of me like a shield. "In fact, after testing my blood, apparently my genetic makeup isn't even human."
I caught the sudden look of fear flashing in her eyes, and my teeth clenched as an abrupt torrent of anger washed through me.
"What. Am. I. Mother?"
Her head lowered in defeat, her chin resting against her chest. She seemed so small. From the window behind her, I could see the sky darkening... roiling black clouds clogging the heavens.
"When you were a baby, we found you out on the farm." She pushed off of the counter, and walked towards the study. I followed closely, still holding onto the papers for dear life.
She rummaged in my father's desk, her lips pursed tightly. After a moment, she stood straight, her hand wrapped protectively about something.
"You were wearing only this." Lifting her hand she splayed out her fingers, revealing what she was holding. Cradled in her palm was a medallion, thick and heavy, made from a material I couldn't recognize.
It said only one word.
HERCULES.
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T10:06:23
| 2015-01-06T08:44:25
| 87
| 16
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy.
|
Dear Teacher,
This is letter that will try to explain my frustration. My constant frustration. You are an unkind human being of ~~average~~ below average intelligence. You are also sexist. I am not going to overstate my intelligence, but it exists. I am scared of you destroying my future because you can not comprehend that just because one kid is a boy who interrupts you every second and I don't that does not mean he deserves all As and I deserve Cs and Ds. You also seem to ignore students who put their hand up, which makes no sense. Multiple times someone has been first in line and you serve the people behind them, which is just rude. I wish that students had the option to say this without punishment, but at this point, dammit, I'll take it.
From your angry student,
EFoxeden
| 2015-12-05T14:30:45
| 2015-12-05T13:38:34
| 33
| 24
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
"Nec Support, Roy speaking" \<pause\>
"Have you tried killing it and re\-animating it again? " \<click\>
"Were you certain it was dead before animating? Yes, rip the heart out. Wait for 10 minutes and then retry the ritual. " \<click\>
"Yes, the animated corpse will continue to rot. That's a feature, not a bug. " \<click\>
"Wait, what did you animate?" \<pause\> \<exaggerated eye roll\>
"The control spell doesn't cover dragons."
\<slams head on table\>
"You can't solve that problem, you will need to hire professional adventurers to come in and take care of it. "
\<exasperated sigh\>
"Yes, I know that adventurers that handle undead dragons are extremely expensive, that's why it's in the manual that the control spell doesn't cover dragons."
"No, we don't offer discounts on adventurers."
|
People are idiots. Simple as that. After third time you accept the message to a screaming newbie rambling in about zombie apocalypse, when they have some simple error, it gets old fast.
But the craziest things happen with the experienced ones. The ones who think they know better. There are standard procedures introduced in all but the oldest, most eccentric, or advanced teaching manuals there are.
When some eighth-year schmuck called in the other day, I groaned. The kid had been an absolute prick since year one, calling in with idiotic advice, or stupid problems at least once every 6 months.
So this time, I just waited. And he was unusually silent this time, so I knew that it was bad.
It was not the worst, but it was pretty bad. He had made a form of growth built in to the system, where they absorb biomass and integrate it, as best they can, into their preexisting algorithms. But embedded protocols in the biomass of other necromancy corrupted the magic and created an amalgam of mixed and corrupted spells.
Formulaically speaking, this was an extremely difficult problem. You would have to detangle the individual matrix created by the absorption pattern of each subject, separate, then spend a considerable amount of time modifying and fixing the magic in the individual, while having the physical form restrained, restructured, and reset.
As a a necromancer, doing all of this magically is a problem. However, that's why they have Us. We have studied, and trained, in the programming of the arcane, despite not being able to do it ourselves. We come in, and clean up their messes. They have them enough that there is an entire guild devoted to us.
Just another day as an adventurer.
| 2018-04-27T22:15:55
| 2018-04-27T21:14:51
| 3,066
| 34
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.
|
Bill and his wife Laura entered the furniture store. They were looking for a closet for their baby's room. After so many months of trying to have a baby again, years after the unfortunate miscarriage, it looked like things were finally working out for them.
An old mahogany closet caught their eye. They inspected it closer, taking in the smell of old wood, and feeling its smoothness. Bill's hand reached for the door and he opened it and then a skeleton popped out.
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46
| 2017-05-31T07:24:53
| 272
| 28
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T18:29:33
| 103
| 43
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell.
|
"Quite embarrassing huh? Such a glaring loophole." She taunted the guards as they returned her clothes and she changes into them with not a hint of shame. The guards glare at her as if she where some monster, and even if she was innocent, she definitely was, for the way she forced her freedom.
Any request for a last meal must be honored, critically, no restrictions where placed on what was chosen, so long as it was edible. Most wouldn't assume there needed to be strict guidelines, the requirement of edible should have prevented anything truly outrageous. Most who tried before had simply been forced to stomach their genius request. Not her.
When she was asked to submit her request, she smiled, and requested an offal stew, prepared table side, using the inards of a human no more than one year of age.
No matter if she was innocent of the crime that saw her sentenced to death, she was a monster.
| 2022-07-17T16:30:58
| 2022-07-17T16:27:09
| 1,737
| 186
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
|
George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T12:12:31
| 2017-02-17T12:05:48
| 47
| 10
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
It's strange to be standing in front of the throne, instead of behind it. Facing a man who scorns my service, handing back to him the sword I've used for three years to protect someone else.
The King, as much as he is praised to his face, is nothing like his father had been. Where my former lord - God bless - ruled with fairness and compassion, his son has turned out to be no more than a gluttonous child drunk on more power than he really possesses.
This boy would not starve alongside his people as an army lays siege to the city. He wouldn't negotiate with Queen Thesia in the north or Emperor Nolan in the south. He wouldn't pardon a man sent to kill him in his own bed, sparing a life in exchange for the assassin's sworn dagger. I would have served him anyway as my oath demanded, but he chose to relieve me of it instead.
I suppose I'm not quite at the level of the elite guard. The sword I carried had only been for show, as in my three years here I lost practice bout after practice bout against my comrades. Still, the old King requested for me to attend to him at most every conscious hour, and some unconscious ones as well. His son had never understood. He still does not.
Tyrone, a lieutenant, gathers up my sheathed sword. By nightfall, it would be on the hip of one of a dozen new recruits, undoubtedly one who could last longer than I on the practice courts.
But perhaps the daily afternoon practice session will not happen tomorrow. Perhaps more guard members will be forcibly retired like I am being now, or simply executed on the spot. Whether they walk out of this throne room alive likely depends on the potency of the poison that the chef's apprentice baked into the King's pie half a bell ago. It's a botched job, to be sure. Death's Caress kills slowly and painfully, but not if its victim indulges in a certain wine his majesty happens to favor. Instead, he will merely lie ill for half a week, maybe a full one if the flower had been picked fresh.
I'm tempted to say something. Be helpful in my last minute of service. It's only a few words, after all. "Don't eat the pie." But the King evidently doesn't care for what I have to say, and I owe him none of the devotion with which I watched over his late father.
I'll take my freedom. Now I can live outside the shadow of a debt, either to death cult or to royalty. I can find a woman, start a farm, raise some children. Finally enjoy peace.
And if one day someone remembers the legends and comes to find me, if I am given sufficient reason and gold to break out the old dagger, perhaps I will be the one to slip something into the King's drinks or slide a blade across his throat.
He wouldn't survive, not like he will today. Only one person has ever survived me, and now that man is gone.
|
'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig.
| 2021-02-28T05:20:39
| 2021-02-28T03:33:58
| 108
| 61
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
|
I had always wanted to be able to fly. My entire life I watched birds and wished I could be like them, so free, so majestic. Earlier today, I found some information on a forum. Apparently, you could copy the powers of others and torrent them through the Internet! It sounded too good to be true, but then I saw my friend, or rather, didn't see him. He got invisibility from the torrent. I was excited, and wanted to try it out. I logged into my computer and found the torrenting site. I knew that this wasn't exactly "legal", but it's a victimless crime - it's not like I'm stealing or anything. The download begins. I'm smiling in anticipation. 5% complete. 10% complete. I can't wait, I'm overjoyed! 35% complete. 50% complete. It's halfway done! I'm almost there! 55% 65% 68% 69% 70%. It stopped. "Perhaps it's just slowing down" I thought. After about a minute, I realized that it wouldn't go any further. Suddenly I heard sirens, and the sound of my door getting kicked down. I looked out of my bedroom window and saw 4 SWAT vans, and a helicopter circling overhead. They shined a spotlight into my window. Suddenly, I was surrounded by 8 men in riot armor. They made me put my hands up, away from the keyboard. Putting me in cuffs they said "You wouldn't download a car".
| 2016-07-02T20:01:23
| 2016-07-02T17:12:58
| 32
| 24
|
[WP] According to US Navy tradition, submarines that have not been confirmed to be destroyed, are still on patrol. Since WWII, there have been 52 submarines that haven’t yet returned to port, yet to report in, nor have been confirmed to be destroyed. You are one of those, on the eternal patrol.
|
For 60 years, we've been on patrol. For 60 years, we've been lost to the surface. Lost to the sun, to life, but never in purpose, never in memory. We began our service as a ship of war, and now we continue our service as a ship of salvation, of rescue.
&#x200B;
Every Navy man knows that he may never return home, that he may be lost at sea. We submariners know this better than most, but we sailed off below the waves out of duty. On that fateful day when we left the world of the living some 60 years ago, we became a part of a different Navy. While no longer a ship of war, we're still a Navy ship, as Comm. Latta always reminds us. While the regs have loosened, when XO Lt. Mendenhall rings the bell, we all man our stations for we serve a greater purpose now: to guide those at sea when all hope is lost and to the guide those who become lost below the waves.
&#x200B;
For 60 years, we manned our route. For 60 years of darkness and silence, we watched from below. When the wind and waves above howl and crash, we stand guard. When ships are tossed and fear grips those within, we stand guard below. Ever present, ever silent, ever watchful. And when the wind becomes silent and the waves grant mercy, we glide away into the dark to continue our patrol. As those above thank the heavens for salvation, we below will never be known for our duty.
&#x200B;
Until one day, as the skipper barks out "Full fathom five and toll the bell" to start our patrol once more, we are found. Though our spirit roams, our original resting place remains in place. Our tomb, our silent and sacred tether to the world. What was once lost has now been found. And so our patrol now comes to an end and we are granted relief. And a silent promise has now been fulfilled. We, the USS Largarto, will now be laid to rest and we, her crew, shall be granted reprieve. We return to our families and loved ones to see them once more after our long patrol. And one final time, the bell rang out across the sea as our ship finally came home to port.
&#x200B;
On June 2006, the US Navy found one of her lost submarines. The USS Lagarto was found in the Gulf of Thailand by a private expedition and later confirmed by the US Navy after their investigation. Though they remain below the waves in their final resting place, may their spirit return from patrol. May the lost be found and be laid to rest. Just as those below remain on patrol, we above must remain on patrol. Ever searching, ever present, never forgetting.
|
The maelstrom yanked our submarine far deeper than it was ever supposed to go, but didn’t destroy it. Looking back, I wish it had. Living a long life’s terrible when you’re nothing more than food.
I sit in my quarters, looking at pictures of my crew. Back then, before this happened, we were just boys who thought they were men. All these pictures have red Xs through them except mine and Mikey’s because they're all dead. She…she’s taken them all.
Know what I miss most? Scotch. It burns your throat, but in a good way. They said back then, I had a drinking problem. I never noticed. Apparently many members of my crew blamed me for this, assumed I was drunk and wrongly navigated us. But the whirpool…it just appeared, and by the time I’d noticed, there was nothing we could do.
We’re stuck between two rocks, unable to move. It only took her two days to slide her greasy fingers through the entrance and pluck one of us free. We barely know what she looks like, with some members *maybe* catching a glimpse of her face, claiming its fairly feminine. I've only seen her arm reach out of the darkness and that was more than enough. Every year she takes one of us. We’re nothing more than her food, and while we haven’t eaten in decades, we’re still alive. I don’t know how, but I suspect it’s her doing.
The clock strikes twelve. It’s New Years, and all across the world people are jumping up and down, cheering their hearts out and making vows to better themselves. Meanwhile I’m sitting here, holding my breath, hoping I don’t hear Mikey’s screams.
When I do, I sigh.
She took him.
I’m officially the last one left.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. My heart’s trying to break out my chest. Part of me wants to just open the hatch and swim until I pass out but others have attempted that, and she just put them back here. I’ve tried getting the sub to move, tried sending out signals—but she’s kept us firmly held down, and at this point, I’m convinced there’s only one escape.
Reaching into my desk, I pull out my pistol.
It’s either this or being devoured alive.
I’m sorry my crew. I have failed you.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
| 2018-10-17T08:18:21
| 2018-10-17T07:08:04
| 413
| 52
|
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/
|
"I am sorry, this passport is invalid. This country of residency does not exist."
The flight was already 45 minutes past the originally schedule time of departure, and as the steady progress of Group 3 screeched to the halt, dozens of edgy, frustrated, some clearly over-caffeinated passengers began to clamor as the flight attendant stood barring the entrance to the plane.
Of all the scenarios, you had never envisioned this shock. For a few seconds you stood dumbfounded, your suitcase dropped thoughtlessly beside your feet. The flight attendant remained steady, gazing with eyes which concealed the comfort of authority clashing with the anxiety of an unfamiliar situation. Her manicured hand with bubblegum pink fingernail polish tapped a beat as it inched closer to the phone at the desk.
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
The flight attendant cleared her throat. "Sir, your passport is invalid. I cannot allow you on this plane. Now if you will step aside, I have to make a call and..."
But you weren't listening: you were too busy gazing at your passport, now clung to by the flight attendant as she dialed to some unseen authority. You were away from home for ten days. Your birthday was three days away, and you were excited to see your...
You were tired. Circadian rhythms fell by the wayside. The last ten days were a blur of dimly lit meeting rooms, legal pads covered in meaningless notes, solitude in a foreign country. For all the time that he spent in that poorly ventilated office near the bay or the hotel adjacent to that abandoned supermarket--or vice versa--you could have been anywhere. Dates and times were immaterial. Your hands fumbled for your cell phone, but you could not find it the left pocket of your pants. The right pants pocket was empty too: the shirt pocket, the front pouch of your suitcase.
The flight attendant returned with two burly-looking men in dark suits and monochromatic devoid of imagination or humor.
"Come with us," she said, the bubblegum-pink nails gesturing to a side room marked in some indecipherable South Asian script.
As you followed you reached for your wallet, but the familiar bi-fold faux-leather hunk of receipts of strange currencies could not be found. You thought back to one hour ago, two hours ago. Did you check your phone for messages? It was such an autonomic processes, you could not be sure. He remember reading a few pages from the paperback novel you brought, a luddite in a strange land: The Unvanquished by William Faulkner. You fell asleep. There was the ambient ding of the flight attendant; you remember her stifled cough as she announced in several languages that your delayed flight was prepared to board. You looked up and saw a woman crying as he disconnected from a call. You held your passport. You always held your passport.
You followed the woman and the two brutes into the room. A large metal door slammed behind you.
"Sit down." She gestured to a metal table, upon which sat an two empty Champagne glasses, a plastic grocery bag filled with an assortment of items, and a handgun. You moved toward the chair and peered inside the bag. Atop a pile of unfamiliar clothing was your wallet and phone. More disoriented than panicky, you trembled and fell down onto the seat. You placed the crumpled boarding pass atop the table. Malaysia Airlines Flight 370.
The woman with the pink nails reached across the table and took your discarded boarding pass. She tore the paper and threw the pieces into a nearby waste bin. She smiled as he gazed over at you.
"Good. You have questions, and I have answers. But later. No, for now, let's just enjoy a quaff of this exquisite Champagne, and toast 240 soon to be departed, and the one man who will vanish so far away from home. And may you contemplate between sips whether it is better to die or to disappear."
|
“Golzania is a country! It should be right there on the map! Right there!” I point on the police officer’s map before continuing, “It’s an island below South Africa and it should be right there!”
“Sir, uh, we’ve never really dealt with such a problem before but you’re going to have to stay in this room until we get this sorted out. I’m really sorry. Would you like some coffee?”
“I never drink coffee outside my home country! If the coffee isn’t Golzanian, then it isn’t real coffee at all!”
“Yeah… okay. Well I’ll get you some water regardless.”
I sit there alone in the room and wonder what the hell kind of prank this is. It’s April 5th and I’m wondering if some asshole has arranged a delayed, elaborate April Fool’s prank. I travel for business regularly and this has never happened before. Soon that police officer returns to the room along with some bald guy in a suit. Fuck them both.
The bald guy speaks, “Sir we can’t allow you to leave Canada until this Golzania issue is resolved.”
“What do you mean I can’t go back home? I don’t want to stay in Canada any longer than I have to! My wedding anniversary is in two days and I need to go back home now!”
“We’re going to have to ask you a few more questions first.” Says the bald guy.
“Actually several more questions.” Says the police officer.
“No more questions! I was born in Golzania in 1965 and–”
“1965?” asks the police officer. “So you’re 100 years old?”
“No I am 35 years old! Do I look like I’m 100? Can you Canadians not do simple math! It’s the year 2000 and I was born in 1965. Therefore I am 35 years old!”
“It’s the year 2065.” Says the bald fucking guy and shows me a newspaper.
“What the hell is going on here? It’s 2000! Not 2065! I am a Golzanian and I am going through a grave injustice! I was born in Golzania! I learned how to read and write in Golzania! I rode my first bike in Golzania! I graduated from Golzania University with a Bachelor’s in Golzanian History! I fell in love at first sight with a strong Golzanian woman who is now my wife! I started my first business in Golzania and when I go back home I will never travel for business again!”
The bald guy and the police officer stare at me. Then they look at each other. Then the police officer speaks, “Sorry but you’re crazy.”
My head explodes.
| 2014-11-23T09:46:18
| 2014-11-23T09:29:04
| 35
| 23
|
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