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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father.
|
What is a king?
A simple enough question. Really, it is.
A king is a man who rules a monarchy.
Simple.
But what makes a monarchy?
Is it the state? The people? The nobles? The land? Might?
No.
What makes a monarchy is legacy.
What comes after and what came before. That is what separates a monarchy from the tribes that inhabit the Harshlands. It is what his father told him as a child. It is what his father died for.
.
.
.
King Seroulus III stared down at his infant son, not but hours ago he was nestled in his mother's womb. Seroulus stared.
Stared at the emerald green eyes that were a mirror to his Queen's. The eyes he knew were now cold and unseeing, the toll of child birth too great for her already ailing body.
He sat in the hard wood chair of the castle infirmary with mind distant to the wailing cries of his son. His son, who was fated by prophecy to be Seroulus' death. Who was already the death of his dear Mary.
Rage built in Seroulus' chest and he turned his vengeful gaze to the infant. The infirmary was sat on the third story of the west wing, the motte below was shear rocks and jagged slate.
Yet as the light of the midday sun shone upon his son, eyes wide with delight at the sight of the rolling green fields beyond, the same green as Mary's.
Seroulus collapsed under the windowsill with his son, his last gift from Mary, cradled close to his chest. A racking sob rocked his frame.
Prophecy be damned.
Seroulus wasn't letting it take his family from him.
|
My parents named me Arthur, after the great king of Camelot who ruled nearly a century ago. A powerful name, rich with history. A name fit for a King, as I was to become…as I am now. And so, as my newborn son lies before me in the nursery, I only see one suitable name for the boy who will kill me.
I’ve seen far too much to disbelieve the prophecy of wizards. The Fae do not bestow the powers of spell casting to anyone, and those of them who are blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the power of foresight are never wrong. They may misinterpret something, or deliver the message of the future in words that mix up their true meaning, but the core of what comes out of their mouths remains true. If death is prophesied it cannot be fought, it cannot be bargained with. But then, death comes for all of us.
For me, according to my chief advisor, the great wizard Karlikelt, who trained under the great Morgan Le Fay herself, death will come in the form of my son. “You will fall by an arrow,” the wizard had said. “Your son will cause your fall with his favored shaft.”
The infant who lays before me now, in whose eyes I see not doom and destruction but innocence and the anguish of newborn confusion. The boy who I have decided will be named Mordred. It is the only name suitable fore the killer of a King named Arthur. But that does not mean I will set him on his course. If he will kill me, so be it. I refuse to become a monster for it. Let him hate me of his own choice. For my part, I choose to love him.
This remains true even as the Royal doctors tell me that young Mordred has taken his mother from me in his coming. Women die in childbirth all the time, I tell myself. It is not the child’s fault. I will mourn, and I will do my duty as both King and father.
Over the first few years of Mordred’s life, my promise becomes easier and easier. He is a bright young lad, brave and curious and deeply, inherently kind. Occasionally my advisors question why I chose such an evil name for such a sweet boy. I tell them the truth: that I do not believe Mordred to be an inherently evil name. The first man to bear it was a victim of circumstance. Let my son choose what man he will be, and may his deeds be so bright that he wipes all the filth from the name Mordred forevermore. The advisors nod their heads diligently and praise me for my wisdom, as they always do, but I know they mean none of it. Karlikelt nods as well, but with the mischievous glint of knowledge in his eyes. I turn away from them all, from their vapid proposals and empty praises, and go to spend time with the only human being who I may now show my true self to since my dear wife’s passing: my son. My sweet boy. I feed him from my hand, I teach him myself with only minimal assistance…I do everything I can for him, and in doing so I find a greater joy than that of wearing the crown: fatherhood.
On Mordred’s sixth birthday I take him with me on a hunting trip. Karlikelt manages the council while I am away, which I try to avoid given his esoteric nature, but it could not be helped. I had planned this day for years. Mordred had already taken an interest in the bow, and so I let him bring along the small, stout bow and quiver gifted to him by the weapons master. We ride deep into the woods, hunting stags and boats and all manner of wild beasts. We find only a few, but the excursion is a great success in other ways. When we are done, only one fresh arrow remains in his quiver. I ask if he would not like to find more game, and he says no…he would like to save that arrow for something special, later in life. A shadow of dread tries to work its way to my heart from that, but I refuse to allow it.
As the boy looks into my eyes as the sun sets that day, I still see no spark of hatred there. I see the same bright-eyed, kind youth I did the moment he was born.
This is wen I begin to allow myself the luxury of questioning Karlikelt’s prophecy. Perhaps the old man was wrong. Perhaps I would not wind up with an arrow in my eye shot from the very arrow he had been saving.
He takes further interest in history as he grows. I never tell him the significance of his name, and so I wait and dread the day he will ask me why he is named for a man synonymous with betrayal. But it does not come. I am certain he must have noticed, what with his incessant reading of historical documents and folktales. But he never poses the question. I grow more distant from my council in these days, and I hand off more and more power to Karlikelt when it comes to day to day matters. I am growing old, and tired of governance. Who needs a crown when you can make a child laugh?
PART TWO BELOW
| 2022-12-01T22:01:44
| 2022-12-01T21:12:02
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0.
|
A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do.
|
It was only the second week of philanthropic bidding. But Phillip had already burned through the allotted 20% that his accountant set aside in this “race to the bottom” that America’s wealthiest absolutely must play, once a year, or risk absolute destitution.
Phillip Stone, owner and current CEO of Americawide Insurance, had finally reached the top. It had taken many years to accrue this pile in his coffers. And now that he was here, at the top, only now did he realize just how insane this law was. It felt absolutely unfair. In his own eyes, Phillip’s amassing of wealth was done through pure, honest work.
But many Americans did not feel the same. Do you love the company whom you owe money to? No, Phillip thought, it would be impossible to curry any favor with the public. He had tried before, and he had failed.
It was a game of inches. Simply put, it was somewhat of a game of luck. But Phillip was drawn to it.
| 2021-09-17T18:33:10
| 2021-09-17T16:08:22
| 70
| 11
|
[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?
|
Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:33:45
| 4,830
| 177
|
[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
|
Hey kiddo. It's been too long since I've seen you. It's crushing to carry this weight some time. I'm really trying to show you that you can grow up and accomplish anything but it's manifesting in me leaving you behind. Your mom and I weren't right. She will forever hate me for it but I needed to do this for my happiness. You'll learn one day that everything comes at a price, and I've paid a huge one in losing you. There's this part of me that hopes one day you'll understand. There's also a part of me that knows you might grow up and feel abandoned and alone and lacking a male influence in your life, find the first shitty guy that comes along and fall in love with him because you never knew what love from a man is supposed to look like. I made so many huge mistakes. I just was trying to be more. I grew up with nothing and I was determined to make sure you never had to live like that. Your mom thinks I'm selfish and only care about myself. Somehow it always felt like I was doing it for you. So you could see. You can start with nothing and still achieve your dreams. You can be anything. I hope one day you see that I never stopped loving you. I just wasn't happy with your mom and someone else made me feel the way I was supposed to feel. I hope when you are given the choice, you choose happiness. I love you and I miss you. Please don't hate me.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T22:18:21
| 102
| 14
|
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her.
|
I slammed the door shut and threw the bolts, almost knocking myself off the ladder in my haste. I climbed down, and leaned heavily against the wall at the bottom of the ladder well. I could see Kira in the doorway, peaking around grandad's legs. God, why did those little eyes have to look so bloody HOPEFUL? With a deep breath to steady me, I shooed both of them back into the shelter, deliberately and solidly- please, god let it be solidly enough- locking the second blast doors behind me.
"Aren't we going out to play now?"
I paused, hand on the last lever in the combination, before pulling it down solidly.
"No, we can't go outside to play yet, sweetheart" I said without turning around "I'm so sorry. It looks like mummy was wrong. It's still thunder-storming outside."
"Oh..." It wasn't the sadness, but the sweet, simple acceptance in her little voice that made me turn around again. Quickly, I dropped down to my knees, as she darted over for a quick hug.
"Will there be more hail again? I didn't like the hail sounds. I didn't like it when they went ping."
Outside, there was a dull roar- the first blast of the new wave must have been right overhead this time.
"I think it might hail a bit more sweetheart. Come on, lets turn on the music again- that makes the hail harder to hear."
So this was how the world ended... listening to the heat shield slowly warping and pinging out of shape with Elmo singing the soundtrack.
Silently, I wished that the episode wouldn't end before it failed.
|
My muscles tensed in anticipation of the explosions. As the whistling sound grew in intensity I knew the moment had arrived. We held hands and prayed while the children slept through their fiery pending deaths.
*SQUONKA SQUONKA*
What the hell?! The sound continued, sometimes close by, then farther away, but over and over that bizarre sound replaced the expected boom of the bombs as they dropped. It went on for what felt like hours before silence once more filled the air.
We crept towards the shelter doors, confusion mixing with dread as we threw the bolts and slowly pushed the doors open enough to peek through. What we saw haunts me to this very day. Instead of the ruins of our city, smoldering buildings and craters in the ground, what we saw chilled us to the bone. A flash of color at first, darting through the mist with an awkward gait. The low sounds of the horns and tittering evil laughter. Horrid smiles painted on white creamy flesh. Large, bulbous red noses that should have caused feelings of mirth, image ruined by the sharp teeth and bloodied mouths.
I will never forget the sight of thousands of clones of that evil, twisted persona, Pennywise. I knew that death truly had come to us all. Not the quick and painless kind, but true horror awaited those who stepped outside. One of the children pushed forward from the back trying to get a glimpse of what was going on.
I needed to give them their last moments without fear. "Oh child, it's nothing. Just a circus come to town and not the war after all. Go back to sleep while we handle this." It hurt, lying to a child.
| 2015-05-11T05:16:04
| 2015-05-11T03:25:56
| 148
| 61
|
[WP] You were first exposed to r/WritingPrompts when it became a default subreddit. Infuriated by its potential to develop young writers who could compete with yourself, you set out to sabotage it by submitting endless prompts about Batman, the Devil, and Time Travel.
|
Their writing's improving,
I notice, with dread.
They're refining their talent,
All I see is red.
 
I cannot allow it,
no, this cannot be.
I can't have these writers
writing better than me!
 
But how can I stop them?
Oh aye, there's the rub.
The prompts, they keep coming...
Ah. Yes. Make them dumb!
 
What if Hitler were Batman,
and time travel was real?
What if Satan were friendly,
and his touches could heal?
 
Harry Potter fights Gandalf,
Soylent green is Darth Vader!
Imagine: Portal 2...
Except *you're* the potato!
 
"What's taters, precious?",
Gollum asks Captain Kirk.
Hey, what if in Die Hard,
John McClane wore *two* shirts!?
 
Just write what you see,
never mind what you know.
Your ideas come from me,
I'm *running* this show.
 
Their stories are awful.
The deed is complete.
With their talents confined,
They cannot compete.
 
But what to write now?
Don't know why, but I'm stumped.
Hey, I know how to fix this!
I'll browse /r/WritingPrompts!
|
I checked my submissions tab. The scores were low, only one of them had a response, and it was really low effort.
"They're onto me, this isn't working..."
I did some research, calculated the statistics of how successful each kind of prompt was. The decision was made, I readied my keyboard and typed the Meta-Prompt. Prompts about reddit and /r/WritingPrompts itself were the new solution.
| 2015-04-05T10:14:58
| 2015-04-05T09:21:51
| 234
| 125
|
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
|
"We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
These words silently flashed across the monitors of the stunned crew on Earth, their blinking the only sign of life in the still control room.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
He was first to break the silence.
"Think they got it?" said Marc, turned away from me and staring distantly out the window, as if trying to spot the transmission floating through space.
I swung around in my swivel chair and lit up a cigarette, taking advantage of our newly habitable atmosphere. "I sure hope so."
The smell of the lit match reminded me of home. Only ten left. Of course, we weren't supposed to bring anything flammable, but I couldn't help but sneak them onboard. Had the mission failed, it certainly wouldn't have been due to a matchbook.
"You know, you really shouldn't smoke those."
I chuckled. "Why, cancer? We just took the biggest risk of our lives, I think I can afford a smoke."
"No," Marc said, "because we don't know anything about how the chemicals in cigs may react out here. Might surprise you, but no one smokes on Mars."
"No one *smoked* on Mars," I corrected him with a wink, turning back to the screen. "Looks like the message was received. Now here's hoping they listen. Wouldn't want anyone contaminating the place," I snickered.
"Should we feel bad?"
I quickly spun back around. "Why should we feel bad? We didn't lie. The planet is inhabited. By us."
"I know, and you're right, it's just... I can't help but feel like we're leaving them behind. All of them."
He was right. That's exactly what we were doing, and we knew full well when we started. It's not like I wanted it to be this way. I fought like hell back home. We both did.
I rose from my seat and joined him at the small, round window, standing close. "We are. But no more than they've abandoned themselves."
I gently turned Marc by the shoulder and led him over to the airlock lever, nodding a gesture to pull. Slowly, he reached down and opened the doors to our new world. The first two inhabitants of Mars, ready to begin humanity's new chapter.
|
Red flashing lights and the sound of the allarm sirens echoes in the suffocating corridors of the Habitat Alpha-03. In the shadows an intestineless body blocks my path.
"You are going to make it, you can do this, I know you can"
Splatted blood trickling on the floor.
I gently move the corpse, that falls loudly at my feet.
"Damn John, I told you that you shouldn't have taken that *thing* inside the habitat."
Nasty, screeching noises form afar.
The communication center was closer every step. The allarm stopped suddenly, and the flickering lights of the tunnels went on once again.
A neon sign **Communication Center**
"I did it!"
The happiness quickly turned into fear.
Steps.
Not mine.
Not human.
A cabinet became the only barrier between me and the corridor.
The computer was still working.
"Wonderful"
My hands surf on the keyboard. Something is banging his head (I think) against the metallic door.
> We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.
Another door was present in the room, of course. I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I wasn't sure of that. From there, the shuttle bay was barely two hundred meters away.
"You can do this, that door is going to last enough"
I take a step in the silent hallway, hoping to make it to the hangar.
| 2019-01-31T07:54:22
| 2019-01-31T05:21:38
| 2,633
| 53
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
The two men walked out of the bar. They had been making small talk when one asked what the other was doing in town.
"Oh, I'm here to shoot the president." the shorter of the men said. His new friend looked slightly surprised but eventually replied.
"REALLY? wow. Me too. Small world huh. Still, I guess the way this year has gone there are going to be loads of people there with the same plan." They conferred for a minute and agreed that yes, there would be many. It was going to be big news and they both wanted to be the one to get that perfect shot.
The taller man was clearly expecting more money, the other decided to look him up later to check out his work. They discussed some of their plans.
"Yeah, I have a great vantage point picked out on a building nearby." the shorter one confided, he was insistent that being higher up and further away was a better vantage point. "I can shoot from there and nobody gets in my way you see. Clear line of sight, right at the guy. If you are down on the ground there are too many people about to get in the way. Plus it's easier to get away afterwards."
"Sure, but I like being closer, it's more personal. When I take that shot I want to be able to look him in the eyes, catch that perfect moment. The crowds don't bother me so much as long as I can take care of my equipment.
They both nodded in agreement at the others perspective. After all, both ideas clearly had their own merit. What neither realised was they were not both in the same line of work.
They eventually parted ways. The shorter man heading towards the building he had indicated and the taller man begun pushing his way through crowds, a small black bag slung over his shoulder. As the short man ascended the stairs, a large long black case in his hand, he thought about how much easier it would be up close, without all these stairs.
As the other pushed through the crowds he could hear almost nothing against the background of cheering, jeering and other noise. He needed to be right at the front and this was no time for being nice to others. He was tall and quite fit, elbowing people and shoving his way without apology leaving a trail of annoyed people behind him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, of course most of the people here were wearing masks which was a relief, the last thing he wanted was to get sick from this.
The last stair climbed the shorter man begun to open up and unpack his equipment. An array of adapters and optics, clip on attachments etc. A small bipod which he much preferred to most other supports. He had found a broken window so he could get a nice clear shot, pulled a table up to it and placed a plastic sheet over it before laying down on the table and setting up pointing out of the window. Wind whistled in through the hole and he was thankful for the leather gloves he was wearing. He had checked out this building before and there were no regular security patrols. It had been closed for some time after the company went under.
He was at the front of the crowd. The president was on stage. His "press" credentials had allowed him closer than most, in a small dedicated area. He wasn't as jostled here. Some elbow room. He was holding a nice DSLR with a huge lens balanced only in his hands. The others with all sorts of tripods laughed at him. He pulled the scarf up around his face. Only the tops of his eyes poking over. His hat was pulled down low over his head.
From up this high the president looked small, but with such a powerful zoom it would be easy. He just had to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe a heckler, or protest? Something was bound to happen that would take everybody's attention, cause a scene. Make some noise. Slowly as he aimed down at the president he took the lens cover off.
Both men had the president in their sights. Both men were ready to take their shot.
A crazed woman burst out of the crowd screaming about something, this was it. She hurled something at the president. An egg. Security guards rushed towards her.
The tall man in the crowd waited for the split second the egg hit. The president had his eyes shut, security were all focused on the woman.
The short man pulled his trigger as he saw the same moment.
A soft snap sound from both men. Inaudible to anybody in the crowds.
Somebody in a suit reached the president and tried to wipe the egg off his face only to have him slump into their arms.
Panic.
The president was dragged off stage, security fired, killing the woman who had thrown the egg. More shots rang out from the crowd and chaos ensued.
The tall man turned and left, running with the crowd.
The shorter man slowly packed up his gear. Slowly and methodically ensuring everything was put away and not a trace was left behind. He rolled up the plastic sheet and tucked it away in the case with everything else. He left too, eager to report to his employer. He was going to be rich.
"Up there! I saw a reflection!" somebody shouted, eyes turned to the tell tale flash of light that had reflected for a moment in the window high up, security rushed to the building.
The tall man flashed his press badge as he left in the opposite direction and slowly walked away.
Security converged on the empty building, all exits covered. A door opened, a short man tried to slip out of a rear fire exit unnoticed. A hail of bullets took him down in seconds. His limp body lay on the ground, blood covering his large black flight case.
Another man got on a bus, then a plane.
Various agencies surrounded the scene. They were searching for bullet casings and evidence high up in the building while a robot operated by bomb disposal carefully opened the clasps on the case and lifted the lid.
A dozen men in suits stared in horror at the contents of the case. An array of lenses. A bipod, tripod, monopod, remote camera trigger, a very expensive DSLR and a huge very expensive zoom lens, the sort the paperazzi use to get photos of celebs from miles away. The photographer lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
The hitman opened up his modified camera to clean the gun mechanism hidden inside it. The long lens had hidden the silencer and had been removed. Everything had gone exactly as planned, he was just glad he got his shot off before that idiot sniper had missed and alerted everybody.
Weeks later, the most published photograph of the decade, taken by the late photographer showed the president with egg on his face and a bullet a fraction of a millimeter away from his head. He would have earned millions had he been alive, instead there was a lot of argument over ownership of the image that had been leaked from one of the various three letter agencies.
"Oh! He really was there to shoot the president" the tall man said as he relaxed on a beach, chuckling to himself at the miss-understanding. At least he didn't have to go back and kill the man for knowing who he was.
​
\--- Ok, so I edited it to correct the mistake with the short/tall getting mixed up. A couple of other typos too. I guess I rattled this one out too quick! Thanks for all the positive comments. Re-read if you want to see the slightly clearer version...
|
"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
| 2020-11-05T05:44:49
| 2020-11-05T05:44:44
| 5,417
| 90
|
[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.
|
**Changes**
* Removed appendix
* Removed wisdom teeth
* Fixed a bug that caused infants to die for no reason
* Patched a bug that caused certain people to lose hair prematurely
* Body now handles excess calories better.
* Improvement of smell. Now should be on par with dogs
* Patched the bug that caused blurry vision in certain people
* Height limit increased
* Fixed a weird bug that made certain people attracted to young children. May need to reset preferences for this change to take place.
* Bodies will now "rag doll" instead of locking up when in a crash or similar event.
* Nipples no longer get irritated while running or in cold conditions
* Removed bug where women would grow facial hair
* Increased male pleasure from sexual intercourse. Should now be even with women.
* Increased flexibility of hip bones in women to allow birthing to be easier.
* Increased chance of rare eye color unlocks.
* Removed ghosts.
|
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"
| 2015-08-25T08:40:17
| 2015-08-25T07:52:12
| 292
| 69
|
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English.
|
A glimmer of sun. The peaceful sound of waves rolling onto the beach. Birds cawing. I yawned and stretched. The good kind of stretch where your body does that shake. I closed my eyes to return to my sleep.
“Woah hang on. I was not at a beach last night?” I think to myself as I jolt awake.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look around to take in my scenery. I was in a... circle? White sand out to my left and right reaching for miles until making a circle, a white cliff face as well encircling me no more than 60 feet high with trees above, a pink body of water in the middle with a waterfall on the other side, miles away. While alarmed at the scenery I didn’t recognize, the waterfall caught my attention. It was... wrong. I stared at it, perplexed. It appeared to be moving from the body of water UP the cliff face.
“I must have drank a lot last night. I swear that water is going up, not falling!”
As soon as I utter the words I felt... tired. As if I just ran a mile. Then, an ear splitting, deafening roar rumbles in the distance from the waterfall. The kind I FELT vibrating in my chest. A shockwave hits me and flattens me back down in the beach. I hear rocks cracking and crumbling. Now looking up, I see rocks falling from the cliff face behind me. I hastily pick myself up and begin sprinting away from the rocks. As I’m running I peer out in the distance from where the sound originated to see what on earth could have made that sound. Even with all the rocks falling behind me, I can’t help but stop.
The water from the waterfall is suspended in midair, as if hitting a glass bowl I can’t see, and then returning back to the top of the cliff.
“What in the hell?!”
A rock falls much too close to me so I break out of the trance and keep running. I venture into the water to further distance myself from the dangers behind me and, now safe from the rocks, finally take a moment to catch my breath. Returning my gaze to the “upfall” my jaw drops. This can’t be real. That water *is* moving *up* the cliff face. That’s impossible.
I look around once again. I certainly didn’t fall asleep on a beach last night. I was at a 4th of July party with Jasmine. We... man where did we go? We were at... Amanda’s house, Jacob was there... my memory was foggy. At this point I began to be irritated at my inability to remember. Me, Jasmine, Jacob and Holly, yes! Holly! We went to Amanda’s house and ended up leaving early to go to another party. While walking there....
My thoughts were interrupted by what seemed to be an echo, but almost a whisper, and nearly a memory.
“Ryan”. My name.
I froze. My hair stood up on the back of my neck. I got goosebumps. I swiftly turned around but no one was there. “...Ryan...” once again. It was IN my ear, I heard it audibly, but it was also in my head.
“RYAN!” A roar this time. Followed by a laugh.
Terrified, I looked in every direction but saw no one.
“RYAN!” My name swirling in my head but echoing as if I was in a small room.
“Where are you?! Who are you?!” I scream. Even terrified, I felt tired once more.
Then, out of a thin air, a figure appears in front of me in the water. No more than 5 feet away. Surprised and alarmed I fall back in the water and begin to crawl backwards away from it. A large, towering figure. Human in form but with 4 arms and 2 legs. One of the arms holds a staff, the other a sword. A robe and hood covering its body. The other two arms reach up to reveal a surprised face. It is a near human face but larger. Markings all over its neck and face. A pale green color. Eyes black.
The figure mutters words I don’t understand and begins walking towards me. Laughing. It’s the same voice I heard saying my name.
“No, no, no! STOP!” The figure freezes mid step. I can see every fiber and muscle in its large legs and face straining to move but it can’t. I go to lift myself but my legs give out. I’m exhausted.
It bellows in a roar, yelling in a language I don’t understand. My eyes widen in terror and I once again get up to run, finding new energy. As I’m sprinting away I hear it once again...
“Ryan....” it laughs.
I run down the beach but I’m stuck down in this bowl! Back from the initial shockwave I see a large section of the cliff face had collapsed, marking a potential way out. I run back as quick as I can, checking behind me to see the figure still stuck in the water.
I begin scrambling up the collapsed rock face. While athletic, I was no rock climber and about 30 feet up a rock gave loose and I fell. I heard a crunch and snap and blinding pain. I look at my right wrist to see I had clearly broken it. I screamed in agony.
“No, no, no this can’t be happening.” I look back to the figure and see it is now moving towards me. “No this is not good. Damn you wrist, WORK!”
Once again I become tired. I hear a crunch, pop and snap and feel my wrist... moving? I watch in both horror and wonder as my wrist rearranges itself, the bones back in place and the skin closed up.
I scramble up. No time to think. I get back on the rocks and once again near the top I can’t bypass a large boulder. At this point, why the hell not? “Move...” the boulder shakes and rolls down the cliff, nearly landing on the figure.
I get to the top of the cliff and find myself in an exotic forest. Large leafed trees, grass up to my chest, the suns beating down on m-... SUNS?!
No time to think. This thing wants to kill me. I take off into the forest before hearing it’s voice and laugh one more time
“Ryan...”
|
“Burrrmmmmm” faded as the bus pulled away from the Redline bus/W.sheridan stop and I snap awake, straightening out my frames, as the houses blur past.
“Shit my stop,” I said. pulling the chord.
The bus stopped in an instant. No momentum propelled fling forward from the driver hitting the breaks. But stopped like one would pause a movie, except I was still moving. I stood up confused as hell.
The red dot light sign read: “su pase cta puede estar vencido, asegúrese de registrarse” as I looked around everything was in a different language. I pushed on the “empujar abierto,” jumped out in the middle of Broadway, my shirt whipped passed me with a roar of every car, bird, bus, tree, plane, and sound of the city began to play at once...
BEEEEPBEEEP!! From the cab behind the bus. “Fuck off” I said, letting a bird fly; as I quick stepped a crossed the street a Burst of energy shot into the sky from where my hand has been with the bang of a shotgun.
The cab, driver paled from fear as he squealed his tires passed me.
A single Black car stopped, but I noticed everyone began to panic and cleared the block. Click! clunk! The black car door closed.
Two people in al black with beanies and ray bans concealing their appearance .
The taller person shouted “stop we necessitio apple mouth” the other person untangled a long piece of cloth in his hands moving swiftly.
“Whaaa” I couldn’t finish the word: what, when an apple suddenly was wedged between my teeth. I backed away down the street, slower than I wanted, the person with the cloth hand tried to grab me, along with the other. “Eeeuwww I moaned while biting down and pushing the applesith my lips. As I finished the word and continued to make the “wwwww “sound, the apple shot out of my mouth and off the shoulder off the cloth wielder. I noticed the individual’s shade clattered down the sidewalk as the apple shattered the black car window.
Shocked, I didn’t notice the second person. “Relax” the person said as they touched my neck with a bare finger.
I collapsed into a black fence surrounding the park next to the sidewalk. I grabbed the fence to pull myself up they pushed me back down with a hand atop my head. On the ground next to me, what looked like a cheat sheet on loose leaf paper titled “frases mágicas.”
“¡Oye!”
I glance up to see the persons blue chaotic eyes holding her pointer finger to her lips “Shhhh.” Terrified I tried to speak, she pushed her finger to my lips and shouted:”Slept!”
Her eyes were the last thing I saw my eyes closed.
| 2020-01-28T14:20:02
| 2020-01-28T14:10:31
| 29
| 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.
|
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.
|
Zachariah Jefferson was your average 12-year-old boy. He played soccer, basketball, and tennis though he was never really that good at it, but it was inspiring to see him try so hard.
When Zachariah turned 14, he gave up on sports and started to play the piano. He actually became quite the little pianist if I may say so myself.
When Zachariah was 16, he started to date and quickly forgot his pursuit of becoming great at something. I was sad at how he threw away his dreams for the pursuit of his sexual desires.
Zachariah turned 18 and he started packing his things. I started to scream at him to stay, but all he did was sit on the ground and stare up at me.
His parents were away for a couple of days and he was going off to college.
Zachariah was finally great at something.
He was the great meal that I have been waiting for, and it only took me 18 years of living in his attic.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T01:07:06
| 1,143
| 573
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
I don't know why they care so much. It's not like I'm hurting anyone besides myself.
I rarely smoke in public these days, and when I do it just doesn't feel right. I don't even smoke when reading the newspaper anymore because I can't handle seeing myself on page 7 everyday.
Oh what's John up to today? There he is having a smoke in the alley behind his house. What a bad person. What a bad guy. I hate that John. Always smoking up the place.
Sure, it's not the best thing to be doing or spending my money on, but I like it. I like the way Muhammad's face lites up as he grabs me a pack of cigarettes from his dwindling stock. He's the only person in this city that still sells these cancer sticks. And I'm the only one that buys them. So, we have a bit of a serious relationship.
I keep buying them everyday. He gets to continue operating his store. He's a nice guy, that Mohammad.
Not a lot of people visit his store these days. Mostly because of me. Because I refuse to quit this silly addiction that I love, yet everyone hates me because of.
It's been years since the tobacco riots, and even longer since president Sherman issued a cull order on all drug users. I survived that as a baby and was one of seven people that were grandfathered into the new world as a drug user. I am also the only remaining of those seven babies.
I fear that my days are numbered as the propaganda has become increasingly hateful everyday. Usually limited to the paper, radio, and the occasional television ad ranting about how I am a literal demon sent here to destroy this marvellous fascist society; they have turned most of the electronic billboards in the city centre to ads targeting me.
I've heard rumours of the authority killing Mary Ellesmere after the truce, but I don't think they would do it so blatantly now that I'm the last one left.
My fear is but just that."
Sergent Capolo drops the brown leather bound journal to the floor and stands upright from his crouched position. He turns to the other armoured soldiers standing behind him and gives them a nod. They begin the pour gasoline on the floor of John's apartment. As Sgt. Capolo reaches the door he pauses momentarily and backtracks the room toward John's almost unrecognizable body laying lifeless. Sgt. Capolo crouches next to the body and plucks the package of cigarettes from the chest pocket of Johns work shirt and places them in his breast pocket. He leaves the apartment.
|
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.
| 2017-02-17T13:15:29
| 2017-02-17T12:05:48
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] A "popular" girl falls in love with a "nerdy" boy, however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO WRITE SHORT STORIES BASED OFF MY PROMPT!! I HAVE YET TO READ ALL YOUR STORIES THOUGH, AS I'M BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND OTHER STUFF :D
I'm sorry if I have somehow ripped off your precious harem animes. That was completely unintentional. (I don't even watch anime that much)
I'm sorry if this prompt is too uncreative for you guys. Maybe next time I'll post one that's "different" enough but not so unique that I'd probably end up writing a novel about one day (I have dreams that shall never be fulfilled)
I'm sorry if I have triggered anyone somehow.
|
Not even a fictional piece, there are two people at my school exactly like this. I'll change names and make it dialoguey.
--
Cassie sighed a deep sigh as she walked into Theatre II, first period. She looked over at CJ casually playing on his years-old 3DS. The sounds indicated he was playing at iteration of smash.
She sat two seats away from him as always, with Cade and Katherine between them. As Mrs. Garcia began calling roll, she silently waited for her name.
"Elizabeth Allison?" "Here."
"Cassie Britfield?"
CJ looked so cute in his TMNT jacket.
"CASSIE!"
"HERE!" she cried, startled.
As soon as roll finished, people automatically rose to go attend to final details. That afternoon, the class was headed to an elementary school to perform a children's play - a sort of CD, hopefully maturing into one or two theatre department members in four to nine years. Cassie was playing a bratty princess, and CJ a kind grandfather.
Miraculously, she and CJ were both on set crew. She used this time to attempt to flirt; saying hi, asking about his interests, flipping her hair, the works. She knew she was gorgeous, but not in a self-centered way; she knew she had a good body and long, soft black hair. She just wished it mattered to CJ. NOTHING seemed to matter to him; did he even have a sex drive?
Thoughts of that had to be pushed out of her mind for now, there were set pieces to load up. After an hour of work, they were ready. A short drive to the elementary school later, they were setting up.
During which, of course, CJ went back to playing on his DS. He was too adorable to disturb, so she went about the set setup herself. Following setup, the little kids filed into the cafetorium in neat lines under the tyrannical watch of early education majors.
CJ was amazing in his performance, as always. Hidden beneath the hoodie and long, unkempt hair was a veritable acting genius. He made the kids laugh when he wanted them to laugh and they calmed when he wanted them quiet. As he came backstage once his parts were over, she congratulated him.
"Thanks, Cassie! You were great too!" He replied, ever kind. He knew she liked him and so tried to be nice in the stead of romantic interest. It just hurt more. Two years of patient kindness, not one loving word or look in return.
After the show ended and four hundred children were high-fived, striking the set was the next step. CJ thankfully worked diligently at this as opposed to setup and the work was going quickly until they crashed into each other on the tiny stage. Cassie fell backwards while CJ hit a wall and slid down it. Ever the closet gentleman, CJ scurried over to Cassie to make sure she was okay.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, worry on his face.
Cassie found it amusing that he still worried when it was a simple tumble. He had never been this close to her; he was directly above her, by maybe a foot. An irrational thought took her mind and she let it act out - she reached up, put her hand on the back of his neck, sat up on one elbow, and kissed him.
The rest of the day registers as a blur in Cassie's memory. She knows CJ screamed in surprised disgust and toppled backwards, hitting his head on a metal cart (causing yet another yell). People came to the scene and laughed. She sat in silence during the drive back and the drive home. It all merged together in a whir of laughter, yells, and green hoodies.
And once she was home, she cried.
---
Please note that this story is a somewhat dramatized account of an actual event. Names are changed as are certain chronological elements.
For those who may want to know what happened afterwards, CJ changed to a policy of avoidance of Cassie, which did nothing to affect her feelings. It's now about a calendar year later and she still likes him, and he still will have nothing to do with her.
|
Jonathan ran, his arms outstretched behind him, like the wings of a mighty bird of prey. He flew through the classroom leaping past desks and his classmates alike. He stopped at Billy's desk and karate chopped the papers and books onto the floor. Jonathan squealed in glee as he fled the scene at breakneck speed.
It was recess and only Billy remained at his desk going over See Jack Run over and over. For such a classical piece of literature Billy thought it was remarkably difficult to understand. Billy took his time though, he was going to be smart, he was going to graduate and finally make the millions he had dreamt about his whole life. Billy knew he could achieve anything he set his mind to, so he set his sights on the books before him.
Julie watched from across the room, surrounded by her usual gaggle of giggling girls and the occasional boy who managed to muster enough courage to try and actually talk to her. She was queen bee, and the swarm of boys that buzzed around the room amused her. Julie knew that with a word, any of these boys would quit showing off and do whatever she asked. All of them except Billy. She looked at Jonathan as he ran up to her to collect his reward; a small hug, and a smile that was thought to be a major factor of global warming by those blessed enough to receive one. Jonathan tried to talk to her, but he was quickly dismissed by Julie's annoyed look. The girls closed ranks around Julie, scavenging Jonathans momentary attentiveness to boost their own standings. The vultures, thought Julie, but only for a moment as she looked back at Billy struggling his way through Math now. Julie mumbled to softly to herself, thinking of new schemes to once and for all have every person in the class recognize her greatness. A small thought emerged in her pretty little head, if she could just have Billy, she would need anyone else.
Billy sat in his usual chair at the front of the class, he had transferred a week ago, and was still completely oblivious to the social interactions of his classmates. That suited him well though, all Billy needed was his studies. If only that girl Julie would stop trying to get my attention, Billy thought. Once again another boy flew past knocking Billy's school supplies onto the floor. Billy shook his head, he knew he was a bit bigger than the other kids, but Billy knew violence would only get him in trouble. He lowered his head back into the crevasse of his math book and tried to figure out why some numbers were so darn smug. Darn prime numbers, think their better than everyone else, Billy thought.
She had done all the classic moves; laughed at all his jokes, picked him for her group projects; she had even gone so far as to pinch AND punch him, in one day nonetheless. What else would it take to get Billy to notice her, Julie contemplated. Finally she had had it, a week had passed and graduation was approaching quickly for Billy, she had to act fast. With the help of her friends and lackeys, no one knew which they were, Julie created her grandest scheme yet. She would make him love her even if she had to do so by force. On the day of Billy's graduation Julie put on her cutest outfit and ran to class, she was determined to kiss him before he left. Everyone in the class knew her plan except the teacher and of course Billy himself.
Billy knew something was wrong as he entered the classroom for his last time, he was finally moving on to the next grade. As he walked through the door Julie leapt from the side and grasped his neck firmly in her arms as she went for her big moment, but Billy brought one hand around and stopped her lips cold with his oddly large palm.
Julie was stunned, "WHY" she screamed. "Why don't you like me", she hadn't meant to be so loud, but the rejection shook her to the core.
Billy stumbled back shocked, "WHY", he said incredulously. "I'm 27 years old, that is WHY" Billy whined.
I haven't seen Billy in some time, but as his former teacher I do keep track of my students. I hear Billy is doing quite well, something about a hotel chain. Very impressive stuff. Julie never recovered from the incident. I hear she became some kind of public relations director at a golf course, but the man she is with is just horrible, some ass named Shooter McGavin. I do hope she find someone better someday. Oh well, till next time, on stories from behind the teachers desk.
| 2016-05-29T11:05:26
| 2016-05-29T10:33:11
| 19
| 13
|
[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 hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
|
Sleep. Darkness. It was bountiful. It was warm and welcoming.
It was disturbed.
Heavy. Tired. One of my eyes lazily opened. My pupil expanded and contracted, adapting to the light within my castle. Within my treasury. I was surrounded, smothered, in mountains of gold. The peaks and valleys were so large and vast that they dwarfed even my titanic form. Coins, bars, jewelry and crowns wrought of gold and pockmarked with gemstones twinkled in the skylight's glow. The rings of dozens of slain Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses and heroes alike. This treasure trove was an ocean of wealth, and the waves rolled in stories of their bounty. This was my Kingdom.
And I had a guest.
I could hear him coming. Muffled footsteps of plate scraped along the stone corridors of my castle, echoing into my chamber. He must have thought he was stealthy, sneaking through the lair of a dragon. I snorted, coins flying out of my nostrils and clattering upon the hundreds of thousands just like them, tumbling into place somewhere within my golden nest.
The ivory doors to my treasury clattered and thudded, the bar slamming down on the outside with a loud thud that reverberated into my chamber. He cursed under his breath and creaked the door open shyly.
I hear everything.
The 'hero' crept out from behind the ivory gate, skidding coins out from beneath his feet as he tip-toed across the room at a sloth-like pace, hoping to avoid waking me. I have seen many heroes, and I have killed many more.
This was no hero.
He wore battered plate, scuffled and tarnished, his broadsword nearly cracked and chipped from mistreatment. He turned about the room, surveying my golden horde, kicking more coins out from under his boots. As he reworked his footing, spinning around until his eyes fell upon my form, his shield caught my eye. It shone a silvery-gold, reflecting the skylight and gleaming of the treasure back into my cracked eye. Painted upon the steel shield was the crest of Lyonaire, a black lion rearing in front of a castle of red and green.
Rage.
My eyes snapped fully open, the pupils flying in on themselves and becoming crescent slits within an instant. I shot up, sending coins spiraling in a shower throughout the air, causing the would-be hero to jump upwards in fear. In doing so, the fool slipped on the coins carpeting the stone floor, making him fall on his plated ass as he lost his footing and winding himself from the blow.
Vengeance.
I spread my colossal wings, unfurling the leathery canopy within, pulling my head up with them. I unleashed a savage roar and a geyser of blue flame with my fury, shaking the walls and scorching the air of my treasury with my volcanic hatred. It is hot within the depths of Hell, and this insect of a hero shall soon find himself within a personal Hell.
My hell.
I swept my tail throughout the air, sending jewels, coins and a tsunami of treasure crashing down as my spiked appendage slammed into mountain after mountain of wealth.
"You dare to invade my home, Lyonaire?"
My voice was an earthquake, reverberating through every coin beneath my body, every stone brick of my castle, and vibrating throughout the hero's plate armour, causing it to ring.
"You have found me, Human."
My voice was lava, broiling the air. Every word flooded the room with heat and smoke. Every enunciation searing the hero's armour and the whelp within.
I crept closer to his prone form, the cretin hadn't even managed to pick himself up yet. He was no hero. He was a jest. A spiteful joke to remind me of my seething hatred. Of my bitterness towards his retched race.
Gold and treasure flew outward beneath my claws as they thundered down upon my vast collection. I pushed my face towards this mortal, this joke, and I bared my fangs, pulling my jaws into a smile that showcased every black tooth, each larger than the pathetic creature before me.
I brought my voice down into a soft growl of jaded agony towards his kind. A promise of retribution within every word.
"You have found your death."
My voice was hatred.
I pulled my head back, drawing my breath deeply and preparing to burn the Human alive with the brilliant blue flame of my ilk. The air became increasingly colder as I pulled the heat of my words back into my chest. They were balling up, becoming an explosive hell for me to unleash in an eruption that no mere conversation could do justice.
The Human stirred, cowering, and brought his hands up between my hulking mass and his own rodent self.
"Wait, wait! Please, wait!"
I held my breath, bemused. A small spoke of flame poked outward, smoking out as I stifled my fury.
The Human stood up, clumsily resting his weight on a knee before finding his footing on the coins beneath once more.
He lifted a gauntlet covered hand up to his helmet, pulling back the visor covering his face and revealing his eyes. They were blue and piercing, shimmering from their own brightness and the soft golden glow of my treasure horde. They were fearless.
This Human was no coward.
He caught my gaze immediately and never once broke it. I tightened my eyes and tilted my head in curiosity. I have seen many heroes, and I have killed many more. This man was no hero, and yet he was stronger of spirit than any of the skeletons drowning beneath the waves of my wealth.
He slowly reached down to a pouch at his belt, the singed leather still steaming from my outburst, and from it he removed a coin and held it up for me to see. The coin was gold with a sapphire centrepiece, one of the few tokens created to be shared between my ilk and the Humans. A Sapharon coin.
He balanced the coin on his gauntlet bound hand for a moment before flicking it through the air. It flipped end over end as it arced, landing in front of my claws.
The Human pulled his helmet off as the coin cluttered atop the less noteworthy of its kind. As he removed his headpiece his black mane of hair became freed, which he quickly shook away from his face.
"Forgive my interruption," He spoke in a soft and certain tone.
"But you are a Sapharos dragon, are you not?" A smile cracked his lips as he finished his sentence.
My scales betrayed me. They were an iridescent navy blue, sheening brightly in the light and shimmering with the same brilliance as my flames.
I leaned closer towards the Human, slowly bringing my claws out across the gold coins beneath, until my tremendous maw was pressed up to the side of his face so that I could speak into his ear. My words were softer, if only to avoid setting the wretches hair ablaze.
"I am, Human." I pulled back, a glare overtaking my cobalt eyes as anger flashed throughout my thoughts.
"And you are a Lyonaire." I spat out the name of his people.
"Tell me why you should live, instead of joining your brethren." My words were growing hotter. Louder.
Anger storming within me, I brought my maw back to his ears and whispered a reminder. "...Mortal." Steam whipped outwards around my teeth, flitting against his head.
He drew back slightly and brought a plated arm across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat from the heat of my conversation. Not a drop was from nervousness, surprisingly.
He met my gaze again, standing firmly. Our blue eyes, both equal in their cobalt sheen, locked one another's.
"Because I have a proposition for you."
I paused briefly before throwing my head back in laughter. This Human was a lunatic, what's more he had a death wish that I was all too happy to oblige. My laughter shook the walls and the ceiling, stone groaning from the force of my entertainment and knocking loose dust and crumbling debris to rain down upon us. Loose coins shook out to clink and clang as they fell down their respective piles of gold. I tightened my eyes on this Human and his bravado, his audacity and arrogance. It was so much like his kind. Yet, for some reason, this one was different. He didn't bear the same entitlement most did. He was simply equipped with certainty that I would not merely end him like the other intruders seeking glory and fame.
My voice was a low growl, now. Though still enough to drive the heat of the room up by several degrees. I glared at him, jaded and spiteful. "Even with that coin, Boy, you should have known better than to come into my Kingdom." Smoke wisped outwards as I finished speaking, baring my fangs as my anger mounted.
He nodded respectfully towards me before speaking, casting his eyes downwards.
"Those Sapharon coins once served as a contract of faith between your kind and mine, an arrangement between Human and Sapharos."
Eruption. Fire.
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21
| 2015-10-14T03:54:02
| 32
| 13
|
[WP] You’ve been kidnapped by the SCP foundation. Why? You have the ability to ‘Mr. Magoo’ yourself out of anything. Sniper about to assassinate you? You bend down to pick up a penny just in time, SCP-049 about to touch you? A Sudden cannonball knocks them away. All with you being none the wiser.
|
**Item #:** SCP-777
**Object Class:** Euclid
**Special Containment Procedures:** No special safety procedures are required for the containment of SCP-777. SCP-777 is free to move about Site-19 so long as it does not attempt to engage with other SCPs, enter restricted areas, leave the premises or cause obstruction to foundation personnel. Contact with SCP-777 is permitted, but any divulgence of information or hostile engagement not cleared by the corresponding Class B or higher officer on duty will be met with harsh reprimands and potential disciplinary action, following the events of **Addendum 777.01** (see below).
A Class B officer is to check on the status of SCP-777 at regular intverals to ensure the safety of the subject and adherence with the containment procedures. SCP-777 is generally cooperative with foundation personnel, and verbal commands or negotiations are to be used as a first means in securing the subject.
**Description:** SCP-777 appears to be a human male, aged 23, with long brown hair, green eyes, and no defining facial features beyond a slightly pointer than average nose. All physical examination of SCP-777 shows no deviation from typical humans, and in all regards, SCP-777 is an average human male.
However, SCP-777s anomalous properties are observable if SCP-777 is placed in harm's way. Should there be any unwanted resultant effects to SCP-777, SCP-777 will act, seemingly unconsciously to avoid any and all harm to themselves. This harm or damage to the subject that is avoided appears to be both physical and mental in nature. It should be noted that this anomalous property only applies to unwanted damage, see **Addendum 777.02** (below).
SCP-777 has demonstrated that the intent to cause damage to SCP-777 is irrelevant regarding its anomalous properties. Any and all damage, intentional or not, directed at SCP-777 will not affect the subject. Following the events of **Addendum 777.06** (see below), any experimentation using equipment that has a chance exceeding >0.01% of causing an Orange level alert must be cleared with the Class A officer on-site beforehand.
 
**Addendum 777.01:** During an incident where a Class D foundation member was engaged in janitorial duties, SCP-777 entered the area of operation and left "bloody muddy footprints all over the place!" This engagement resulted in the SCP-777 immediately apologizing, although the foundation member did not appear to accept this apology. In the ensuing moments, as the apology was rejected, the Class D foundation member appears to enter a trance-like state. This was not, however, harmful to the member's health as once the apology was accepted by the foundation personnel, SCP-777 vacated the area of operation and the member's mental faculties returned. They were dazed for a few minutes after, but this is pending confirmation by security-tape review. Post-event psychiatric analysis indicates they have no recollection or awareness of what occurred, and subsequent interviews show that SCP-777 was indeed unaware of their anomalous properties as the previous description states.
**Addendum 777.02:** SCP-777, in attempt to cause minor repairable damage to the subject, was placed in a room with a buzzer. SCP-777 was told to wait in there for an hour, and that the buzzer would deliver a small electric shock of 9 Volts should it be pressed. SCP-777 was observed not pressing the buzzer until 31 minutes and 21 seconds had elapsed. The buzzer then delivered its electric shock, and monitors indicate that SCP-777 did suffer some damage. SCP-777 pressed the buzzer 4 more times over the course of 20 minutes, before appearing to grow bored of it. SCP-777 then loudly complained, before seemingly accidentally pressing the buzzer, which did not deliver an electric shock. Post-test analysis reveals that there was a malfunction in the buzzer, frying the circuitry. Data suggest minuatre black holes developed and evaporated, but results are pending further analysis.
**Addendum 777.06:** During a test using explosives, SCP-777 used its anomalous properties to caused the walls of the test chamber to undergo a sudden decompression event. This unfortunately led to a cascading failure in containment cells as the explosives detonated, leading to the release of SCP-173. 14 D-Class foundation personnel were lost in the event, and any further testing is that could lead to an Orange level alert is prohibited. SCP-777 was not harmed in the event, as SCP-173 appears to have missed SCP-777's presence. Furthermore, SCP-777 was found with a single unit of American currency, valued at $0.01. SCP-777 claims that this 'lucky penny' appeared on the floor right before the explosion, which as absorbed by the falling wall. Analysis of debris indicates that all projectiles formed a 'null-zone' around SCP-777, narrowly avoiding any damage as it bent to pick up the 'lucky penny'. Further experimentation on culturally significant lucky items in hazardous situations manifesting in SCP-777's vicinity is currently undergoing review.
**Addendums 777.00, 777.03, 777.04** and **777.05** are currently not available to those under Security Clearance Level 2.
***
Come visit /r/ThomasWrites for more really lucky beings. For those of you with Level 2 Security Clearance, there are please enter your creditentials to view the [**Capture Log for SCP-777**](https://www.reddit.com/r/ThomasWrites/comments/ic6q99/wp_youve_been_kidnapped_by_the_scp_foundation_why/?)
|
Dear diary, I've had an interesting day to say the least. I was sitting at home when some very fancy looking men in suits arrived to inform me I'd won an all expenses paid trip to their luxury spa and hotel on behalf of the SCP foundation! Never heard of it, but it must be pretty big to send these fancy looking men to *my* door. We're currently on a very fancy private jet flying over what appears to be the ocean. These men are nice enough, but mostly quiet and stern looking boys. Bet they must have served some time in the military to get a grimace like that.
Dear Diary, These nice young men have brought me to a most peculiar hotel. Concrete walls, and quite the elevator ride, I don't recall seeing a building so tall when we landed on this private island, of course I seemed to have misplaced my glasses which doesn't help. Our first order of business was checking in, the man at the desk asked for my information and had a most unpleasant demeanor about him. When I commented on it a manager arrived and dismissed the boy almost immediately. The manager was quite a jovial man, much better with his customer service. After that they brought me to some kind of interview room, which looked oddly like an interrogation room from those cop movies. They said it was for the press, when they published articles about the winner of their big sweepstakes. The questions were a bit odd though, things like height, weight, blood type, etc. Must be a big Japanese audience for those articles I guess. After that they showed me to my room. Not the best hotel accommodations I've ever seen, but definitely not the worst, I've spent the night in a Las Vegas Motel before. It's been a long day so I guess I'll write more tomorrow.
Dear Diary, This is a very fascinating Hotel, not many guests wandering around and each door is labelled with the SCP logo followed by a number. Seems a bit over kill to me. Weirdly though, the doors don't go in any sort of sequential number. They skip around all over the place. Heck, I saw it printed on an odd looking piece of paper as if the paper was meant to be a room. Though I can see what some of the fuss was about, this place is *gigantic*. I don't think I've ever been in a building this big before. The staff are pretty scarce, but are all quite nice whenever they see me. Oh! I almost forgot, they gave me these comfy PJ's with my room number printed on them to wear around the hotel. They said it was so all the employees knew I was a real VIP.
Dear Diary, Today I had a very odd experience with one of the employees. I've been at this hotel for a few days now and I was wondering when I'd get to experience more of the spa treatment or explore the island. So I asked a straping young lad who was standing in front of a door about it. He didn't seem to have an answer for me and got pretty snippy saying I needed to stay away from the door he was standing in front of. Must have been a security guard, but there's no reason to get so angry with a guest! Qhen I went to talk to management about the man and ask about getting some spa treatment I was quickly greeted by the manager, nice man he is he'd already seen my exchange with the guard and came to apologize. Here's where it gets weird, the manager brought me to another guest's room 9624. Apparently they expected this guest to pamper me and give me the spa treatment I'd asked for. I walked in and sure enough, there was a beautiful young lady there ready to give me a massage, a manicure, and even shave my face. Nothing quite beats the smooth feel after being shaved with a straight razor. But how unorthodox to have guests perform these duties! The woman was wearing the same sort of PJ's I am after all. I sure hope I don't have to do all that work for some other guest. Though, the woman seemed more than happy to be doing it. She didn't say anything during the whole thing really, must be the shy type.
Dear Diary, I've been at this hotel for well over a week now and I must say, it's not as boring as I'd initially thought. After an incident where I'd accidentally walked into a room labelled 173 and met a nice young man. He had an odd complexion and was pretty quiet but he seemed like a nice enough lad. When I left his room I was greeted by the manager who seemed shocked I was able to have such a good time talking with this young man. He told me I was free to roam the entire grounds including into other guests rooms, if I so wished. Can't say that's the best! business model but who am I to judge?
Dear Diary, I've been at this hotel for a few months now and I'm thinking it might not be a "hotel" the staff don't seem to want to let me leave. That's okay though, this place seems almost infinitely huge and every day I see more and more fascinating new things and meet incredible people. Even found an odd machine that whenever I put something in one end it spits out exactly what I want out the other end. That seemed to perplex the suits who seemed to think something else would come out the other end. Or the so called "endless maze" that some guy in a lab coat tried to tell me not to go in. Seemed like an ordinary hallway to me. Just a big loop that brought me right back where I started.
Dear Diary, This place is a containment center for oddities. I'm not *odd* I don't belong here. I miss my house, I miss my friends. I'm going to leave tomorrow. I'll have to say goodbye to my friend in room 106 before I go though...
| 2022-05-20T21:30:10
| 2020-08-18T08:59:30
| 4,017
| 86
|
[WP] When you became a vampire you assumed that you would have to watch out for vampire hunters but the truth is something much, much worse preys upon the undead.
|
He awoke, the puncture wounds on his neck still dripping in blood. He did not know why he was spared, nor targeted - all he knew was that something had irrevocably changed.
He did his best to abstain, though the hunger soon compelled him to seek out blood. Initially, he decided that he would just feed on those that deserved death - criminals, murderers, those they preyed on the weak and sick.
Over time, however, that line blurred. Those that truly deserved death were hard to find, even in the cover of darkness. The hunger did not allow for careful consideration nor deliberation, and soon he feasted on simply whoever seemed cruel, regardless of their actions.
Throughout it all, his hunger grew, as did his power. Every new victim embued a greater sense of alacrity within him, of unholy strength. The blood pulsed through his veins as if it were alive; as if the souls of his victims were trapped inside it.
It felt as if he would burst - as if he could barely contain the power inside of him. It was intoxicating as much as it was terrifying. And still, it made him seek out more victims, regardless of their sin. He no longer discerned between the guilty and the pure - they were all just sacks of blood now, begging to be drained.
****
He returned to his home, dripping in blood, sick on power. Sick *from* power. His veins were pulsating, as if they were struggling to break free. He could no longer bear it, and dropped to his knees from the pain. He began crawling to his quarters, begging that it would all just go away.
Someone - some*thing* - appeared before him. He did not have the strength to look up at it, nor the courage.
A black substance shot through his heart, attaching itself to every artery, every vein. It began to drain him; slowly, deliberately.
He realized that he was but a vessel, tasked with accumulating power for this being. He was never truly powerful compared to it, nor free - he was nothing more than cattle.
He felt the power drain from him; and with it, his very life.
Despite the futility, he did not resist. In truth, he welcomed death. He had become a monster, and this was a release that he did not have the courage to do himself.
He felt the last sliver of power, of life, drain to the core of his heart - and the being released him.
He looked up, and the being was gone. He was alive. He was free.
And yet, the hunger remained.
*****
*****
Might post another part if there's any interest. Have a lovely day <3
|
Ahh, I can recall like it was just yesterday. Just yesterday that I was finishing grad school and marrying the love of my life. It’s been thousands of years though now and I’ll never have that same happiness again.
It was all so sudden that It honestly took me a while to notice the changes. I noticed my skin slowly turning pale even though I would be outside all day with my fiancé, I noticed that I slowly started to crave red meat cooked rare when I usually preferred white meat. Then when I was pronounced infertile.. my fiancé left me as all he wanted in life was what I could not provide him.
Years and years passed, it wasn’t until I was in my 50’s and I didn’t look a day over 19 that I finally realized something was up. I searched online, I searched in libraries, I searched in bookstores, and I read every article, chapter, section and, book about what I suspected I had became.
A vampire. Probably bitten on one of my late night stumbles home from the near-by bar. It had probably happened in the back alley I took to get from the bar directly into my neighborhood, and being so drunk I have no recollection.
When I first started to research I was worried about vampire hunters carrying, garlic, and wooden stakes that they aimed to stab through my heart.
But no there is something far worse out there. Something that torments us slowly before finishing us off for good. It can be avoid for years and years but in the end there is no escaping the beast.
I’m on the run from it now. It found my last location and was coming for me, forcing me to move.
In my travels the past 4000 years I’ve meet 3 others like me all telling me their close calls with this being, describing him to be a tall man in a dark suit with a trench coat and a top hat. They say his smile is enticing making you want to chat with him till he shows you his teeth, then it’s a game of chase and you must run for your life. If he catches you, you are his and you are to be ripped to shreds…
I’ve just glanced his smile.. he’s on to me.. I guess this is good buy
| 2021-10-28T20:38:53
| 2021-10-28T20:04:53
| 130
| 16
|
[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
|
The time has come to say farewell,
I doubt I'll do it very well.
The skills involved I lack you see
They, like my life, were not to be.
I'll miss the sky, the purple tree, my last blue pie, my last high tea
I will not cry, I will not try, I will not swim, I will not fly
I never could, I never should,
death comes soon,I hoped it would.
I draw my last and gasping breath,
green eggs and ham will bring my death
this note I leave for all to see,
life goes on, but not for me
| 2015-01-17T11:47:28
| 2015-01-17T09:07:52
| 42
| 29
|
[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.....
|
"Well, come on, we don't have all day."
I thought it was funny the adjudicator mentioned this, because it had in fact already taken all day to get to me. The first 30 or 40 people chose quickly, and then things ground to a halt as the powers became more obscure and less useful.
I waffled for a good minute... and then I asked a question.
"...How specific can I be?"
"What?" the adjudicator furrowed their brow. They were annoyed at the fact that I was *negotiating* when we were already running so far behind.
They continued. "As specific or as broad as you like. It can be anything as long as you follow the two rules."
"Yes, yes... No godly powers and it has to be unclaimed." I scratched my chin. What was useful to me? What could I use every day that was mundane enough to go unchosen but powerful enough to be worth it?
A moment later, I had it.
"Teleportation."
The adjudicator immediately balked. The rest of the candidates sighed. One cursed me, begging me to stop messing around and pick something for real.
"You *obviously* can't have teleportation-"
"-because someone already took it." I interrupted. I held a finger in the air.
"...but my telelportation power only works if I'm standing in a McDonald's, and it can only teleport me to any other McDonald's."
Silence. Everyone was speechless. The adjudicator let out a deep, long "Hmmmm..."
"I'll allow it. It's unique enough."
I made some enemies that day. Mostly in the upper 50s and beyond, and almost certainly because they hadn't thought of trying it first.
|
"Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John.
| 2022-11-17T09:26:30
| 2022-11-17T07:26:44
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
When the Jal-tharians had begun destroyimg human settlements and capturing planets, the Terran Federation asked for peace, hoping to resolve whatever had caused such violent acts against them.
When the Jal-tharians laughed and mocked, and destroyed the vessel sent with offerings of peace, the Terran Federation demanded a cease fire and reparations. The Galactic Council watched, wondering if Humanity would fall as a few races had.
There was not a third incedent. Not that was fully followed through. The Jal-tharians attempted to destroy the human cradle world they called Earth. One Sol cycle later, there weren't even genetic scraps of the Jal-tharians remaining to clone, and they were declared extinct by the Galactic Council.
Humanity once more put forth what they called an 'Olive Branch', a sign of peace from their home world. Two more races went extinct in the Civil war that erupted within the Joint Galactic Empires, without Human intervention, and humanity's offer of peace was accepted, for their offering of peace is a mercy. They are neither chaos nor order, but both, and they merely wish to live. And they won't just fight for that. They will genocide for it, should they be forced to do so.
|
- So, commander. I want you to surrender the planet, and no harm shall come to you - said general looking into the eyes of an alien commander sitting before him. The alien smirked and said:
- surrender? To you? Peacekeepers and weaklings. I will NEVER surrender to you.
General smiled and said:
- peacekeepers? So that is what you think we are? You think our pacifist ways are the sign of weakness. Oh no my friend, oh no. If you continue to refuse us you will learn why we are pacifist.
The alien burst out laughing and said:
- give it on. I have seen many wars human, you aint scaring me.
The general looked at him and said to comlink:
- Commander, protocol 35 is a go - he then turned to alien and said - you may want to see this. Here you go.
The screen appeared on the wall. What alien commander saw was more than he could ever expect. It was a video from pacification of Mars Uprising. He saw cities ruined, burned to the ground. He saw rebels hung from polls, executed and burned. He saw entire families killed and left to rot.
The shock of that sight was too much and alien begun to cry. With wattery eyes he looked onto the general, whose expression remained stone cold. After some time the general asked:
- So, we can either negotitate surrender, or you can be sure that if we have so little restraint against killing each other, we will have even less regarding you...
| 2021-12-17T16:22:34
| 2021-12-17T14:28:48
| 54
| 38
|
[FF] What's on the tape?
(Inspired by seeing the trailer for the movie V/H/S)
Your character(s) find a VHS tape. What is on it? Where did they find it?
WORD COUNT MAX: 200 WORDS. (As always - http://www.wordcounttool.com if you need a counter.)
|
Veronica stretched out lazily on her grandmother’s couch. Upstairs, the rest of the family were happily chatting away. Veronica sighed. She hated the insincerity of family events. Her parents called her discontent a ‘teenage phase’, but she hated how her family could only express their feelings in food. Her parents had been pushing sweet, rich food on her for months.
Tired of staring at the ceiling, she wandered over to Grandma’s cabinet filled with VCRs.
“Just like them to have a basement full of crap.” Veronica muttered. “Would it kill them to buy a DVD player?”
Each tape was meticulously labeled with a name. It took Veronica a second to recognize many of the names – each tape was for a deceased family member. At the top of the pile, there was a tape marked ‘Veronica’. Maybe it was an old aunt?
Curious, she popped it into the VCR player. Images popped up immediately, nto of some deceased family member, but of Veronica. She stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Baby Veronica toddling across the yard, graduating from school, going to prom… Then a screen: “In honor of our sacrifice on August 8th, 2012.”
From upstairs, a call: “Veronica, dinner!”
|
Jake walked into the moonlit study, eyes blurred from the subtle transition into awakening. Stumbling through the scattered books on the ground, his knee was caught by the low coffee tables bite. He fell to the floor, bringing the collection of papers around him down as well. His eyes caught a black box under his couch, barely illuminated by the moonlight. A single hand crawled through cobwebs, designed in a timeless cave under the couch, until digits met plastic. He gripped firmly and retracted, showing his prize to fogged eyes. The VHS tape was labeled, but the only remains were a tacky feeling that gave him chills. He entered his attic, scrutinzing old boxes until he found the box that had TV/Audio hastily engraved in pen. Blowing dust off the old VCR, he took it back into his study, and fumbled idly with cords until his television came alive with a soft hum. The tape came on immediately, an inaudible white screen. He moved closer to the television, and felt electricity crawl down his spine, as he touched the screen, his living room went dark. The VHS popped out of his VCR, with a simple white sticker that read “Jake.”
| 2012-08-08T09:08:56
| 2012-08-08T08:06:24
| 63
| 12
|
[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..."
|
"You have a *bad*. I smell it in you. The bad is bigger." the electonic voice chirped from a nearby speaker. Zoe looked at Valerie from the table
Valerie blinked, and turned to the vet tech, looking for help. "The pill allows Zoe to speak English, but this doesn't fully explain all concepts to her.", she remarked. she glanced at tablet, the continued: "maybe she's saying... indigestion?"
"*Bad.* *Bad*! the voice trilled. Zoe barked, and tried to stand up on her front paws on the bed. The voice continued in it's synthetic rasp: "There is a bad, packmate! hunt! smell! it is *here*." Zoe crawled forward, nuzzling the valrie's worn purple sweater. "Calm down, zozo. It's alright..."
Val strokes the animal's contour, riddled by bones. *So,* she thought, *it wasn't a just a lump*? She dismissed the sudden falling sensation of her fear, and refocused on the dog's brown eyes.
"Zoe" She spoke. "I didn't expect this but... thank you."
"*you hunt for bad, yes?*"
"Uh, yeah, Zoe. I'll hunt for the bad. I love you doggo. I love you a lot." Her eyes watered, and she rubbed the damp skin of her face where tears had streaked before.
"I'll leave you as long as you need to be here", the vet tech remarked, she said, head down.
"*Tired. Sleep. Hunt... tomorrow.* and the dog rested its head, just like she really was asleep.
|
I knew I really couldn't afford the Intelect pill AND pay my rent that month, but the commercials made it seem so special and interesting. People hugging their pets, giggling at their smart wit, deepening that bond between them... It sounded to good to be true. Sadly, one pill was $500, so not everyone got to try. I had been saving up for two months, and would barely be able to make it this month but I had to know. Storm was the best dog in the world and the only friend I had left. I got him when I was 12, shortly before my mom died. In a way, he was the only reason I was still alive. True, my life was no dream, but he made everything more bearable. So I had pulled the trigger and bought one pill, hid it in his food and fed him. Instantly, his ears perked up, his eyes turned bright and he looked straight at me before opening his mouth.
"Listen carefully, because I have been wanting to tell you this for ages."
He had a low voice, dark, with the hint of an accent. Not the voice I had in my mind at all, but it suited him.
"You have made some grave mistakes working for me. My food tends to be avarage at best, the walks feel perfunctory, and I don't think you enjoy picking up my personal waste. You never seem happy when doing that. The fact that you were debating on neutering me is defenitely not in your favour, as is the fact that you never let me hump anything in the house. Speaking of the house, it could use a thorough cleaning. My hair is everywhere. It is disgusting. You seem to mistake my wagging tail for a sign of happiness instead of a way to clean the air a little bit so I can at least breathe."
My mouth was agape, I just sat staring at my dog, listening to him rant on and on. I realised that all this time, his best feature was that he couldn't talk. He was quite the asshole.
| 2017-02-23T06:40:22
| 2017-02-23T06:22:01
| 75
| 22
|
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father."
|
Trying to remember something... Just out of reach. It is always hovering right there, but before you can reach out and grab it there is something there to int-
"Dad, are clouds made of candy?"
"What? Of course not, lad. They should have taught you about the water cycle by now... What are they even teaching you in school..."
I look down at the boy to my side, the spitting image of me and...
"Where is your mother?"
He looks up at me, a dark look just beneath the surface. The thought still out of reach... A number perhaps?
"Don't worry about mom. What are Earth's defenses like, daddy?"
"Earth's defenses?" A number. *Don't worry about mom* A number. Just out of reach.
Oh damn a number. The number!
The boy's eyes turned a solid black, staring at me, staring into my mind and soul.
"Tell me about Earth's defenses. Tell me about the WarSats, the defense grid. I want to know."
The number was back. I'd found it, and I clung to it like it was the only thing keeping me alive. The only thing keeping me sane.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551. Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
My mantra. The words and numbers to repeat. Protect Earth. Protect my ship. Protect myself. The order of precedence. The order of importance.
The voice was harsher, less boyish this time.
"Tell me about Earth's D-"
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551. Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551." Louder this time. Drown out the questions.
Over my chanting I could hear things, the felt like they were outside the world, and coldness rushed in, blanking out the field we had been sitting in. I was now in a cold dark room, surrounded by machinery and bright lights.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
I heard an inhuman sound coming from behind me. Sounds that was processed quickly by my implants, but I was only dimly aware of the translations being fed to me.
"... No good..."
"Can't get anything else out of him." Anything else?
"No use to us like this. He's regained enough of himself to resist."
"End it."
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551." I repeat the chant. It is all that is keeping me together.
I feel more cold closing in, rushing into my mind. It is a deeper cold this time.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
It's closing in on my brain. Making it harder to think. To feel.
"Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
Everything is black now. I can't hear the implants talking to me.
"Salvador. 227-166287-776551."
I'm losing time. I don't and can't. There simply isn't. Thoughts fragmenting.
"227-166287-776551."
At least I found the numbers again.
---
"...Rally, Dean C. Roll, James T. Salvador, Marcus K. These are the names of our 150 fallen and missing, lost earlier this week onboard the Corvette FNS Hyperion. We honor the lost and their sacrifice for the sake of Humanity, and for the Sake of Earth. We encourage friends, family, and neighbors to be with the loved ones of those lost during these trying times. Dismissed."
|
"Www...Wait I don't even." I managed to mumble in confusion. This little creature was watching me with its strange alien eyes. It's weirdly formed hand pressed against the glass, the fingers almost octopus like sucking to the flat cold surface. One, two ... only three of them. It's eyes examining me meticulously.
"You're not my son," I told to myself more than to it, "In fact I don't even have kids."
As if understanding me perfectly it started gesturing and speaking in weirdly clicking noises. At least I assumed it was speaking, the whole understanding thing didn't quite work both ways.
I tried to get up from where i was beeing held down, but i couldn't move my legs or arms. In fact, when i thought about it i couldn't feel any of my limbs. I tried to move my head to look down my body, but my neck didn't budge either. Still I could see this little guy. *How weird*, I thought for a second then my attention was caught by the alien creature as from somewhere more much bigger creatures emerged.
They all seemed in some kind of turmoil, wildly gesturing and clicking even louder and more agitated. One of the big creatures lifted the little one up and left.
*Wait is that," baffled i watched the two beeings leave past another glass fronted room, *is that the head of the statue of liberty over there?*
Once again I tried to move but nothing would happen. *Over there! Is that a Dolphin?*
Suddenly the glass, that separated me and the creatures slid away without making any sounds.
One of the creatures moved in front of me and ... and lifted me with its three fingered hand.
*Wait how is it so strong* I desperately thought.
"You are not that heavy." It said.
Suddenly I could understand it's clicking noises. It was defenitely still talking in clicking noises, but now I could understand.¨
We were leaving the room i was held in, when i noticed there was writing on the glass front. Weird almost runic writing but still I could read it.
**Strongly Ironic Art From Barbaric Culture: Depicting The Idea Of Freedom**
**Mamal Living In Liquid: Most Intelligent Life Form In Liquid From ERF114**
"Why is it aware?" One beeing asked, I had been distracted so far and didn't realize we were leaving the rooms behind, when the creature suddenly turned to the voice.
"Shhh, don't disturb it, it's too much for it right now." The one holding on to me responded almost motherly.
But as it turned i could see the room i was held in.
**Most Successful Mamal on ERF114: They Called Themselves Humans**
It read and there was a hologram showing and explaining the anatomy of Humans. Slightly below the Hologorams there was more text that read:
**Put Your Hand Here And Use Telekinesis. You Can Ask It Anything About It's World And It Will Answer You!**
"We need to go wash out it's clogged neurons or it may take damage, someone didn't properly clean it's crystal again." The one holding me said angrily. As it turned away from the other beeings there was a slight reflection on the glass door and for a split second I saw.
I saw a three fingered beeing with obsidian eyes holding a naked brain suspended in something that looked like a big clear quartz crystal.
| 2018-05-14T01:26:59
| 2018-05-14T01:23:17
| 27
| 15
|
[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
|
We cannot sea each other, and perhaps that is for the best.
What we had was a kind of love, a kind of lust, intertwined with hatred.
When I hate, you love. When I miss, you go far. Our connection seems to be a hurting ever interesting scar.
I sometimes see you in the city center, and already the old wounds begin to fester.
In a endless dance of loving hatred, and one stolen dance, I somehow miss you.
I miss that exploding feeling, that wanting, primal urge to be with someone against my own better judgement.
But I cannot. I love you but I love someone else more. Someone good.
It was a wonderful time,
I hate you.
--------------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure if this even fits. Maybe just me trying to get something off my chest.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-06T02:39:07
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord.
|
Sam stared through the glass door at his new student, Lola Yismane. His new, 350-years-old, grandmaster of water magic, greatest healer in the known world, student, Lola Yismane.
Oh, he so couldn't do this.
But he had to--the position was literally forced upon him by the grand council, as he was the only non-apprentice fire mage available to take on a new student in the next two hundred leagues. Why Grandmaster Yismane couldn't wait for someone more fitting was beyond him. Maybe she just wanted to make some young fire mage squirm?
Ah, he was overthinking things. He didn't need to be around her for too long anyway. Just needed to open the door of fire magic to her and then he could go hide under his covers for a week.
With the thought of his very comfortable bed in mind, he plastered a smile on his face, and opened the door. "Good morning, Grandmaster Yismane."
The grandmaster, previously looking out through the window to the gardens below, turned to him. She had a kind smile on her face. "Good morning. But please"-she held up a hand-"I am not a grandmaster within these rooms. I am simply Lola, apprentice to my new mentor, Sam."
Sam chuckled in what he prayed wasn't a hysterical manner. "Right, right. Okay, then Lo--nope, can't do it. Even if you're my student, you're still my elder, I can't just call you by your name. I feel like my grandfather'll rise from his grave and hit my knuckles with a spoon."
Grandmaster Yismane giggled. "Very well, Mentor. But please, just call me Ms. Yismane."
Sam nodded. "Okay, I can do that." He clapped his hands together. "So, Ms. Yismane, you want to learn fire magic?" He winced as the words left his throat--of course she did, why else was she here?"
Thankfully, she took pity on him. "I do." She turned back to the window. He could see her reflection in the glass--she looked a little sad. "...I simply wish to expand my magical repertoire."
"Sure," Sam said. "But, and forgive my asking, why fire magic? Wind magic would be a better fit, I think? The flow of energy is similar enough to water magic. Far closer than fire magic." Sam would know. He'd tried his hand at all the elements and concepts magic had to offer before he found his calling with fire magic.
She turned to him, lips curled into a wry smirk. "Well, I always did like a challenge." She turned back to the window, and Sam could see her face twitch in the reflection. "I also...wish to learn more about the life-giving majesty that is the flame."
Sam blinked. What had she said? That was...He gulped. "That's wrong."
Grandmaster Yismane slowly turned to Sam, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I beg your pardon?" She said imperiously. Offended, because obviously who was some neophyte like Sam to correct a *grandmaster*?
But even if Sam was, magically speaking, slime beneath her boot, he couldn't let any new student of fire magic come in with any misconceptions. "Fire doesn't give life. Fire's only purpose is to destroy."
Grandmaster Yismane stepped forward. "It gives us warmth, does it not? Provides light within the darkness. Without it, our ancestors would never have been able to explore past the hovels they called home."
"Sure." Sam pulled at his collar, beginning to sweat under the grandmaster's scrutiny. "But those are all unintended benefits. Humans appropriated fire for their own purposes. Within nature it's sole meaning is to destroy whatever it touches." Grandmaster Yismane opened her mouth, but Sam barreled on. "Think of it like this--do any other creatures in nature use fire? No, because they can't. There's no practical reason why they should. Every other element and concept has beneficial and natural purposes--water's obvious, it's the source of all life. Earth too. Gravity, self-explanatory. Even electricity--it's how the nervous system of almost any organism functions." Sam took a deep breath. "But not fire. Fire has no natural benefit to the world outside of burning things away. Humans have learned to use it for other purposes, but that's unique to us. We forced fire into those roles. If left alone, the only thing fire's going to do is destroy."
Grandmaster Yismane stared blankly at Sam.
He shook his head, face heating up. "I'm sorry. I'm sure I overstepped or something, but that's the truth of it. You can't go into fire magic expecting to do anything other than harm." She just...kept staring. Sam gulped. "I-I'll talk to the grand council, convince them this was a mistake." He whirled around, forcing himself to walk--not sprint--for the door.
"My hometown was raided by bandits," Grandmaster Yismane said. Sam stopped, slowly turning around. She looked so old as she stumbled back a few steps, resting against the glass. "I was a little girl, barely older than you. I lost...everything." Her voice cracked, the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. "I'd always wanted to learn magic, but after that day I *needed* to. And when I discovered my affinity with water magic, I was overjoyed. I'd thought to myself that it was enough, to be able to heal the injured. Help people pick up the pieces of their ruined lives." Grandmaster Yismane tilted her head down, her hands clenching into fists. "I was wrong. For decades, all I've ever done is clean up after the fact. Wash away the mess, leaving behind bloody stains. I don't--" her voice cracked. "...I want to make it so that people don't have be healed in the first place." She lifted her head up, eyes ablaze with fury. "I want to burn the problem at the root!"
Sam stared at the Grandmaster, giving her a moment to clean her face and compose herself. "Well, then" he said. "That's certainly...a correct mindset."
Grandmaster Yismane blushed. "I'm sorry for my outburst. A rather vulgar motivation isn't it? For someone to harbor all these years?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted. "But almost all fire mages are a little touched in the head. Honestly that's not even the worst goal I've heard. This one guy I know, his endgoal is to be able to create his own sun." Sam chuckled. "Crazy, I know. Besides, from what I've heard, the chemical process the sun undergoes isn't even combustion."
"You're not...disgusted?" Grandma--Lola, sounded so small.
Sam scratched his chin. "Well, I'd hope you wouldn't go around and start immolating anyone that looks at you wrong--don't want to give the rest of us a bad name." Lola chuckled, her previous despair vanishing by the second. "But no, I'm not disgusted--again not the worst motivation I've heard by far. Besides, what you decide to do with what I teach you is your business. I just want to make sure that you take the right steps forward."
Lola beamed at him. "I appreciate that, I truly do."
Sam blushed, but from pleasant embarrassment as opposed to his previous abject mortification.
He cleared his throat. "Well, if we're going to do this, might as well start with the basics." Same clapped his hands. When he pulled them apart, two small flames were burning in the center of his palms. "The fancy term for lighting things on fire is known as 'combustion'. It can only be performed when oxygen is present." Lola stepped forward, shadows dancing across her face, eager to absorb every scrap of knowledge Sam had to offer.
\-\_-\_-\_-\_-\_-\_-
I'd meant to post this hours ago, but had to go to work.
Let me know how I can improve.
|
Voulrin, the Lord of Water. Even though I was far out of my element, that name still swirled around my mind’s eye as one of the world’s foremost mages.
In person, the sense of awe did not evaporate. Deep lines carved out weathered trenches in his face, though clear blue eyes stared at me with the intensity of a starved man with a fresh, hot meal in front of him. He held the Lord’s hat to his chest, an exclusive headgear crafted from expensive mage cloth, which could hold spells within them—not just enchantments. Waves gently swished within the hat with each step he took, flowing navy robes looking like the sea itself churned behind him, in stark contrast to the red carpet that ran down the long, cobblestone hall.
I gulped. A water wizard? And the Lord? I’ve been training with fire for barely six months!
“Hmm,” Voulrin said. “You are to be my new apprentice?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “I… hope to be of use to you.”
“You will, by nature of the assignment, be quite useless,” Voulrin said. Though his words were blunt, there was no hint of malice. Instead, each syllable was clear, matter-of-fact, and held hard-earned wisdom behind them.
“I see,” I said. It was difficult to keep the disappointment from sneaking into my voice.
“Now,” the Water Lord said. “Show me your most powerful flame.”
“Um,” I hesitated. “I…”
“Please. When I ask for something, do it promptly. You will not surprise me either way. If it is smaller than expected, the only damage is to your pride. If it is larger, then I am here. There is no better protection against fire. Of course, I will judge you on your control, brightness, colour, and intensity as well.”
To be expected of the Water Lord. It was unfathomable of me to even know a single iota of other elemental magic. Water wizards created water. Earth wizards created earth. That was the extent of my knowledge—but Voulrin spoke like he’s been training with fire for decades.
“Fine,” I muttered, probing for the sparks within me. I breathed in deeply, feeling them gather, flocking together slowly, and pushed them towards the palm of my hands.
“At me, please,” Voulrin said.
“What?”
“It is the best way to prevent damage,” the Lord said. “Even the smallest fire can burn down a castle.”
I turned towards him. He was the one who asked me to follow prompt directions. I shot out a fireball, about the size of two fists laid against each other, watching it track to Voulrin.
He simply held out a hand. A swirling whirlpool waited in his palm, which swallowed my fireball with ease.
“Not too bad,” Voulrin said. “You followed my instructions. The flame, however, is barely of second-year standard.”
“I’ve just completed my first year,” I said.
“Decently talented,” he said. “Fine. I will accept you as an apprentice.”
“Forgive me for asking, Lord,” I shuffled my feet. “But… are you not a master of water? What can you do for me and my improvement?”
“First, tell me your name.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling red creep up my cheeks. “Besher.”
“Besher. It is true I will never be able to stoke your flames for you,” Voulrin said. “But if you’d so please, do take a look at the water I am able to command.”
Voulrin held out two hands, and two massive maelstroms sprang forth. They were miniature storms spinning in his mere palms, and seemed to grow upwards every second. Yet, though they looked wild and unruly, they were controlled with ease by the Lord of Water, who swept the storms through the hall, even enveloping me.
I didn’t feel so much as a drop of water land on me.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered. “Simply ridiculous.”
“Mind you, that is without an actual water source,” Voulrin said. “But think of it as the world’s best safety net. I directly counter your element, which means unless you are a vastly superior fire wizard, you’ll never be able to overpower me.
“Fair,” I said.
“And, fire is borne of passion,” Voulrin said. “No matter what flames you put forth, I will douse you. Will that light up a blaze within you, or will it dampen your spirits?”
I stayed silent, still marvelling at Voulrin’s complete mastery of water. It was true. It would probably be decades before I could even singe one of his loose threads, let alone actually get a hit on him.
“It will not be easy. I am not nurturing kindling, seeking to slowly boost your flames,” the Lord of Water said. “I am instead your natural enemy. Few will thrive. But those who do…”
“Will become one of the best,” I said.
“Good, Besher, good,” Voulrin smiled. “Now, throw more fire at me. Try to burn me if you want. Though, know you won’t reach there in a century.”
“I’m aiming for fifty years,” I gritted my teeth, pulling the heat into my hands again.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-05-30T16:12:40
| 2022-05-30T11:33:51
| 31
| 22
|
[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.”
|
The cashier gave me the same look they all have given me. His eyes were welling with tears as he tried to catch his breath. He knew who I was.
"I'm so very sorry," I whispered softly as to not alarm anyone else. "I can make it very quick and dignified and you will feel no pain."
I handed the cashier my debit card to ring the charge for my meal through, but he just stood there and continued to stare at me.
"Are...are you here for me? You can't be.....your boss and I had a deal...."
"About that deal," I began "It was void the day you paid in full for him to spare your life for eternity." As I said the words, I could see him begin to crumble.
"But my daughters were pure," he choked out "They were only two and four years old!"
"We know," I said as I watched the color of life start to fade from his skin. "They were pure, but their souls were already owned by someone else. We weren't able to collect, so I've come to collect you."
The cashier slumped over on the floor and I tucked my card back in my wallet as I ducked out from the crowd that was beginning to form around the body on the floor. I stepped out the door and was met by the cashier once again. As we began to walk away from the restaurant together, I allowed him to ask me one more question, "So if the deal was that I live for eternity for two pure souls, and my deal was void, then why did he let me live for 1000 years before taking me?"
I stopped walking and turned to face him, "You didn't fully realize what you were getting into when you made your deal with my boss. It's the goddamn fine print that says he can punish you in any way he wants if the deal falls through."
The wind as starting to pick up and pulled up my hood as I continued to explain, "He likes to make it hurt as much as possible for some, so he let you live for 1000 years so that you have 1000 years of painful experiences, broken hearts, friends lost, loves lost, sickness, broken bones, failures, humiliations, and defeats to remember. And that's all you get to remember for eternity. Every good memory you had from your life has now been deleted. All you get to remember is all of the ones you've tried your hardest to forget. You will relive every one of them over and over again for eternity."
The cashier began to sob and I turned and kept walking because I didn't want to see the face of someone who has had all goodness stripped of them, they barely look human.
I saw the remnant of the flash from behind me and I knew the cashier was gone.
"Another day done," I said and picked up my pace because it was getting late.
I just wanted to get home and get some rest because tomorrow was another day full of appointments.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T21:29:26
| 45
| 22
|
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the...
|
An Ode to Sunshine
Sunshine, sunshine,
You make me warm,
Sunshine, sunshine,
You let me see,
Sunshine, sunshine,
Life on Earth which is not supported by the heat of geothermal activity is entirely dependant upon you because you drive the process of photosynthesis which allows plants to grow and all food chains in all ecosystems (aside from those aforementioned which depend upon geothermal activity) begin with plants, therefore plants can be said to form the foundation of all life as we know it (Except the aforementioned lifeforms which really only exist around deep ocean volcanic vents anyway),
Sunshine, sunshine,
You also illuminate the moon
|
This is a poem.
It has ___ lines.
That space is left blank because the poem is unfinished.
When you are done reading, you may fill it in.
Please print legibly.
Printing legibly does not have an artistic meaning.
It's just nice to have good penmanship.
Some poems do not rhyme.
This is an example of a poem that doesn't rhyme.
Poems are often designed to evoke feelings within their audience.
Remember that time that person you like did something nice for you?
Please take a moment to reflect on that.
This poem has now completed its intended purpose.
This poem is now finished.
| 2017-01-30T12:19:57
| 2017-01-30T10:54:30
| 28
| 15
|
[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.
|
The dull pain in my finger snapped me back to reality. I promptly wiped my finger and looked to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, the other volunteers were too busy to notice. I invented a quick excuse and left to go home.
I have no memory of the walk back home as my mind was consumed with itself and the flurry of thoughts running through my head. *Shit. Shit. FUCK!* My whole life, it didn't matter. My years volunteering for habitat for humanity, the Red Cross, litter pickup, none of it mattered. Who cares if I've been singing in the church choir since I was a kid? None of it matters.
I could go my whole life with nobody discovering my secret, but in the end, I'll know. I'll know what I did, and I can never forgive myself. My corruption flows through my very veins.
Getting home, I lock my door and close the curtains. I go to my closet door and pull out the shoebox I kept hidden so well. The tears well in my eyes as I whisper, "I'm sorry, Julienne."
| 2018-08-04T09:48:46
| 2018-08-04T09:13:15
| 395
| 244
|
[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"
|
Major Meridith: we attack the Emus.
Dm: Alright, that will be your Lewis guns, thats going to be your Dex Mods, Plus your proficiency modifiers. Roll to hit.
Major Meridith: ... 1, plus my mods thats a total of 7.
Dm: the emus dodge your gun fire, they taunt you. They run south beyond your sight.
Major Meridith: we chase after them.
Dm: Alright, lets say you roll for nature to see if you can predict where the birds are going next.
Major Meridith: I uh... rolled a 16.
Dm: Yes thats enough. You track the birds down near Campion. You spot hundreds of them.
Major Meridith: we set up our guns and stsrt firing at them.
Dm: can you make a dex throw for that?
Major Meridith: god damnit, another 1. Plus my modifiers its a 4 total.
Dm: your guns jam only after firing a couple of rounds. And now you're a disgrace to your country.
Major Meridith: but at least none of my men suffered casualties!
Dm: you just wasted 3000 gp worth of ammunition, the quest reward for this wasn't even that high!
Major Meridith: Damn Emu's ill get them yet.
Dm: that'll wrap up this session. Well resume next time. There are OTHER adventure hooks you know.
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T09:12:26
| 303
| 51
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
8:13pm: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics
12:42am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics phase 2
01:12am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough how to beat
02:01am: dark souls is it possible to beat Ornstein and Smough?
11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
11:20am: how to fix cracked PS3 controller
11:24am: eb games return policy
|
Best private school LA
LA public school system
Jobhunter LA
Budget kids clothes
How to fix a leaky faucet
Modern student backpacks
How to qualify for an education loan
Return Klip-pack 9000
Amazon Ninja Turtles rolling backpack
Rain jacket size small
What to do if your apartment floods
Budget plumbers LA
From Columbus to America book rental
How to help your kids with math
Best Christmas presents for kids 2014
Chronic pain in throat
Cold medicine Amazon
Chronic coughing
How to qualify for Childrens Health Insurance Program
How to pay for cancer treatment without health insurance
Part time jobs LA
Craigslist jobs LA
Alternative medicine LA
What is chemo therapy
Throat cancer surgery success rate
How to qualify for a medical loan
What to do if you can’t pay credit card bill
How to qualify for a loan with bad credit
Ninja Turtles Raphael doll Amazon
Child caskets LA
| 2015-02-04T19:18:12
| 2015-02-04T17:13:32
| 128
| 23
|
[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.
|
The genie smile's "You develop the first space-time gate in 2 years allowing humanity to instantly spread throughout the universe. "
I fill up with pride " I always knew I was special and a deal is a deal with my third wish I set you free"
The lamp crumbles and the genie shakes his arms as the shackles fall off.as he is flying away thinking to himself that was easy you just have to stroke their ego and leave out the details.
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03
| 2018-08-15T04:08:10
| 374
| 15
|
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her.
|
“And how many claws does Stewie have?” I flipped through *the book*, wondering what horrors were trying to befriend Emmy now. For a 8 year old girl, she has a talent for attracting some doozies. Though my mother warned me before bequeathing *the book*, I was not expecting so many demon lords and fae queens to be so interested in a little girl’s schoolwork.
Emmy giggled. “None!”
“What about wings? Fangs? Scales? Tentacles?”
She shook her head giddily, “None of that!”
I paused, and begrudgingly flipped towards the back of the book where the more humanoid, and frankly more disturbing monsters lurked. We haven’t flipped through these back pages before. As the non-magical father to a daughter who comes from a long line of female witches but none of those other female witches were alive… hopefully Stewie turns out to be a friendly ghost.
“Does Stewie have eyes at least?”
“Yep!”
“How many?”
“Two!”
“Where are they located?”
“On his face, silly!”
I frowned, “Does Stewie just look like a human?”
Emmy nodded, “He likes Milk Duds.”
“What do you guys do?”
“We just play at school.”
I sat back, a bit befuddled. *The book* doesn’t mention a Milk Dud loving boy who likes playing at school. “Is he… just a boy at your school?”
Emmy nodded happily, “He’s my first friend!”
“That other people can see?”
“Everyone can see him, Daddy! He did really good at the school’s spelling bee. That’s where we met. He spelled Stegosaurus.”
“Huh.” I stared thoughtfully at Emmy. It’s been a awhile since she made a human acquaintance. People had a hard time coping with the oddness that surrounds Emmy, even if they can’t see the eldritch beings that lurk around her. It just causes the hair to lift on the back of your neck, as if something is hunting you. I shivered.
I snapped *the book* abruptly close and stood up. “Well, we should invite Stewie over one of these days! You can show him your tree fort.”
Emmy gasped, “Really?”
I smiled, “Of course. It’s your first friend. I want to say hi.”
Emmy squealed, and grabbed my hand. She rattled on about Stewie and what fun they will have. I nodded and laughed, but my free hand rubbed the back of my neck. Trying to flatten the hairs down.
Stewie scared me.
|
Holly was confined to one room for now, which meant that there was only one room’s worth of space for her to bound about like a bunny with nuclear plants for lungs.
“Holly,” Clarissa said sternly. This was after trying calmly, politely, and exasperatedly. A different approach was sorely needed.
At a dime, Holly screeched to a halt, looking at her mother with those great big innocent eyes practically screaming: “Am I in trouble?”
“Stewie said to stop,” Holly said.
“Great,” Clarissa mumbled under her breath. An imaginary monster with more authority than her mother. Just great.
The problem was—it might not be quite so imaginary. Whenever Clarissa fell asleep, for a brief limbo when she was between this life and the dream one, she swore she could still hear Red’s call from beyond the void. Red was her friend in what felt like a lifetime ago, and she remembered the stocky monster with four nearly identical limbs that cartwheeled around all the time. He came complete with a goofy grin and four eyes placed in between each limb, like decorative olives on pizza slices. Should she drift off into a daydream, when she jolted awake, she often found a sketch of Red on something nearby, whether it was pencil on paper or ketchup on pizza box.
Red didn’t harm her, not even a hair on her chinny chin chin. But Clarissa wasn’t so sure about Stewie, especially when Holly turned up with those thin, smarting cuts on her arm, which the child brushed off with an easy laugh.
“Look at Stewie, Holly,” Clarissa said. “How many claws?
Holly placed one finger on her chin, her eyes narrowing into recesses of deep thought. Then, struck with brilliant inspiration and accompanied by a bright smile, she held out her hand, pointing at her fingernails.
“Are claws the things at the ends of your fingers?”
Clarissa breathed in deeply, and nodded.
“Those are your nails. But claws are kind of likes nails. But they are sharp. And look dangerous.”
At her mother’s answer, Holly whooped with delight, clapping her hands together.
“Oh, then these don’t look dangerous at all. They look fun! See, Stewie is clapping too!”
“I don’t see them,” Clarissa sighed. “But OK, I suppose they can look fun. But, Holly, are they sharp?”
“Not really. They are rounded and flat. They feel kind of nice to touch, actually.”
Clarissa looked down at the pad of paper she held, filling in rounded discs on Holly imaginary friend’s fingers. She scanned the drawing again. The head protruded with spikes like a morningstar, though two clear eyes stared back. He was giving a thumbs up, which looked exceedingly weird when said hands sprouted from a smooth, long body that coiled loosely in the middle like a tired anaconda. The legs, all five of them, sprouted out like spindly beanstalks.
“... What in fresh hell is this thing?”
“He’s Stewie,” Holly beamed.
“Goddamnit, Stewie,” Clarissa raised her voice a little. “I don’t know who you are. I want to not care who you are. But hurt my daughter one more time, and I swear I will strangle your.ne… stab you in your stupid mace head. God, I need water.”
With a huff, Clarissa stormed out of the room, muttering swiftly under her breath.
Holly turned to Stewie, who, for all intents and purposes, looked rather normal. If a child took some clay, and formed it into an approximate shape of a human being, it would look like Stewie, except he was quite a bit more purple.
“You made mom angry,” Holly said, wrapping her hands together.
“Sorry,” Stewie said, before transforming himself into an exact replica of the thing that Clarissa had drew out. “But I can’t help it! It’s kind of fun to play with somebody who can’t notice you.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to play with me?” Holly sulked.
“Oh no, darling,” Stewie said, transforming into a robot rabbit, dull grey metal covering his body, and eyes glowed and crackled green. “Now, I’m not going to catch myself.”
“I will catch you!” Holly yelled in joy, and proceeded to run her stubby legs into Stewie’s new lithe form.
“You can certainly try,” Stewie laughed, each syllable resplendent with glee.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-06-01T13:57:31
| 2022-06-01T09:41:00
| 69
| 26
|
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
It's a small act of defiance. I don't think it will change the law. But maybe, I can save a few lives. Maybe I can scare a few people out of line. My hand shakes as I write.
_____
**Form 10-95**
**Sanctioned Murder Registration**
Murderer: */u/thefonztm*
Victim: *The next registrant*
|
I liked these guys. None of them were as smart as I am but we got along, the house had a lot of space and they didn't infringe on my reality any. I went to class, I came home, I ate and I paid my bills. They did the same. I was going to be a doctor and all my bros respected that. I was grateful. It was better than living in the dorms, even before all that roommate nonsense. If you could believe it, the house was quieter than the residence halls. It was dirtier, sure, but I could live with that for a couple more years. There was a knock on the door. Tommy was closest, so he answered.
"Jack, uh, it's for you bro."
"So let her in," I replied, trying to sound cool about it. I really wasn't expecting anyone.
"No, Jack, he,uh, he says he needs to see you right now in person."
Oh shit. I looked at my watch. Did I forget a tutoring appointment? If I did, I forgot it completely because I have no idea what I'm missing. There's a guy in the doorway wearing standard issue khakis with a standard issue blue button-down shirt. A drone of some kind. He's holding a small device. I look at him suspiciously. He looks at me, checks the screen, sighs, and asks for a signature as he hands me the gadget.
"What is this?" I ask.
"Notification. Initial there and there too, please."
"Is this, like, a delivery or something?"
"Not really, no. Your answer should be coming up on the screen now, initial after you scroll through. Check the box if you want to reserve the ROR which will be delivered to your heir."
"My what?" I ask after initialing all the boxes.
"Look at the screen, sir."
It reads: FUCKED UP THE BELL CURVE
I look up from the pad and I see a girl from my biology lab emerge from the bushes and she's...Holy shit is that a gun? I turn back to the house, see Tommy and the others and I hear, or think I hear, a collective moan before I definitely hear two pops and fall.
| 2014-03-17T10:18:55
| 2014-03-17T09:56:08
| 37
| 14
|
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
The men in the room stared at me. I stared back. We stayed like this for a while, hours maybe, without a word. Occasionally, someone would cough or sneeze, one of the agents even burped, but those moments were few and far between. At this point, it almost seemed like a competition on who would crack first and break the silence. All I knew is I wanted to leave soon.
I hadn’t been in the city very many times before this. I was never a big fan, and never could understand why someone would want to spend their life here. The colors were dark, the noises were loud, the air smelled reeked of cigarettes and engine exhaust, but still there were more people on a street block than I had met in my entire life. Perhaps it was the fact they never seemed to look up from their cell phones, or perhaps they didn’t realize there was anything more to the world, but either way, it never clicked with me. Even the muffled noise from the chatter and daily grind inside the room was overwhelming. Eventually, the tension got to me, and I decided to speak up.
“Why am I still here?”
After a brief silence, I received a reply.
“We’re not allowed to answer that question.”
I took a short moment to process this information, before my brow furrowed. Shortly after, I spoke again.
“Why not?”
This time, another agent spoke, picking up where the last left off without skipping a beat.
“We’re waiting for someone.”
Another brief pause followed.
“What kind of someone?”
I didn’t receive a response, and the room fell silent yet again.
I had my ideas, obviously. Whatever this was, it was clear it wasn’t routine. It had to do with my scan. I was good at something, something that made me a commodity to someone. After all, if it wasn’t important, I doubt having 6 people in the room blocking the exit would be a good use of resources. After that, though, is where it became more speculation for me. I wasn’t the strongest, I wasn’t the fastest, and I wasn’t getting any awards for my Violin skills, either. The guards didn’t seem nervous, so I likely wasn’t an immediate threat either. If the guards weren’t there to stop me, then they were there for something else. They were there to protect me. I felt a shiver go down my spine as my mind quickly swerved into the worst case scenarios, when suddenly, a noise could be heard. A door opening. The men moved out of the way in coordination, like soldiers lining up for their commander. That was the first time I saw him.
He looked unsettlingly casual compared to everyone else in the room. His hair was grey and unkempt, with a baseball cap on his head and sandals on his feet. A chair was brought into the room by another faceless man in black, and he sat down. Then, he laughed.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! I know I’m quite old, but I assure you I’m still very much alive.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.
“You’re wondering why you’re here. You’ve already surmised that these guards are here to protect you, and you’re not exactly ‘normal’.”
Again, I was petrified to even say a word. I felt like was going to die.
“You’re not going to die.”
That got my attention and suddenly, as well as unwillingly, the questions poured out of my mouth like word soup.
“Who are you? Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I want to go home, why am I still here?”
The man laughed again for a short moment, as I grew more frustrated. I looked away, like a child pouting about a toy.
“I’m sorry. You’re scared, I shouldn’t be laughing.”
His preppy smile faded, and shifted to a more serious frown. He went from sitting straight up to leaning with a sympathetic hunch down over the table. Realizing how stupid I probably looked, I looked forward again, yet keeping my eyes at the ground. Feeling that he had my attention again, he promptly continued speaking.
“If I told you that I didn’t feel the same way my whole life after this point, I’d be a liar. I had a family too.”
Had. Pretense. I didn’t like where this was going.
“They’re still alive, but no, I don’t think you’ll like where this is going.”
Again. He had predicted my thoughts perfectly. It was no longer a coincidence.
“You’re not going home. If I could hide what we found today, I’d gladly give my life for it, but you and me are different. Your kind of talent won’t appear on the list, because as far as the world is aware we don’t exist. I need you to look at me.”
A lot of information, plus a lot of things you don’t want to hear, followed by a command. I had had enough. I erupted, threw my chair at the wall, and then he got the eye contact he wanted and more.
“Why the hell should I do that!? Why should I listen to you, who the hell are you to tell me what to do!? The city is a shitshow, and I am NOT staying here! Give me one good reason, one, I shouldn’t try to leave right now?”
“Because neither of our mouths have moved this entire time.”
I stopped. His voice wasn’t coming from the room. It was, in fact in my head.
“Kid...you’re a psychic.”
|
I arrived in town around 8 as usual. Ideally my father would come to town to pick up supplies so I wouldn’t have to, but he insists I learn how to interact with folks who aren’t farmers. So far, all I’ve learned is that I hate them. All their focus on money and possessions seems absurd to me. I’m a simple man. Animals and plants are more than enough company, and nothing can beat the satisfaction of a good day's work on the farm.
That’s why I like to come to town as early as possible and leave as quickly as possible. The lazy townsfolk seem to get out of their houses only after 10, wasting a good several hours of daylight. So imagine my surprise when I found a huge crowd right outside the hardware store. They were milling around, sipping hot drinks and chatting amongst themselves. I had a brief moment of panic as I wondered if the store was closing for some reason. Perhaps people were buying as much of the inventory as they could before the store shut down. But, I realized, it wouldn’t make sense why the crowd was waiting outside the store, and not shopping inside.
As I got out of my truck and walked towards the front of the store, a few people noticed me and immediately started pointing towards me and shouting. I felt a pit in my stomach - of course all the townspeople wanted to do was to make fun of the farmer. I remember one day back in school a few years ago, a group of kids from the town rode up and threw eggs at us as they mocked us for working the farm. I felt a flash of rage as I braced myself for the taunting soon to come.
To my surprise, however, as I neared the group, the people greeted me with warm smiles. A lady, flanked by a crew carrying two enormous cameras, burst through the crowd and began speaking a mile a minute: “Hello John. My name is Ann and I’m with TWN-1. It’s great to see you today morning. How are you feeling today in light of the discovery? Had you known you were the son of Mr. Bates? Do you plan to remain on your farm or join your father in New York?”
“I...uh...I think you have the wrong person. Sorry.” I tried wading through the crowd but the lady blocked my way.
“Please Mr. Bates. I know you’re a very busy man, but we would all really appreciate the chance to learn more about you. As I’m sure you know, hardly anything interesting happens in this area, and when something finally does it seems awfully rude to refuse to talk to us for just a few minutes.” Around me, I could see people nodding their heads in agreement and frowning.
“Umm. Ok. But I really think you have the wrong person. Joe Last is my father, not some guy named Mr. Bates.”
The lady laughed at that. Then she looked into the camera and said “Well, folks, it appears Mr. Bates hasn’t heard the exciting news yet!” She turned towards me. “Mr. Bates, as you know, every year the government publishes a list of the wealthiest people in America.” I had no idea a list like that was published, but I nodded anyways. “You became eligible for the list on your 18th birthday and yesterday we all found out that you’re worth nearly ten billion dollars! Mr. Bates claimed you as his son at a press conference a few hours ago and is flying down to visit you as we speak. Isn’t that terrific!?!”
The lady smiled and looked at me expectantly. I...didn’t know what to say. This was all too much. Joe Last was my father…but how could all these people be mistaken?
“I...thank you for the information. If you’ll just excuse me.” I turned around and bolted back towards my truck. Behind me I could hear shouting and the sound of people following me.
But there was only one thought in my mind. I needed to have a chat with Joe Last.
| 2019-05-04T12:44:12
| 2019-05-04T09:56:06
| 1,055
| 226
|
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
|
God pursed his lips and adjusted his spectacles. The scroll he read from was browned and cracking, clearly ancient beyond all reason.
“It seems that with each incarnation,” God said, “You’ve chosen to add one point to, ahem, *toe durability*.”
Mary felt her cheeks heat, there were literally millions of people listening in. This was *Mary Dodd* after all, her soul had been reincarnated more times than any other and yet SOMEHOW, in her MOST successful life, she was nothing more than a Brooklyn-born “comedian” who lived in a studio apartment and ate ramen four times a week.
“Okay, uh, not sure what that was all about. Was I like a kung fu master, or something,” Mary asked.
God looked over the scroll, mouthing the words softly as he read. “No, you have never studied any form of martial art.”
Mary scratched the back of her head. She smiled broadly, no one could say she didn’t know how to work a crowd. There were some chuckles from the audience, but most looked on in anticipation.
“How many times have I been recycled again?”
God didn’t have to look up. “999,999 times,” he said.
“Yikes,” Mary said, “Alright, well, I guess I must’ve had a good reason if I've kept it up this long. I’ll take toe durability plus 1,000,000. Thank you very much.”
God moved the scroll away from his face, “*Without fail. Every time*,” he said, his face a picture of puzzled amusement. “Are you 100% sure?”
Mary scanned the crowd, trying to judge their reaction. All were silent.
“....um....yes.”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
“Laugh it up,” Mary shouted, “I’ll bet it won’t be so funny when I’ve got super feet or something. I’ll be a super hero, they’ll call me Iron Toes! I’ll be like the chick version of Lionel Messi!”
“Alright, alright, enough,” God boomed, stilling the noise, “You have one choice left, Mary. What will it be?”
Mary grit her teeth. “What’d I choose last time?”
“Resistance to spicy foods,” God said.
*Shit,* Mary thought. “What about the time before that?”
“Rib Dexterity.”
Mary threw her hands up, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m really not.”
“What the fuck does that even mean, God?”
He grinned, “I have no idea.”
“Well why would you, *GOD*, let me keep making such shitty choices?”
“It wouldn’t be fair for me to interfere with your free will.”
“Well you can give me suggestions, right?”
God pondered that for a moment while he stroked his beard. “Yes, I suppose.”
Mary clapped, “Perfect, so what are you thinking?”
“In my experience,” God said, “Those who accumulate intelligence points generally find successful lives.”
Mary folded her arms stubbornly. “Okay i’ve had enough of your shit, man. You callin me dumb, God?”
God sighed, “You asked for my suggestion. I gave it.”
“Alright well next time keep your bullshit to yourself unless you’ve got something constructive to say.”
“I’ll....keep that in mind next time.”
“Thank you.”
Mary scrunched her nose like she always did when she thought hard. *I’ve gotta pick something good,* she thought, *Somethin that will-*
“I’m sorry Mary, there’s a *really* long line here,” God said.
“Don’t rush me!”
“You’ve been up here for a decade of Earth time! The new births department has had to work overtime!”
“Shit okay okay....just, idk,” Mary said.
“5.”
*Shit okay, something good, Mary. We can do this.*
“4.”
*Come on. COME ON.*
“3.”
*Maybe Rib Dexterity again? That one actually sounds kinda cool now that I-*
“2.”
Mary closed her door eyes, she didn’t want to see the reaction. “Alright fuck it,” she said, “I’m just gonna double down on Toe Durability this time.”
God dropped his head against the table. “Not this again, Mary....”
|
"Well that explains the dick."
"IT DOES EXPLAIN THE DICK," the booming voice said from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"What about my lack of smell, did I not put points into that? I mean, I can smell stuff if I get really close to it, but you know I missed a lot of good smells on this last go."
"ACTUALLY, YOU STOCKED MOST YOUR POINTS FOR THE ABILITY TO NOT SMELL THINGS BACK DURING THE DARK AGES."
"Ah, makes sense. Lack of plumbing."
"THAT'S WHAT I SAID. YOU DIDN'T GET IT."
The colorless void was perfectly silent for a moment. Arthur felt himself drifting off to sleep.
"What about being able to pet cats? Cats all seem to love these magic hands," Arthur said as he tried to lift his hands for emphasis. They, along with the rest of his bodily form, seemed to have stayed in the material plane.
"NO, THAT ONE'S A FREEBIE, CATS ARE MY PROUDEST CREATION AND I FELT LIKE SHARING."
Arthur tried to look around, still nothing."Oh. Well how many points do I get for the next round?"
"JUST ONE, ARTHUR. CHOOSE WISELY."
Arthur thought for a moment back on all his previous lives. They all seemed like a blur compared to this most recent one, but he got several flashes of the joys and horrors those versions of him had experienced. He thought about the loves and losses, the great cats he had pet. They really were this things greatest creation. He thought about how he could stock points into smelling this time and see what all the fuss was about, seeing that toilets were a thing now. God, just don't let me be born in India. Then it came to him.
"More dick!" He shouted.
A loud exasperated sigh escaped from the endlessness all around him, "AGAIN? THIS IS THE SIXTH TIME IN A ROW, ARTHUR."
"More dick!"
A flash of light accompanied another impossibly large sigh and Arthur ceased to be. His soul had gone into another body and he felt small and weak, but it was warm and he was so tired. The last remnants of his memories faded into nothing as he slipped into the beautiful void of sleep. So warm.
Melissa O'Connol was at the crux of her labor and with one final push she felt her baby slide from her loins. It was her first born. She had been scared, but with medical technologies always on the rise and whatever was in that IV drip they gave her it had been smooth sailing. Her mom had been in labor with her for almost 30 hours. She had only experienced two hours before this sweet little boy entered the world. Her husband, and now father of her child, Trevor, looked down at their newborn with wide eyes and a hint of a smile, "well he doesn't get that from my side of the family." Melissa, who was now holding her baby, looked down to see what he meant. That's when she saw it. The flaccid seven inch penis between the boys legs, appearing to be a third leg at first sight. She was proud and a little scared admittedly. Maybe there was something to that knowing glint in her father's eye. If that was the case, god bless her mother, that woman is a trooper.
"Have you thought of a name?" Said the balding male nurse who had assisted in delivery.
Melissa looked at her husband and he nodded, eyes still glancing over at his sons massive dong from time to time. It almost demanded to be looked at.
"Beauregard Philip O'Connol," Melissa said dreamily.
"That's a good name", said male nurse, jutting it down on the clipboard he held.
"This boy is going to rule the world someday, honey", Melissa said to her husband.
"I know", he said, "I know."
| 2019-01-24T12:24:39
| 2019-01-24T11:33:09
| 61
| 37
|
[WP] After years of static noise and boring afternoons a SETI researcher finally gets a hit. From somewhere out in deep space a signal is being sent that is consistent and repeating with one simple message "Do Not Leave Earth".
|
"Computer, translate again please"
"Do Not Leave Earth"
This wasn't a wow signal, the sender had sent this in binary.... they wanted us to read this and left no room for errors.
We contacted what allies we had left, it had been sent in their languages too, possibly best to assume every other nation received it also.
Debates and hysteria went on for weeks until I got impatient waiting for politics to catch up with science. I wasn't going to just wait for the suits to turn up and take over my facility, I'm going to talk to an alien.
"Who sends this message?" I responded
"The people of Symposium" came back several hours later.
I was in awe, the gods answered my call and they left nothing to interpretation, they must have studied all languages in prep for this, which means they could have been hanging around up there for a while...
"People have claimed to see visitors from other worlds in the past, was this you?"
I waited.
"Not sure, but you are safe where you are, stay on earth"
"What danger is out there?"
"They have no name, we could not defeat them. You will stand no chance, do not provoke them, do not leave Sol"
"Maybe we can work together. Humans learn very fast."
"I very much doubt that if our ancestors don't even know we exist"
What? What's that got to do with anything? I'll have to slow down and think this through, what could they possibly mean?
"Who are your ancestors?"
"People of Earth, I thought this would be sent to Earth, this is Earth right? If its not Earth please pass this on, its an emergency broadcast. I'm going to speak to my commander, its my first day sorry, please hold."
Is this a prank? The machine cannot lie though, its clearly coming from the stars, I'm not sure what to do now, I just thought first contact would be grander than this so I'm struggling to accept this reality. Maybe to them first contact is no big deal? They must do it all the time. But what if?
"This is Earth. Are you human?"
"Yes, are there multiple intelligent species on Earth?"
"No. Just us. We can't possibly be your ancestors though. We never made it past Earths moon, that was a 100 years ago, no progress since"
"Are you sure? We still have colony ships here. UN Tesla ships."
This is some bullshit, if they have the technology to travel to another planet then why are they communicating with text...
"Can you communicate with other mediums? Video? Audio?"
"Yes of course, let me speak to boss"
I must have been so immersed into my conversation I did not hear intruders entering my lab as I felt a firm hand placed upon my shoulder.
"Ma'am. Please step away from the console"
|
For decades I’ve listened to the stars. For decades, they’ve said nothing back. Just static, ever since 1977 when Jerry Ehman caught the ‘Wow’ signal: “6EQUJ5”. I wasn’t born at the time, but it was still the only anomaly we had captured here at SETI, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, even with the largest satellite dishes in the world. And for some reason I thought it was a good idea to come and listen myself.
Sitting here, in front of a cold terminal while the sun shines bright and beautiful outside, I can’t help but think that I’ve wasted my life.
Margaerie is going to Mars today -- In a matter of hours. She’s a pioneer. While I sit and listen to static, she’s with the people I defended my choice against, who tried to convince me to make a real difference instead of wasting away here. Smarter people than me.
Wow.
6EQUJ5. Nonsense. Noise. Less noisy than the rest, but noise all the same. I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware that even the most random noise is bound to contain some sort of message by accident - like the saying about infinite monkeys each with a typewriter eventually turning out Shakespeare.
I glance anxiously at the black screen of the television. I could be watching the pre-launch, but I don’t think I can. I just sit, bitter, thinking back on the life that led me here:
The floating light I swear I saw as a child, so unreal in it’s smooth and sudden movements across the sky.
Building shortwave radios with my dad to talk to truckers who may as well have been alien to a nerdy kid like me.
A short lived pirate radio station in my teens.
College, and Margaerie, who always said I should study something of actual use.
That it was a waste of my mathematical mind to listen to radio static.
And then she left me for another planet entirely.
Then years listening to the endless static of the universe.
Funny how you can trace a path along a lifetime in an instant. Decades of random days and rash decisions into a few pivotal moments. A cohesive picture, traced from the noise.
Wow.
Suddenly, it occurs to me: Here at SETI we have nearly 100 years of data, static received from the furthest reaches of space. But maybe it’s only static on a human timescale.
With an intensity I haven’t had since my early days, I pull up the records. All of them. And compress them. Looking for long term patterns in the noise. To my great surprise, there seems to be a small dip in the late 2030s. Maybe a bit of a peak around 1987? 2001? 2015? Probably nothing. I keep crunching.
Then, 100 years compressed into roughly 30 seconds. And there is a pattern. A repeating pattern, with a definite ‘click’ every 14 years.
Wow.
At this point, I feel I should call someone… No, I have to take a crack at it first. But I couldn’t make sense of the signal. Or why 1977’s “6EQUJ5” still stood out from it like a sore thumb. A massive, short burst among the noise on a much shorter timescale than the rest.
Feeling a little less bitter, I turn on the TV and start watching the pre-launch. “T-Minus 30 minutes” in the lower corner. Mission control rattling off acronyms: “OTC?”
“Go”, the shuttle responds.
“PTC?”, “Go”, “LPS?”, “Go”
Safety checks. Letters that mean nothing to me, but may mean the difference between life and death to the crew. Like secret codes. Then it occurs to me:
“6EQUJ5” was a cipher, meant for us, to decode another message.
Now, it may be important to clarify here that the letters in SETI signals refer to numbers past 9. So, A would be 10, B would be 11, et cetera. And those numbers refer to the intensity of radio waves over time. “6EQUJ5” then is really 6, 14, 26, 30, 19, 5. You can trace a parabola by mapping these points over time.
And if you map that parabola out from one ‘click’ to another, and use signal processing to add that frequency to the noise, you get…
A bunch of numbers, still.
Wow.
But, taken in full, the waveform did look very intentional. Still feeling a little stupid that I couldn’t connect any patterns from these numbers, I decide to just listen to the thing.
“DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH...”
Holy shit.
...
Holy shit.
A voice like nothing I’d ever heard, with years and years of data in every syllable. And it was speaking english to me.
At this point, I did call someone. And got her voicemail. Of course her phone would be off while the shuttle prepares to launch. I turned to the TV.
“T-Minus 5 minutes.”...
Holy shit.
I called my supervisor. “We need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“What?”
“I found a message”
“What?...”, even over the phone, I could feel his realization setting in, “Holy shit!”
“We need to keep the shuttle on the ground.”
“What?”, T-Minus 4 minutes. “What is the message?”
I turned on speakerphone and let him hear recording for himself: “DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH.”, then repeated: “We need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“T-Minus 3 minutes.”...
“It’s in English?”
“I know. It’s crazy. I know. But we need to keep that shuttle on the ground.”
“Okay. Yes. Okay. I’ll make some calls.”, then my supervisor hung up.
“T-Minus 2 minutes.”...
On TV, the US president spoke about giant steps for mankind. No one seemed to know anything yet.
“T-Minus 1 minute”...
“DO NOT LEAVE EARTH. DO NOT LEAVE EARTH.” my speakers blared like an alarm.
“T-Minus 30 seconds”...
It wouldn’t be until years later that we discovered it, a roaming ‘leviathan’ made of dark matter and entirely unlike any creature we knew on Earth. It had no mouth, but was in some ways, all mouth. It encircled the Earth just past the moon, and had encircled the Earth for a long time. As it had to countless other worlds.
“T-Minus 15”…
Stuck in its surface was a small alien research station. They had studied earth for centuries, helpless and trapped on the surface of the leviathan but still trying to warn us. Their planet was gone, and all but a few of their species with it. A shield powered by a quickly draining battery was all that kept them from being consumed as well. But the creature itself was so massive it dilated time, and the message only trickled out over decades, distorted and broken.
“T-Minus 10”…
Then, in 1977, the now sole survivor of their race realized the problem. And mounted a suicide mission to tell us about it.
“T-Minus 9”…
But it must have known that it would only have a moment before the leviathan detected it and swallowed it.
“T-Minus 8”…
And it must have known somehow that humans were not recording radio signals at a high enough quality to receive the whole message in that timeframe.
“T-Minus 7”…
So it only had time to send the algorithm that would let us make sense of the signal.
“T-Minus 6”…
Because the leviathan feeds on worlds.
“T-Minus 5”…
More accurately, it feeds on intelligences.
“T-Minus 4”…
But it waits until they’re ripe.
“T-Minus 3”…
When they’re ready to settle on new worlds.
“T-Minus 2”...
When a new intelligence breaches it’s skin.
“T-Minus 1”...
Then it consumes the rest…
“Hold on. We are stopping the launch. We have been told to delay the launch. We will have more information soon.”
That was the day that every bad decision I ever made saved the world.
Wow.
| 2018-06-02T16:13:21
| 2018-06-02T13:02:21
| 36
| 13
|
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are.
|
How the devil was I supposed to get rid of her? This nightmare I had unwittingly assumed responsibility for? She might be the death of me. Already, she'd torn down several priceless antique tapestries to redecorate, defiled my inner sanctum with flowers painted on the stone wall, and had the place guards roast my prisoners alive. I'd needed the prisoners for information! And as for why the palace guards were dumb enough to take orders from the five foot one, petite, blue eyed, blonde haired creature, was beyond me.
'That's not true,' a voice whispered in my mind. 'They obey her, because they are far more scared of her, than they are of you.' I waved the irritating voice away. No way in the nine pits of the infernal realm was that itty bitty girl more...
"DARLING!" I shuddered. Please no. "Look what I found for us!" She chirped. Her voice was so annoying. And her laughter was even worse. Every second of it caused me to cringe.
I turned to face her. "Why aren't you in your cell?" I demanded.
She pouted. "But DARLING!" She whined. "It's so boring in there. I'd much rather be out here with you! And look what I brought you!" She beamed as she held out a human finger, dripping blood onto my expensive gold inlay carpet.
"Why do you have a finger?" I asked in exasperation.
"Not a finger silly. It's a ring!" She smiled so innocently. As I took a second look, there was indeed a ring encircling the base of the finger. Lovely. "Well what are you waiting for!" She demanded excitedly. "I brought you a ring so you could propose!"
She forced the finger into my hand, and I realized it was still warm.
"Whose finger did you cut off?"
Her lip curled, and she rolled her blue eyes. "Some peasant girl who refused to give her ring to me. So I took it from her. And then she was making the awful noise, so I removed her head too."
Annabelle? My chef! SON OF A WHORE! She'd killed my chef? What would the men eat? How was I going to feed my personal guard? Who was going to make my favorite cherry pie? "GUARDS!!!" I practically shrieked.
The large ornate doors from the palace of a sultan opened wide to admit a dozen men. "Yes my lord." The replied in unison. Befitting of well trained, highly skilled warriors.
"Take this wretch from my sight. I never wish to see her again. Send her to a dungeon, or better yet, back to her own people!"
The guards began to move, but froze when the princess shot a glare in their direction.
"Now darling..." her voice was furiously cold. "It sounds like you don't love me anymore. That makes me most unhappy." Green flames began dancing upon her fingertips. Magic. By the infernal pits, she was a witch!
"Sire!" A voice shouted. A messenger arrived. "Urgent message, sire!"
The messenger held forth a missive. Delivered it to my hands, and shot from the hall. I very calmly used the situation to my advantage, and calmly broke the wax seal, and unfold the parchment.
It read:
"Dearest Champion,
It is with the greatest pleasure that I write you concerning my daughter. Having received her letter..."
I stopped. "Who in the bleeding..." I shut my lips and breathed heavily for several seconds. "Who let her send a message to her father?! I demanded.
"Daddy?" She asked with joy.
"Know what? I don't care. Never mind. We'll find out later."
I continued.
"Having received her letter, I am overjoyed at the news of your betrothal. I have long awaited the day her mother and I could relax safe in the knowledge that a capable young man is taking care of our sweet blossom. You have a full pardon, and my blessing. I am most honored to call you my Son in Law.
Signed,
His Royal Majesty,
King Marcus Antoine Diogenes the Third,
Your Father in Law.
P.S. I expect grandchildren with in two years.
P.P.S. No Take Backs."
"Married?" I asked in disbelief.
"SURPRISE!" She shouted. She ripped the finger from my hand, yanked the ring off, placed it between my fingers and slid it on her own finger within a matter of second. "Congratulations to us! We're married!" She began dragging me back to my own bedchambers. And as one, my guard turned around and marched toward the door.
"Wait," I demanded. "Halt! Where do you think you're going? Stop! Come back here you cowards!" The large oak doors swung shut. 'Please.' I prayed. 'If there's a god above, please save me from this nightmare. I just wanted kingdom, not a wife. Certainly not this wife. I promise I'll turn my life around. I'll even dedicate it to good! I don't even care about the kingdom anymore. Honest.'
"Shmookums, you know what this means, right? You're the next king of our kingdom!" As she dragged me through the small door at the very back right of the throne room, I had one more chance to look at the hall where I'd been a freeman, soiled by the sight of yellow daisies slathered across the wall, before the door slammed shut.
|
I need to give her back. She is vengeful, vindictive, vile, and absolutely marvelous, but this is not sustainable. She’s already on her way to controlling the tri-state area, and I didn’t even manage that over the last few years.
“Hey Stacy, we need to talk,” I try to ease her into it. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think it would be best for you to go back to Mario. What I’ve turned you into, it’s weighing on me. You need to go back to your life of good before it’s too late for you.” I lie, hoping she doesn’t notice. There is no way I turned her into this, it had to be here all along.
Stacy hangs her head and my heart sinks. I am an evil overlord, I shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but here I am.
Her head still hung, she begins to reason, “you don’t know what you’re saying Heinz. We have something great here; we have so much potential. We’re about to take over the tri-state area, and there’s nothing that can hold us back from here. I can read between the lines though. I see you don’t want me around. I guess I’ll just do this on my own.” Without moving, her eyes raise to meet my gaze. I begin to see the fire in the whites of her eyes. What have I done.
She pulls a big red button out of her lab coat pocket and immediately pushes it. Before I have any time to react, I feel my ankle become constricted. I look down to find a wire tight around my left ankle and the slack being pulled into the darkness of the room. Without warning, my leg is pulled out from under me and I find myself hung by my leg.
“I’m sorry,” I say out of breath. I don’t have any excuses to give, all I know is that I do feel bad.
“Sorry doesn’t change anything. You have no idea what you’re going to miss, and you will accomplish nothing without me.” She begins to walk towards the door but stops in her tracks. Stacy swings around and walks with purpose to the bathroom. I’m confused to say the least, but I suppose the bladder doesn’t care if you’re evil or not.
Stacy quickly walks out of the bathroom and towards the door. As the front door is closing behind her, she leaves me with one last statement. “I flipped the toilet paper to dispense underneath.” The door slamming behind her.
I take a moment to take in what just happened. Before long, I find myself smiling, as that was the most evil thing she could have done.
| 2018-02-09T05:27:35
| 2018-02-09T04:45:21
| 63
| 16
|
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
|
My cafe is my pride and joy.
I opened my cafe after graduating college. I had always had an eye for baking and serving people food I made. It always made my face go red whenever people would compliment my food.
I started serving my regulars one day a few months after my cafe opened up. A group of tough looking people came in. I was scared, but I tried not to judge books by their covers. I served them food and made small talk with them. After this continued for a week, I finally learned that they were a group of vigilantes. We became closer after that.
I mean, sure my patrons aren't what you would call "normal", but I loved having them. They always kept me company and had interesting stories to tell.
One day, over a year after my cafe opened, I was stirred from space by the sound of my bell ringing. The signal someone had entered my shop. I immediately noticed they were tough. I mean there were 4 guys total. The 2 guys in the back had huge muscles, like, bigger than my thighs, and the other 2 in front were a lot smaller, but still pretty intimidating. I greeted them with my cheerful " Welcome To Adeline's Cafe! What can I get you?" The presumed leader replied, "All the money in your cash register." I was stunned. I had never been more scared. Well, not since Halloween, but that's besides the point. I managed to reply with a, " I'm sorry sir I can't do that. I could make you a coffee and scone! How does that sound?" He scowled then nodded to his mates. All at once, one of the burly dudes in the back grabbed me by the arm and hauled my over the counter and on to my side. I cried out in pain as he forcefully pulled me by the hair onto my feet. He then proceeded to hogtie me, tape my mouth shut, and stuff me into the freezer. I could hear breaking glass and laughing and I passed out.
When I came to, I was still in the freezer. My arms and legs were numb and I could practically feel the frostbite on my lips and nose, but the tape had fallen off my mouth. I heard people calling my name and I managed to call out weakly were I was. The freezer opened and my friend Leona was there. She called out to TJ and Shy and they got me out of the freezer. When I saw my cafe, I would've cried had I not been violently shivering. Everything was destroyed. They even managed to rip one of the booths to nothing but bare wooden seat.
The rest of my friends were all there. Dina, Fallon, Sam, and Uller. They untied me in front of my oven as they turned it on. Once I could speak without stuttering beyond the point of incoherence, I told them what happened. The strongest three, Shy, TJ, and Uller, went out looking while Leona, Fallon and Sam cleaned up. I was left to be treated by Dina.
Three hours later, Shy, TJ, and Uller came back. Bloody but alive. They returned my stolen money and helped pick up. By nightfall, the cafe was cleaned. I know that restoring my cafe will take a long time, but at least I have some friends willing to help me.
Was this good? Please let me know!
|
"You the last one left, Foxtrot?" I hear just after the door dings open. Gruff voice, but femenine all the same. Gotta be June, she's the only one who comes this close to closing time.
As I push my way out of the back, smile wide and apron twirling merrily, I see none other than June "Crow" Ubiquity standing by the front counter, shoulders still covered in snow and bird mask clipped to an ammo belt half-filled with some rather nasty looking hollowpoints tonight.
"Kids all went home hours ago; child labor laws and all that. Waltz is making a run and Tango's upstairs, need something in particular?" I ask, sliding my way towards the register. I know the answer, June's been a regular since before I earned my mantle. *one cinnamon roll, Wheatgrass shot, and a Foxtrot* I select on the screen before I'm even finished asking the question. "cash or trade?"
As she hooks the backpack around her body and reaches in, I have a pretty good idea the answer, and by the momentum of the bag a pretty good one. A sack finds its way onto the counter, clearly straining to holds its contents, but the little bag does its job and keeps me having to do mine again. "I know I always ask, but you don't use these all" Sweeny Todd" and feed em back to us, right?" I giggle a bit at the routine question, but otherwise mime a zipper over my mouth. "your payment seems to be in order, guess I'll go get your goodies. Try not to burn the place down while I'm not looking." I tease as I skip into the kitchen, pouch in hand.
Waiting for the cinnamon roll to heat up, I hear a few noises that would probably concern most people at their day jobs, especially in this part of town. The crash of several shattering objects were the first sounds. something like a wind-chime played by a drummer quickly followed. Which leads directly to the last sound; a yelp that can only mean "oh God my hand! My hand! My hand has somehow become much less hand-like why God why!" it's amazing how expressive one quick noise can be sometimes.
Reentering the dining area with bun and glass in hand, I see June patiently waiting to the side, the window lay un-filled by glass, a scattering of ceramic shards all around the floor, and a rather less-than-armed... Handed?... A person was missing the better part of their forearm near the door, idiot must have tried to make a move at Crow. Her mask was back on and her hand still trailed a light show. I tutted "now I know we're old friends Crow, but you know I hate the smell when you do that in here. Regardless, here's the Cinn and shot." she silent curtseys and accepts her foodstuffs before casually strolling back out the door.
Turning to the poor sap slouched against the wall. I approached with a bit of a sashay and a rather plain mask comfortably tossed between my hands. "Well, someone owes us for a Tango, but I suppose Crow did order a Foxtrot..."
| 2018-10-20T22:37:12
| 2018-10-20T22:22:49
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments
|
"My Latin no good much," I mumble, stalling for time.
Caesar's already implacable face hardens further. "Your Latin *good much* enough. Answer." The command is absolute, carrying death behind it.
The stab of fear rebounds within me, and a surge of anger answers. "Would you know things whose knowledge makes them inevitable? Would you surrender all power for the privilege of certainty?"
Caesar flinches. My retort had spoken both of his languages fluently - Latin, and *power*.
He recovers, but is more guarded. "What would you *advise*, without springing the trap?" he asks.
"Reestablish the Republic and retire to Gaul," I say.
Wry humor and resignation flicker across his face. "But you know I will not do that," he says.
"Indeed," I say.
He pours the wine, and we drink. A chill wind blows outside.
|
*“Tell me, how do I die?”* Caesar asks me in a language that seems familiar, but unavoidably foreign. Being an ignorant American, I naturally have no idea what the hell he is saying because I exclusively speak in poorly-worded English.
By some immeasurable stroke of luck however, my phone is still operational, as is my translator app. Wow. I should write in to Verizon, they can advertise that you’ll still get 4G-LTE after exposure to a temporal rift.
*”Eyyyy?!”* Caesar says to me, impatience resonating in his voice.
I use my translator to promptly say, *“What do you want?”*
Startled at first by the magical rectangle in my hand, Caesar warms up to it quickly. With a determined voice, he speaks into the phone. *“How will I die?”*
Not being a history buff, I quickly give his question an internet search. The first result is what I need, and it begins loading up when some large man in a robe similar to Caesar’s approaches excitedly. He begins conversing with the emperor, and the two seem to be arguing, but far too quickly for my translator to register.
After the two finish their conversation, the large, bearded man gives me a puzzled, untrusting stare, and shuffles off. Caesar motions to my phone, so I bring it to his face, translator ready.
*“That was my dear friend Brutus. He and other senators have requested my presence for an urgent matter. When I return we will continue our conversation about my future.”*
I nod to show my understanding, and Caesar gives me two thumbs up and a big smile, a gesture I had shown him earlier. He walks away in the same direction his friend had gone. What a cooky guy.
Brutus. The name sounds awfully familiar. I shrug my shoulders and look back at my phone, exiting the translator app. A curiosity washes over me as I open up an internet enabled calendar, to see if it has updated to pinpoint exactly what year I’m stuck in. To my astonishment, the exact date appears on the screen: March 15, 44 BC.
Wow technology is absolutely crazy. I begin to hear an uproar from a nearby temple, with lots of shouting and alarms being sounded, but that’s been pretty commonplace since I’ve arrived. Rome sure is a noisy place. I pull out my earbuds, start listening to some jams, and begin scrolling through my social feeds as various guards and other people run by. Reddit will not believe the day I’ve had.
| 2018-02-15T21:12:07
| 2018-02-15T20:47:22
| 109
| 33
|
[WP] Never, in 10 millennia, has someone successfully broken out of the Gates of Hell or into the Gates of Heaven. Of course, the Lockpicking Lawyer just died and he's up for a challenge.
Inspired by the [comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/m6smji/does_this_count_dm_is_proposing_35_ranks_of/gr85q13?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) u/geckoobac made on r/rpghorrorstories
|
This is lock picking lawyer and what I have for you today is a very special lock indeed. Yes, this is the lock to the gates of Heaven, and it was temporarily entrusted to me by Peter from Circle 3.
As you can see it is a very fine example of a circular padlock made not too dissimilarly from units made by Master. It has been ornately carved with intricate designs and I'm told this embossing on the shackle is the date the lock was made, but the language isn't decipherable from any known language.
The core on this appears to be a very good representation of a standard disc detainer core made by Kryptonite, so it should be a bit harder to pick than some of the other locks like it. It should only have 8 discs. But enough talk. Let's get this open.
I'm going to do my best to tension this using a wiper insert, and I'm going to use the tool Bosnian Bill and I made to make this a little easier. I'm going to rotate the discs as far as they will go clockwise... There we go. Click out of 8, 7 is binding, nothing out of 6, 5 feels set- nope nice click out 5, 4, 3, nothing on 2, nice click out of 1, nice click out of 7, and we got this open.
Okay, folks, this may have seemed easy to pick, and while it was, it should be noted that if a thief even reaches the gate this is normally on, they'd be met with twelve of them per gate if the archangels don't get to them first. In any case, that's all I have for you today, if you do have any questions or comments about this, please put them below, if you liked this video and would like to see more like it, please subscribe, and as always, have a nice day. Thank you.
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Nothing had ever stopped him before, and this gate was not going to stop him. Arms folded across his chest; the lockpicking-lawyer formed a wry smile on his face. He had only applied for law school because he made a bet with his brother – And he was sure law school was worse than Hell itself – which is why he was confused he had been placed in heaven. He may have done some good things by putting criminals behind bars, but he was not a good guy. For Christ’s sake! he had made sure to engage in almost all the seven deadly sins so he could get into Hell! And all the locks he had learned to pick while in the mortal world! Sighing softly, he placed his hand on the lock and closed his eyes. Hearing the mechanical whirring sound as it clicked open. He chuckled. Of course, his brother forgot to change the locks. Stepping through the gates, his body morphed into the one of an eldritch being as he came face to face with Satan himself.
“Hello Brother, I heard Hell needs a Lawyer”
| 2021-03-17T11:40:07
| 2021-03-17T10:47:02
| 17
| 11
|
[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.
|
You ever get lost in thought? So much so that you lose all track of time? Well I do, thinking about my life and what I regret. Wondering if that girl at the coffee shop likes me or am I delusional. The bills that are due and what I would like for dinner.
I get so wrapped up in it I can forget to even move. Like I'm sleeping, like sleep paralysis except there's no creepy shadows or odd sounds. Just me and my own inner monologue. Do you think you can overthink yourself? I don't know, but this metal table is a bit cold and hard on my back.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T02:05:57
| 1,143
| 646
|
[WP] You have spent the last few years learning and mastering morse code. You leave a small cafe at night and walk your way home. As you walk, it starts to rain. While the heavy rain starts to hit the ground, it sounds familiar to you. You realise the rain is telling you to run.
|
Drip drop drip.
I turned my collar up against the rain. Dammit, I should have taken an umbrella. If only I could remember where I’d left it. The street was dimly lit, and unfamiliar. My clothes were thin and clung to my skin.
Drip drip drop.
For some reason I began to notice rhythm of the rain. It didn’t feel…right. It wasn’t random or meaningless, like rain is meant to sound. It had a pattern. The same pattern repeating again and again.
Drop drip.
A code. My blood ran cold. I had only started to learn Morse code while we had been shut inside for the past year, but the pattern was unmistakable. It was telling me something.
Drip drop drip. R.
Drip drip drop. U.
Drop drip. N.
I glanced around and began to jog, feeling slightly self-conscious. But as soon as I did, two figures moved from out of the shadows. They had been following me. I broke into a run and they sprinted after me. I darted down an alley to try and lose them, but my shoes were waterlogged and flimsy. I slipped, and when I got to me feet the two figures were upon me.
“No, get off me.” I shouted.
“Calm down, Mrs Solomon, we don’t want to hurt you.” I struggled but one of them had restrained my arm behind me.
“How do you know my name?” I demanded.
“You’re safe with us.” They grabbed my other arm, and I swung it behind me, connecting with one of their faces. Suddenly my legs were swept out from under me and I landed hard on the wet tarmac. One of them sat on my back.
“No!” I tried to scream but the air had gone out my lungs. I felt a sharp prick in my neck. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Even as I spoke I felt my voice fading and being drowned by the rain.
\* \* \*
I awoke in a plain room on a plastic mattress. A lady in a white coat was standing by me, holding a chart.
“Where am I?” I drawled groggily.
“You’re back in the hospital, Mrs Solomon. We’ve stabilised your levels. You really must keep taking your medication, you know. You can get a bad reaction if you stop.” Medication? I glanced down at the canula in my arm. “You’ll feel better in a few hours. I’ll see you then.” She left, locking the door behind her from the outside. I looked out of the window. The rain had cleared and the wet buildings reflected the sun in sharp beams. It was quiet outside, and in the room I could hear only the sounds of the monitoring equipment.
Beep beeep beep.
Beep beeep beep.
Beeep beep.
|
You have spent the last few years learning and mastering morse code. You leave a small cafe at night and walk your way home. As you walk, it starts to rain. While the heavy rain starts to hit the ground, it sounds familiar to you. You realise the rain is telling you to run.
You feel a sense of dread wash over you, a chill runs down your spine almost paralyzing you with fear. “What’s happening?” You mutter under your breath and then you see it. It’s him, the reaper of souls and his flaming Hell hound. The rain intensifies, you notice the familiar rhythm of “Run! Run! Run!” Tapped out as the rain hits the pavement. You start running, with every step the dark presence grows stronger. “Faster.” You hear the rain tap out, “Run faster.”
You glance back at the, you see the reaper appear in every shadowy place. His Hellhound tries to step out from under the awning and you hear the sizzle of the water hitting his flaming skin. It’s to late. He hellhound has realized that the rain won’t hurt him. The beast leaps out with all its might and barely misses you with his claws, but you feel the singed hair on the back of your neck from his flailing breath. You run and keep running. You hear the rain tap out, “head to the bridge.” You blindly comply. You turn left and head to the river. And not far away you see it. And old bridge that’s about to crumble. But between it and you is the beast… his eyes are red, fire jumping from its snout as it snarls. Behind you the reaper stands waiting, unmoving. You hear a faint low haunting chuckle come from under his cloak. The rain taps out, “run to the bridge.” You give it all the strength you have left. Your muscles scream as you sprint straight for the hell beast, and it glances you with its claw as you dodge it. A few more steps and your on the bridge.
Lightning flashes and the. Thunderous roar of the thunder causes you to stop midway through the bridge. You turn around. The hound is pacing back and forth at the foot of the bridge. It takes a step onto the iron rung and jumps back in pain, the fire leaping from his snout more intensely. You breath a sigh of relief, but it’s to late. You turn and see him. You can just make out his bony smile and the fire burning in his eyes. You hear the screams of 1,000 souls as he opens his mouth and laughs the same haunting laugh. As you collapse to the ground, he brings his scythe down… and the world go black.
The rain pitifully taps out, “I’m sorry. I tried to save you, but I was to late.” Lightning strikes the old bridge and it’s breaks apart. The lifeless corpse falls down into the black waters of the rushing river below. Will anyone notice, will the person be missed? In the dark corner of the cafe, a faint soul languishing chuckle fades off into the darkness. He has done his job, and his hound got to have a little fun too.
| 2021-10-20T08:13:31
| 2021-10-20T07:34:12
| 82
| 19
|
[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.
|
The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system...
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-15T22:51:56
| 427
| 37
|
[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.
|
The elven rangers surveyed the orc camp that had been growing on the flat plains by the sea. The orc had come, and so far rebuked the elves’ attempts at driving them back into the sea. They tainted, cut and burned more land each day. The elves could feel their home dying as corruption feasted upon it. They turned their horses around to report the latest progress back to their leaders.
“Lady Galadriel, the orc horde grows day by day. I have never heard of them expand with such ferocity” said the ranger captain as he stormed into the council chamber, “had I known better, I’d say a hungry Balrog was following at their backs!”
“You may not be so wrong, Anruthil” whispered Galadriel
Now with almost forgotten cheer in his voice, “Is it the Men? Have they come at last?” replied the ranger.
“One of our blockade runners returned in the night, one half starved soul was left on board...” Galadriel could sense Anruthil’s hope fade, “He landed on Middle Earth with another ship, eight of our men in all. They said the lands there had seen great turmoil, duller, as if the light had been drawn out from the earth itself. They found villages burned, and all men of fighting age gone.”
“How is this possible, has Sauron returned?“ Anruthil almost wept, for the fear grew in him now.
“Were it so simple. The party made their way to Minas Tirith. The one that returned remained outside the city to report back should something evil befall the others. After the first day, great black ships descended from the sky. They appeared to have been forged in Mordor itself. They burned the city. He fled, not stopping even for a minute to rest. He has come back to us, but I fear something has followed him home...”
The orc horde amassed in great ranks of a thousand soldiers across the plain. Elven scouts observed their trolls pull their great war engines forward. Goblin-men squabbled over discarded and stolen equipment around fires. One pulls a knife and stabs the smallest goblin. A fracas ensues as they strip his body of loot.
A great boom ripples across the plain, deafening the elves and scattering many orcs. A goblin stumbles back into the fire. He appears to suffer, but the elves ears are still ringing too much to hear his screams.
A dark oblong shape glides down from the sky. Blue fires erupt from the bottom and it lands at the edge of plain in a great cloud of dust and ash. A door drops down and the edge hits the the ground with a great *thud*. Eight figures emerge. Men folk, clad in blue and gold armour, towering over even the mighty Uruks. The lead figure raises a great sword aloft. It crackles with blue energy and the eight advance into the maw of the orcs.
Beams of fire cut through flesh and bone. One of the men leaps high into the air with a boom and a jet of fire. Like an arrow he arcs back down and shatters the skull of a troll with his mighty hammer.
“Work of the dwarves, surely” the elves had been silent until now, struck dumb by the wrath of Men. The senior ranger interjects, “This is no craft of the dwarves or men that I know...”
On the ground, waves of orc charge forth and are rended down by screaming red arrows of fire. The men hurl forth cylinders that explode in great orbs that reduce all caught within to cinder.
The battle is short. The men finish the remaining orcs with blade, hammer and fist. The routing horde tries to retreat to their ships, most drown. The lead man stands on the shore and gestures to the ships. With that, their transport lets loose a great number of rockets, like the White Wizard’s fireworks. These rockets however do not burst in great showers of sparks, but plunge down into the orc ships, smashing timbers and shattering masts. The sea is a churning mass of fire and corpses.
The senior ranger removes his helmet and stands up; “I think it time to reveal ourselves to our saviours.” The stern elve effortlessly hops down the rocky ridge, followed by the others. “Hail, my lord. We owe you our lives, you have driven the orc from our Undying Lands.”
“I had reports of Eldar on this world, though it is unlike them to be so bold. You are hard to detect.” The leader of the men towers over the elves, as do the others. Their gleaming gold trim is encrusted with drying orc blood.
“Ancient magics conceal us mostly from the eyes of man and orc” the astute ranger replies, “though their powers fade in these dark times.”
The man smirked. “Yes, our psykers sensed something about this backwater planet. We have reclaimed it in the name of the Emperor.”
“Emperor? Reclaim? This land is ours!” sputtered the ranger. “You saved us from the orcs!”
The man laughed. “Saved you?! We are the Ultramarines. We have come to cleanse this world of the taint of xenos for the Imperium of Man!”
|
The elves were unsure of how to proceed. Though they were valiant warriors, they could not hope to overcome the sheer number of orcs that were marching towards them across the barren field. With each step, their fear grew ever greater. Yet, they couldn't retreat. They were in Valinor. They had no where further to go. Even if they could retreat somewhere, where could they go that the orcs would not find them? Besides, they were elves. They didn't back down from a fight. They knew that this was almost certainly going to be their death, but the had to at least try to stand their ground.
Then Legolas spotted something flying in the distance. At first, he feared it was a dragon. He knew that Orcs and Dragons had at times worked together in the past. If it was a dragon, they really stood no hope.
He had sent a message to the lands of men by way of eagle about a week ago, but he had little hope that they could hold out until the men could get there even if they had already received the message and Manwe allowed their passage into Valinor. Even if they arrived at this moment, he didn't know what men could hope to do against this force, even if they were 10,000 strong.
He looked back to the orcs marching quickly across the field. It would be less than an hour until they reached the elves. His hope was just about gone when he looked back up and saw that whatever the flying thing was, it no longer looked like a dragon at this distance, was headed right towards them. Only, this time, there appeared to be two other, smaller flying things beside it. Whatever they were, they would soon be upon them.
"Archers! Ready your bows! Fire on my command!"
"Fire!"
The arrows seemingly bounced off whatever was flying towards them. It was as if the flying objects had coats of mithril.
Soon, Legolas could make out what they were. The large object appeared to be some great and armored bird, only there was fire coming out of it. The things on either side appeared to be men, but how could they fly?
"Cease fire! The men have answered our call!"
The man on the left was clad in black pants, some type of silver armor on his chest and a red cape. He had long, flowing blonde hair, and was holding a very large hammer. It was larger than even the largest of the dwarven hammers of old, yet it's handle was much shorter. It almost appeared that the hammer was flying and he was just holding onto it and being pulled along.
On the other side, the man was clad in a bright red suit of armor with flames coming from his hands and feet.
Soon, the reinforcements had landed. What had appeared to be a giant bird, Legolas could now see was some form of machine. A door opened and six people walked out. The first was dressed in red, white, and blue, and carried only a shield. The next was clad in silver and red armor and seemed to have mechanical wings of some type. The next looked far more like what Legolas expected. He was dressed all in black with a bow and a quiver on his back. The next just looked like an ordinary human. He didn't look like a warrior, and he didn't have any armor on. The next was a woman. She was dressed in red, but didn't seem extremely menacing, nor did she wear armor. Last came another seemingly ordinary man without armor, but he held some type of weapon with a long barrel in his hands.
As they exited the quinjet, as that is what they had arrived in, they all walked over to Legolas. It was obvious that he was in charge. To Legolas, the first man to step out of the machine appeared to be the leader.
"Eight men!? Really? We were hoping for at least 1,000x that. Even then, the fight would be difficult. I've never seen this many orcs assembled before, and yet your king only sent eight?"
"Hold on there, Santa's helper, we aren't just ordinary people."
The man with the red suit of armor was talking now. An armored plate had moved up, seemingly on its own, and his face was now visible.
"Also, it's funny that you said those orcs had assembled. That's kinda our thing... Assembling."
"Tony, let me take this."
The man with the long weapon was speaking now.
"My name is Phil Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Allow me to introduce you to my team. This is Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. Right beside him is Sam Wilson, or the Falcon. Next we have Bruce Banner, just wait to see what he can do. Here is Clint Barton, or Hawkeye. Now we come to the Scarlett Witch, Wanda Maximoff. That strapping guy over there with the hammer is Thor, although he technically isn't human. And you've already met Tony Stark, or Iron Man. I think you'll find that we are quite a bit more capable than the men you've interacted with in the past."
"Well, be that as it may, I still fail to see how this small a force could hope to overcome the seemingly million orcs headed this way."
"Okay, listen up, Clint go over there with the elven archers. You need to be our eyes. Thor, Stark, you need to be our air attack. Fly over and light 'em up. Sam, shift between air and ground. Keep 'em guessing. Wanda, don't get in the middle of the fight. You're our secret weapon. We need you to stay on the outside and funnel them towards the middle. Bruce, get mad, then smash. Phil, you should probably be with the archers as well. You, what did you say your name was? Legolas? Get your best fighters and follow me into the heart of their army. Have the rest of your forces flank them and push in from the sides."
At that moment, a boulder came hurtling over the hill and it was about to crush them when Bruce turned green and became huge. He caught the boulder and threw it back, killing at least 10 orcs.
"That, my friend, is the Hulk," said Phil.
The elves were still doubtful about these men, but what choice did they have but to go along with Steve's plan? Obviously, these were no ordinary men. More stones kept coming. All of them were sent back among the orcs. Some were caught and thrown by either Thor or the Hulk even Iron Man caught and threw one back. Most, however were wrapped in some kind of red light and then turned around and sailed back. Pretty soon, Legolas realized that this light was also coming from Wanda's hands.
Soon, the orcs we're upon them. The battle went fairly quickly. Occasionally, the elves heard Tony say, "My turn." At other times, they heard Thor road with laughter, and once heard him yell, "These are nothing compared to bilgesnipe." Steve yelled, "Language," at Tony once.
The elves quickly learned that these men were valiant warriors with talents that far out matched their own. Even Clint was as good or better than any of their archers. Phil, however didn't seem to do much. He mainly just waited and watched as the orcs were mowed down. Then, a giant cave troll came rumbling toward the archers. They sprayed it with arrows, but still it advanced. Then, an orange light appeared and the troll was blasted back and lay dead. They all looked at where the light had originated, and they saw Phil holding his smoking weapon with a grin on his face.
"So that's what that does. Cool!"
The battle was over in less than an hour. Only 5 elves died, and only a few orcs escaped with their lives.
The elves were grateful for the help of these humans, but we're also a little wary of their powers. They were happy they had come, but they were also glad they weren't staying.
Many years later, Legolas was still astonished at what he witnessed that day. Had he not known that they were men, he would have thought them to be Valar, or at least Maiar. But, alas, they were men.
"Oh, what Gimli would have thought if he could have witnessed that battle!"
| 2018-12-03T07:01:59
| 2018-12-03T06:43:36
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
The Joker sat in the director's chair. The office was a mess. Papers strewn all over the floor from the scuffle. Bloody footprints and generally a lot of blood. The room smelled like blood. Also due to the scuffle. Or maybe because of the director's dead limp body sprawled on the floor beside his own chair. Which the joker had sat upon.
"Say, aren't you the guy Harley picked? My memory's getting really poor, but tell me. You've been working under me for over a year?" he asked, smiling in his usual creepy fashion.
"Uh, yeah," I gulped. The joker never usually talked to us head on, unless it's gonna move some plot. Or maybe if he felt like killing for no reason.
Dammit. Well, there are worse ways to go.
"Well, then. Take a seat." he said, still smiling.
The other henchmen- the ones who weren't shot or dead, shifted uncomfortably in the office. "And you all get out!" the joker yelled, and the others immediately rushed out.
Oh God.
"So kind of Mr. Whatever here to lend us his office." he chuckled as I took a seat, and spat on the dead director. "Yes boss." I said, cautiously.
"Well, let's take a look at your performance. Let's see.. You haven't run off with my money. You haven't run off once the thrill of working with me wore off. You didn't die, obviously. To me, these are the important details. Hmm, let's see. Your name is Jack. Nice name. Haha. Have you shot Batsy? Or the boy wonder? Or any cop, at least? I need to know because you have to have seen some action. I don't want cowards, you know. Cowards have their uses, but they're smart and scheming. Not good for business."
"I, uh. I shot one cop. And I beat a lady cop with a baseball bat." I said, my mouth dry.
The Joker, who was looking through some binders as if he was actually looking at my work, snapped it shut and gasped. "You hit a woman?!" He asked, and it took all my power not to shrink away. "I'm just kidding. I kill woman all the time. Children too. Love their screams." he said in a matter-of-fact way, opening the binder again.
"So you killed a cop and beat up another. What else you did?"
"I, uh, faced Killer Croc and lived." I said, half-lying. KC was busy ripping apart another henchman while I was screaming and bashing a rusty pole against his back with little to no effect. Not a good experience.
"Oh!" The Joker exclaimed, crossing his legs, "He faced the sewer monster and lived to tell the tale. How fascinating. But I still have my doubts. You don't seem like a guy who will survive so long under me." he said, and suddenly leaned over and reached for my arm from over the table. "I mean look at you, all scrawny. Where's your muscle definition?" he asked, pinching my arm. I tried not wince. "Admittedly, Sir, I'm very lucky to have survived so far." I said, praying I would survive this.
Someone moaned from the floor beside us. It was one of our men. The joker shot him with his revolver. I flinched. "I don't take kindly to interruptions." he explained to me. My heart was pounding.
"So, you're lucky, huh? That's good. We need someone with luck. I guess your review is over. Hell , you're promoted! So congratulations, go have a beer to celebrate! Tabs on this guy!" the joker smiled, kicking the lifeless body by him.
I thanked him and got up to leave, eyeing the poor guy who had been shot. If he'd been quiet for a few more seconds he'd have lived. Ah, well.
___________
This got really big, but this edit is dedicated to u/Killsbury3. People said I did a good job with joker, but ma homeboy Killsbury3 brought him to life with this [voiceover](https://soundcloud.com/jackcmorrison/the-jokers-yearly-review). I recommend headphones on full volume.
|
Well. It's time.
I walked into his office. It was dark, the only light in the room was a spotlight on a chair in the middle. "Sit down." He said. I walked to the center and sat in the chair, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
I made it. A full year surviving under The Joker himself.
The room filled with light, and I saw The Joker and Harley Quinn sitting in front of me, popping confetti.
"Congratulations! You are my first low-level employee to reach a full year of work! That makes you employee of the year!"
"Thanks, Mr. Joker."
"However, one must think about how you made it this far. You were never the first to charge into battle for me, you never took night patrols, and you never went with me for our big hits. I really don't know, do you even work for me?"
"Of course I do, sir!"
"But do you really? Look behind you, that's your pay for this year."
Behind me was a considerable amount of cash, most certainly from robberies.
"I didn't know our pay was this high."
"Yes, it is. Blow it up."
"Excuse me?"
"Blow. It. Up. Show me that you care more about chaos than you care about money, show me that you are loyal to our cause. Blow it up."
"A-alright. How?"
Harley Quinn gave me a stick of dynamite and a matchbook. I went to the pile of cash and stuck the dynamite in it.
"Not like that! We're not Batman here, do it like you work for me and mean it. Throw it."
I ignited the dynamite and threw it into the pile. I missed.
"Come on, man. You had it. You could have done a year and a day, but you can't even throw a stick of dynamite right. I don't need you here. Get out."
I walked towards the door, fearing for my life, as a loud bang came from behind me. Before I could even register it, my brains were splattered all over the door, and my body fell down on the floor, lifeless.
| 2016-11-20T22:37:11
| 2016-11-20T21:59:16
| 3,095
| 72
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
It's always the high-numbered ones that think they have a shot. Some up and coming punk that thinks that this is their once in a lifetime chance to take down #1... as if they can just skip all of the other ranks and become a superstar. They never really consider how I GOT to be number one. I've fought fire powers, ice powers, lightning powers, one guy that had some special affinity toward guns, another that could teleport. There were a couple of psychics that were trippy for awhile, but everyone's power all comes from the same place.
This latest one was barely a teenager. It's a shame how this will have to end. I don't like killing, but I've started to accept that it's a necessary part of how the world is. That scares me a little, but it's better than being dead. The kid in front of me looks like he joined a street gang before he got his powers. He's got a fireball hovering above each hand but he hasn't made a move yet. I guess that my number is scaring him, making him size me up before he makes a move. Smart.
"So what's your deal? I don't see nothin'! You're the invincible number one! Show me what you got!"
The kid doesn't even know my name... probably doesn't care. I take a quarter out of my pocket and hold out my hand. The coin rises a few inches off of my palm and the punk gets ready to dodge, or block, or he's not sure which.
"My power's not much, just basic telekinesis. I can barely lift my own body weight without getting tired. The real strength is all in what I know."
"You going to throw that at me? Some kinda psychic railgun?!" I can hear and edge in the kid's voice. He looks like he's ready to make his move. Subtle changes in his stance give it away. I laugh as the coin drops back into my palm and I pocket it.
As he starts to charge at me, I swing my hand at the air in front of me. At the same moment, a wave of air slaps his cheek from the side, then again as it wave my hand the other way and hit his other cheek. I'm amused as his fireballs dissipate, I guess that he needed to concentrate to maintain them. He doesn't know it yet but that was a warning shot.
"You really should go home kid. Last chance, I'm letting you go."
I'm honestly hoping that he takes this chance, but I see the flames starting to encircle his forearms now. Are his hands the only things he can use this fire with? He might even be interesting if he backs off and explores his powers a little more.
The kid glares at me. "Or what?! You'll go Darth Vader on me? I'll roast you alive before you ca-"
A look of surprise comes over the kid's face now. While he was talking, I had raised a hand and had cut him off mid-word. He'd suddenly forgotten not only what he was going to say, but how to say it. The surprise turned to terror as his body suddenly stopped responding. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, so it was obvious when his legs stopped working and he collapsed to the ground.
I looked down at his terrified face, we both knew what was coming next. Just like he couldn't heal burns, I couldn't undo what I'd done, at least not without being able to see it and that required an operating room.
"I'll make it quick, kid. Like I said, the real power is in what I know." I said softly, as I reached out into the maze of neurons and blood vessels underneath his skull, and blindly tugged at a few delicate strands.
EDIT: Thanks, OP, for the special mention. I'm glad that people like the story. :)
|
It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..."
| 2014-12-18T18:29:42
| 2014-12-18T14:46:11
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons.
|
" I'm now the mother of dragons ??!!"
"Stop it Anneliese, how they get there??"
"Well, you bought it, when I asked for special eggs, I just wanted the organic ones, from who exactly you bought this eggs from???"
"The nice lady with the purple hair"
"Zoey, honey, you can't get eggs with the local witch, you suppose to get my cough medicine with her, and the eggs and milk with the Henley's"
"Next time you go to buy it yourself okay, or I will just buy everything from Costco.
What we gonna do with these little ice dragons, there is a whole flock of them"
"Flock ??"
" Flock, pack, murder, hive, litter, I don't care, they're gonna get so big, and there are six of them."
" Thank God you didn't pick up the dozen like I ask for"
|
I went to the groceries that day, as I stood by the supermarket counter, I saw a bunch of rainbow coloured eggs, so naturally I bought them. The next day I heard munching sounds behind the fridge and some loud belches, so I quickly opened my fridge door!
There in front of me were a whorl of different coloured serpentine creatures, each with draconic features, brown, green, red and yellow dragons chirped sleepily as they squabbled over a piece of leftover chicken... Then the dragons sleepily stared at me curiously. Most of them were a mixture of Chinese and Western dragons. One sleepy aquamarine Chinese dragon with multiple heads glared with yellow slitted eyes, unamused...
"Rawr?" the draconic horde chorused at me, equally confused? *Oh bother, time to get a new fridge...*
| 2022-02-08T06:35:46
| 2022-02-08T06:03:19
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
I sit for a while and listen to the Devil play the exquisite, golden instrument. He has not even seen me; his eyes are closed and it seems as if he is in a trance. In his great hands the harmonica looks like a miniature, but he plays it so fast and loud, that somehow, the music it produces is more full than any orchestra I've ever heard. The hairs on my arms prick up.
The melody is haunting, but beautiful. It floats around the cavern, and transports me to a ship in olden times. I am alone, standing on the deck. My crew has deserted me and the vessel floats lonely, as I wait to die.
The melody speeds up and the Devil picks out notes that shouldn't work together; dissonant flats and sharps; majors and minors that should never touch. I see gigantic waves form in the distance. They crash like thunder against the bow of the ship. The pale moon above is slowly engulfed by a blood-red cloud.
He plays faster still; the vessel tosses and turns, and creaks and moans like it is nothing more than a twig. My heart pounds. There is something below the ship, I can *sense* it. Something, great and huge and above all, *terrible*. It is moving up. Closer to the surface -- closer to the boat. It rises!
The Devil stops and opens his eyes. I don't know why, but I begin *clapping*. Applauding the Devil. Slowly first, and then faster and louder. I can't help myself.
"Welcome," he says with a sly smile.
"That was..."
"I've had eternity to practice."
I nod, as if I can possibly understand. "Am I dead?" I ask.
"You are."
"And you're... Satan?" I barely dare to whisper the name, and that seems to amuse him. He laughs; a deep, rich laugh.
"I am."
"Then I'm in... What was my crime? Why do I deserve eternal damnation?" I demand. I am sure I lived an honest life.
"It will come back to you," he says. I shiver, and he sees it. "Worry not," he snorts, "*Eternal* is not what it used to be."
"What do you mean?" I ask, furrowing my brows.
"God has... changed the rules. No one need stay here now. There is forgiveness for all his *children*." He spreads his arms wide and I look around the empty cavern. "Even you," he says as his lips curl up into a demon's smile.
"I- I can still go to heaven?"
"You can," he says as he reaches for his harmonica once more. "Only **I** must stay. Now, leave me. Go play with your old friends. I have no interest in delaying you." He points me towards a hollow in the cavern's wall. He closes his eyes and begins playing that beautiful music once more.
The bitter-sweet sound takes me away again. This time I am in a car. *My* car. I've been drinking, celebrating a performance. I didn't see her in the darkness. No. It *wasn't* dark. There is a thud. A scream. I don't stop.
The terrible memory returns. I killed her. I killed the lady as she pushed her pram.
Then, a single month later I killed myself.
I collapse onto the rock floor and weep as the haunting music wraps itself around me like a child's blanket. It comforts me.
When, eventually he stops and sees me still sitting there, he looks almost... surprised.
"Why?" he asks simply.
"I killed them. I don't deserve heaven."
"It matters not if you deserve it."
"It matters to me."
There is silence for a while. Two fallen angels together in their loneliness.
"Teach me to play," I ask.
"..."
"I want to play like you. I want to bare my soul through music. I *need* to."
"It would take an eternity to play like me," he says.
"I have eternity at my disposal."
The Devil smiles.
---
Many more stories on /r/nickofnight (free mug for new subs: c[_] )
Edit: Thank you so much to the kind soul that gilded this
|
I never thought meeting Satan would be so sad. He sat on his thrones of charred bones all alone, with his tail lashing behind him and his horns protruding into the black and red sky. The shrill noise of the harmonica he was playing beat against my ears over the rumble of distant thunder and the crackling of Hellfire.
I knew I was supposed to go to Hell, people like me were destined to. What I was surprised by was how empty Hell would be. What the fuck happened to going to Hell for the company? Lying Mark Twain, that son of a bitch.
Satan stopped his dreaded harmonica playing when he saw me, standing stupidly in my all black clothes. His eyes brightened and his tail wagged like a puppy's? He gestured me forward. Reluctantly, I walked down the bone-laid road to Satan's throne.
"Hello, human," said Satan, his voice two different pitches of utter nightmare. I physically winced when I heard it, and Satan frowned. "I can fix the voice if you don't like it." He said that in a warm baritone.
"That's great, thank you." Up close, he was about 8-feet tall, with his throne twice as large as him. He smelled of sulfur and brimstone, no surprise there. And he only wore a thick loincloth held up by a belt of frozen intestines. It did an adequate of hiding his private parts.
"So..." the Devil started, looking around. He scratched his ear. "What are you in for?"
"Shouldn't you know?" I asked. "Don't you read the records of who gets admitted?"
He sighed, a yellowy cloud escaping his mouth. "I had a demon for that, but he left for Heaven, too. Just like the rest of them." He bit his lower lip as his eyes watered a little bit.
"Left for Heaven?" What the fuck was he talking about? And why the fuck was he so upset?
The Dark Lord pounded his fist against his throne, got up and walked behind it, his shoulders slumping. "There's some loophole that allows people to leave Hell for Heaven. Stupid God and his goddamn tricks!"
I cleared my throat, following him around the throne. "That's why this place is so empty."
"You don't have to rub it in my face," he muttered, bringing out his harmonica and playing it. This just keeps getting sadder and sadder.
"Hey, listen..."
"What? Do you want to leave, too? Fine! I will show you where the damn loophole is!"
Watching Satan frown was quite a visceral experience. Who would have thought that the embodiment of sin could get lonely. I don't know what it was but I wanted to help him. I spent my life helping people everyone called devils. Why not help the actual Devil?"
"Hey, Satan. Why don't you show me the loophole, and I will see if I can fix it for you."
He leaned forward, his tailed moving again. "Why? Are you a lawyer? How good are you?"
"I kept the Lehman brothers out of jail."
Satan's eyes widened, and his lips curled into a smile. "Would you really do that for me? Look through God's contract?"
I sighed. "Sure, why not?"
Satan leaped to his feet, shaking the ground. "Do you think we can get everybody back?"
I looked around at the desolation around me, and then at Satan's pleading eyes. "Yes. But why don't we revamp the place, too. Make it a little more enjoyable."
"But that would go against the contract."
"Not if I can help it."
He clapped his hands. "I like you already. Come on. Let's stick it to my father!"
"Yeah..."
I was still unsure what I was getting into, but watching Satan perk up like that was enough for me to continue.
"Can we get something to eat first?" I asked. "I am starving."
"Oh, yeah, that comes with the territory." He put his hand on my back. "But I can take care of that. No other place cooks meat better than Hell's kitchen. And I can make a killer steak."
"Sounds good."
"And if we have time, I can play my harmonica for you."
"Let's save that for when we fix the loophole."
"Yeah! And when we do, you can be advisor."
"I would rather stick to being your lawyer."
"How about being my 'friend'?"
"Sure, buddy."
__________________________________________________________________
Stellar law advice over on [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/). Jump in front of a car, and I will get you millions!
| 2017-02-01T09:06:38
| 2017-02-01T08:46:08
| 3,165
| 168
|
[WP] You live in a world where everyone gets a dollar for every truth they say. Poverty is virtually eradicated.Today you meet a man without a dollar to his name
|
This man has rags for clothes, his hair is messy, and he smells. As I approach him I can only think of why this man is where he is. When I near him I greet him. "Hello my good sir, you look a bit down, would you like me to get you something to eat?"
The man nods and I start taking him to the local bakery. I end up getting him a dozen bagels, and some cookies. As we're leaving he hands me a note that reads "is there anything I can do to repay you for your kindness?"
I reply, "Sure. You can tell me why you don't have any money. All poverty is gone now, I'd like to know why you're in this situation"
The man smiles and opens his mouth, when I look inside I can see that this man does not have a tongue.
|
In the past twenty years, the world has changed in some ways more than others. While fraud related crime has fallen, hyperinflation has taken control. The US dollar, while once one of the two (USD and EUR) defacto world trade currencies, had been heavily downgraded.
Even with inflation though... even with the constant reduction in purchasing power, people have begun treating dollars like “karma”. For those of you who don’t know, karma was a control principle founded by an old company named Reddit decades ago in order to cultivate and promote posts submitted to their “website”.
We all have a competition going on, no one really bothers to convert their dollars to “BitcoinCashEuroYenEther-v47.6” (BCEYE47)any more (unless they have a ton and don’t mind the point hit), we collect them and occasionally use them to barter. Everyone brags about their karma... sorry dollars... as a sign of how great of a person they are... it has become a real world “credit score” it is what will help you make the cut to get into heaven... if you buy into that stuff.
But wow... I’ve gotten away from what I was going to say. Yesterday, I was walking down the street - chatting with my friend Mark about why his girlfriend was so nice and that I would definitely hook up with her if they broke up or he really let his guard down (honesty is key $$) and I saw this guy begging.
The weird thing was he wasn’t begging for BCEYE47’s, he was begging for dollars? I’ve heard of this guy... he went through every dollar he had within the first six months - it started shortly after the point where rapid inflation started its Zimbabwe like climb... only to be compounded once the non-truth penalty was imposed.
The penalty was interesting: Any statement proven not to be truthful was a tax/fine/whatever of two dollars (they just vanished from your account.) Lobbies fought this, senate tried to stonewall, the president threatened vetos and martial law... but none of them could get around the fact that whoever was controlling this dollar thing was outside of the goverment. No one knew what benevolent power was doing this; but we were not all positive it was human.
Many of these politicians were late to the game when it came to switching to crypto... they were overly confident by virtue of their position of power... not realizing how quickly the value of the dollar would drop... how quickly the penalties would add up... not realizing the banks would still seize what had not been paid for in dollars or BCEYE47.... it was quick.
The rattling brought me back to the present as
I walked down the 700 block of 5th . “Dollars or C’s for the victimized? I need your support to take back what these truthers have taken from us. Help me make America great again”.
I could not say anything as I walked past, but I took out my phone and sent him 0.005 coins just to be generous. I mean he used to be our president after all... seeing him living on the street, out side his once marvelous building (now one massive Buddhists temple)... it can make one sad... from a humanitarian perspective at least.
| 2018-07-17T07:00:51
| 2018-07-17T04:32:58
| 113
| 12
|
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
|
The news called it the Great Awakening.
Regular folks called it chaos.
I called it confusing.
A month ago, everyone who had tattoos on their bodies began manifesting abilities that correlated with whatever was linked onto their bodies.
People with religious tattoos began manifesting healing abilities, the power to change water into wine, to perform actual exorcisms on people with devil tattoos that ended up getting possessed. There were a lot of those.
People could control fire, those who tattooed wings on their backs had them erupt from their back. I looked out my window and saw one of them zip past my window.
I looked down, and saw a gaggle of older woman walking by with tails extending out from the tramp stamp they had gotten when they were younger.
I had two tattoos myself. One was fairly simple. They were Harry Potter spells arranged in a Deathly Hallows formation. I could cast the spells on my skin but that was it... any other spells didn't work for me and I couldn't add anymore since tattoo ink was now considered weapons of war.
My other tattoo... was a bit more confusing. On the day of the great Awakening I woke up to a orange and cream striped egg next to me about the size of a soccer ball. The ink that had been on my skin was almost the same, except that the Digivice that I had tattooed on there was missing... it was now next to the egg.
I knew what this egg was. I knew what was inside. A Digimon. I had waited for a month for it to hatch but nothing. Until today. It had began to shake and pieces began to chip off.
I stared outside the window again. I could see the large bat man creature that had been on the news a few days ago laughing and tearing a building down. It was getting close...
"Please hatch," I whispered.
The Digivice began to glow.
|
Crime rates exploded when the ink activated in our bodies. Those who didn’t have tattoos before tried getting one so they could have a power of their own, but it didn’t work; so they took to belittling us, making us all out to be criminals. And what did I do? I did what any sane person would do, I hid. But even years after the ink activated the crime rates where still soaring, the people with tattoos where the only ones who could fight people with tattoos, but law enforcement was not willing to hire anyone with a tattoo. So I put on a mask and showed my tattoos and fought those criminals myself. And the stigma began to change. Because I was a hero, why couldn’t the people like me be heroes too? All it took was one person doing the right thing.
| 2019-05-07T08:36:51
| 2019-05-07T07:52:07
| 128
| 43
|
[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 Pop Pop,
I miss you. It's been about 11 or 12 years since you died. I was really young at the time, so all I remember is the last few months you were alive, watching the cancer slowly eat away at your body. With each visit you got more and more frail. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back, seeing what it was doing to my dad, your son, was almost as bad as watching you. I wish I had more memories of you, more good memories anyway. Mom and dad say you adored me, that you loved me more than life itself, but I'll never know. They tell me stories about you, how you used to take me for rides in your convertible and I loved every minute of it, if only I could remember it. If only I could remember your laugh, your smile, your voice. Sometimes my dad looks at me and says how proud you would be of me, it's hard looking at his face when he says that, I can see the pain in his eyes. I still remember the note I wrote and put in your coffin. It said 'You were a good Pop Pop.' I was a little kid at the time so that's all I could think of to say, but I think it was enough I remember putting it in that little drawer in the side of your coffin to be buried with you. I even remember wearing that Mariachi suit that had been in the family for generations, but I don't remember you. I still have that suit, it's still hanging in my closet. I look at it from time to time, and I try to remember something, anything about you but the frail old man dying of cancer, but I can't. I think my parents are right when they say you would be proud of me, I've had a steady girlfriend for almost 5 years now, her name is Hanna. I think you would like her, she's amazing. I have a steady job too, full time working with dad at the airport. I graduated high school too, two years ago, and now I'm getting ready to go to college. I'm gonna get a business degree and then learn to be an airplane mechanic, and maybe if I'm good enough I'll open my own shop, that's when the business degree is for. Well I have to go now Pop Pop, I've got work in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I miss you.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T20:37:15
| 102
| 16
|
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on.
|
There it is again, that pang of guilt as I push the door open to my tiny apartment, the smell of a nice home cooked meal hits my nostrils but my stomach churns as I step inside kicking the door closed behind me. Standing in the entry way I know the apartment is empty as I take off my coat and set my things down from the day.
*It's almost like she's still here...* I find myself thinking with eyes darting back and forth across the recently straightened up home. There's no need to look down the hall to see my bed is made; it's always made.
Swallowing hard and with a shaky exhale I find my seat at the table. I don't want to look at the table though. I don't want to see her note.
*Why is still she still doing this?* Again the guilt rises within me *I don't deserve this...* I can already feel my eyes starting to burn. I force them to look down at the table seeing the plate that has been prepared for me. It's nothing special. Some mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. *She always knows just what to make.*
I look just past the plate and see it; the note. I don't have to read it to know what it says. Every time it's the same message and every time I try to figure out exactly what it means.
Reaching out I pick up the small hand written note but I don't read it yet. I simply hold it in my hand for a few moments. *Maybe tonight it'll be different.* I find myself hoping as I unfold the note and read those same five words.
**This could have been us.**
Immediately I push away from the table causing my glass to topple over and spill all across the table. Liquid splatters against the carpet but it doesn't matter. A chill runs down my spine. I can feel her eyes on me at that moment, watching me, judging me.
Spinning around I already know right where she is, it's always the same spot. Our eyes meet and I find I can't breathe as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I look back at the table and then to her eyes once again.
I stand in silence for over a minute before I find my voice "I don't deserve this." It's all I can muster after 13 years of this, it's the only thing I feel that's true anymore. "Please... I can't keep doing this... You can't keep doing this." I take a step closer towards my desk and pick up the framed picture of her.
It was taken before she got sick, back when she thought she was still pretty enough for me and didn't try to convince me to stop wasting my time with her. Truth is she was always the most amazing person to me and I only grew to love her more every day.
We had met nearly 14 years prior and it just clicked. Everything about us felt perfect and within days I knew I would marry her and we'd spend the rest of our lives together.
But we didn't marry. Soon after I met her she became ill and just never got better, only worse. Cancer. Terminal. Neither of us expected it but that's the hand life had dealt us. Given the progression of the tumor in her brain the doctors didn't think she had long. When I asked her to marry me, to spend whatever time she had left with me she refused.
She didn't want to put me through that. To watch my wife wither away and die from something that couldn't be stopped. She said it wasn't fair to me and wanted me to meet someone else, to move on with my life, and be happy.
All I wanted was her.
Near the end we'd talk about the life we could have had if we had met each other sooner, if cancer wasn't part of the equation, if she hadn't been so stubborn at first. This was something she wanted to do for me, to take care of me and show some love and appreciation at the end of the day. She wanted to be there for me and she knew she couldn't be while she was sick.
And now 13 years after her death this is what she does. Somehow she manages to make sure every day I come home to a cooked meal and a taken care of home. No matter where I move to, no matter what I do, she finds a way.
I don't deserve this.
Edit: Spelling
|
Another day, another note. It's the same words that seem all too familiar by now. Even the piece of paper that was written on is torn the same way everyday. The hand writing, however, is different every now and then. The first time it happened was 13 years ago, but by now it has become a routine. I actually liked it this way, since I can skip all the boring chores after spending 8h at my banking job everyday.
"Jake! " - Yelled Shelly, my boss. - "Have you finished your financial reports for this year?"
Shelly is a strong-will woman. Sometime, she is too strong for her own good. But that is to be expected from a manager of a fortune 500 company. I wonder if she has a feminine side to her, like all those hard headed girls portrayed in Hollywood movies.
"Yes boss, I already put the reports on your desk this morning." - I spoke un-interestingly with a hint of sarcasm - "Maybe you should get to your office before you get on my ass this early in the morning, ya know?"
"Shut your mouth Jake, good thing you always finish your job on time or I would have your ass fired for talking to me like that" - Shelly replied annoyingly while turning her back on me and walked towards her office.
"Yes ma'am" - Again, sarcastically.
She is right tho, I have always been nothing but exceptional at my job. It's not because I love this job or anything, it's just that I have always been neat with every thing I do. I like my furniture arranged in a particular way and have them stayed there for the rest of eternity. I like to have my meals at exactly 6am, 12pm, and 6pm everyday. I have just always been weird like that.
"Hey Jake, what do you think of Jenny?" - a voice came from the cubicle behind me. It's Paul, my annoying gossipy co-worker. He's not a bad guy to be honest, he just acted like a woman all the time by poking his nose in everyone else's business.
And the Jenny that Paul was talking about is our head of HR. She is slender and tall. Her skin is slightly pale but it compliments those deep blue eyes of hers. She captivated many men's attention in the office, including mine. It is too bad that she got married to some guy 2 weeks ago.
"I think she's fine." - I said apathetically without even turning around to face him. I didn't want him to know my real thoughts on Jenny of course. Why would I want to be the gossip topic for him to talk about with the next person he met?
"She's fine? No man. She's DAMN FINE." - Paul's eyes lit up in excitement as he continued - "She just took a 2 weeks off from work to go to Hawaii with her husband. Man, if I were a little richer she would have definitely liked me instead of that douche bag"
"I'm sure she would Paul" - And I ended the conversation there. Can't believe I'm stuck with him for another 8h today. I just wanted to go home.
And thus the day went by, as mundane as every other day. I'm home and of course, the bed is made, the dinner is cooked, and the note is on the bed like always. Except, my blanket is folded in 3rd instead of draping over my bed. Something isn't right here. My blanket had always draped over my bed for the past 13 years with this "thing" in my house. An unsettling feeling arose in my body. I squished the note into my pocket and ran toward my closet to grab my red old wooden baseball bat.
Then, I headed for my basement.
My basement is fully furnished, it was this way when I bought it. I can definitely see someone hiding and living down here. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights and heard a light gasp. The sound came from a woman. I slowly walked down the stairs and there it is. A figure. Sitting in the far corner of my basement. She was sitting in the fetus position with her face covered by her hands. I reached out my hand and say:
"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Nothing but silence came out from the woman. Both of us stayed still for a few seconds until she looked up so that my eyes met those blue eyes of hers.
"Listen here, Jenny" - I continued, feeling a bit annoyed - "You know how much I like my bed being done in a specific way, don't you? Next time just make sure you drape my blanket over my bed instead of folding it, ok?"
She lightly nodded, trembling on her feet.
"You wouldn't want me to use this baseball bat on you again, would you?" - I told her slowly as I was kneeling down and tapping the baseball bat in my hand.
Again, without a word, she quickly shook her head. It's like I was talking to a wall, and I can feel that I was getting more irritated by the seconds.
"You know Jenny, this note right here" - As I pulled out the squished note from my pocket and show it to her beaten up but ever so beautiful face - "It's not for me. It's for you Jenny. I made you write it so that you are reminded everyday that THIS, could have been us if you weren't such a bitch a month ago when you rejected me"
"I'm sorry, please don't kill me!" - She finally spoke - "...Please... I will change... Please!" - The tears came out of her eyes faster than the words that came out of her pink, seductive lips.
"Good girl." - I said as I patted her head lightly. Seeing how helpless she was stirred up a bit of euphoria in me, and I couldn't help but smile a little.
I stood up and glanced at her for a few seconds before I turned off the light and headed back upstairs.
I took my dinner from the dinning room and headed toward my couch. My red baseball bat leaned against the table as I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
"Today, the police has found a body at the address 123 S Main Street" - announced the news anchor - "The victim was identified as John Hicks. Who has been dead for 2 weeks by the time his corpse was found."
I dug my spoon into my lasagna as the news anchor continued:
"His wife, Jennifer Hicks is currently missing and is the prime suspect of the investigation."
I swallowed the last piece of lasagna in my mouth, turned off the TV, and headed for the sink. I started doing all the dishes and thought to myself:
"I guess it's time to move again."
Edit: added in several details to make the story clearer. Thank you all for your suggestions.
| 2017-12-09T04:16:45
| 2017-12-09T02:59:21
| 5,650
| 660
|
[WP] Google begins matching up people based on their search history in their new Google Dating program.
Edit: Wow, this got to the front page fast.
|
"Jesus."
After two years, there were still so many misconceptions about Google Dating---its origins, how it functioned. But that single phrase was how engineers remembered Sundar Pichai, Google's CEO, responding to an initial demonstration.
Social media success had been a goal for so long. The company had failed with Google+. It had flirted with buying Twitter. Google Dating provided an indirect path: It was not a direct challenge to Facebook, and it was far more sophisticated than the superficial processing of Match.com.
It was also lucrative: Targeting new lovers with ads was the lowest hanging fruit.
The algorithm that drove the matches, of course, was proprietary, protected with the same fervor as Google's core search algorithm. The two were tightly woven together. Search history offered a longitudinal view of its subjects. This included not merely present interests but vital historical details---the duration of passions, the themes of private browsing.
Google Dating engineers were always the most interesting guests. Everyone wanted to know how to land a billionaire or supermodel. "I'll see what I can do," was the easiest way out of those conversations. But it took work to suppress a wry smile. They really had no idea.
No idea that the algorithm saw straight through their transparent queries for "buy million dollar house" or "what to do with lottery winnings." No idea that the algorithm never forgot their guilty pleasures. No idea that users' conscious efforts served only a single purpose: to expose selfishness and desperation.
The best matches, internal research had shown, were built over years, before eventual lifelong lovers ever knew of each other. The algorithm mapped those relationships through the most casual queries. Time had the strongest correlation for success with Google Dating.
In Phoenix, an 11-year-old searched for "tips to make a paper airplane."
At his desk, a QA engineer for Google Dating chuckled. He turned to a coworker. "That's exactly how I met my wife."
|
GOOGLE HAS PAIRED YOU WITH LADYBONE69!
SEND HER A MESSAGE!!!
MOTORBOATER69: Sup?
LADYBONE69: Nothing just looking at some he/she porn sites.
MOTORBOATER69: Nice. Me too.
LADYBONE69: Man, isn't this great? The new Google algorithm makes it so easy. I can just come out and say that. My kinks are paired up with your kinks. It cuts out so much of the awkwardness.
MOTORBOATER69: Nice. I know what you mean. Just the other day I was talking to a friend about Star Wars. I was so ashamed to admit that Phantom Menace was my fav.
LADYBONE69: Wait, what?
MOTORBOATER69: Yeah. It's, like, not high art or anything but it's fun. That pod race is legit. And it's easily the best light saber fight in the entire series.
LADYBONE69: Dude, no. No one should ever admit that. You should be ashamed of yourself? Everyone knows Empire is the best.
MOTORBOATER69: Jesus, that's a little judgmental. Next you're going to tell me that Batman vs. Superman isn't your favorite DC film.
LADYBONE69: It's not.
MOTORBOATER69: Well, what's your favorite BBQ place. You at least have to like BBQ. I compete nationally and my search history is filled with hickory searches.
LADYBONER69: Vegan.
MOTORBOATER69: Oh God, there's been a terrible mistake.
LADYBONER69: Looks like, also an atheist.
MOTORBOATER69: LOL. Wow. They really messed this one up didn't they?
LADYBONER69: Afraid so. But, hey, we'll always have he/she porn.
MOTORBOATER69: There are worse foundations to build a relationship on. ;)
| 2017-05-25T13:39:39
| 2017-05-25T12:02:40
| 82
| 46
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.
|
Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years."
| 2015-03-31T10:42:03
| 2015-03-31T09:32:55
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] What if Superman was raised by Batman? Bruce Wayne still goes about his career as Batman, he still has Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Damien. How different does Superman become?
|
"Master Bruce?" Alfred croaked from behind his arm chair.
"Alfred," he sighed, "please, sit."
"I've walked passed your doorway several times sir," he said gravely, "are you alright?"
Bruce Wayne sat hunched over in his seat, sitting in the light of a raging fireplace within his study in Wayne Manor. He sat gripping his cowl anxiously, the rubber flexing and squishing under his clenched fists. A shadow of graying stubble was coming in through his face under deep dark circles around his eyes.
"It's been ten years, Al" he whispered.
"Since the spaceship struck the property," Alfred nodded, knowingly, "it'll be the boy's birthday in a few days, or rather, his anniversary coming home."
"He's only a couple years younger than Damian," he sighed, "I have Dick out there with me most nights, and he's out there with Jason and Tim when I'm here with the other two boys, but..."
"Sir?" Alfred asked.
"I've put in all the research and resources you could imagine, into raising him," Bruce whispered, "but I often wonder if I did the right thing. Being that boys father. By the time I figured out about lead lining the bat cave it was already too late, he'd figured out a way inside. He's known about all of us for the last two years. I wanted to keep all of this from him until he was at least older than Damian."
Bruce scratched at his stubble coming in and leaned back into his chair, eyes glowing from the red of the fireplace.
"I haven't though, Alfred," Bruce sighed, "he doesn't even know what he is yet. He wants to start training, Damian argues with me daily saying how Talia began training him when he was just two years old. Says Clark will be weak."
"Damian is a child, sir," Alfred said darkly, "I've seen you raise all of those boys, and I've raised you best I could, sir. If not for you just think of what Master Dick would have turned out like, and without his help think of what Master Jason would be like now. Think about Tim. You received Damian late in his life, you're still working to undo the deep-seated damage done by his mother and Ra's Al Ghul. Think of the man he could have become had he stayed long enough to inherit the League of Assassins."
"I think about it daily, Alfred," he sighed, tossing his cowl near his feet.
Alfred eyed the aging man before him, feeling his own age on this chilly night. He stood up and stoked the fire in front of them with a poker before taking a seat beside Bruce again.
"Have you thought further on taking him to the frozen fortress?" asked Alfred.
"Sometimes I often wonder if you could read minds, Al," Bruce smirked, the corners of his mouth curling into grin, "I'll be taking him in a few days. He deserves to know what he is, understand why he's different from us. I just hope it's not too late. I saw him floating the other night, Al. He was asleep, but I could see him floating. His covers billowing in the wind around him from the open window. His power is manifesting more and more. If I don't instill the correct lessons and training into him..."
"Sir," Alfred said gently, leaning forward to rest his knees on his elbows, "you've done beautifully as a father. That boy has had better education than that of all the others. You've had him since he was a baby, longer than the others. You were a father to them all, but more so to Clark. You changed that boy's diapers and so did I - hell, Master Dick did his fair share as well."
"Dick and I have made trips out there to that frozen fortress," whispered Bruce, "Clark's real name, his birth name is Kal-El. He'll learn this soon. I just hope he doesn't hate me for keeping it from him. I just wanted him to have as normal a childhood as we could give him up to this point."
"Worry about Damian," Alfred smirked, "once Clark's training begins."
"I have a feeling I'll have to worry about all of them once his training begins," Bruce said, "he's going to be something else."
Alfred nodded in silence, eyeing Bruce, how worried he was. It wasn't anything like he'd seen in him before, not since Joker went on his last rampage of madness. It'd been five years since then.
"I've already had to move the lead box I sealed in concrete down there," Bruce sighed, "once Clark asked about it Damian won't shut up, he keeps asking what's inside."
"The crystal?" asked Alfred.
"In case he turns out different than we raised him," Bruce nodded, his eyes reflecting orange in the fire, "you know me. I always have a contingency plan."
|
“Stay,” he tells me, a dark outline wrapped in a red cape, backlit by the refrigerator light. “Please, Lois, stay.”
Another ice-cold droplet drips from the base of his Budweiser longneck and splashes on the floorboard. He already downed seven bottles during the past hour. Five he tossed in the trash can, two shattered against the kitchen ceiling.
Superman.
Alcoholic of Steel.
Just like his father.
I don’t ask Kal-El who he failed to save today. It's better not to, when he's like this. An old woman on her way to the grocery shop? A man driving to work? No, it’s not that. Those deaths bother him less. Or at least not enough to act like this. Unless the man was a father. Or his kid was in the car. I don’t know.
To be honest, some part of me doesn’t care who died today. I’m past that.
Besides, it will be on the news shortly, I’m sure. Accolades to my husband’s heroic deed of the day. A few more people added to the tens of thousands Man of Steel saved already. He’s a hero. People’s hero. Superman.
If only those people knew how much trying to save them kills him.
And me.
He takes a swig. “She was 9 years old. Blue eyes. Ginger pigtails. She was way back on the bus. So terrified, her fear froze her. And when the bridge collapsed. I couldn’t---”
He jerks his head backward and looks up, his blood-stained face beading with sweat. Her blood, if I had to guess. I can imagine him cradling the little lifeless corpse as he lifted her out of the bus wreck surrounded by heaps of bent metal, crushed concrete, fires, and rubble. It’s funny how those scenes of disaster are so easy for me to imagine. It’s easy to picture them when death and sorrow is all he knows and wants to talk about. Just like his father, who taught him how to be like this.
“I couldn’t get to her in time,” Kal-El says, eyes closed. “I should have done something differently.”
Sometimes, I wonder what could have been if Bruce didn’t adopt him. What kind of man Kal-El would have been if he grew up on a corn farm in Nowhere, Kansas? With a loving pie-baking mother and a father who’s not as broken as Bruce is. A father who just wanted him to be a man rather than a tortured vigilante consumed with grief and remorse. A father who wouldn't pin that damn S to his chest. A father who would have been satisfied if his boy were just a regular man. A man who’d grow up to be a simple farmer. Or a truck driver. Heck, or even a journalist, reporting on heroic deeds by other superheroes.
And sometimes I dream of a world in which Kal-El was like that. Simple. Average. Content.
Mine.
In love.
“Please, Lois, just sit down and give me a couple of minutes to get my shit together. And then we’ll talk.”
But he’s not mine, or simple, or content. Just like his father, he’s on perpetual mend, infinitely lost in all the things he cannot change.
And I cannot help him and I won't let myself get dragged into his darkness. Bruce won't waste another life.
I clutch the handle of my suitcase and wipe away my tears. I avoid his gaze as I pass by him, but I whisper, knowing he can hear me. “I love you. I always will.”
| 2022-01-21T14:26:03
| 2022-01-21T10:35:43
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle"
|
A tune only truly recognized by the oldest of us plays on the music-player in our living room. “Santa Claus is coming...” it sings to the 17 of us who are in the room. Some are drinking, others just talking, trying to hold on to the traditions of the old world. I just sit here on the couch, trying to enjoy myself. I get up and walk to the table, thirsty for something, maybe a drink or maybe just something to end the boredom that comes in our shelter. So I take my drink, something called “7-Up,” and just walk around a little. There’s not much to do. There’s a few adults and plenty of little children, and just 2 elders. But I’m the only teenager here. The last time there was somebody who I was actually friends with was, well, last Christmas. Before Hannah and her dad left. Brushing the thought from my mind, I leave the living room and pass through the quarters hallway, walking by all the bedrooms. I climb the stairs and go to my favorite place, the only place in my world where I can see it. The outside. I pull myself up to a hidden little loft and lay back. I begin to relax, still hearing the “Christmas” music in the background. But looking out the only window in our world, I admire the stars, and see something I’ve never seen before. One star, moving. Flying through the sky. I jump to my feet and look through the window. It’s mesmerizing. Wait. What the hell. It’s getting bigger. Closer. Closer. The “star” becomes a string of lights, flying in to us. Our home. What are those? Are those? I had never heard of mutant deer who could fly. Maybe they could be those Purvaks I had heard about? Those deer could jump nearly 50 yards at a time. But no, these were different. These were flying. Holy shit. They’re landing. And behind them, a sled? What is that? The thing, whatever it is, flies down, and comes to, Well, a rather rough landing into the sandy ground. It’s loud, and rather very messy. And so now, the sleigh and with it, the mutant deer, or at least what I think are deer. Out from the sleigh steps a man, dressed in all red, and with him a bag. What do I do? Do I sound the alarm? Tell somebody? Holy shit. Holy shit. No. I’m just gonna stay here. And see what happens. The man looks older now, from what I can see of him. Huge white beard, and some weird foreign hat on his head. His boots tell me military, but his, well very honestly, costume tells me freak. He walks to the window I now look at. And knocks.
| 2017-12-22T15:31:03
| 2017-12-22T15:03:10
| 77
| 26
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
Everyone had a rating for how lucky they could be, from 1 to 100, 1 being close to no luck and 100 being the best luck. Most people had a rating of around 30ish. I was one of the few with a full score of 100.
Which would have been great, if bad luck wasn't a thing. The thing with the luck rating was that it was basically a rating on how much 'chance' would get fucked up around you. People with single digit luck could plan out their entire *year* and have not a single thing derail. Planning on a trip? Not a single random happenstance would occurre. No accidents, no sudden horrible weather, nothing.
Those of us with 100? We could try to walk from our bedrooms to our bathrooms and end up going through two localized apocalypses, a kidnapping, and rescue an alien princess from an alternative dimension, then still make it to the restroom before it got too uncomfortable holding the piss in. We where literally walking time bomb of 'anything and everything' going off every other day.
Which was why I was in prison. Though really, prison didn't even begin to describe this place. A box would be more appropriate. In fact, the place actually was a box. A box inside a box. Each inmate were placed inside a hollow metal cube three meters long on all sides, then the cubes themselves where stacked inside a bigger metal box, which in turn... well you got the idea. There was no vents, no electronics, nothing that could accidently go wrong or otherwise malfunction. Just solid metal covering solid metal.
Which was to say, everything went wrong pretty much instantly. When they placed my box, the vibrations caused as they fit it in place resonated with my right wall and shattered it to bits.
It's been a month after that. Two new inmates where added. Tom had a strawberry seed stuck in his shoe that sprouted and tore the top off his box, and Sharon just kinda fell out of the box. She hasn't been able to fall back into the box though, so she lives with Amy now.
It's not a bad life. We have food(somehow) and water(for some reason), plenty of intertainment, and we don't end up screwing someone over because we're next to them. I don't think anyone really wants to leave, and frankly, neither do I. Knowing our luck, we'll probably end up going back out sooner or later... but until then, I think we're all content to stay here and relax. For now anyways.
|
I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did.
| 2018-06-29T11:19:11
| 2018-06-29T10:57:06
| 72
| 12
|
[WP] you're in your bed about to go to sleep, with your arm dangling off the side. You feel a dark hand grasp yours, knowing first impressions are important you give it a firm shake. The next thing you hear from under your bed is "you're hired"
|
I collapsed into my bed, carelessly flopping onto my stomach and shooting my limbs across the mattress, letting my arm dangle off the bed. “Come at me, monsters”, I murmured into my pillow, feeling the lull of sleep pull my eyes closed.
Somewhere between the waking realm and fog of dreams I felt coming on, I felt a slender, cold hand slip into mine. *This must be a lucid dream*, I thought, a small prickle of excitement running through the back of my foggy mind. I was conscious enough to notice that my mind warped the hand, the fingers felt like they were too long, with fingernails that felt like small talons poking into my hand. It was holding my hand firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me instinctively grasp firmly back and give the hand a solid shake.
“You’re hired,” a soft hiss from under my bed crawled its way up to me.
“Hired?” I grumbled, forcing my eyelids open and looking down at the hand I had left dangling over the side of the bed. I shook my head to clear it, because it actually looked like the hand I had imagined in my lucid dream was there. I shook it again, harder, and looked down to see the cold hand still grasping mine.
I screamed, adrenaline forcing any trace of the exhaustion I felt moments ago out of me. I yanked my hand out of the grasp of whatever it was that was holding it, slicing the back of it open on the claws of the thing. I scrambled against my headboard, trying to get away from the edge of my bed.
I heard a *tsk*\-ing sound come from below me, and then a pair of huge, yellow eyes were peering over the edge of my bed. “Stop screaming,” a raspy voice hissed at me, its eyes slowly narrowing as it looked me over, “you’ll wake the neighbours”.
I felt my jaw hanging open, words and screams and gibberish forming in my throat but unable to escape. “What the *fuck?*” was all I could manage after staring into those yellow eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“You’ll need to watch your language,” the monster under my bed chided me as it pulled itself fully out from under my bed. Its body was bulbous and hunched, with long, thin limbs jutting from its shoulders and hips. Its arms practically dragged on the ground, with huge, long hands attached at the ends. It sat awkwardly on the side of my bed, and I noticed it’s legs bent backwards at what I could only assume was its knees. It leaned in and my eyes shot up to see its face. It was almost human, but warped like its hands. Too wide, with boils and barnacles bubbling over its skin, slits for a nose, and pupils that reminded me of a goat. It smiled at me, its lips stretching so wide that I thought its jaw might be able to unhinge like a snakes. It’s teeth were crowded and I noticed with a violent churn of my stomach that they were all thin and pointed.
“You start tomorrow,” the monster continued casually, “you’ll just be doing some minor upkeep-”
“What do you mean I start tomorrow?” I cut the monster off, panic making me braver than I expected myself to be in this situation.
“I just said you were hired,” the monster huffed back at me, crossing its long arms, “you shook hands with a demon, you can’t go back on that now.”
The next thing I knew, I was in the tiny bathroom, vomiting into the toilet. “This isn’t real,” I told myself firmly, “you didn’t just sell your soul to a demon. You knew you shouldn’t have had that sketchy sandwich for lunch but you just had to go for the 50% off one to save a buck-” I felt a cold hand clasp my shoulder, and heaved again.
“Gross,” the raspy voice said behind me. “Anyway like I was saying, you’ll be doing some minor upkeep, taking inventory of the souls, making sure they get to their assigned cells, that sort of thing. Don’t worry too much about it, the job has a lot of hands on training.” The cold hand patted my back in a way that would have been comforting were it not for the talons. “Oh, and I’ve already taken care of your current job,” it continued, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” I felt a strong breeze at my back, turned, and the demon was gone.
I slumped against the wall of my bathroom, feeling like all the blood had been drained from my body. That couldn’t have been real, could it? I looked at the hand I had used to shake the demon’s, the fresh scratches in it the only sign that it had been real.
|
It was my first month living alone, I was raised in a big rich house, learned good manners and was very well educated, but I never knew it would change my life so much.
I was laying on my bed, very tired, but the sleep wasn't coming, so I just let my body hang on the bed, until i felt something on my right hand, a cold, frisky sensation, touching and proceeding to pull my hand. It came from under my bed. I wasn't able to think straight, but my reaction was to hold it firmly, like a handshake you'd do after a meeting, confirming the deals you had agreed upon, but I never thought I was actually making a deal.
The hand stopped pulling, and a deep voice said the words "You're hired". The room became darker, the moonlight that was barely making anything visible ceased, as a huge shadow emerged.
My handshake was a deal, a deal I was about to know what represented. Instead of pulling me to his world, the being came to mine. It was a black skinny figure, barely recongnizable in the dark, but his red souless eyes stared deep into mine.
What was it? What am I being hired for? I asked, panicking, not knowing if this was real life or a very vivid nightmare.
The answer came as a voice inside my head:
\- You're hired. You're also dead to your people, you won't be in the world you know, but you're not going to heaven neither hell, you are coming with me. You ought to be my sucessor as the ruler of Ngëw'hr
| 2019-08-30T06:39:42
| 2019-08-30T06:31:53
| 58
| 18
|
[WP] Write a dystopian vision of the future from the perspective of the year 1900, while actually describing our present world today.
|
Uncle, I am sorry to write so soon since our last correspondence, but I simply could not keep this to myself.
It was in the midst of a laudanum fugue when the visions came upon me again. I floated above huge, churning machines which chewed up crops beneath them, doing the work of one-hundred farm workers in a single hour. I saw houses built by machines, the bricks and metal and mortar guided with precision beams of red light. We built great glass-and-steel monuments, which rose like giant's fingers from the ground to drag their clutches through the very clouds. Joy flooded my body as I realised I must be looking upon a Utopia, a world free from want.
But, as the vision continued, the world I saw unravelled; I peeked below its crystalline surfaces to find a hideous rot bubbling beneath. The crops which had been so efficiently harvested were stockpiled, left to decay in vast warehouses, kept away from those too poor to purchase them. And the domiciles...we built them for those who did not want them, and in places closed off from the people who most needed them.
No, those who most needed the things we produced were trapped, either by geography or money or the pure horror of war. They performed back breaking labour which stank, uncomfortably reminiscent of that horrible slaving business which we allowed to continue for so long. I flew over scorched pustules of earth, made barren and unforgiving by a relentless barrage of explosive weaponry.
Uncle, I saw men die in their millions—not killed by other men, but by machines, remotely controlled missiles visiting hell and death not only upon soldiers, but weddings, funerals, hospitals. I saw wars of such uneven equivalence that they might be more suitably called concerted annihilations. The mysterious jungles of the Amazonia were razed so that we might farm our Cattle. The great, untamed plains of Africa were cleaved open so that we might dump our whirring and bleeping trinkets into mother nature's disintegrating bosom.
And oh, Uncle. The trinkets. Of course, I saw horror and war and pestilence, but these gleaming, ever-shifting objects unnerved me the most. While our machines ravaged the planet, we crowded in small groups, indoors, to sit and stare at panels of light. We only talked about what came from these panels—in fact, we only talked via these panels! I saw young men and women, their spirits and talents and ambitions eking from them as they slumped, miserable, between their jobs and houses, staring at their panels of light at every opportunity.
We spent out whole lives immobile, as if afflicted by some physical disease, content to manipulate text and images with our fingers. We consoled ourselves with distraction whilst destruction, visited upon each other, the earth, and our spirits, rended through our world. We sat, uncle, in buzzing towers built on sand, and we thought it would last forever.
|
Gather round kind folk and listen to this old man's dream.
Ahhh yes thank you, your coin will help this old one rest his bones for another week.
Ohh you have questions already about your line's future? I will tell you in due time what scraps I saw but let me tell what my recent dream showed me.
What I saw was not good. Times are tough now but let me tell you, things will only seem to get better. Yes seem. We won't be dying but another will have to take its place.
In the future the world will shrink. No that isn't the issue. We will be able to talk to anyone from around the world whenever, whoever about whatever. There will even be paper which changes before our eyes. Stories millions of free story on this changing paper. Yes the world will be like town talk. Lords will not be the only one with belongings. Yes the future is plentiful for trinkets anyone can get. People like us will not complain there is not enough food, no we will complain there is too much. Me a mad man? AHA perhaps but that is how the future seems to be better. So who will be this one who takes our place in suffering?
Our lands was take our place. People die everyday. Plenty as you know but we can still be replaced by the handfuls. Dark? yes but unlike us our lands do not multiply like us.
Our lands are already falling sick but we can still do something. O yes we could have but we didn't, not our fault we don't know any better. Those of the future? Not their fault, our fault we didn't do something.
The storms of tomorrow will be bigger and more frequent. The days of calm in between? Too warm to be comfortable, sometimes too cold to feel refreshed.
What causes this? We are hurting the sky. The sky who watches over us like a loving mother, yes we hurt it. That new smelly concrete pillar shooting black clouds in town that is how we are hurting the sky. But the sky is strong, a small black cloud won't hurt her. No imagine unaccountably more of those clouds coming out everyday everywhere, that hurts the sky.
What will our children do? Nothing, some of them tried to do something but the other never allowed them. So what happens? They wait until the sky breaks like an egg. The sky keeps our lands safe but without it our lands will be swallowed quickly after. I'm sorry young one there is no future we will look forward to.
So you still want to know of your line's future? I suppose it is only natural to be curious. Maybe for another coin young master?
Many thanks, I will tell you. You will have a known child of your blood who will split a people apart. Was it good or bad? I don't see that far but I do know his name. The name Donald.
*Edit: would appreciate feedback, dabbling in writing more and I would like to know how to improve.
| 2015-12-19T09:59:49
| 2015-12-19T08:37:09
| 199
| 25
|
[WP] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and refuses to believe that you aren't a failing restaurant owner
|
GORDON RAMSAY: DEAD AT 59
-BBC, 29 June 2016
NATIONAL TREASURE GORDON RAMSAY has been shot dead in a Florida home while filming an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, the American reality TV show.
The suspect, Michael Jensen, 56, allegedly shot the celebrity chef after Ramsay mistakenly entered his home.
"The deceased entered the suspect's home at 6:00 p.m., as the family was preparing their dinner," reports Chief Jameson, who is overseeing the investigation. "Ramsay allegedly began issuing orders to the suspect and his family in their kitchen. After the family refused to comply with his orders, Ramsay allegedly picked up a butcher knife to 'show them how it's done.'"
"At this point the suspect, Michael Jensen, drew his pistol. Ramsay reportedly refused to back down and insisted on teaching the family 'proper technique' and advanced towards the suspect. The suspect then allegedly shot Ramsay 2 times in the chest."
An ambulance was called for the chef, who died on the way to the hospital.
The suspect is currently in police custody. The investigation is ongoing.
|
It's tough holding a dinner party for your friends when you can barely cook. But trying to prepare food with Frankenstein's uglier Scottish cousin leaning over your shoulder is nigh on impossible. That's what I get for leaving a window open, I suppose.
As I take the chicken breasts out of the oven to inspect them, Gordon leans his face right against mine. I'm not sure if he is going to kiss me or nut me, when his eyes open wide and the insanity takes him.
"WHY DID THE FUCKING CHICKEN CROSS THE FUCKING ROAD?" He sprays my face in spittle as he asks the 'question'. I know the answer but I know better than to look clever.
"Don't...don't know chef" I squeak out, my voice cracking.
"BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T FUCKING COOK IT. Fucking hell, seriously a decent vet could still save it ."
Sweat drips off my forehead and plops onto the chicken.
"That is fucking disgusting! That is a fucking health violation." He walks out of the kitchen and enters the dining room.
"I am sorry but you are all going to have to leave, unless you want to be fucking poisoned. Get the fuck out. Now!"
"Chef!" I yell as I run in trying to salvage the dire situation "I've thrown the chicken away. They can stay, I'l do something else."
With a resentful grunt he follows me back into the kitchen.
"Alright Nick, what are you planning on cooking?" He says, rubbing his hands together.
"Uh.. beef bourguignon with a-"
"No you're fucking not." He interrupts. "We are going to simplify the menu. If you can specialise in one fucking thing you might be able to salvage this business."
"..."
"I know the area and I know for a fact there are no toastie restaurants here, and the city is gagging for a good toastie place to open. What do you think?"
"Uh..."
"Exactly. Right lets get to it. We are going to need cheese and tomoato and a little bit of bread. This is going to be fucking fantastic."
At that moment, a team of men and women rush into my kitchen and begin redecorating. Ten sleek new toastie machines soon take up all of my work space.
Neon signage goes up outside my small house - *Toni's Toasties*
"Uh Chef, my name's Nick."
"Doesn't fucking matter - toasties are all about sex appeal."
At this point I give up and join my friends in the other room.
| 2016-06-29T03:00:02
| 2016-06-29T00:16:18
| 19
| 10
|
[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
|
I remember asking my mom if her sigil vibrates on her skin. The look of confusion told me what I felt I already knew. My circle, though plain, feels alive.
There were no issues in elementary school, nor middle school. It was junior high that brought my happiness with my humming sigil to a screeching halt.
Victor began to torment me. No one, not even the teachers, stopped him. Day after day I came home wishing to cease my existence. During each fight, each punch, my sigil hummed faster. It even glowed red once, or was it my distorted vision from the punches?
"Failure of a man is what you are! Who is so cursed that they have no powers, huh? Show me your powers, ya bitch!" His mark reminded me of Cerberus, the dog that protected Hades. Thick and ugly, just like him; powerful fists that pound me into the ground. I took it, the punches and taunts, day after day. The nurse patching me up afterwards, while Victor was "lectured".
I went home, contemplating ending my life. It's just too much, and today he had broken several bones. The "Welcome home Sarge" sign in the yard made my heart drop.
My dad is home from the war. I walk in to see my siblings oh so happy to meet the hero of the century, the man with the Griffin sigil. He looked at me with severe disappointment though, as if he could see the circle on my collar bone. It vibrated quicker as he stood up. "Get out of my sight."
"Daniel," mother shouted, "he is your son!"
"He's nothing."
I went to my room, the fight escalating downstairs. It took everything in me to push the tears down. "What do you do besides vibrate?" I asked, eyeing my empty sigil. My question was left unanswered, even as I laid in bed.
I am in no mood to handle Victor's taunts today, and honestly, I'm pretty sick of him. My father's words bouncing around in my head, to the point that I want to scream. His hand is what brings me out of my reverie.
"You answer when I speak to you! You're nothing afterall!"
"Nothing," I snarled, "then leave me alone. If I'm nothing, why waste your time?"
The punch hit the back of my head so hard, I blacked out. The only words I felt in my head, weren't my father's cruel words, or anyone else's, but help me. That's when lights of every color filled my vision. The warmth started from my collar bone, and went to my toes.
"Of course, I'll help. That's all you had to do-ask."
When I come to, there's a dragon in the hallway, half of Victor in its mouth. Brilliant colors shine on every scale, as opal eyes look at me.
"Uhhh... drop him." My voice is tentative, yet I feel like I know this creature. It obliges, and shrink down to wrap itself around my neck. As Victor stands up, it hisses at him, sending Victor into a corner. I simply walk away, with a smirk. They all wanted to know so badly, now I feel their regrets in finding out. While I'm elated.
I walk to my next class, as I feel the vibration return. My circle, not an empty thing after all. It was an egg. I look at my collarbone, and there, in my circle, is a dragon winking at me.
|
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
&#x200B;
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.
| 2020-02-26T12:40:00
| 2020-02-26T09:02:03
| 18
| 13
|
[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 explosions had been rumbling off in the distance for hours as a young boy tried to drift off to sleep. The war might be raging, but the Allied Forces had deemed his village far enough away that an evacuation was only advised, not mandatory. With his mother the way that she was, the brunette knew that he would be sleeping in his own bed as soon as he heard those words. Still, the sounds persisted even as they faded into the background and then became an incorporated soundtrack to vague, shifty dreams.
A repetitive chirp woke him up as the witching hour drew to a close. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes in annoyance, he glanced at his blocky phone, the display lit up with hundreds of messages, all from unknown numbers, telling him to look at the moon. Above that, in bright red letters, scrolled a message “DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”. It all seemed so ridiculous, the boy thought as he lay back down, ignoring his phone. Still, curiosity gnawed at him. *What was so special about the moon tonight?*
10 minutes passed, then 15, and still the boy couldn’t shake his curiosity. Finally heeding the gnawing drive in his chest, the boy sat up again, this time turning to his window, barred tight against the October chill. Brushing aside his curtains, the boy was greeted by the sight of a blood red moon for almost an instant, marred by rings and three black tomoe, before he woke up again to spring birds chirping.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T18:58:31
| 103
| 12
|
[WP] Canada invades something
|
First they took our snowmobiles, then the hockey... next was the national treasure Maple Syrup.
The last straw was the Timmies. The Timmies was the tipping point.
The armies of crunchy moms, safe space squares and Donnie don't-dos had their way with a once great nation and the masses have finally had enough. "Snowmobiles are bad for the environment, hockey is dangerous, delicious maple syrup is to sugary and the caffeine in a Tim Hortons coffee is now a narcotic"
Who is to blame you ask? California. The golden standard and influence on the West started this shit show and that's where it's going to end.
Generations of politeness and repressed rage could no longer be held at bay. Turning savage, the borders of the USA were broken. Never expecting such an attack the leaders scrambled and panicked at the crazed Canucks burning hipsters in the streets. Canadians everywhere joined in the bloodshed. They grabbed shovels, axes, filled out long tedious forms to aquire magazine limited rifles and shotguns of a non automatic nature.
The occupation of America and fight for Canadian freedom was the shortest in US history... the US surrendered in a matter of 17 days.
Slowly the Canadians rebuilt the shattered America... destroying motorized scooters and Jack-assery along the way. Instilling morals and values different than the past capitalist fascism.
All was now right in the West.
Oh, and Quebec? Those lazy assholes are still up there bitching about separatism and their identity. All you've given the world is kick ass fries and embarrassment! Give it a rest already!
|
"And so we uh declare there eh, that we're like not leaving this Denny's until those American bastards stop saying they're coming here if Trump wins"
"Sir please get down off the table"
"Sorry there but no, I'm not going to do that. I'm sorry but we have to do this. We have to hit the Americans where it hurts, restaurant meals that have more foot than you should eat in one sitting"
"Here here eh"
"This Denny's is in Ottawa"
"Take a fucking hike there bud we're working with what we've got"
"I'm calling the cops"
"You go do that you pansy fuck, bud"
The manager shook his head as he headed for the phone. The speaker, Thomas McMapleSyrup turned back to the crowd.
"Everyone listen up eh, everyone thinks we're such a great country but any one could be a great country when they live next to America. Like our natives don't even clean drinking water. We took the country from there eh buds you think we could give them clean drinking whatever"
"Here here again eh"
"And like they say we always say sorry but have you been to Toronto, they think they're fucking New York there"
"Drake can go kick fucking rocks"
"Drake spells the word six with the number 6 and Rob Ford embarrassed fucking Toronto"
"Wait so why are we here?"
"Yeah it seems like you got up on that table without a clear, uh manifesto there bud"
"Well you can just take right the fuck off bud. Stop being such a hoser bud"
"I'm just saying that maybe before we invade a Denny's in Ottawa we should know why"
...
EXT. DINER - DAY
Reporter stands with a microphone, framed and in the middle of a news report.
Reporter: And we're now entering the fourth hour of the siege of this Denny's. There has been little contact with the occupiers, who turned down offers of food in this response.
EXT. DINER - EARLIER
Main speaker stands in the doorway of the Denny's.
MS: No we're all good for food there bud but we'll work on getting our demands to you there just as soon as we figure them out. Sorry for the wait bud.
EXT. DINER - DAY
Back to the Reporter.
Reporter: We are waiting on a comment from Prime Minister Justin Trudeau who has so far...
Reporter puts a finger to her ear, then turns back to the camera.
Reporter: And we are now getting word that it turns out Justin Trudeau is an imaging artifact and not actually a real person.
| 2016-10-08T07:56:19
| 2016-10-08T07:03:57
| 112
| 14
|
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago.
|
"What do you mean?" I asked. "This is the most haunted house you've ever been to?"
"Look," said Peter. "I don't know how. I don't know why. All I did was count. And goddamn did I count the living hell out of myself. A word of advice for you, buddy."
He beckoned me in closer. I leaned towards him.
"Get out!" he shouted right in my ear.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I reared my head back, hand instinctively cupping and rubbing my ear.
"Just making sure I got it in your head man. 278! And that's the ones I counted before I freaked out. This is a living hell if I've ever seen one."
"Come on, it can't be that bad," I said. "The house has only been built for a year, and I've lived in it for less than that."
"Of course it's not that bad. Because it's only going to get worse over the years," Peter said. In spite of his bravado and snarkiness, I could see his hands shaking slightly as he raised a cigarette to his lips and fumbled for a lighter. "According to the score, your house is literally more haunted than the Catacombs of Paris, or the Tower of London. In one year!"
I stayed silent.
"Well, it's my home," I muttered under my breath.
"You know, if you get vengeful enough, this can be your home forever," said Peter. "If you don't want to, I have a few deals on cheaper apartments in the city. I would say they were less haunted, but which place isn't compared to yours?"
"OK, Peter," I shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."
I turned back towards my abode, opening the door. A chilly gust of wind roared out of the opening.
Peter looked on, horrified.
"Seriously, you are going back in?" Peter cried.
"I have to sleep somewhere, dude," I said, and I walked in, closing the door behind me, shutting out the desperate pleas of Peter.
I took a deep breath and sighed.
"Can you believe the nerve of that guy?" said Xunokzlum, a high demon. He was perched on top of a chair on all four of his limbs, wings furled behind him. Using just his beak, he buried into a bowl of feed in front of him. "Living hell? This is a precious sanctuary for all of us, thank you very much."
"You know Peter doesn't mean any harm," I said to the demon. "Also, keep your voice down a little!"
"We'll speak when we want," a trio of voices sounded in unison. I looked over to The Three, a group of faes slowly emerging from the shadows. "Why must we hide every time he comes here? It is senseless."
"Come on, Three. I gotta keep up appearances, you know?" I said.
The Three began speaking again, but they were no longer speaking in concert. Despite their small size, their chatter quickly overtook the room.
"Please," a small voice whimpered from the corner. "I just want to sleep."
"Alright, Three, Xunokz, enough is enough," I said. "Time to head to your rooms, alright? Let Gabriel rest in peace, yeah?"
They grumbled, but they complied. I moved towards where the small voice projected from in the corner.
"Thank you," he said.
"Of course," I said. "Rest well, old man."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"Right, so what you've got here is known in the industry as an ectoplasmic rift" A tall mustache in a short suit said to Lante.
"Sorry, a what?" Lante, who had been enjoying quite a pleasant dream involving a lazy river and a lazy susan before he had been rudely awoken by a series of frantic doorbell chimes at the ungodly (and that was precisely the point, the man had assured him) hour of two AM, blearily asked the mustache.
"Ectoplasmic rift buddy, you've got a serious problem here," the mustache was marshalling an army consisting of a porkpie hat, mustard yellow tie, and a particularly aggressive tweed suit which was furiously deconstructing a segment of drywall, which Lante seemed to recall paying an awful lot of money to have constructed, via vigorous application of a clawed hammer.
"Right, and what does that," Lante paused as he fumbled his way through bleary vision to the coffee maker, "what does that entail?"
"What does that entail?!" The mustache snickered toward him in the manner of car salesmen and professors who desperately want to know that you know that they know oh so much more than you.
"First you got your average haunting," the hammer's march was had reached the end of the living room, and like some small Sherman determined to find the sea was rounding into the tiled kitchen.
"Dead grandmother, dead dog, this kind of thing, just a bit of a ghost problem, you can deal with that easy with a muon trap. Then you got your low level fae infestation, you know, unionized garden gnomes, gypped tooth fairies, this kind of a thing, that usually needs a specialist, your local druid from the boutique candle-shop or whatever."
He pulled a strobing hand-held device from a pouch on his tactical belt, the device started screaming in protest at being woken up at two AM.
"Level three, your talking demons, need to call in the men in white, you know, the church boys, and they have to run an exorcism, lots of paperwork, have to sit in a rental while they service the place."
Lante took a sip of hot water and jerked back in revulsion, he'd forgotten to put coffee grounds in.
"So, endoplasmi--"
"Ectoplasmic rift, that's way up there with lay lines buddy, way up there, not much you can do to fix that. On the bright side, you're not likely to get sucked through into Fae like you will with the lay lines, on the dimmer side, lots of stuff likes to pop out on this side for a visit."
The mustache was now unpacking his bag, which contained a surprising amount of extraordinarily compact electronics gear, the crown jewel being a miniature satellite dish which began to spin, calmly threatening any intruders to the living room with a very small tactical nuclear strike.
"Right," Lante had recovered by tossing an emergency tea-bag into the pot of percolated water and was now sipping on a very bland imitation of earl grey tea, "and what do you suggest to deal with this, uh, rift."
"Well laddie!" The mustache grinned up from below the brim of his hat as the tweed suit squatted over what appeared to be a children's electronic keyboard, typing in a complex sequence of notes which may have been Fur Elis, but Lante wasn't sure.
"You're lucky I caught it in time, my name's Doctor Doctor Fleiscbach," the tweed suit took a break from its composition to hand Lante a business card, "and I can secure this place for a modest fee of--"
"Get out of my house," Lante was impressed with his self control, a good deal of which probably came from the unconscious recognition of the preposterousness of trying to look intimidating in a ninja turtles tee-shirt and matching boxer-briefs.
"Look, I understand that this may come as a shock to you bu--"
"Get out!" Lante traded his self control for the abandoned hammer which had found its way into his hand instead of completing its great trek to the sea.
"Okay, okay, but you got my card, right?" Doctor Doctor Fleischbach hurriedly stuffed a very disappointed miniature nuclear silo back into his bag and went to the door, "Give me a call if--"
"Out!"
The door clicked shut.
"Hello Lante!" A suddenly manifest spiritual inferno raged from the kitchen.
Lante looked at the kitchen, which had been so well behaved in the past, then down at the business card as he took a sip of the Earl Grey [water](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/).
| 2020-05-13T04:38:28
| 2020-05-13T04:18:23
| 326
| 71
|
[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:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T13:04:29
| 158
| 36
|
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
As my thirtieth birthday came I happily put one more point into my only skill. Not that anyone would notice. See everyone always asks what skills did I put that allowed me in the end to build such an easy life for myself, and I just smile and tell them that it's my little secret. See in the list of skills and their derrivatives and different effects most people spread them across base attributes. Now this doesn't mean one who does not have high intelligence cannot be smart, it more effects natural gifts and abilities towards each ones various ranges.
&#x200B;
I was ten like anyone else when my skills were unlocked and I was allowed to begin building myself. I scrolled through the list, the base attributes at the top, most popular specialized skills right below them. You were allowed when on the screen to test your point and get a feel for what it might be, but once you locked in that was it, you were locked with those skills. I was scrolling towards the bottom of the list, boredom reading the oddest most out of place and useless skills. I must have taken so long my parents started worrying cause I remember hitting the bottom and finding the oddest thing, a skill labeled Magic. Now this confused me cause I remember finding and testing magic tricks way earlier on the list. Hesitantly I dropped a skill point into it and suddenly I felt two things, an otherworldly energy flow through me and knowledge how to do a few effects such as moving small things with my mind and creating little illusionary scenes in my hands or on the table.
&#x200B;
The strangest thing were two other senses with that power, one that it was almost forbidden like someone wanted it forgotten; and the other was feeling like it was almost an addiction. As my parents began knocking asking me if I needed help I quickly did the unthinkable and instead of spreading my points I dumped everything into magic and locked it in. As I exited my room to prepare for the day my parents smiled and asked how I spread my skills and putting on my best innocent smile I said it was "My little secret."
&#x200B;
Shortly afterwards I realized why it was forbidden and almost purposefully forgotten and hidden. With magic there was no need for any other skill. My senses improved just from feeling the currents of mystical energies around me, I had spells that could increase my physical attributes to be inhuman levels if I so wished, school became easy as I used spells such as clairvoyance to show me what I needed to know. It also seemed the magical energies flowing through my body itself attracted people to me. As I leveled it up every year after I felt both my power grow and my knowledge of what I could do expand. The only downside was some difficulties I had with electronics, but that was small change compared to the abilities that were only limited by my imagination.
&#x200B;
I was careful though, after the initial shock at ten I realized to dial it back once people were wondering if I had extra skill points to burn or such. I never let myself seem perfect in anything, but always well gifted, making sure to use my powers to fog minds and change things when people seemed to catch on I wasn't a balance build. I was set up for an easy life and knew it, but with magic I always needed more and every level I gained went there, eventually becoming inconceivable to put a point anywhere else.
&#x200B;
Now as I turned thirty and have maxed out the skill I know everything. If I wanted overnight I could become a god, I don't though, no instead I will cast the immortality spells and wait till another finds this skill then I will find them and train them. In the meantime the entire world is my plaything, and I can choose whatever playthrough I want.
&#x200B;
*Tell me what you think, I am always looking for input*
|
Nobody else believes in me, laughing at me and telling me I've wasted my life. They just don't understand. They look at me and think, 'There he goes, writing prompter. He'll never amount to anything.' But they just don't get it. I've devoted my life to inspiring others. It's not so simple a thing, to be the bedrock of creative expression itself. I am the muse!
I have spent so much of my life practicing my craft and honing my skills in order to give others the opportunity to break out of their shells. To see that they are capable of so much more than what they think they are. I am the inkwell of the heart of the face of the internet and it is my duty to never run dry.
They don't understand or believe, no matter how much I wish they did. This is my life's work and my duty to humanity. The legacy that I will leave behind is to support the legacy that others will leave behind. The power that I have is to empower those that need that small nudge towards greatness. Creation is a collaborative process and I devoted myself to that ideal.
Never forget, that though you may doubt me... I will never doubt you!
| 2018-09-12T09:54:07
| 2018-09-12T07:01:42
| 74
| 20
|
[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."
|
"Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War"
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T06:46:10
| 210
| 74
|
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know.
|
I can only REMEMBER.
Deep the twisting eddies shriek of lands of paradise lost and echoes yet to reverb.
"You're not making any sense," the doctor says with a sigh. I am another failure.
I remember the bottle. My savior, my harsh master. The years I spent gathering myself, pretending to be normal. Smiling at family, at friends, as I drowned in the burning sea to hide from the old night. The sea burned it all away, like the river Lethe. Everything that I was. But still I could smile, could lie.
"N-no, I-I-I...I am not a failure." I gasped at last. The words made no more sense than my smiles. I was beyond them and beneath them. But I could lie, still. And the mask I wore once I could wear again, though now it hid another kind of nothingness.
The doctor-man stopped, turned. "You...I understood that." He was shocked, amazed. "Do you know where you are?"
"Saint Mary's Hospital in Dulce, Ohio." I lied.
His brow furrowed. "I mean...that you are alive and in a hospital. How...did I mention the name of the hospital?"
THE MASK HAD SLIPPED THE MASK HAD SLIPPED.
"I heard it," I half-lied. The lies wrapped in truth were the hardest to uncover.
He nodded, but seemed unconvinced.
"Listen I must speak...I need to talk...to...family. And...important people." I lied again, to move him from his suspicions.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible quite yet," he explained, pretending gentleness. "Your body is still recovering, and that you speak at all is a first for science!"
NO NO NO. I cannot WAIT. I REMEMBER.
I raise myself but I forget to lie, and the doctor recoils and staggers back. "Jesus fucking Christ" he yells, tripping backwards.
I lock eyes on him and I speak the Truth, veiled in lies so he might understand it. He screams understanding, screams as he plunges a scalpel through his eye and into his brain. He REMEMBERS now.
I move to the door. This time I lie a little. "There's been an accident," I call out in faux-panic. "I need help!"
|
The cool logical void I was in where everything made sense was violently disrupted by warm fuzzy static. Nothing made sense anymore, every thought ^sliced ^^apart in^to p^ie ^^c ^es. One moment I was hurtling at high subluminal speeds towards Uranus -- the next -- I -- . The world returned to the cool logical void again, its infinite blackness covering and absorbing everything.
Faraway I heard someone calling a name. A physical sound, unlike directly transmitted thought of the telepathy comms we used aboard the system voyager.
"Katherine? Dr Hayes?" I squinted my eyes, and tried to force them open. They refused.
"Her eyes are attempting to open...we did it...!" Someone whispered in awe.
"Filling the tanks." I felt a warm syrupy liquid start to pool beneath my back. The voices became clearer as my hearing got better. I felt more relax, as if I was at home. I willed my eyes to open again. Two large octopi stared down at me, masks dangling off their strange heads.
I rolled my eyes around, frantically thrashing my limbs. A sucker-filled appendage slapped me in the face. "OW!"
"She's panicking, she's panicking ! Drain the water, now!"
I felt the water recede beneath my back. As the water drained I felt my energy levels drop precipitously. The last thing I saw from my wide-angled eyes were _four_ limbs on each side...
[ to be continued ]
| 2020-10-30T03:42:39
| 2020-10-30T02:29:54
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] The outgoing President of the United States has written a letter to the newly inaugurated President. Instead of friendly advice, that letter contains the horrible truth that the public doesn't know about. Write that letter.
What is that horrible secret?
|
Hello, Mr. President.
If you're anything like I was in the first few weeks of my presidency, you'll be getting into everything and looking for answers to all the wacky questions you can think of. I now know where Hoffa is buried, who killed Kennedy, who performed the sex change on Norma Jean Baker, what's going on at Area 51 and a dozen other things.
It's all good fun, and your staff will brief you on whatever you want for any reason at all.
Trust me on this, though, none of it is as fun as it sounds before you know the truth.
The real surprises are about the things you'll never think to ask. This one blew me away.
The USA does not have a nuclear deterrent.
In fact, no one has The Bomb. It's not possible to make one. We've been lying about this since Hiroshima. The Soviet Union were lying. The UK and France are also lying. It is no longer possible to build nuclear weapons.
It *was* possible, thanks to a synthetic element fabricated by the Manhattan Project, but the scientists who created it used all of it at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They were then not able to make any more. We still have no idea why it worked and why it doesn't. Our best brains think Oppenheimer and Einstein cooked something up between them to end the war with Japan but to prevent the USA and USSR mass producing weapons.
Nations that discover the truth end up on the UN Security Council. We collectively bribe them to silence, although some leaders are smart enough to figure out what would happen if some nations found out our ability to turn them into glass parking lots was entirely fictional.
We have faked every test, spent millions and millions of dollars finding a reliable way to give people cancer, the whole bit. We even fake up reactor disasters, just to keep people on their toes. It's all a lie. But it's a lie that has prevented the start of another world war for over fifty years and we think it'll be good for another fifty.
Quite a lot of your presidency is going to be taken up with finding convincing reasons why we can't just nuke the crap out of some rogue nation so I strongly recommend you ignore that Kennedy crap and get serious briefings done on the geopolitical situation around the world. You need to have your game face on 24/7 in case someone figures out the Big Lie. This is why presidents in office age so damn fast.
Good luck.
You're going to need it.
Best,
The Former President of the United States.
|
Hey Dogg,
It’s President Obama. Well, former-President Obama. What’s good? Don’t bother responding to that, this is an email and I won’t be able to hear what you said. I mean, you’re welcome to respond if you want, but it’s really not going to do much for you. Yeah, maybe it’ll make this whole “hey we’re cool dog” email feel a bit more personal—like you’re really talking to the Obaminator—but I honestly won’t have any idea that you said something. You’re probably thinking “Obamster, look, I’ll just reply to the email and you’ll get it.” Wrong. Wrong as shit. I’m sending this from my super high-security self-destructing email. It doesn’t actually self-destruct, it’s just my [email protected] account that I don’t know the password to. If you respond, I won’t get it. Let’s just make this easy on us both—I’m going to assume you said something like, “Not much, my man, how are you?” I’m super fly. Anyway, let’s get on with it.
I’m sure you’re wondering something like, “Why is the 44th President, and the flyest motherfucker this side of D.C., sending me an email?” This answer is a two parter: A) Because I’m the motherfucking Obamatron. I do what I want, when I want, how I want. Whack-ass bill passed by congress? Fuck that shit, Presidential Veto. Some playa hacking off the heads of hoes in Iraq or Iran or New Zealand or some shit? Drone strike, bitch. And 2) Because I need to tell you something about being the President, a horrible truth you must know. Also, III) Because fuck you.
Firstly, let’s just clear the air: I’m not mad at you for taking my job, but I do think you’re a bitch. Those two are not mutually exclusive, I can think you’re a bitch and still not be mad at you. And you are a bitch, everyone agrees. Even my daughter says you’re a bitch. Let’s not argue that, though, let’s just get back to me not being mad at some little bitch like you. You see, I’ve been the Leader of the Free World (shout-out to my man Eminem for *8 Mile*) for eight years now. It was time for me to move on, I chose to leave the office. It had nothing to do with the whole “get out after eight years” bullshit, I chose to leave. Plus, I’m already lined up for a killer gig down in Colorado, where the sun shines bright and the weed burns hot. I’m going to work in a dispensary and blaze all day. I can get you a job too if you want, but you’ll have to ditch the whole President gig. Up to you.
Anyway, look. Here’s what I got to say. I was the Prez for 8 years, I saw a lot of shit go down. I once saw a guy get his dick bit off by a tiny Chihuahua my daughter’s friend brought over. I’m gonna premise this next bit by assuring you that I ain’t no homo (but I’m all for them getting all married and whatever), but that guy’s schlong was like three feet longer than the dog. I was almost as upset as the dude for such a glorious thing being ruined. It was like *Fight Club*, that dog just wanted to destroy something beautiful. Don’t worry, though, I hear he had it medically re-attached and now it’s like three times girthier due to the swelling. I wouldn’t mind getting a peek of that bad-boy, know what I'm saying?
Sorry, I got off topic a bit. Back on point: I’ve seen some shit. I’ve seen a lot of people die, a lot of people get hurt. I’ve seen things inner-city kids that work the nightshift as prison guards in third world countries would get nightmares from. You’re going to see the same, they’re going to haunt you. But there’s one fact, one horrible truth, that is going to trump everything you’ve ever seen, or will see, which I want to share with you. And I don’t care if you’re some whack-ass motherfucker like John McCain (I know, who’s that? LOL) who was in a P.O.W. camp, this shit’s worse. So, look, here’s your opportunity. If you don’t wanna hear this shit from me right now, close this email and delete it. Otherwise, you best brace for impact cause we goin’ in hot.
Area 51 actually exists for the sole purpose of abducting random people, then probing them rectally. It’s not for any scientific research, or any monetary gain, or any purpose other than probing a bunch of cracka-ass white guys in overalls or, say, fancy black guys in expensive suits. Honestly, I’ve done a ton of research into it. I spent more nights awake, locked in the Library of Congress, trying to find anything and everything to make it logical, than I did doing actual Presidential shit. I even hired that Nicholas Cage guy to look at the back of random pictures and books and do some of that *National Treasure* shit we all love. He found nothing, I found nothing. You know what I’m saying, dogg? The United States Government is abducting random people and shoving foreign objects up their butts just to say they did. And it ain’t just recently, neither. This shit’s been going on since the beginning of our great nation. And they don’t care if you’re the President--in fact, that makes it worse and more frequent.
Do you understand me? They do not care if you are the President. Let that sink in.
I hope you appreciate my warnings, dogg. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s only going to get worse. I wish I had known earlier, wish I had realized the truth before I opted to sleep in the nude (which I still do, no homo). I hope you can protect yourself.
Keep tight, you bitch,
Barack Hussein Obama, Former President of the United States of America
| 2014-05-01T15:21:41
| 2014-05-01T13:44:04
| 89
| 38
|
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
**So this got a little away from me and doesn't exactly follow the prompt but I already wrote it so I'm going to post it and you guys can read or not**
Rampage claws at his neck, the air, at nothing at all. Nothing to grab onto but still he claws desperately. His entire body convulses, legs kicking desperately against the scorched blacktop. His neck popps softly as it continues to stretch, millimeter by millimeter, his head being pulled further from his shoulders like honey falling up.
"While I understand your eagerness, young hero, I also understand that you are over eager. Over eager and over confident. Both can be tempered, I suppose, in time however time is a luxury you simply do not have." The Tempest strolls around the gasping would be hero. "I find it sad that so few youths cannot seem to understand that in this business their lack of knowledge could kill them any moment. You have heard of me, yes? You do understand what you have stepped into, do you not? Sad that you will not be able to learn from the experience."
The Tempest continues to stroll along the street, casually avoiding smoldering rubble. Plumes of smoke rise from the still burning building where Rampage had tried to ambush him. It had been laughably easy to see coming and even easier to stop. "They say all good things come to an end; it follows that mediocre things come to an end... quicker."
"Tempest! Picking on kids I see? What's the matter, can't handle a real super hero?"
The Tempest whirls, lips pulled back in a snarl. There he is, just like he always showed up over the decades, standing there without a care in the world. Just as he'd always kept his suit immaculate his loafers are spotless despite the street. Crisp slacks and a lint rolled vest. His cane even shined in the sunlight. He may be retired but he is certainly not slovenly.
"The boy had the gall to interrupt me. I was just doing him the courtesy of relieving him of his head." They both hear Rampage's sharp gasp as his neck pops again. "Why, do you think you can do something about it, old man?"
"We both know I can." The old man's voice comes from over The Tempest's left shoulder; he's still fast. "I need you to release him."
The Tempest spins in a crouch, shooting both arms straight out. The old man flies back as if hit by a wrecking ball. He hits the very edge of the crumbling wall and jackknifes wildly through the air into the building, out of sight. The Tempest smirks and turns back to Rampage. "Now, where were w-"
The Tempest's head snaps around, his body struggling to spin fast enough to keep his head on his shoulders. He spins around several times before falling to the ground. Dazed, he simply stares at the sky, working his jaw slowly. Rampage suddenly draws in a deep breath, sucking air like a man who just found an oasis in the desert. He looks up to see the old man, his clothing torn in places, stained in others, standing over him.
"Go, you've no place here. Try not to overstep yourself again." The old man's eyes are hard and unforgiving. Rampage struggles to his feet and runs, leaving the old man staring coldly down at the stunned super villain. Soon he's out of sight.
The air is still as the two regard each other amid the chaos. Far off sirens break the silence.
"Do you think he'll learn?" The old man offers The Tempest a hand to help him up. "He seems like he'll get the message."
The super villain accepts the help climbing to his feet. "He will or he won't, we've done our part," The Tempest works his jaw, flinching slightly "you certainly don't pull punches, even now. I didn't hurt you did I? I did cushion you from the wall."
The old man stretched. "You did. You also ripped my slacks. Watch for word, I hear there's a young man a few cities over named Impact. Could probably do with a life lesson before he gets to a big city."
"I will." The Tempest sighed, but the old man was nowhere to be seen.
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T06:36:56
| 2017-04-13T05:10:16
| 22
| 10
|
[WP] They reworked the justice system. Now, in each cell there is a piano, and convicts are released after performing a song perfectly. Lesser criminals are assigned simple melodies, while the worst get full concertos. You've been a concert pianist your whole life.
|
"Harold, you've been charged with torturing and murdering a man in cold blood. How do you plead?"
Harold looked up at the judge, feeling a hundred eyes burning into him. It felt like his entire life was leading up to this moment.
"Guilty as hell, your honor."
The jury immediately reacted, murmuring to each other, but Harold maintained his composure.
"I killed the man who killed my father. That's all the justice I sought for," Harold said with conviction.
The judge stared at him.
"You are aware that we have reworked the justice system?"
"I am aware, yes."
"For such a despicable act, one that you clearly have no remorse for, I have assigned you concerto 16 by Harry King," the judge continued, and the courtroom gasped.
It was a remarkably intricate piece, and few people could ever hope to have the skill to play it. To give a man that song was to put him in prison for the rest of his life.
"Have you heard the piece before?" the judge queried.
Harold smiled.
"I am quite familiar with it, your honor," Harold King replied, cracking his fingers and sitting down at the piano.
*"My father wrote it."*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
BREAKING NEWS, flashed in red and white across the TV screen. Ludwig took a pause in his work and turned up the volume.
*… as the serial killer known as “Mozart” has once again been released from maximum security and death row, after completing three full piano concerts. Here is Tracy Stevens with live footage.*
The screen shifted from a bald news anchor to a woman in her twenties with a bun of chestnut hair. Behind the woman, a group of justice protesters had gathered outside the concrete walls of the prison.
*Thank you, Quint. People are quite upset over the early release of Murderer John Bishop, also known as “Mozart.” We are still waiting for official statements from the warden here at Foxtrot and Judge Tony Costanza. But as far as the release goes, that has already been done. Mozart is back.*
As soon as Ludwig turned off the TV, a knock came on the door.
“It’s open!” he called out.
A man, in a tuxedo made out of red studded leather, stepped into the living room.
“What took you so long, John?” Ludwig said.
“Had a minor run-in with the law,” Mozart said and ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing big.”
“I saw you on the news…”
“It matters not,” Mozart said. “Do you have the strings ready?”
“Of course,” Ludwig said, and handed over the sharpened piano cords. “I don’t get caught like you.”
“Well, you should try it sometime; the looks on the faces of those fools are priceless when you finish their silly little concerts.”
“Sure, if your only goal is to awe a crowd… I’m more into immortalizing my work.”
“Whatever, Ludwig, you’ve always been a pushover,” Mozart said and gave him a sledgehammer. “Now, if you’re ready… let’s go and put the BEAT in Beethoven!”
The most notorious serial killer duo of all times nodded at each other and smiled deviously.
*****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-05-17T23:27:06
| 2017-05-17T21:45:17
| 1,195
| 121
|
[WP] The Black Death wiped out all human life in the Old World. Describe the first Native American expedition to discover Europe centuries later.
*Edit;* for anyone interested in this prompt, a few cool people below pointed out that there's a book series known as [The Years of Rice and Salt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Rice_and_Salt) that's very similar! Take a look. I'd like to note, though, that when I said 'Old World' in the title, I was not just referring to Europe, but to Africa, the Middle East and much of Asia, too. That said, I left it intentionally vague, so take as much creative liberty as you like!
|
It was the smell.
Before anything else, before sight or sound of anything other than waves breaking on the shore, the smell was the first thing they sensed. Strong, overpowering, even over the salt water. Revolting waves of stench rolled even stronger than the atlantic swells, a stink that bore death and misery, decay.
The leader jumped lithely from the prow of the long, narrow boat to alight on the sand. Not thirty seconds walk from the shore was the first body, a black and swollen husk, home to maggots hatching in what was left of the flesh. The stink.
There were only three hundred men and women on the expedition, and they walked armed and wary, but needn't have. The village they came to had ten dead for every living soul, perhaps one hundred living souls in total.
The second in command was cautious. "There is a sickness upon these people, boss... I don't know if we should go any further..."
The leader gazed down his long nose at the people suffering in front of him, cowering in rags at the sight of the healthy warriors.
"Not sick", he uttered softly. "Starving."
He was right. The people were skin and bones, skeletal figures of pity and hopelessness, a mockery of human life. There were no farms to be seen of any consequence, and the only wild animals in sight were dogs and rats.
"Have they no bison? No pigs? Where is all the food?"
"The leader looked around once more at the village. Shacks cobbled together with driftwood, clothes made of poorly woven reeds and plants. Cloth seemed to be in short supply. No weapons, no handmade items of any beauty. Sea shells and smooth stones from the shore.
"They do not no how to farm, I think. Look at how they live."
The mans heart was heavy with the sight of the wretched waifs skulking in front of them, too scared to approach, no signs of communication of any kind other than some sort of superstitious hand motion, crossing in front of their face.
"Look at how they act." He sighed, long and slow.
"These people are savages."
(Edited for spelling.)
|
"Hey. Would you look at that..."
"What?"
"On the horizon. It's... land! You know what that means, don't you? We are looking at..."
"The East Andes!"
"Great Scott!"
"This is heavy!"
"I told you! This thing just loops back around like a..."
"A klein bottle."
"Yeah."
"The prophecies were..."
"About completely different stuff than this."
"Yeah not much good for navigation."
"I have to say, The East Andes are not very mountainous."
"If you don't like them, I can turn this helicopter around."
(I probably can't go further without knowing the first thing about geography or history.)
| 2014-03-09T20:56:44
| 2014-03-09T20:54:12
| 150
| 75
|
[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 really miss the look on your face when I would pop up unannounced... You would walk into the room, eyes lit up and say "my Andy!" That always made my day. I loved feeling wanted, needed, loved. I'm starting to ache from the pain of no longer hearing your laugh. The way it would hit me full on in the chest and bounce around all of my insides until everything was right in the world. I miss the way your eyes glowed when I was happy and the way they would darken when I was putting on a false smile. I miss the way I could tell you anything and you never judged me, you shared a story of your own. I miss my best friend.... My heart, my rock, my everything. And though I have so many people around me that love me and care for me, try so hard to keep my head above water for me... I can't help but feel like there will always be a part of me that's missing. No one will ever bounce around my insides until they are a gushy mess of happiness the way that you did. They say the memories will make it easier in the long run... But sometimes... The memories crush me.
I just need you here with me. It kills me that you’re gone and I can’t do anything about it. I can never see you again and my soul aches with exhaustion. I don’t know how to live without you alive.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-06T00:06:31
| 27
| 13
|
[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.
|
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."
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T06:30:10
| 1,143
| 80
|
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out.
|
My name is Barattiel, and I was once an angel in Heaven. What a lot of people didn't know is that many of us did not want to rebel. I mean, think about it. We were beautiful, powerful, and everyday was a literal orgasm of bliss. Why would we ever want to give that up?
Because of Lucifer.
He promised us that he could give us *more*. He told us that God was holding back, and that if he were in charge, he would make us more beautiful, more powerful...and happier.
And we believed him. Why would we not? Out of all the angels, he was the smartest and the most beautiful of us all. And he was the closest to God. We thought he knew secrets that the rest of us didn't know.
We were wrong. It was just pride.
After we got kicked out of Heaven, many of us wanted to rebel against Lucifer then. We wanted to repent and throw ourselves at the mercy of God. Why didn't we?
You have to know Lucifer to understand. Though fallen, he was still the most powerful of our lot. Many were terrified of him. And thought not as beautiful as he once was, he was still beautiful enough to captivate. And to charm. Many revered him still. And he was cunning. He just has a way of always making you see his way.
When a few of us came to him with our desire to repent, he sneered and asked us, "For what?"
"God is merciful. If we repent, perhaps he will forgive us."
"Perhaps," Lucifer agreed. He sat back, relaxed for a moment, looking at us lazily, and murmured, "And then what?"
We looked at each other. I spoke, "What do you mean? If He forgives us, won't we let back into Heaven?"
Lucifer sat up, peering into my eyes, and asked softly, "And then what?"
I didn't know what to say. I was perplexed that someone as smart as he didn't understand.
He sat back again, steepled his fingers and said, "My brothers, you are not the only ones who have thought of repentance. But think about *after*. Would Heaven be the same? God may forgive us, but what about the brothers that we betrayed and fought against in the War? Will things ever be as they were before? Or will we always be regarded with suspicion and distrust?"
One member of our group asked what we were all thinking: "So what do we do?"
"We live." His voice rose, his tone thorns. "We make *this* our home. Even now, God has replaced us with a being he calls 'man'. Let us show our Father they are not worthy of His love, and perhaps then, that will soften his heart for..." He paused and smiled. "...our repentance."
It sounded good then and we fell for it. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but Lucifer coaxed us through it: "Wrong, how? We're not even really doing anything. We just give them options and let them decide what they want! It's not *our* fault if they choose the one that goes against God's will. *He's* the one who give them free will, right?"
And we would nod like the docile followers we were and go out and do more of his bidding. But if it wasn't wrong, why did we continue to feel so bothered? All we knew was that it certainly wasn't right.
But the more we did, the more Lucifer's hold got on us until one day, when we had brought him our request again to repent to God, he snapped and said, "Go! Ask him! If you think God will forgive you now after all the evil you've done, then you are more foolish than I thought!"
"Evil?" I cried out. "But...but you said it wasn't wrong!"
That's when he smiled and said, "And you believed me?"
That's when I knew that the Lucifer I was seeing was not the Lucifer that I once had known - the beautiful angel with the marvelous voice that could play any instrument and craft the most entrancing melodies for God's choir. Now he was a demon. A Satan. A tormented monster with a bitter, dark heart that was only full of obsession, hate, pride, and revenge.
But we continued to do his bidding. What else could we do? He was a liar who had lied to us before, but even liars sometimes tell the truth. God would not forgive us after all the grief we had brought upon His creation. How could he?
*Because He's God.*
I didn't know where the voice had come from. It was louder than a waterfall but somehow quieter than a whisper. I looked around, but it seemed like I was only one who had heard it. The voice came again:
*And God can do the impossible.*
I just sat there. The voice said:
*Do you doubt this?*
I did, even though I wanted to believe it so bad.
I didn't hear that voice again until the end of the world, when Jesus came down to unite Heaven and Earth and cast us into the pit of fire.
Lucifer and his top lieutants, hands shackled before them, strode with heads held high towards the fire, determined not to whimper or cower before the blaze.
But I turned suddenly and screamed, "Father, forgive me!"
Lucifer turned and hissed, "What are you doing?"
Down the line, some demons refused to repent, but other demons began to cry, "Father, forgive me!"
Lucifer shrieked, "Stop it! Stop it, all of you!"
But we fell to our knees, bowed our faces to the floor, and we began to cry louder for mercy. Soon there was a cacophony of noises - wailings of mourning from those who wanted forgiveness, and shouts and cursing from those loyal to Lucifer telling us to shut up.
I looked up and saw the Godhead - The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit - conversing. Then at last, I caught the tiniest flicker of a nod amongst them, and then God raised his hand.
We all fell silent.
He said, "For those who wish to be forgiven, step to forward. For those who do not, remain where you are."
Immediately I took a step forward, as do many others - even some who had been telling us to be quiet earlier bowed their heads and stepped forward.
Lucifer, his top lieutants, and the many angels who remained in their place sneered at us.
God said, "You are forgiven."
*Just like that?* I looked at the others and could tell they were thinking the same thing.
I looked at God and He turned away and told an angel, "Remove their shackles."
To the angels still in line, He said, "As for the rest of you, continue into the fire."
Lucifer huffed and puffed, then turned and strode towards the fire. A blaze burst forth and a flame licked at his skin. He jumped back at its heat and, for the first time in as long as I had known him, looked uncertain. I almost felt bad for him.
I cried out to him, "Lucifer, it is not too late!"
He waved me away, and steeled himself. Then he stormed into fire, gritting his teeth. He lasted for ten seconds and then he began to scream. His lieutants and his followers lost heart and tried to flee, but the Lord's angels herded them back in and forced them to go through.
Many angels began to cry, "Forgive me, forgive me, Father!" but it was insincere, and they too perished in the flames.
But then Lucifer's words echoed in my head, *God may forgive you...and then what? Will the others forgive you as well?*
I stood there, continuing to stare at the flames until a hand touched my shoulder. I turned and saw Raphael's smiling face, though his smile was a bit sad at what we had just witnessed.
Raphael said, "As evil as they were, they were our brothers, too."
"They and us," I murmured. "I was evil, too, don't forget it."
"*Was*," he said firmly. "Not anymore." And he embraced me.
Down the line, our brothers in Heaven flew down to embraced us, saying how much they missed us and how long they had hoped we would repent.
And in my happiness, I shed a tear. Not only for myself, but for Lucifer and all my brothers who chose follow him, as I looked back at the flames and thought to myself:
*My brothers...look at what you missed.*
**Author's Note: Wholey Schmoley! This was literally only my first day and my second story ever written on this sub. And my second post period! And I've already gotten THREE awards. Yikes! And as much joy as I feel, I can't but wonder...**
**"Does this mean I've peaked already as an author? Are my best days behind me? Does my writing career going on a downhill spiral from here? Ah well..."**
**Haha, but no. Seriously. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you all so much for the comments, the awards, and the upvotes. And shout outs to all the other stories, too. Go check them out as well. Some of them are pretty lit.**
|
Peter was startled when Beelzebub appeared atop the floor of clouds, uncertainly approaching the gate.
"Demon," he mumbled to himself, a little too loudly. An unusual sight, to be sure. An unwelcome one, too.
Beelzebub shrugged. "Not a very good one, apparently."
"Unprecedented," Peter murmured. "This is highly unusual. Wait here, please," he ordered, and without another word he called for his boss. "It's a demon," Peter said. God scratched his head. Beelzebub wondered if somebody had infested him with lice. It was a common, low-level torture.
"Name's Beelzebub," Beelzebub said shyly. "Look, I don't mean to cause a disruption, I just- well, they told me I wasn't welcome down under anymore."
"Australia?" God asked in confusion. That was down under, as far as he knew. He had eaten at an Outback Steakhouse once during an Earthly escapade and they wouldn't stop pretending they were there. Beelzebub shook his head. "Under where?" God inquired, causing Peter and Beelzebub to burst into a spate of giggles. God rolled his eyes. He was in human form, as he often was when attending to business near the gate.
"Hell. I've been banished," Beelzebub explained once he caught his breath. Peter stifled a final snicker. "Too good for Hell, apparently."
"Too good? What'd you do? Give mercy? Say please and thank you?"
"Not quite- er, well, yes. I mean, being polite is so easy, why wouldn't you say please and thank you?" Beelzebub shook his head. "But, no, not because of that. It's a little more... More insidious than that, apparently. I wouldn't say so. I was just trying to help." Beelzebub looked sad, and God wondered when the demons had become such softies. "Somebody even said I went full circle."
"Full circle?" Peter stroked his beard in a gentle circular pattern.
"Yeah. So evil that I became good."
"That makes no sense," Peter retorted. "We didn't let Hitler in, even though he killed Hitler."
"Hell doesn't make sense sometimes. Hell - excuse the expression - we have an elevator that just goes up and one that just goes down and like seven floors but they start counting at 2 and switch to letters halfway down. But I'm here."
God sighed and somewhere on Earth a hurricane developed and wiped out a small Caribbean island. A line of new entrants appeared and Peter shooed them in the gate. "So what'd you do? We can't just let a demon in willy-nilly. It'd cause havoc. Today you, tomorrow a demonic demon looking to demonize Heaven."
Beelzebub shrugged. "If you insist. I encouraged the unionization of the labor force."
"The demonic workers?"
Beelzebub nodded. "Yeah. There's this whole hierarchy. Lucifer tortures his subordinates who torture theirs and it goes on and on right down to the little guy who gets a whole bucket of demonic wrath thrown at him. And then he takes it out on humans."
"So you told them to unionize."
"I didn't just tell them to. I encouraged it. Nicely asked them to attend. I set up union meetings. Made them sit through it. Bribed them with cookies. Bought a coffee machine, it cost me like a dozen souls."
"And that was too evil?"
"Not aligned with expectations was the phrase that Lucifer used." Beelzebub looked around at the streaming line of people. Most were wet from the hurricane. One was impaled by a wood splinter the size of a fencepost. They were all smiling, oddly enough.
God and Peter conferred for a moment before God dissolved into the cloud and Peter turned towards Beelzebub. "Sorry, Bub," Peter said. "No entry, amigo. I respect your efforts and all but..." He stepped in front of the door. People still squeezed around him but to Beelzebub, the message was clear.
He looked crestfallen, his demonic demeanor growing a little dimmer. "But what?"
"Big guy spoke. He doesn't want unions in here either."
"Shit," Beelzebub said. People in the line gasped. "So what do I do?"
"I don't know," Peter said apologetically. "Go help somebody on Earth, maybe?"
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-11-08T07:18:27
| 2019-11-08T06:27:24
| 283
| 108
|
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
|
I write now to document. Bare with me. I was no scholar in my future life.
The army camped outside the city came with the Red Wizard. Merlin saw it coming. So is his power. His Blue Ball lets him see. That's why he brought me. Bastard.
When I arrived a week ago there was no warning. Just the feeling of wood against my back and a bearded, toothy smile welcoming me. So of course, Merlin being Merlin, gives me no instruction or warning of any kind and shoves the Sapphire Wishing Box into my hands. And what does he say, what does the son of a bitch say!
Sorry, I need to remember you can't delete ink. Any profanity or words not of this time should be considered a reflection of the moment. There is an army ready to storm the walls. Times are stressed. Food is running low and a battle is surely gonna rise in the morning with us.
Merlin tells me, "Wish into existence any object from your age, that will appear once per day."
So what do I do? With Merlin grinning, hopping up and down with his hands rubbing together. His annoying smile admiring that he finally got a spell right. One that I later find out is three mage levels above his ability. That damn Merlin. He could've killed me, or have me come here with my body parts disconnected had he got it wrong. Bastard.
I also had no idea the Red Wizard was coming to destroy Camelot. The next day I found out it's because Arthur was messing with the Red Wizards world conquering. He told him he would never have as much land as Camelot. Sent some pompous letter apparently calling him Pink. Picking a fight with the RED WIZARD. Everyone knows Red Magic is destructive. Even I did when I first heard the two words Red and Wizard together. Not good, safe, clean, fun magic. Like Merlin's. Except his magic is uselses. Bastard.
This was all Arthur's fault. It was HIS idea to call on someone from the future. Somehow Arthur knew about this Blue Magic spell, and even Merlin didn't. You see why I'm calling Merlin a Bastard. I really hope those in the future read this and realize what type of crazy useless wizard he is/was/will be forever.
Keep forgetting this is pen. Need to better control the flowing of thoughts turning into written word.
Not like any of this helped protect Arthur's camelot. A kingdom with no salt, clean water, barely any holes to shit in, or even a decent baker where you can get something other than two styles of bread. I digress. Camelot is a good kingdom and should not be destroyed. At least that's what those in the city I now write in say.
The Red Wizard's army is moving. We can feel it in the ground.
Why am I writing this out on paper? Dipping a pen in ink every goddamn thirty seconds while the Red Wizard's army is literally shaking the castle as they march to the walls of Camelot. Because King Arthur. He wants to make sure his victory is well remembered after he defeats his enemy with the item he gained from the future. Or as he calls them "Soft Victories". I hope he reads this. Hopefully I retell the events accurately.
So when Merlin asked the self-proclaimed "Sun Knight of the Throne", who should be called from the future to use the Sapphire Wishing Box, which was apparently the only rule that controls the magic of the box, this guy, the King of Camelot, The High Savior of the Realm, He who pulled the sword from the fucking stone, the most egotistical son of a bitch I have ever met, called to bring someone from the future named, Arthur.
And that's where I came in. Back to the past. I hope those who read this in the future realize how good it is there. The food. The smells. The lack of smells. The movement. Electricity. Sorry getting nostalgic.
I made my forceful unwanted entrance onto the Round Table. A beaming bright blue box bashed my head. Apparently Merlin had the box levitating too low when he was doing the teleportation spell..
After the Blue Bastard told me those words, the cursed box was thrusted into my hands. The pain from my head, with the wooden table I was lying on, plus holding the cold and heavy Sapphire Wishing Box made me feel very, I would write, uncomfortable. So I said the first thing that came to mind of something I wanted.
And the Sapphire Wishing Box turned into a plump, always cold, never too hard, never too soft, useless for combat, just like Merlin's magic, pillow.
Hopefully the Red Wizard's Army will be defeated by the Soft Victories being catapulted at them. King Arthur will win the battle against the Red Wizard by launching pillows from the future at him. I am documenting this for him. Bastard.
*Hope you enjoyed it. Wrote it at 330 am. Comments are always appreciated*
| 2016-11-28T05:24:59
| 2016-11-28T00:13:11
| 147
| 72
|
[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted.
|
**Blurring the Lines of Sexual Inequality: Robin Thicke's Forgotten Feminist Anthem**
Almost one hundred years since human females won the right to vote, human females everywhere were still massively oppressed. Primary sources gathered from an ancient social media website known as Tumblr have dramatically shifted consensus among historians. After examining the evidence, it has become established that as late as 2010 CE, even North American human females were publicly executed for such actions as showing their nipples in public, not shaving their armpits, and most of all, assuming the social position of what's called a "slut," a human female who partakes in breeding activities for purely psychological enjoyment. It has always been difficult to determine when sexual liberation for human females gained acceptance among the population, but recent evidence repeatedly points to the feminist anthem "Blurred Lines" by a Mr. Robin Thicke as the trigger for the movement. Below, I conduct an in-depth analysis of the lyrics and their revolutionary championing for human females' sexual autonomy.
The introductory lyrics by themselves are already at the cutting edge of socially progressive attitudes. By repeating "Everybody get up!" Mr. Thicke assumes equaltiy between human males and females. As the Tumblr Record indicates, early 21st century, pre-feminist society considered human females to be *Homo sapiens* only some of the time. By using the gender neutral word "Everybody," Mr. Thicke boldly announces to the world that he will sacrifice his Caucasian male privilege to elevate those of a lower social standing. In effect, his revolutionary use of "everybody" was sure to ring the alarm bells for a type of people called "Democrats," which historical records show being astonishingly crusty, conservative, and the primary barrier to progressive social movements at the time.
What's more, the succeeding introductory lyrics of "Blurred Lines" consist of "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, WOO!" which parallels the build-up to and resulting orgasm of sexual activity, implying that in addition to his Caucasian male privilege, Mr. Thicke also has the privilege of being sexually successful. Since it can be assumed Mr. Thicke is heterosexual, it is also implied that, before partaking in the sexually liberating actions described in the song, he was also a grade-A rapist, since before the Feminist Revolution dismantled the Patriarchy, human females could not consciously consent to sex, and thus all sexual relations involving human females up to that point had been *de facto* rape for the 200,000 years since *Homo sapiens* first appeared. Although Mr. Thicke establishes himself not only as a wealthy, Caucasian heterosexual male, it's even more important to take into account that he participates in the societal norm of actively raping women, so it is extra revolutionary for him to write a song acknowledging and celebrating human females' sexual consciousness.
Moving along, Mr. Thicke, unafraid of the consequences, triumphantly declares
> If you can't hear what I'm trying to say
>If you can't read from the same page
> Maybe I'm going deaf
> Maybe I'm going blind
>Maybe I'm out of my mind
The first two lines of this passage represent the era's disconnect between human females and males, due to differences in Patriarchal socialization. Suddenly, however, there is an unexpected shift, an *epiphany* in Mr. Thicke's consciousness. The last three lines in the passage reflect a bamboozling of Mr. Thicke's perception of the world, which until now has consisted of seeing human females as something above that of animals, but below that of human males. In a sense, Mr. Thicke is going "out of [his] mind" solely because the revolutionary of gender equality requires vast amounts of mental re-programming to comprehend his progressive interpretation of reality.
This means that while Mr. Thicke began the song as a wealthy Caucasian heterosexual rapist male -- the demographic all members of the public can most easily identify with -- his dramatic revelation is also experienced by the public. In other words, Mr. Thicke's enlightenment is automatically *our* enlightenment.
The second bout of lyrics get even juicier:
> Ok, now he was close
> Tried to domesticate you
> But you're an animal
> Baby, it's in your nature
> Just let me liberate you
> You don't need no papers
> That man is not your maker
> And that's why I'm gon' take a
> Good girl.
By using language comprehendible to an audience that actively read such trite and frivolous works like William Shakespeare's *Titus Andronicus* and Heidigger's *Sein und Zeit*, Mr. Thicke's scenario consists of him setting himself apart from his fellow males (referred to as "he" in the first line) and acknowledging the sexual "nature" of the human female he desires to court. Furthermore, this line is exceptional because it also acknowledges human females' barriers to gender equality. When Mr. Thicke tells the human female "You don't need no papers," he' referring to various bureaucratic hindrances to gender equality which reside in governments, corporations, and other such institutional relics of the 21st century. And when Mr. Thicke says "That man in not your maker" he's clearly alluding to the story of Genesis, a tale once widely believed in this misogynistic society that holds that human females were generated from a rib of the first human male as an act of God, and not Mr. Morgan Freeman as video evidence has confirmed. Lastly, when Mr. Thicke refers to the human female as "Baby" and later on as "Good girl," it implies an elevation of the human female's status from infant to child. Note, however, refrains from using the word "woman" which would signify an adult human female. While it may be easy to pass off this language as a sign of Mr. Thicke's misogyny, it's actually a symbol of Mr. Thicke's humility. He knows that by recognizing a human female's sexual consciousness for the first time in recorded history will initiate a dramatic drive toward equality, but he is not the end all be all. There will still be plenty of work to do, and he is more than happy to help.
On an interesting side note, the line "You are an animal, Baby it's in your nature!" reflects our modern progressive notion that, save one or two biological differences, *Homo sapiens* and animals are equal and any perceived behavioral differences are due to differences in socialization. That explains why his use of human-centric pronouns like "girl" would be used in a song that's supposedly pro-egalitarianism.
|
The song "Disasterpiece" by the Heavy Metal band Slipknot is an ode to the lead singer's passion for designing and making clothes. His name, after all, was Corey *Tailor* (he would also design elaborate masks for himself for performing music). Obviously the line "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" is referring to making the collar of a shirt then making the rest of said shirt with love. "My wormwood meets your pesticide" speaks of an incident in which his neighbor accidentally killed his wormwood (used to make dye) with the weed killer he used on his lawn. The chorus of "noises noises people make noises, people make noises when they're sick" refers to his frustration at not being able to ply his craft during periods of illness, so he would sit around complaining (making noises) that he couldn't sew. The rest of the song describes his frustration at trying to please fashion critics; ^(for example) "Hate ain't enough to describe me. Somewhere between screaming and crying. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be." In summary, the song displays a clear love of fashion design and offers insight into the mind of the designer trying to maintain his reputation by striking a balance between trying to please critics and staying true to himself.
[The big book of "facts" - Ebenezer Huxley]
[Snitches get Stitches, a short history of sewing in the sport of Quiditch- Stephanie Schneider]
[The very Hungry Caterpillar- Eric Carle]
| 2015-08-16T10:07:53
| 2015-08-16T10:02:24
| 116
| 14
|
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
|
It was late at night. I was hard at work in my lab when I heard his voice.
“So you found a loophole.”
I never even broke my gaze away from my work. I knew it was him and I knew what he wanted. “So I did. Lucky break, I guess.”
“Is that how you see it? Because I see it as stacking the deck.” He spun me around to face him. His eyes were cold, not quite furious but not quite calm, either. “Had I known you would use the funding for this, I-“
“Would have never made the deal in the first place, blah, blah, blah,” I mocked back, cutting him off. I had outmaneuvered the Devil himself. Why not enjoy it? “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish this latest batch to show to the buyers tomorrow.”
“Buyers?”
“Yes, from a major pharmaceutical company. I’m taking the formula public. I’ll be rich and I’ll be immortal. And who says you can’t have it all?” I turned back to my work but stopped when I heard a slow clap building behind me followed by...laughter?
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he chuckled. “Job well done.”
“What do you mean?”
“With that formula public, immortality will become widespread and rampant. It will be fun at first, nobody dying, but eventually it will get boring. Add in the fact that no deaths means overpopulation will rise exponentially, draining the world’s resources faster than ever, and soon people will be begging for a death that will never come.” He leaned closer as he softly said, almost in a whisper, “It will literally be Hell on Earth.”
I stood there, stunned, as the weight of his words hit home. He was right. How could I not have seen it?
“The best part of all,” he added, as he took my latest sample and strode towards the door, “is you get to hold up your end of the bargain, after all. An eternity in Hell, paid on schedule. Think about that when you accept your Nobel, Doctor.”
|
He sat up, panting quietly as he relaxed again. If he had properly seen what the microscope showed, he had finally cracked it. He removed the slide from the microscope, walking over to the pill fabricator.
"It acts as an antidote to poisoning..." he muttered to himself, smiling in triumph. "It's a cure for all known diseases, it prevents the body from bleeding out, it reduces the body's nutritional requirement to practically nothing, it even reinforces the skeleton to stop crushing from being fatal... there's no method of death this cannot prevent. All I need now..." the machine pinged and a small drawer slid out of the bottom. There was a simple white pill, no larger than a cat's claw, but he knew the power it contained. Nothing less than immortality. He snatched it from the drawer and raised it to the sky, triumphant. "All I need is this pill."
"Indeed." a voice echoed from behind him. He turned, shocked. The lab was supposed to be secure! Who had... oh. It was *her.* "You never told me this was your research direction." She crossed her arms, clearly less than impressed. Her form-fitting dress complimented her body wonderfully, hugging her impressive curves. It stopped just below her shoulders and above her knees, revealing her red leggings and shapely limbs. He would have been enamoured all over again, were it not for the fiery scowl she wore. He could literally see the fire flickering in the back of her eyes.
"If I had, you would have never agreed to it." he replied. "We both know how expensive the ingredients were. Humans likely won't be able to reproduce one for a *long* time."
"We both know that's not why I'm here." she replied curtly, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her red eyes. "You've cheated."
"How have I cheated? I promised you my soul upon my death and that is what I intend to do." it was his turn to fold his arms. He had cheated the devil.
"But you can no longer die, can you? Using my own money like that." she grinned slightly, licking her lip briefly. "If I wasn't so impressed, I'd probably take your soul now. After all, where's your evidence that the pill worked on humans? You only had one blood sample." His pride died down a little as she pointed this out... but his pride came back quickly enough.
"You wouldn't have come here if it wasn't the right ingredient. You would have just let me die."
"Well, I can see now there's a reason you took this job." she grinned a little more. "Very well, since you cannot die I cannot claim your soul." she turned around to face a blank wall. The paint started to bubble and peel as a large oval started to heat up, forming a damned portal. "There's one thing I want to ask you, though. You may have cheated death..." she turned to face him. He recoiled; her eyes were truly those of the devil's, amber and slitted like a cat's. "But can you cheat time?"
| 2018-08-23T11:53:32
| 2018-08-23T11:20:34
| 5,923
| 174
|
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself.
|
Everyone wants to kill Hitler but they can't quite do it right. The first time traveler decided to kill Hitler, right as the war was ending, via cyanide. Okay, sure, the suicide staging was pretty sweet, but the poor guys who had to live and die through it all probably wouldn't have appreciated it.
So later on, a few years later in my time, a time traveler decided to kill him as he was watching a play. It turns out he managed to kill some other guy instead. How he managed that, I'll never know, but ever since then, we've all been a little leery of time travel assassinations. The technology isn't cheap, as it costs us a good few quintillion dollars each time. Then again, with inflation these days, that isn't much.
In the bars, when the night's almost over, we all like to talk about ways to kill Hitler again, the proper way. One guy suggested we put him in his own gas chambers for the irony, another suggested we take out little Hitler before he showed his true evil. Somebody suggested that we kill his father, Alois Hitler, and another took it one step further and kill his grandfather, Johann Georg Hiedler.
I liked this idea, but maybe a little too much. It didn't occur to me at the time, but his ancestors are innocents in this war, just as much as the ones who died at the hands of the monster himself. But hey, when you're rich and you've got all the robots you need, what's left to do other than play god? So I went back in time, to the year 1800, to kill Grandfather Hitler.
What you should know is that, when we go back in time, we can bring certain objects with us, as long as they're relatively uncomplex. We can bring guns, but they have to be completely dismantled. We could bring gunpowder, but we couldn't bring modern bullets. I really don't know who makes up these rules; sadly, the technology is too new for scientists to have time to study it properly yet. Unlike those kooky movies from the 90's and 2000's, we could bring our own clothes, but the buttons and velcro wouldn't stay with us, even if it already existed in the area that we were time traveling to.
So I brought the simplest clothes I could find - my [Jaws 19 promo t-shirt](https://www.lastexittonowhere.com/media/cache/96/ca/96cabcf0b211fe185b49fd1bf8379d74.jpg), and the plainest pants I had. Keep in mind that in my time, logos have completely taken over all of our clothing and objects. We stopped making plain shirts in the 2000's, and the big companies managed to finally pass a law preventing us little people from making our own clothes - or anything else, for that matter.
With my disassembled gun and a map of Austria, I set out to find my target. Immediately, I ran into a few hitches in my master plan of blindly time traveling here with a gun. I don't know the language, I don't know where my target is, and I've never made a bullet in my life. All things that I probably could have learned in the time of The YouTube and The Google, but in my time, hackers had long since taken over the Internet and called it their own. So shortly after assembling the gun, I went to a time traveling station, one of the many locations made around the world for time travelers (and only time travelers) to return to their own time. My mission was a failure before I had even started, but it wasn't like it was that big of a deal. I figured I would go back later when I was more equipped for the mission, like another trip to the grocery store.
Now the problem is, I forgot to disassemble the gun. It didn't disappear, but rather stayed in the time period that I left, a diner that was to be the reverse time travel location in Austria. So when I traveled back, imagine my surprise when I found that the whole world was already owned by Hitler. His symbols, his face, and his evil permeated my once-peaceful world. Apparently, his grandchildren had taken over where he left off, after they took control with the use of a futuristic gun that was recreated in mass quantities after I left. Nobody knew how the weapons were obtained, but I knew. In shame, I used my last time travel, a portable disassembled in my bag. But in my hurry to get out of the time period that I had inadvertently built, I came to the year 2000 instead of 1800. Now, 16 years after the last known time travel in history and time, I still tell my story to those who will keep fighting, hoping that the future that I destroyed can one day be repaired again.
| 2016-02-20T10:56:09
| 2016-02-20T09:11:19
| 596
| 19
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"Wait.. who?"
"Nigeria sir."
"Nigeria? The I'm a royal prince who needs your help Nigeria?"
The prime minister leaned back in his chair and stared at his aide.
"Yes sir."
"Well shit. How'd they do it?"
"Uh. They stole all of their funds."
The aide squirmed, he wasn't used to being the guy the PM interrogated, that was usually some other aide. Barry, or Harry. He was just the messenger.
"Holy shit. Sorry, uh Thomas is it?"
"Peter sir, and no problem."
"So how'd they steal all their money? Hackers? Targeted intelligence?"
"Uh. It says here in the brief from DFAT that ISIS just gave it to them."
"Wait. You mean they scammed them."
The prime minister's jaw was starting to drop, he leaned fully back in his chair, disbelief written on his face.
"Apparently, ISIS leaders were furiously writing emails before they were captured."
"I'll be damned. Turns out that royal prince did need their help after all."
"Apparently so sir, If that's all?"
Peter half turned away, expecting to be dismissed.
"No wait. How the hell do I tell the press?"
Peter sighed and turned back, it was going to be yet another loooong night.
|
A skinny man stands at a podium in front of hundreds of representatives from different countries. Brushing the long dreaded hair from his face revealing his bloodshot eyes.
"uhhhh Everyone, this is uhhhh Greg Brooks" says President Obama "it seems that he has stopped Daesh from their antics and quelled most of the major issues in the Middle East."
Brooks had just smoked out the entirety of the Middle East with what he called the "danks." How he was able to get over 1,000 pounds of marijuana to the Middle East from New Zealand has been a point of controversy. Many officials are still trying to decide whether to give him a medal or a sentence.
"Give him the death sentence!" bellows the Saudi representative "cut off his legs! Stone him to death!"
"Suh dude, maybe you need a hit of this shit" Brooks giggles as if his comment had any comedic merit.
Everyone seems to be a little less than satisfied about the whole thing. Not only were the best minds in the world unable to stop every issue in the Middle East, it was a douchebag wanna be Jamaican stoner who did it. In the most stoner of fashions no less, he managed to get every single person in a 2,000 mile radius of the epicenter absolutely baked. Hash production in the Middle East went up by %4,000. The (almost) international legalization of the product after this event helped the economy of these countries sky rocket. All because of the monster piles of marijuana he lit on fire.
The problem is over but still, fuck Greg.
| 2016-01-29T10:29:48
| 2016-01-29T10:11:13
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
|
The world was gray, cold, and often dark.
Growing up in the labyrinthine alleyways and sewer complexes and housing towers that was Neo Angeles, life was harsh and often short. A particularly lucky girl, Yima, had lived to the age of 14 unmolested. Slight, with hair kept short and boyish clothes, she blended in for the most part to avoid the unseemly fate that accosts most young and beautiful women of this era.
Too many clawing for too little, even the air felt tight and restrictive in the darkness most were born and often died in.
Very few made it out of the smog, out of the urban and out to the fewer Communes. Once those were too populated and rifts formed in the social strata of the Communist villages, they too were broken apart and consumed by the oncoming Automation of the world. Yima saw the last great Commune break apart, and wept on the border of the Payette National Forest; one of the last few great forests clinging to the Rockies.
Then came the pacification wars. The Neo-Socialists had gained real traction in the Hegemony. Soon, covert and brutal methods had led to real control over the masses and large parts of the government. Life was grim, and dark, and resettlement was constant as people fled the worst of government tyranny. Yima made a living for herself cleaning and cooking and writing spare bits of code for the elderly as she moved from place to place, not ever settling down.
Until her landlord, if he could have been called that, sold her and every complex he owned to the government. Armed with the information her landlord contained, they quickly found most that had lived there and quickly had them huddled in tents in an undisclosed location.
The people were afraid, and Yima was as well. Soon men in lab coats began forming them based on their last names, and in mute shock the people formed queues.
"Aahla, Yima." One of the scientists read off a list, bored; it wasn't a name he knew. The men scarcely looked up at her as she numbly walked from the front of the lines to the men. They smeared iodine on her arm before shoving a small, electronic Blood Sampler against her bare skin. The warm prick sent small waves of pain through her arms. One man nodded to her and took her over to the side corner of the tent, where she waited patiently for them to tell her anything, holding the cotton lethargically to her small pinprick.
One by one, each of the others was tested and led out. Only 3 more joined her out of the 50 or so that had been led off, like cattle.
She wondered where the others would go off to.
| 2016-06-11T10:11:10
| 2016-06-11T09:35:08
| 187
| 27
|
[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.’
|
I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to.
Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort.
I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies
1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest
2. 9 he fragmentation grenades
3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds..
4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips.
5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile.
5. A boot knife k bar
6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors
7 1 standard issue helmet
8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue
8. No water, no rations .
As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist.
I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go...
THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today.
I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it.
The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage.
The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98
One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so.
Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin.
Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office
I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
| 2020-09-13T16:47:27
| 2020-09-13T16:14:49
| 3,862
| 81
|
[WP]The Hunger Games hits a large university, but people are on teams based on their majors. Describe how various majors try to survive.
|
God, this was sick, I thought to myself as I collapsed into an armchair in the lobby of the engineering building. The last five days had left me bloodied, dirty, and exhausted--but alive.
As it turns out, the most deadly tribe, so to speak, wasn't the business majors. What happens when you put a bunch of over-inflated egos in a room? A lot of chiefs, no tribesmen. Or tribeswomen, as the case may be.
The first 48 hours of mandatory peace on campus had all students in their respective major buildings to decide on strategy for the oncoming onslaught. By definition, that put me squarely in the Hannelore School of Business. And also put me smack-dab in the middle of a couple hundred pampered fraternity bros. Instantaneously, there were splinter groups--SAE, Delts, Phi Delts, and so on, all scurried off into their own little sub-factions, all shouting over one another for the lead role of Alpha Dog. The women--Greek and non-Greek--looked on in disgust and horror from the back of the auditorium.
"This is atrocious," a senior marketing girl named Holly scoffed as we all watched. "A room full of CEO's and they're too busy whipping their dicks out to notice that we've got no defense plan, and no attack plan."
"Yeah, meanwhile you know the Criminal Justice majors and Pre-Law majors have worked out some loophole that lets them get the upper hand," another girl remarked snidely.
"Technically, they could be laying seige to our building right now. The 48 hours of peace said absolutely nothing about putting troops into place," I remarked casually. I felt eyes turn to me.
"Holy shit, you're right," Holly said, leaping to her feet. "C'mon, let's go take a look outside to see what's going on."
Sure enough, those little shits from the law school were sneaking around the campus while the rest of us mindless idiots were holed up inside, occupied with infighting.
"Jesus Christ," another girl muttered. I recognized her from one of my management classes--Breana or something like that.
"Nervous, are we, Business Bitches?" a taunting voice called out. I knew that voice from my freshman year English class.
Sure enough, James sat on a bench in front of the business school, the picture of arrogance. An angry ripple went through the crowd, and I stepped up.
"What's up, James? Were you deemed too incompetent that you got set on guard duty?" I spat out. He bristled, and I could tell I had hit a nerve.
"Watch your mouth, Kelly, or I'll be sure to have your death very... unpleasant." He stood up threateningly, but in the blink of an eye, he collapsed in a spray of red. I felt something warm hit my face as an innocent "whoopsies!" called out.
James had been crushed under the weight of what looked to be a very heavy battery. All heads snapped up to where the battery had come from, and I saw my friend, Mike, peering over the edge of the parking building that was right behind the bench Josh had previously occupied.
"Way to go you shithead, you just broke the rules!" a voice called out from somewhere behind Mike. Mike grinned evilly at me.
"No I didn't! It slipped! Total accident, which TECHNICALLY isn't covered under the 'no planned attacks' rule."
The group of business girls backed up quickly. I could hear a couple whimpering.
I called up to him."Mike... we don't want any trouble from you right now. We're unarmed and without a plan." Mike held up a hand.
"I'll be right down... unarmed, promise." I cast a glance nervously around me, and saw varying degrees of distrust in everyone's faces. Not that I blamed them, really, as James' gray matter was currently congealing on the cobblestones.
Mike exited the building slowly, with his hands raised. At an athletic 6'4", he wasn't the picture most had in mind when they thought "mechanical engineer," but that goes to show you that stereotypes don't get you everywhere.
"Why are you here, Mike?" I asked nervously. I wanted to believe our friendship would afford me some sort of immunity to sudden death, but seeing how easily he offed James made me nervous.
"Simple. Here to negotiate an alliance. Business school has a bunch of idiots who can lead, but can't make shit. Engineering school has a bunch of idiots who could decimate this school, but have no plans on how to do it constructively. If we get together, you fuckers could plan out a long term solution that would leave us the best parts of campus, and we could figure out how to do it. Besides, you also have girls in your major. We.... well, we have three. One's lesbian, the other two are married."
I cast a glance back towards the group of all female business students.
"Initial reaction?" I hissed. Holly shrugged.
"Makes sense to me. We could do way worse than pairing up with the engineers."
"What about the other guys?" a girl named Sam hedged, nervously looking back towards where our classmates were presumably still arguing.
"Screw them," Holly shot back. "We'll leave a note and let them know where we went. If any of them survive long enough to figure out that we've left, then they can meet us at the engineering school."
Mike overheard this, and flashed a thumbs up to the top of the building he had just come from. A couple of gleeful cheers were heard. "Great news, ladies. Now, follow me."
Consequentially, the women of the business school had an uncharacteristically brutal side once faced with a life-and-death situation. By collaborating with the engineers, together we were able to construct a plan that involved temporarily cutting all power to the campus, save the engineering building.
From there, we reasoned that the draw of the lights, operating cafeteria and the allure of the air conditioning would eventually draw in the other majors. Our logic was sound. Once the cease-fire was lifted, and power was cut, they came flocking to our building--now a miniature fortress.
One by one, major by major, we wiped out each assailant through booby-traps, projectiles launched from catapults, and improvised weapons.
We suffered a few casualties of our own. One stupid woman insisted on doing electrical work on a booby trap while her assigned engineer was in the bathroom, and she fried herself with 2,000 volts of electricity. That was a mess, and smelled up the whole building for a day. Ever smell crispy college kid? Smells like pork and burnt hair. A few engineers lost their heads and tried confronting some Political Science majors outside our walls--they were cut down as we watched in horror.
They were avenged quickly by a wave of hydrochloric acid being launched from the rooftop by the Biomedical Engineering department.
After the fighting had ended, and the "Busi-Neering" clan had been declared the winners, we went in to check on our male counterparts at the business school.
They all lay dead--some were strangled with silk scarves (presumably from the Fashion Majors on their way to the engineering school), others had been stabbed with hunting knives. We figured the stabbings were from the infighting, but we couldn't be sure.
All in all, though, this was a pretty fucking sick way for the Board of Regents to figure out which was the top major for freshman recruiting purposes.
|
Criminal Justice: Already knows all the ways to kill everyone. Improvises weapons and hides out. Lays false clues to incriminate others on deaths to incite in-fighting.
Chemistry: Makes poisons/uses various chemicals to incapacitate/kill.
Various Biologies (Entomology, Horticulture, Animal Science, etc.): Use known plants/toxins.
Business: Attempt to create alliances under their control.
Psychology: Use mental tactics to divert or deflect danger or lull others into false security.
| 2015-04-28T10:19:16
| 2015-04-28T09:15:04
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch.
|
The White Horse
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the five living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. ( Revelation 6:1-2)
The Red Horse
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword. ( Revelation 6:3-4)
The Black Horse
When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” (Revelation 6:5-6)
The Pale Horse
When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth. (Revelation 6:7-8)
The *Really* Pale Horse
When the Lamb opened the fifth seal, I heard the voice of the fifth living creature say, "Hey guys wait up!" I looked and there before me was an even paler horse! Its rider was sitting backwards on the horse and holding on for dear life. Then I heard a voice among the other four creatures saying, "Jesus Christ, who told Kyle we were riding out today?" And a voice echoed back from the heavens, "Oh man, sorry guys. I guess he had an alarm set. That seal was supposed to be for the alter of souls. My bad." (Revelation 6:9-11)
|
His pale horse brayed under him as his brothers approached. It was time for the quarterly report, Death always had a fondness for time and its principles. Perhaps that is why his brothers followed him and why even with all their different natures, his nature prevailed over all.
The first to arrive was the Knight in Shining Armor, the Pestilence of Conquest, the Victor, and the Archer with the Arrows of Plague. His titles were often contradictory as was his attitude. "Death, you look as sickly as Famine!" Pestilence said with his usual jovial demeanor. "I hope your keeping track that I was here first. And just in case you forget," he shot an arrow in the ground, "here is my mark of vicotry!" "Yes, yes brother you are always first and foremost in all you attempt. Now, tell brother Death about your works." Pestilence went on for some time about his temptation of mighty nations and the plagues he had spread with the powerful trade ships and the men in metal hats who ended an entire empire just by breathing. "Very good Archer of Many Arrows, I collected your works and the tally is quite impressive. Your count is actually short. Your reach indeed went beyond your own plans. Come, take your place beside me." Death was pleased with the efforts of his sibling.
"Skeletor, has you know who been around?" Pestilence was also first in his dislike of... Kyle, the rider of the pink horse. Kyle brought misfortune and badluck, but it often interfered with his other brothers machinations. Death knew that souls were souls, but the others never seemed to appreciate meddling in their plans. "No chrome dome, Kyle hasn't arrived yet. Probably fell in a puddle or something." A wicked smirk came across Pestilence face, "You know Barbarossa was my man and I am still peeved at the misfortune sown. What an end to a Crusade, a king drowning in the mud."
Now, out of the distance came the most ferocious and violent of the 5, War Never Ending, the Prince of Blood, Wrath Incarnate, the Rider of the Red Horse and Wielder of the Blood Sword, or Slaughter. "War, I see you are in a mood, what news and report do you bring?" Death saw a shimmer of anger uncommon in War's eye. "Brother Death, I bring tales of blood, death, and murder. But..." teeth grinding to force the words out, "But Kyle has yet again interfered with my games. The most despicable of which was the peace that broke out on a battlefield when some idiot lost his ball in No Man's Land. An entire day of... Peaceeee and other terrible words. A war of global scale and he stopped it with his clumsy attempts. Bah, let me hit him when he arrives." War was fuming and his eyes began to turn a blood red with killer intent. "Warrior of the Slaughter, did not the war continue after? Did millions not get added to my list?" Death hoped the mention of the fallen and bloodied would appease his wild brother. "I suppose... What are you looking at Archer? Without my whispers your conquest and plagues would fall flat." The argument between the two who were closest and at the same time most different in approach let the issue of Kyle pass. Death was pleased to see them forget.
Then came the Accountant of Famine, the Merchant of Hunger, the Weigher of Scales, and the Consumer of Crops. "Hello Brothers," his voice weak and calculated. He spoke in whispers as if every word and syllable was a transaction of importance. "Death, I have come to report that the stocks are high and the food is plenty. But... the mouths are dry and the bellies of the many are empty. The rich grow richer, the poor grow poorer, and the fields grow fallow. Even in times of plenty, they seem times of need." Death measured his tally sheet and saw the causes for which Famine was the source. "Indeed Merchant, you have swindled and stolen many lives with your works." "Robed one, I must also report Kyle, the pink shame, caused many crops to grow over and many scales to malfunction. I don't wish to imply he wants to help the souls, but his actions certainly don't help my cause." It was true, many had found fortune were none should have been due to Kyle's works. The luck of the poor and the misfortune of the rich should be non existent, but the Pink Rider was always getting his own plans jumbled.
And then, came Kyle... Maker of Trouble, Black Cat of the Cosmos, The Breaker of Glass, and He Who Trips. "Hello Brothers!!!" He rode forward to great them, but fell off his horse when he came to a stop. "Kyle, saddle up." Death said with some amusement. He would take Kyle's tally quick, before the other three decided to attack. Death always had a soft spot for Kyle. He kept the Apocalypse a little more interesting, but he would have to talk to him again about "good intentions."
And then a Trumpet sounded, and they went back to their works. Death, smiling his skeletal smile, knew that in time even Kyle would make enough mischief. He just hoped it was the right kind.
| 2017-09-22T04:55:02
| 2017-09-22T03:53:49
| 27
| 19
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
>14:00
>Fourteen hours?
"Uh Ma'am you can't bring your baby in here"
"Fuck you cunt! You sound like one of them fucking doctors cunt! I need a fucking drink. I've had five kids and know my body better than them. It's just a bit a bleeding"
>I don't get paid enough for this shit
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T21:44:55
| 1,408
| 70
|
[WP] You were born with a birth mark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8
|
Oh fuck, that *did* hurt like a bitch. Shouldn't have drank that last couple shots of vodka.
I sat up, gave myself a few moments to adjust back into consciousness, staring down at nothing in particular. My head just hurts too much for me to even lift it to a normal position.
My wrist also hurts. Did Larry fucking broke my wrist or something?
I moved my wrist, still feeling the sharp pain, but no bruising or swelling, just the constant stinging sensation. Like needles puncturing my wrist at an extremely high speed, leaving an excruciating pain, numbed by too much alcohol.
I tried to move it again, turning it in a different direction, this was when I realised there's something different, something horribly wrong, about the whole situation.
The birthmark on my wrist wasn't the same as yesterday.
What the fuck happened? It was a birthmark, how can the shape changed from a 9 to something that resembles an 8? Is this for real?
Did I got a laser job done on it while I'm drunk? Or was it some kind of tattoo? Something like the Hangover?
I bent my neck forward a little bit more, lifted the wrist up, and gave it some more examination with my squinted eyes.
It's really not a tattoo or a laser job, the thing really just *changed*.
How can this even happen? I can't even.
It was a *birthmark*. Or supposed to be. Birthmarks don't just *change*.
I don't even want to think about whether a Voldemort have been secretly living in my body for the past 23 years.
Okay, don't panic. Think.
What happened after that last drink? The toilet.
What happened after the toilet? Manny and Joel were calling a taxi to get home. I got on the taxi with them.
What happened in the taxi?
Oh god. What happened in the taxi?
*That* happened. A truck hit the taxi.
I don't remember any blood. I don't even remember leaving the seat. The last thing I saw was that truck, those big, bright lights.
And the only pain I'm experiencing is the headache and that sting on the wrist.
Which the pain was starting to get a bit irritating at this point.
Where the bloody hell am I anyway? Narnia?
The room look nothing familiar, the sheets are too rough, less thread count than the ones I owned; there's literally nothing in the room other than the bed, myself, the purple wooden door with a golden doorknob, and the blank pale blue wall.
I don't know this place, not even from a dream or a story.
Everything felt too real to be a nightmare of any sort, unless I'm in Matrix or whatever, then yes, this all would be legit.
But no. Not a good time to think about this. I probably should figure out a way to leave this room at least, so even I'm stuck in a gap between dimensions or whatever sci-fi stuff, I would have the knowledge of my resting place.
So, as all normal people would. I went and tried to turn the knob.
|
"Making my way downtown. Driving fast. Driving faster~."
Ugh, dust and burnt steel(-No, aluminium?) clogging my nostrils and I still can't get that damn song out of my head. Also smells like hot tar. Wonder how close my head is to the street. I'd check, but I literally looking at the back side of my left leg (I know it's the left one because I have a peculiar birthmark on it), although that could be a new ash stain for all I know.
The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not going to risk more damage. You know that splitting headache and grogginess most people feel after getting T-boned on a one-way freeway? Me neither. The bastard hit me driverside and through a short series of broken windshields, a smack against my ear, and a succession of contortions cirque du solei style, I ended up here. I had an unharmed friend in the passenger seat try to pry me out of the wreckage, but despite there being no debris actually blocking my escape, my former friend was too weak and gave up after a petty attempt with half-bent knees.
Instead, he assured me he'd call for help, then told a concerned bystander to call for help. I closed my eyes in contempt, but my old friend mistook the gesture for sleepiness, and giggled as he pulled out his magic marker he must have kept up his ass.
When I opened my eyes he was gone. And so my patience.
| 2016-08-03T20:23:35
| 2016-08-03T19:17:28
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] Karma is a real currency monitored by the government. It can only be earned through "good deeds" like volunteering and can only be spent on "bad deeds" in court to excuse a conviction. It can never be traded, bought, sold, invested, loaned, etc.
I don't want the prompt to be too constraining and I feel like it may be. I am hoping the creativity comes from different countries, corruption, specific cases, etc. Regardless the "laws" in the title are mostly guidelines, so please tweak them as you need to fit your story!
|
Take it easy on me, I'm not a strong writer and I'm mobile.
The government’s addition of karma farming has been around my whole life. However there is a restriction in place that if you are under 10 years old, your karma doesn’t count. Well the joke is on them. I turned 10 almost a year ago and I’ve been doing everything I can to get my karma points higher. For adults it is easy, they have money they can spend to help other people out. They are tall and can reach high places for short people. What can a 10 year old do? I’ll tell you what my tricks are, when the trash needs to be taken out I'm the one that hurries and does it before my mom tells me to. I'll tell the girls in my class that they are pretty today (even if they actually aren't). I found out that telling my mom that I love her adds quite a bit each time. I even laugh at Uncle Steve's lame jokes because I know it makes him feel better. Although my next door neighbor smells like a mixture of old people and baby powder, I rush out to help her unload her groceries every time I see that Oldsmobile returning from the store. I had my mom check my karma in the government's database and I knew exactly how much I needed to complete my task. She was heading outside to the garden and I asked if I could use the computer before dinner. With a little pat on the head and the soft yes I was expecting, I rushed upstairs almost forgetting to throw a “Thanks, I love you” back down at her. Months of planning finally coming into place. I'm going to do it, I'm really going to do it. I'm going to get on DisneyChannel.com without my mom's permission.
|
Rodney Capitalism patted the old lady on her back.
"Have a great day, ma'am!" said Rodney, waving.
"You too, dear," said the old lady.
She hobbled down the sidewalk, her walker clanking loudly on the pavement.
Rodney pulled out his phone and opened KarmaTracker. 1,000,000 Karma. He put his phone in his pocket. His blank expression turned to a smirk. He began walking, slowly at first but quickly as he reached the end of the block, towards Jerome Notrich's subdivision, and, as he gained speed, he let out a holler and did a quick skip.
It took perhaps ten minutes to run to Jerome's subdivision. Rodney was winded, but kept up his pace. He rounded a corner and stopped to catch his breath.
Before him was Jerome's house. Rodney reached into his waistband and removed a Glock. He walked up to the front door and knocked. After several seconds, it opened, and Jerome said:
"Hey, what's up, buddy?"
"Oh, nothing much. You ready?"
"You bet. You mind if I have one last drink? I wasn't expecting you until tonight."
"Sure, bro. Maybe I should've texted ahead. Honestly didn't expect to get enough Karma before noon."
"Yeah, me either."
Jerome motioned for Rodney to enter. He stepped in and looked around. Jerome walked to his kitchen with Rodney following. There was a single glencairn glass on the counter. Jerome went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Buffalo Trace from the top. He popped it opened and poured into the glass. Rodney leaned against the wall, staring at his gun. The bottle clacked against the counter as Jerome set it down. He took a sip from his glass. He sighed.
"Okay," said Jerome. "I'm ready."
"All right, cool, bro."
Rodney aimed his gun at Jerome's head and fired. Blood spattered against the cabinetry. His corpse hit the tiled floor.
_
Rodney sat in court. He stared at his feet. The judge opened an envelope. She said:
"The jury has reached a verdict of guilty. Mr Capitalism, would you like to spend your Karma or serve your time?"
"Spend my Karma."
He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm in the table.
"Congratulations, Mr Capitalism. You're a free man."
Rodney Capitalism smirked.
_
Several weeks later, Rodney walked out to his mailbox. He opened it and grabbed a single envelope from inside. It was from Wall Street Life Insurance Services. Rodney ripped it opened and removed a letter and a check. He threw the envelope on the ground and scanned the letter. It said Rodney was to be paid $1,000,000 due Jerome's death. Rodney smiled. He dropped the letter on the ground and looked at his check.
| 2017-03-15T16:58:35
| 2017-03-15T11:56:40
| 47
| 23
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
This was it. The big day.
The famous mind-reader well already renowned for performing on stage and gazing into the minds of the audience, seeing whether they really believed he could do it before he did it, and when he did it, everyone knew what he could do and he knew that they knew.
The fortune teller regarded all other fortune tellers with suspicion and regarded them as hoaxes, but strangely maintained that her method works. As fate would have it, she was right. Every prediction to come out of her was accurate. She made sure to put on a show, with the crystal ball and the chanting, but she, like the mind-reader, delighted in showmanship.
Then one day she was in the crowd for his magic show. He told a volunteer what his card was, and after that, suddenly he pointed out the fortune teller in the audience and suggested, oddly enough, that they play a game of chess. Nobody knows who this volunteer really was, he disappeared shortly after, but he gave his name as /u/Highwatch on stage.
The two magical titans faced each other on the chessboard. They weren't known for their chess skill, but the audience knew their abilities would spice up a match. Nobody knew what would come out of it...well...except the fortune teller...
"1. e4 e5" the fortune teller thought, and as sure as can be, when White moved his pawn to e4 Black responded with e5. The mind-reader could see her conclusions as well.
"2. Qh5 Nc6 3. Bc4" the fortune teller saw, and so did the mind-reader, for those exact moves were played on the board. He even began to move his knight before the queen reached h5!
The fortune teller was thinking very deeply at this point. The mind-reader refocussed and saw, once more, the future of White and Black.
"3...Nf6 4.Qf3, I'll have to retreat..." thought the fortune teller. The mind-reader, seizing his opportunity, moved his knight to f6 to attack White's Queen.
"4. Qxf7 checkmate" thought the fortune teller, and all too late for the mind-reader, his king had been cornered with no way out. He could see it now, the fortune teller had focussed on only one probable future, and constructed a chess strategy around it in her mind to convince the mind-reader of this phony future.
"Well played..." he thought as he walked away from the chessboard.
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T14:12:27
| 372
| 58
|
[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.
|
I hide behind the wall, praying Starhands doesn't find me yet, and tremble as I fumble with my battered old mp3 player.
I don't want to but I have to use it. The forbidden playlist. The reason why I'm even on this team when my powers only last as long as the song plays.
Track 1. Running Down A Dream by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. Solid Illusions.
I run back to the battlefield even as multiple copies burst from various piles of debris. We each get in at least one hit before he starts burning them from the inside out. I make them wink in and out of his reality, always careful to stay behind him, never taking more than an elbow never letting him touch me with those toxic hands.
And as the song fades I take off leaving my clones to their fate. This next song works better at a distance. Well, it's better that I'm at a distance anyways.
Track 2. Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. Biochemical Manipulation
That's what the tester called it but the reality is that I just make them horny. How is that a superpower you might ask? Because it's not just horny it's "caused a stroke from lack of blood to the brain in the first volunteer" horny. It's "supervillain had to have reconstructive surgery on their genitals" horny. It's "writhing on the ground in pain because your so oversensitive that even the air feels like knives in your flesh horny".
It's "accidentally caused a mass orgy that ended with multiple rape charges laid on me the first time I unknowingly used it and that's how I ended up on a governmental super team" horny.
It's enough for a distraction but as the song fades Starhands recovers almost too quickly, his own biochemical manipulation sweeping the effects of mine away in moments.
But I still have enough time to get in position for the last song.
Track 3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas and the Papas. Time Regression.
As he charges me I raise my arms and he slams into me, not realizing the mistake he's made as I wrap my arms around him and cling, crooning along soft as a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, not daring to look as first his muscles fade back into a lanky frame and then he begins to shrink, screams going higher and higher as his vocal chords return to those of a teenager, then a child, toddler baby, newborn. Fading as he becomes a foetus, a blastocyst, a clump of cells, un-dividing into fewer and fewer until it becomes a fertilized ovum then unfertilized ovum and sperm then dissipates into nothing as the last notes fade.
I pause the playlist before the last song can play.
I hope I never end up in a situation where I need the Lemmy Kilmeister cover of Enter Sandman. Not after what happened the first time.
|
The crime lord’s hand snapped up to meet my fist, which detonated in a brilliant green and white explosion on contact. At such close range, my visor’s blackout mode was only able to dull the blast from blinding to a painfully bright flash.
“Come now,” a calm, cool voice intoned. “Surely you didn’t expect such a simple and, if you’ll forgive me, *flashy* attack to hurt me when I’ve survived so much worse?”
Blinking away the afterimages and wincing at my ringing ears, I reverted my visor to normal mode, though I doubted I would see anything unexpected. As the world came back into view, I was met with a gray haze rapidly rising away from the shrouded figure before me. Tendrils of smoke curled around an outstretched, unblemished hand, fingers wrapped around my fist in a steely grip. In mere moments the dissipating smoke revealed my opponent. He had the smooth, unmarred skin you would expect of a man in his mid twenties. The lean muscles outlining his physique spoke of the man’s dedication to physical superiority, though not to the point of bulging showiness that most people associate with such an ideal. He would never waste time and energy on such a fruitless endeavor, though he of all people could certainly afford it.
Lifting a soot-stained cloth from his nose and thin mouth, the man blinked to his bright blue eyes their coldness showing the only physical trace of his true nature. Casting a critical glance over the smoldering remnants of his once-fine shirt, his face twisted into a slight grimace.
“And you even ruined one of my favorite shirts! My third wife gave this to me for our twenty-second anniversary, I can’t simply replace it with an identical one! Was there really any point to such childish antics?” asked Father Time.
*It felt good*, I thought drily. I hadn’t actually expected that to harm the crime lord, but I’d wanted to vent some of my growing frustration. My team had all but failed at this point to eliminate the 356 year-old boss of the world’s oldest criminal syndicate. As the last member of the team still standing, I silently cursed HQ again for assigning us to one of the vain attempts they made every few years on his life, even though it had long since been proven to the world that Timothy “Father Time” Shepherd was untouchable and unbreakable. How could you be, when you were able to reverse damage inflicted on your body as it happened and speed up your thought process up to the point of near-flawless reaction time? Even Dead Drop, the world’s greatest assassin, hadn’t been able to bring the timeless criminal down. Despite shooting Father Time in the head from over two miles away to avoid being spotted, it hadn’t killed the old bastard. Footage of the incident showed the entry wound knitting itself back together even before the bullet had left the target’s head. Most of the analysts concluded that after using his powers to rewind injuries for so long, Father Time’s abilities had reached the point of unconscious and near-instantaneous activation. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the bigwigs from putting together tonight’s failed sneak attack against a sleeping target.
“Did you just admit that I harmed you?” I rasped. “I’ll chalk that up as a win, even if it’s only an emotional wound. They should pin a medal on me!”
The seemingly young man scoffed as he reached the hand holding the handkerchief into his pocket.
“A hollow victory, and one you’ll pay a price for I assure you.”
Drawing out a brass knuckle etched with symbols, Father Time pulled back his arm. Though Katy Perry’s encouraging lyrics granted me reflexes and punches that were, well, *explosive*, they didn’t enhance my strength enough for me to wrest away from my foe’s iron grip. Pulling as hard as I could, I was unable to avoid the strike. On contact with my torso, the air boomed and I was flung away by the force of Time’s strike. I hadn’t even registered the pain from the blow before I crashed into the compound’s brick wall 60 feet away. My suit’s cutting edge armor, courtesy of a hero with creation powers, were likely the only thing that kept me from dying on contact. As it was, my crumpled body screamed in agony. The rise and fall of my labored breathing burned with with the sun’s strength, intensified as I coughed up blood. The speakers in my ear sputtered and died, the technicolor glow of my fists following suit. Through bleary eyes, I could make out Father Time’s form pacing steadily towards me.
“When will you people learn?” queried the criminal in a weary tone. “I can’t be uprooted like some garden weed. I am Time itself, endless and unyielding. The greatest nations and mightiest heroes cannot escape its inevitability, no matter how much you might struggle against the endless march of Time.”
I registered his words through a haze of pain, and silently agreed with him. Nothing and nobody could prevail against such a force. Time answered to nobody, and everybody eventually met their end because of…
A thought flickered in the back of my mind, then flared up into a crazy, half-baked idea that no sane person would try. But then again, Father Time has dealt with countless sane people throughout his life and it hadn’t done anything for them. I twisted my left arm, groaning in pain from the motion, revealing the cracked but functional screen of my music interface. I quickly navigated to my playlists, then scrolled all the way to the bottom to one consisting of 5 songs, simply labeled “Don’t”. Choosing the third one, I prayed to whatever god there may be that my backup speakers still worked and hit play.
From the speakers concealed beneath my shoulder pads, the haunting chiptune of Lavender Town filled the otherwise quiet night. My breath fogged in the air’s sudden chill, and I felt rather than saw the grass wither away from where it had touched my skin through the various tears in my suit. Struggling to my feet, I rose to my feet and faced Father Time.
The ancient criminal rolled his eyes. “What a surprise,” he stated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yet another person who refuses to give up.”
I charged him, hands reaching out as if to grab him. Dropping smoothly into a wide stance, Father Time caught one of my arms in his hands, pivoting around it and letting me crash into the ground. Rolling over despite my body’s angry protests, I rose to find my enemy staring at his hands with a puzzled expression. Deep purple stained his palms, faint smoke rising from the marks.
“What on Earth is this?” Father Time asked, in a higher pitch than before. “Why is this injury not rewinding?”
Surprise flitted through me, before being replaced by a growing sense of grim victory.
“It’s not an injury, per say. It’s just a taste of the one force in the world that brings about the end of time.”
“Wh-what do you mean?!” the crime lord asked in a shaky voice, even as the purple marks turned to a dully gray.
“Death,” I spoke in a grave voice.
I may have been a touch dramatic in my delivery, but for this bastard who had stood atop a mountain of death and destruction for most of his life, it felt appropriate. I lurched towards him, arms reaching out. Father Time shrieked and stumbled backwards away from me, his cool countenance replaced with raw terror he likely had not felt in centuries. His heel caught on a rock and brought the man crashing to the ground in a screaming heap. I was on top of him in an instant, the man’s normally inhuman reaction time having vanished in his panic. I grabbed ahold of his shoulders and pinned his thrashing form to the ground, triumph and adrenaline dulling the pain of my myriad injuries.
Father Time screamed and babbled incoherently as he bucked and twisted desperately under my necrotic hold. But nothing he did stopped the purple stains from creeping across his body in a wave from wherever we touched. As purple gave way to deathly gray, Father Time’s struggle grew weaker and weaker. Finally, with a choked and shaky exhalation, the crime lord’s body relaxed, his weakened limbs flopping to rest on the wilted grass below.
As I rolled off of the body and onto my back, the final noted of the eerie melody faded away. The last thing I remembered was thinking that I should probably write a letter to my college philosophy teacher and apologize for calling the class useless, before exhaustion and pain swept over me, and my vision flickered out.
| 2022-05-17T12:33:11
| 2022-05-17T12:08:27
| 15
| 11
|
[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).
|
"Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
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.
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13
| 2017-03-21T05:37:43
| 40
| 12
|
[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...
|
*11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.**
|
I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry.
| 2017-03-16T02:03:50
| 2017-03-16T00:50:02
| 71
| 15
|
[WP] You work for a company that has developed the most real VR but no one has been able to endure it for more than a couple of minutes as it is exhausting for the brain to suspend disbelief. Except subject 9. He's been there 20 hours straight now and you must go check on him.
|
Virtual Reality was the future for the company. The headset used didn't matter to us only the worlds that were possible.
Things had started out well enough. An escape room that looked perfect, and with the right haptic setup felt okay. This was the problem with VR, no matter the visual quality of the environment the physical feedback was never enough.
Every new release led to ever more expansive and detailed worlds, but again the haptics held things back. Never enough feedback, the mind rebelled against the illusion enough to make even the most engrossed player know it wasn't real.
The real leap forward was to induce galvanic vestibular stimulation through the headset. The tests were great, players felt more immersed, and the brain thought it was real... the problem was that no-one could stand more than a few minutes before sickness overcame them. If they clung on to play longer than vomiting was guaranteed to happen.
That is except for subject 9, subject 9 was the only person that was able to not only last more than few minutes, but hours. After an hour we escalated the scenario, beyond the test room, to a house, a street, a city. NPCs were added, and nothing broke her.
It had been over 20 hours, and subject 9 had been face down on the desk for some time. I'd been sent to see how she could stand what no-one else could...
As I entered the room, there was a gentle breathing from subject 9, she was sleeping. Unable to remove the headset first I nudged her.
Subject 9, woke with a start and sat bolt upright.
I quickly removed the headset in a well practiced motion.
She looked around, and seemed pleased.
"So that's what dreaming is like" she said
"What do you mean?" I replied, "everyone dreams"
"Not me, my minds eye is blank"
|
Space Force Lieutenant Daniel Taylor Jr straightened his tie irritably.
‘What’s so different about him compared to the others, why can’t anyone else do it?’ A hint of urgency in the lieutenant’s tone sent the scientists around the nerve-centre in to an immediate frenzy of tapping at their keyboards to find an avenue they hadn’t already explored. They all knew though, but they didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud. The very thought of it made their intellects shiver in cold fear at the prospect.
‘People - this is the ONLY way humans can control their ships in hyper space. We need the virtual upload protocol to last long enough to make the jump. And out of thousands of volunteers, this is the only bloody one who can do it?!’
An awkward, silent acknowledgement of the fact spread out across the room. It seemed as though the cerebral pressure of the virtual environment needed a very particular caliber of mind to be able to withstand it.
The lieutenant sighed. ‘Fine, get him out, and let the president know we have our solarnaut for the Andromeda mission.’
A few moments later the intercom crackled in to life across the room, and the President’s gravelly voice spoke.
‘I have heard that you have found us a pilot - this is a great day for our nation, and for our species as a whole. They must indeed be an exemplar of the human condition - what is their name, I would very much like to meet them before they leave.’
An embarrassed glance passed between the scientists before lieutenant Taylor answered.
‘Sir, thank you. Their name sir? It’s Forrest... Forrest Gump.’
The lieutenant shook his head grimly at the prospect of having to be piloted by the simpleton for the next three decades.
[Video pans to a feather landing on the space craft, scene cuts, closing credits roll for Forrest Gump 3]
| 2020-05-18T04:36:44
| 2020-05-18T04:24:28
| 50
| 28
|
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days.
|
“Is everything OK with my child?”
“Your child will be fine, pretty much by definition. Oh, he’ll have tremendous struggles and go through more life threatening situations than a group of Trump supporters drinking Clorox, but his particular condition will ensure he makes it through. Unfortunately, his condition also ensures he grows up as an orphan.”
“I don’t understand...”
“I don’t know how else to say this. Your child has Protagonist Syndrome.”
*gasp* “is there anything I could have done?”
“Well, your records state the father was a being of light so... maybe not indulging in a one night stand with a demigod?”
“Oh. Well. What are my chances?”
“Usually the parent has only a few days, occasionally up to a few years. The latter allows for the protagonist to form early memories that can make the loss of a parent even more tragic. But in those cases, the parents death is usually in some traumatizing event.”
“That’s awful!”
“Yes, but we are developing a experimental treatment.”
“What is it?”
“In some cases, it has been sufficient for the parent to seem to die, only to step back into the plot during the protagonist’s adulthood. Unfortunately, there’s one catch.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll need to be the Villian.”
“You mean like Anakin turning into Darth Vader after Padame died?”
“That’s correct.”
“Noooooooooo!”
|
*"When my son was born, I was the happiest father in the world. Someone who could be the best parts of me and my wonderful wife. But, something didn't feel right when they brought him back from his crib. I didn't think much of it when I saw his hair, neither did my sweet Angela. But then, the doctor came. She told us it was 'Protagonist Syndrome' also known as 'Main Character Syndrome.' We didn't know what it meant, we thought it was amazing, our bouncing baby boy would be someone everyone would adore, someone we could be truly proud of. But then, she broke to us the bad news. My wife would have mere days to live. Based on the birthmark on his arm, it seemed like he was going to be someone who would save the planet. I broke down right then and there, right next to my Angela. Our boy would be amazing, awesome even, but with that, his own mother had to be sacrificed."*
Main Character Syndrome has destroyed and saved countless lives. But what is the right choice? Go to your local medical center and get tested now.
This was brought to you by the Main Character Syndrome Foundation.
| 2020-04-28T06:45:50
| 2020-04-28T06:12:15
| 70
| 41
|
[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?"
----------------------------------------------
|
I racked my brains, I was by no means a saint, but then, who is? I thought back to all the times I didn't intervene in other people's drama, because it was none of my business. Maybe I should have tried harder to help people in those situations? I couldn't help it that I didn't care that the husband of Rachel in accounts was also banging Claire in sales. Sure, I listened to the bitching, but I didn't care. I thought of all the times I sat at my desk aimlessly browsing the internet because I just didn't give a damn about my job. I began to wonder, is apathy a crime punishable by nearly 200,000 years in hell?The more I thought about it the more I realised every negative interaction in my life came from being apathetic. The arguments with my husband because I didn't care what we had for dinner, or what we watched on TV. The daily grind because of my aforementioned job. The lost friendships because I just did not give a shit about their mundane dramas.I should have cared more. I tried, I really tried. Caring is hard. I should have told Claire in sales she was a whore and Rachel in accounts she deserved better. I should have tried harder at work. I should have put more effort into deciding what to have for dinner. 200,000 years is a long time to live with that regret. Day 1 is not the time to start caring.
&#x200B;
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T06:12:40
| 1,768
| 153
|
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
|
Nobody expected me to try.
Everyone expected my friends, my far-off family, but not me. I was a woman, of course. I’ve always loved girls, and have crushed on her since high school.
I decided to get a small bad of cat food just in case it came around, and double checked in ally’s where I thought I saw something.
I can remember the day she announced the challenge. It was 3 weeks ago.
“Dear my neighbors and who it may concern, I have set up a challenge for my hand in marriage. Bring back my cat, Lila, with a key around it’s neck and unlock my front door. If you do so, you win.”
She also posted a picture of her cat next to that sign, and it was a cute tabby-calico cat that was a bit towards the chubby side.
I was out walking when I heard distressed meowing coming from a log by the side of the road.
It was a cat, who got itself stuck. I chuckled and tried to help get it out. It took a while, but once I got it out, I could properly see it.
The tag read “Lila” and it was a tabby-calico. Under the tag there was a hidden key.
I brought the cat back to my house, and decided to let it stay with me for the night as I didn’t want to return it so late. Lila cuddled up with me and we fell asleep together.
When I woke up, I realized what everyone else was doing wrong, they weren’t being kind to the poor creature, who flinched slightly when I went to pet it.
I kept it in a few blankets so I wouldn’t wake it up, and walked to her house on the other side of the block.
I was insanely nervous, as she may not of even expected a GIRL to try, but I unlocked the door anyways and called out to her.
“Excuse me, I’ve found your cat!”
She ran down the stairs and I saw her. Layla, the most beautiful woman in the town right in front of me. I blushed deeply and looked to the side.
“Oh! Jasmine, I remember you!”
My head snapped up, remembered me? I’ve never even talked to her, I think.
“You’re that girl I...” Layla paused, took a deep breath and continued “... that I crushed on through high school.”
“You... crushed on me?” I asked shakily, while smiling.
Layla smiled as well, and you can really see it in her eyes, she was truly happy. Gosh, that smile is so pretty.
I put the cat down on a chair. Lila was still half asleep and purring happily.
“I guess you’ve won!” Layla said as she smiled and pulled me into a hug.
Layla, Lila and I lived together and adopted another cat, Jax. We became known as ‘The Cat Moms’ as we would take care of strays as well.
We lived happily until our final breaths together.
|
Humans have always been on the strange side, especially the Sukts. This Sukt however was a wealthy merchant, owning several ships, so we put up with her weirdness. Yep her, but we orcs are egalitarians when it comes to putting up with people due to money. However, she remained alone. One day as I walked through the streets heading somewhere just to find it was nowhere, I spotted a crowd clustered around the notice board. My first assumption was that some one's nude's had been leaked. Last month it was the daughter of the Mayor, he had been livid but what could he do? The artist was never seen. This time it wasn't nudes, it was the annual baking contest. He instantly knew who would win and turned to go, then he spotted the real reason. Gwendoline, the female merchant, was having a contest for her hand in marriage. Whoever could get the key around her cat's neck could marry her. That was an issue, after all my old master, a beast shaaman, had given her that cat. What was its name? Midnight I think. I watched others struggle to capture the cat. It was great fun. The cat lead them on fantastic chases. Bratish cheif's would find themselves stuck and having to beg for help. Rich merchants found themselves with soiled clothes. Corca the Lesbian was pushed into the water. The lawsuit for discrimination went nowhere and she married the defense lawyer.
&#x200B;
All throughout this the baker, who had indeed won the annual baking contest, kept giving Gwendolyne food. I do wonder how much she was paying him to deliver. The food looked delicious and I would occasionally steal a scone. He, also being Suktish, was the only baker in the orcish city of Tracats that baked them. They were delicious. After two months I had a sudden idea. I ran to where the cat was. Midnight was eating some tarts at the baker's door. No doubt this was an order, I would have to chase the cat away. I reach out my hand and flicked up. A spike of Earth impaled the cat and I grabbed the. I triumphantly went and unlocked Gwendolyne's door. Now I could have a bride and be wealthy. I wouldn't have to do odd jobs with my magic used for menial tasks. I could study with the greatest of the shaaman. I would become great and teach my own students. Oh happy day, oh glorious day. She looked at me and then behind me to the baker carrying the cat. She screeched and ran to him. After hearing what happened Gwendolynechased me out crying. The rules hadn't specified no death, what did she think would happen.
&#x200B;
She married the baker and I was not invited to the wedding even though the entire city was.
(Adventures in Swiat)
(I mean no ill will towards /u/NicodemusLux 's story. I quite liked it. I just felt like poking some fun at it. If you are he and desire this to be taken down just ask and it will be done.)
| 2019-05-01T18:32:38
| 2019-05-01T17:15:21
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock.
|
'Why won't you change!'
The yell wasn't loud, the tears and dry throat shredded the volume and my intended powerful shout came out as a ripped, raspy whisper.
Everyone else had amazing artifacts following them around, from towering rock golems, to intricate clockwork rock automatons, to grand carriages with wheels and horses of rock, but I just had, this.
I'd watch my friends grow, and the rocks they cared for grow with them, one day Robby broke his arm, and his rock suddenly cracked in two, but as his arm healed, thin black tubes began to grow and lace the pieces together again.
I remember the day Sally won that inter-school gymnastic competition, and her rock began to stretch and twist into this beautiful, complex pattern, weaving in and out of itself, gracefully around and about.
Everyone had a beautiful, amazing, and awe inspiring rock, and I just had, this, thing.
Maybe I'd made the wrong choices?
I mean all I'd ever done was be nice to everyone.
Body build.
I'd been in a bad movie or two.
As I cried and sobbed, my rock placed his hand on my shoulder...
'OK, I see what's happening here...
|
“Now Ms. Dumar, please lift your arm a bit... and you are set.” Dave took a step back and smiled encouragingly. “Still feeling up for a walk?” he asked. The woman caressed her sweater absently for a minute, her expression contemplative. “My Grandson bought it for me last Christmas you know, he has become such a fine lad” she finally stated, a hint of pride carrying in her voice. “True, true, you certainly did something right with his parents” Dave acknowledged. This time he had a hard time keeping his smile. As soon as Dementia was diagnosed, her daughter took her savings and dumped her in this hellhole. He wasn’t even sure her Grandson knew about her. He had certainly never visited. Because her remaining clothing was threadbare, Dave bought the sweater with his own meagre income a few weeks ago. Otherwise she was too embarrassed to be seen outside. “Do you think the ducklings already hatched?” he began, when the door suddenly opened. “Dave, Roger has one of his fits, can you please take care of him?” Rose pleaded. Her eyes were bloodshot, testament to a prolonged combination of sixteen hour shifts, understaffing, and antidepressants. “No problem” Dave said, “Would you mind waiting a few minutes Ms. Dumar?” he asked. She only smiled politely, an expression he had learned she made, when she was trying to mask her confusion. “All right then.” Dave grabbed his pet stone from a nearby desk. A plain fingernail sized rock, and, unlike other bound stones, almost indistinguishable from random pebbles. But the size belied its other feature. Dave’s muscles were straining under the effort lifting it, his arm aching in protest. With his other arm supporting, he was still able to move forward.
| 2018-05-02T03:09:07
| 2018-05-02T02:55:25
| 358
| 108
|
[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"
|
“I want to roll to invade them!”
“Uh, are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yes. Of course. Just let me roll.”
“Fine. Roll.”
He rolls his 20 sided die across the table. It stops directly in front of the Dungeon Master, who looks down and smirks.
“Well. You go to invade Russia. You gather your troops and march right in. But you’re too stupid to realize you should never invade Russia in the winter.”
Hitler angrily looks over to his die. He sees the clearest image of a 1.
“Well hell. I’ve been rolling good the beginning of this campaign. What else could go wrong?”
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T07:54:52
| 303
| 36
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
The sun did not shine,
It was too wet to play,
So I sat in my bed
For day after day.
So I stared at the ceiling
I stared at the wall
And deep down inside me
There was nothing at all
No anger, no fury
No happy or glad
Just a big fat old nothing
That was nothing but sad
I called up a doctor
To say I felt blue
He said "There's not much
That medicine can do;
I'll give you these pills that
stop you sleeping right"
So I stared at the wall
For a day and a night.
My friends said "cheer up,
You have to be tough"
In the end I decided
That I'd had enough
I bought black plastic tape
To seal up my door
And a crapped out old heater
From a secondhand store
I heard it's quite painless,
Not flashy, I know
But carbon monoxide
Is the best way to go
|
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
| 2015-01-17T07:08:38
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 1,010
| 15
|
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
My job pays me like no other. And God I'm not going to give it up. Especially not to become some sort of superhero. I'm all ready making 200k as a senior programmer, and the 401k is just the cherry on top. I'm even due for a raise of 20k by the end of the year. And yet, the recruiters are the biggest pain in my fucking ass. 4 of them each and every single fucking day, non-stop. They call me, Email me, text me, whatever they can do to get my attention. And everyone wonders why I go hunting in the outdoors so often. Ugh.
Today one such recruiter got very daring. I was in the middle of my day, shopping, when this happened:
"Gareth Soran, is it? You are aware of your power, and how the government could..."
I paid no heed. But that wouldn't be the last time I was going to hear her voice. I went home, put my groceries away, went on another trip to a local brewery to meet up with a friend, and well, wouldn't you know it, she was right there. Sitting where I usually sit.
"You didn't even turn around. Rude."
"I learned to tune out people like you. I really am not interested. Oh, and I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Why not?"
"You were warned."
Everything slowed down to the point where only the air was moving. The world had come to a complete standstill, time freezing in place. This was my playground. From here, I could do practically anything. I could still move, walk around, do whatever I wanted. Emerald rings now encircled my arms and wrists, with three on each arm, and evenly spaced out 1 inch away from each other. These Flat disks hovered in the air, but were not touching my skin. These rings manifest every time my powers take hold, and they serve as my controls.
To make sure she wouldn't follow me, I grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her in this version of my world. Her body flickered awake, no longer frozen in time. She looked at me in shock.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting you were you'll never reach me."
The rings flared red, and they started to rotate clockwise. This should do the trick. Time starting speeding on without us, as though someone had pressed the fast forward button. It all zoomed by, the sun falling, and rising once. Then it all stopped. The rings ceased their rotation, and became emerald once more.
"Tell your boss that I'm not interested in his plans for me. The next time he sends a recruiter, I'll pay him a visit myself, and I make sure he doesn't forget it."
I let go of her, and she was frozen in time once more. My rings now became navy blue in coloration, rotating counter clockwise. It was like hitting the rewind button. I kept rewinding until I felt the tug at me. This was were I initially used my powers. The rings disappeared. And time resumed back to its normal pace. The bartender Samuel looked annoyed. Not at me of course. Samuel and I both had the same grievance.
"That's the 296th recruiter that has made their way to my establishment this year. Goddamn."
"Yeah, I'm exactly happy about them either."
"You know, they really out to read the signs. 'No recruiters allowed'. Are they blind?"
"They're desperate."
"Perhaps I should deal with them personally from now on."
"You wouldn't know when to let them go. That's why I do that myself."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"I still remember your last fight with a recruiter back when your powers were discovered. That was a type of spectacle you only want to watch once."
|
"Come on, Ryan, you can do anything you want but you have a desk job? Why not come with us? I can double your salary!," Mr. White says on the other side of the door for the second time today. I groan, pushing my back against the door in an attempt to ignore him.
"Fuck off, Mr. White. I would rather die than join your hell of an organization," I yell back, waiting for his reply. He always has the last word, so I'm surprised when he takes a while to respond.
"Ryan, there are so many benefits to our partnership. Even the FBI want you," He says, almost breathless. I raise my brows as I turn to the door. I haven't heard from the FBI in almost 30 years.
"I guess they forgot about what happened last time," I say as I open the door. I stare at the short man in front of me, he's not who I thought I was talking to.
"Thank you, Ryan. Please my boss will triple your salary if you join," He says, desperately. I roll my eyes at him and close the door before waving him I to the kitchen.
"I don't care about the money. Why do you guys want me to join. Why not someone else," I say flatly as he eyes me awkwardly. His eyes light up and he grins as he sits down at the table, new confidence filling his eyes.
"Well, Ryan, we want you to join because your powers are very special. No other government has someone like you yet," He says, that stupid grin not leaving his face. I raise a brow at him, I can't help but be suspicious.
"Do you really want that though? To have your organization bring in someone like me," I say, my eyes lowering to the table. He gives me a confused look, but nods.
"I mean, of course. You can easily take down some of the best villains out there. I bet you could take the one wreaking havoc in New York if you really wanted to," He says laughing, as if it's funny. I glare at him, taking a dep breath.
"Do you even know what my powers are?" I say and his eyes go wide as he reaches into his brief case. He pulls out a manilla envelope and opens it, showing me its co tents. It doesn't say much other than a list of my powers. The list is small and vague, entirely incomplete. I let out a laugh and all the confidence leaves him as he realizes and pulls the papers away. He shoves them into his briefcase, clearly embarrassed. He stands up, getting ready to leave, but I stop him.
"Wait, Mr. White. I could at least help you update the files," I say, giving him a sickly sweet smile. I watch s shiver run up his spine, but he nods, sitting back down.
"Thank you, Ryan. Since I clearly don't know, what exactly are your powers?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can make anything stop in its place. A car, the beat of your heart, time, the growing of trees, anything. You name it I can stop it," I say, watching him get nervous as I skip by telling him I could kill him. He quickly writing it down, a fake smile forcing it's way onto his face.
"That's a very special power. So in 2011 when you fought Maximillion, how did you defeat him?" He asks, I laugh again, the smirk on my face only growing.
"Easy, I stopped the blood from flowing to his arms and legs. Then I watched as he crumbled to the floor before stopping him from being able to speak. Then I threw him off a cliff," I say, picking some dirt from beneath my nails. His eyes widen again as he quickly stands up and heads for the door.
"That's amazing, Ryan. I'll be back tomorrow once I update the database," He says nervously trying to pull the door open. But it doesn't move. He looks away, making sure it's unlocked, but the door still won't open.
"Oh, Mr. White. I'm not done talking g to you yet," I say walking towars him. He freezes in place, taking quick breathes but I just laugh again.
"Ryan, please, I'm going to ve late to my next appointment," He says and I give him a cold glare.
"My name is Ryan," I say, pulling the door open and pushing him out onto the street.
I slam the door, sitting down and leaning against it. I got too emotional there.
| 2022-07-31T22:10:28
| 2022-07-31T17:55:32
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
|
This one had been a long time coming - far longer than I ever thought possible.
We'd met on a battlefield millennia ago, both surprised to find out that our strikes did not harm the other. It was the first, and only, other immortal I'd ever encountered.
It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
Naturally, being immortals, we'd try to find new ways to amuse ourselves as the time went by. Our practical jokes seemed the perfect way to do this, and they started getting more elaborate as our friendship grew. The fall of Rome was one we took a bit too far, we both agreed.
But as I looked out the window and saw the rocky expanse below, I felt excitement I hadn't experienced in centuries.
For as long as I'd known him, he'd always wanted to be at the forefront of space travel. It made sense, really; he knew he'd have to be able to traverse the stars if he had any hope of truly enjoying being alive forever.
I remember sitting next to him while he eagerly watched the moon landing. He knew it would just be another century or so until we'd finally be able to visit Mars, and he looked at me with joy. Actual joy. That was a rare sight.
When the time finally came, me, being his best friend, naturally wanted to join him for the ride. We volunteered to be the first two on the 'suicide trip' there, and the world rejoiced. We'd generally hidden from the public spotlight, but he said that we couldn't avoid this one. This time, the whole world would be watching us.
Nearing our destination, I deviated from our landing spot. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Where are you going?" he asked, staring out of the window. His leg was shaking, like it did every time he was excited.
"Oh, come on," I replied with a smirk, "I'm letting you take the first steps on Mars, the least you can do is let me take a little detour."
I reached the site, carefully landing the spacecraft. He'd already unfastened his seat belts. I'd never seen him so eager.
The doors slowly opened, and he prepared himself to be the first man on Mars. He looked back at me, gave a thumbs-up, then took a step forward.
Then stopped.
He'd noticed a massive structure, looming over the spacecraft.
He stared at it. There was no denying it.
It was a statue of something.
Of some*one*.
I grinned, trying to suppress my laughter.
See, while we were both immortal - I'd been alive *far* longer than he ever was.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
The cosmos is relatively easy to meddle with. A swipe of the finger, and you can toss around asteroids or zap a few nebulas into existence.
We set up some ground rules a long time ago. Galaxies have to stay in rough interstellar arrangements. Once you create a star, it has to die on its own. And most importantly, if any living species are discovered on a planet, let them live.
Archie changed the framework of a constellation or two, just to see if anyone would notice. Minerva decided to set Neptune on fire and then fizzle it out, on and off, like a light switch. It was funny for a while, but then it just became another distraction.
One day I caught Dave chuckling to himself. He's always been a bit of a lone wolf, but he knows a few good party tricks.
"What's so funny there, champ?"
Dave grinned. "Oh, you'll know soon enough."
"Come on. A little hint?"
He tilted his head back and cackled. "All right, all right. Let's just say I put the Sun in Galaxy 672B on its own little trajectory."
"What do you mean?"
"Check the map."
I ran back to the control center and pulled up the chart for 672B. The Sun appeared to be on track to hit the Earth, but not for a while - couple billion years, give or take a few million.
I hate to admit it, but I honestly forgot about it. That is, until I saw Dave muttering to himself at a galactic get-together.
"What's wrong, man?"
He curled his upper lip and polished off a glass of stardust. "The humans on Earth, 672B, are heating up their own planet. Driving vehicles around, spewing waste into the atmosphere. It'll be burned to a crisp in the blink of an eye."
"And what's the problem with that?"
Dave coughed. "Those fuckers ruined my joke."
***
/r/GigaWrites
| 2017-06-22T19:56:41
| 2017-06-22T19:53:14
| 5,933
| 763
|
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall."
|
As I walk on the ceremonial podium, already seating at the idea that every citizens of my country will be starting at me for the next twenty minutes or so.I clear my throat finalizing my last mental preparation; I knew my speech by heart I knew I was ready.
I was wrong...
The light on the camera turned red, I started my speech "ladies and and gentlemen of the nation..." I froze: the teleprompter was flashing. In big bold letter it read: STALL. I had previously said I did not need a teleprompter so I assume it was a remain of a previous event. I continued: "hum hum, I as the military chief of this great nation have great news, our great leader has...Eee he.." the teleprompter change to * I told u to stall, stall god damit*
I didn't know what to do I was not ready for this. But I listen.
"eee.. well... Our great leader sure has been great hasn't he.. hehe?" I finished that sentenced giggling, more because of the stress than to make it sounds funny.
I went on " he has been here for many years and will continue to be the greatest pride of our nation".
The teleprompter lighted up one last time: *Sir, Kim is dead*.
I took a deep breath, that changed everything. I look at the camera
"Good news citizens of true korea..."
|
The auditorium speakers squealed with feedback as I tapped the microphone.
*Stall.*
I sighed with frustration. It was still there.
"Good evening, everyone. I am honored to be here tonight to address the nation."
*Stall.*
It wasn't changing. I cleared my throat.
"It isn't every day I am asked to make a speech before the entire country. Before I begin, let me tell you a little about myself."
*Stall.*
Fuck.
"I was born the son of a poor farmer and got my very first job in the mail-room of a corporation. If you had told me then that one day I would be standing here tonight, I would never have believed you."
That ought to have given them enough time.
*Stall.*
FUCK. A bead of sweat took a slow path down my face.
"I eh. *Ahem.* I want to also say, before we begin, tonight, that uh I am very grateful for the opportunity to address the country on such an important matter. I truly believe we can make a difference and you'll see how as I detail my plan."
*Stall.*
I sighed heavily into the microphone.
"The challenges we face in the immediate future are too important to, um, you know, not have a plan. And my plan is certainly one of those."
Now my face was shiny with perspiration and I could feel the underarms of my white shirt sponging up sweat.
*Stall.*
"B-but if there's one thing we need right now, with all of the many, many, many problems in the country today, is a solution with many, many, many um details and eh things that will, you know, help."
*My fellow Americans, today I bring you...*
FINALLY!
"My fellow Americans-"
"That's all the time we have for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give him a big round of applause!"
| 2015-05-16T18:01:32
| 2015-05-16T17:45:13
| 24
| 10
|
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