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5 | 1,525,761,284 | 100 | A bloodthirsty maniac is killing heroes and villains alike. After a veritable rampage he is captured. He turns out to be a pissed off soldier who had his insurance claims denied because superpowers are not covered. | “Derekk Morshower. Age 34, served in the military at 20. Joined the Spectres five years later. You were in the middle of Operation Sunset when Darwin’s Meteor hit, and your luck ran out. Powerless. Discharged honourably, or as honourably a soldier in the Spectres could be. And now you’re here.”
The chair scraped against the floor as Detective Quentin took a seat. The man sitting across him was chained - well, his left arm was. He was missing a right arm. He sat quietly since Quentin had entered.
Quentin picked up another file from the table littered with photos, reports and identification.
“In your spree over the past 6 months, you killed over 30 heroes and villains alike, including Guardian Solemn and Morningstar. That’s pretty impressive for a Ordained person like you. That, and you created a Cybernetic arm to replace the one you lost.”
Nothing from him.
“Mind telling me why?”
There was some murmuring under his breath as the man looked at his feet.
“I know you can hear me,” Derek whispered. Quentin froze.
“Superhearing. I know, I can tell. Everyone here has an earpiece to listen on the channels, but only you didn’t.”
Derek’s face suddenly shot up. His face was as emotionless as before.
“You heard of the gang fight between the Crossers and the Blood Artists?”
“Yeah, that’s where you lost your arm right?“
“Correct. 5 dead, two of them civilians, but the news missed two people. My wife, and my son.” He held up a hand to silence Quentin who was opening his mouth. “Bodies never found. You wanna know why? Because the fucking Artists drained them dry and disintegrated them after. More ammo for them to use right? One of them had a Blanking Power, wiped the whole place clean of DNA evidence. No one ever knew. Only me.”
Quentin was stunned into silence. After a tense moment, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Funny, that’s what they said before I unloaded a rifle into their filthy tattooed faces.”
“So you got your revenge. Why didn’t you stop?”
“Because why stop there? You know just as well as I do that those two gangs have members moonlighting as heroes, because to qualify as a ‘hero’, all you need is some money and a fancy power, don’t you? That’s all this world cares about. No morals, no goddamn humanity.”
“If it’s any comfort, I made sure those I killed weren’t actual heroes. You would know this if you had more men watching alleys and bridges instead of leaving it to the costume party.”
“We have initiatives to revoke the heroship as well as weeding out those who do criminal -“
“Yeah, and it would be effective if you could trust the men that are standing behind the glass screen behind me, if you could trust anyone in this corrupt hellhole after the Meteor hit.”
Quentin’s eyes flickered to the mirror for a few moments before turning back to Derek.
“If you’re wondering why I trust you even though you could just be another person in the pockets of the high-end officials, it’s because I’ve seen you too. You’re better than them. I respect that.”
“Your experience in the Spectres surely paid off, didn’t it?”
Derek’s face flashed with a small grin for a brief second, the first display of any emotion from his expression.
“But now you’re caught, and you’re facing a life sentence. So your whole vengeance thing ends here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Detective.” Derek cocked his head. He was smiling now - grimly. Quentin retracted subconsciously.
“I needed a way inside this place. And getting caught was the only way.”
“Derek, what are you—‘
“You locked up my arm, right? Or would it be guarded by a bunch of fragile humans, nothing metal couldn’t punch through?”
Just then, a scream shattered the silence, followed by the distinct sound of bone crunching and another scream.
Footsteps echoed behind them. Quentin stumbled out of his chair and drew his gun, pointing it at Derek shakily. His other hand was covering his left ear.
“Stop it! Whatever you’re doing!”
“I’m not doing anything. It is.”
As if on cue, a metal object smashed the glass mirror behind Derek and hit Quentin squarely in his face. The detective crumpled.
Then the arm turned to face Derek. “Reattach.” Derek spoke.
It did. Derek felt the nerve alignments reviving and quietly groaned as he twisted his regained limb a few times to get used to it again. He grabbed the shackles and ripped them off like it was paper.
Taking the gun from Quentin, he whispered, “If you can hear me, I’m sorry.”
Then he strode out the door.
—
Made it slightly darker, different motives. Hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. | 21 | random_samples |
3 | 1,613,385,184 | 131 | “HAY! HUMAN! Can’t you see there is some serious fae business goin on over here! We’re racin trees! Betting to see which one grows faster! If you get too close, your carbon dioxide filled breath is gonna nurture one of em and give it an unfair advantage!” | Despite all the teasing it caused, Elmer Brandly loved fairies. Play pretend was his favorite pastime at recess and he did not mind playing with girls. Imagine his shock, then, when he learned that they were real.
“HAY! HUMAN! Can’t you see there is some serious fae business goin on over here! We’re racin trees! Betting to see which one grows faster! If you get too close, your carbon dioxide filled breath is gonna nurture one of em and give it an unfair advantage so piss off!”
Elmer’s smile froze under the moonlight. He never expected to actually find any fairies when he was staking it out on the outside. He was playing pretend, so why was it that he could see a gaggle of miniature humans Slav-squatting and smoking mushroom joints? “Um, I’m sorry?” he said.
The fairy that shouted at him slapped her forehead. “STAP TALKIN ALREADY! Jeez I swear that if I lose this bet it’ll be on your ass.
He immediately closed his mouth; these fairies were not playing around. He snuck a closer look at the fairy that had talked to him.
She was a strange one indeed. The size of one of his Barbie Dolls, the fairy had blue, almost translucent, skin combined with a raven-black pixie cut. Her wings rose to her side like a four leaf clover and what Elmer initially thought were vein lines were actually tattoos of the obscene persuasion. She wore baggy sports-clothes in the form of tree-bark leggings and a gossamer track-suit. The fairies around her had similar attire on, all too busy cheering for the “trees” to grow faster.
And what of these trees? Why, to be honest, they were simple bean sprouts, only identifiable by their pale white stems that looked like noodles. Elmer did not understand how these little things could take up so much attention from the fairies. To his knowledge they were not even moving a notion that he whispered to himself.
“WAT? Speak up human! I can’t hear you from your stupid mouth.”
“They’re not growing.”
“Not growing he says,” another fairy said. “What a glump-glump! Of course a human wouldn’t sense how the nature flows like we do. Go back to your shit-brick home looser!”
Elmer was terribly aware of the quiver that hung to his voice like an unwanted cobweb, but he continued speaking. “No, I mean that those aren’t actually alive. They are plastic bean sprouts I bought online.”
A terrible hush descended upon the gang of fairies.
“You what?” the female said.
“Load of horse-radish!” the other fairy said. “We are so attuned to nature that we’d be able to spot a fake in seconds... Right guys?” He nudged the shoulders of his companions.
“They made a lot of progress in making fake plants,” Elmer conceded.
Two beats of her wings were all it took for the female to get right up to the bean sprout and touch its stem.
“Well?” the male said. “Don’t tell me we put money on a stupid mannequin.
She whipped her head around and scrunched a distasteful taste at the human, akin to a sneer.
“Poppycock,” she said. | 26 | random_samples |
70 | 1,590,297,959 | 1,244 | ou are a superhero, but your nemesis really doesn't do anything bad, makes a flood machine? He uses it in drought zones. Extinct animals? He clone them. Overthrows a government? It was a dictatorship. At this point you decide to talk with him about how He should change career. | For the past five years, I have been assigned Dark Falz as my nemesis by the League of Heroes. As such, it’s been my duty, my obligation to follow everything he does and to prevent him from enacting any acts of villainy. However, unlike any villain I’ve ever known, I can’t name one villainous thing he has ever done.
Falz is a brilliant scientist, a mad scientist as described by the League of Heroes. But normally those labelled as mad scientists use their science for evil. To take over a government. To kill and extort people. To use their knowledge to exploit others for their own gain.
He has done none of that. He has exclusively helped others, to no benefit to himself. I know he’s classified as one of the most evil villains, as the League believes this is all a ploy for further evil along the lines, but that has been nearly impossible to corroborate. After five years of observing, I’ve seen no acts of villainy. No hint that he has ever even considered an evil thought.
At this point, I need to confirm. For this entire time, I’ve merely observed from afar, but it’s time that I actually confront him and talk to him myself. I feel like he might actually be hero material and that the League might actually be wrong on this.
Since I’ve been tracking him for so long, I’ve seen him in his home multiple times, so I know that now is a good time to talk to him. What better time and place than where he’s sure to feel safe?
I ring the doorbell to his house, when suddenly I’m ambushed by a group of police.
“Freeze! You are under arrest for trespassing, stalking, and harassment of Falz. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”
I see Falz appear behind a window on the second floor.
“Thank you so much officers. This man has been stalking me for the past five years, and I didn’t think it would ever stop. I’m so glad that you can finally put an end to this.”
So this was his plan all along! That conniving demon, he did all this to try and imprison me. To put a core member of the League of Heroes behind bars. But there’s no way this will stand. As a hero, everyone will know that I am innocent. | 290 | random_samples |
112 | 1,610,768,724 | 5,161 | The spirit slammed the door behind him. “You’ll... never... get... OUT..”. The man nodded, and turned around to look at the house, accidentally dropping his business card: ‘The Lockpicking Lawyer.’ | The room was full of rubble, old furniture, even a few bones here and there, but nothing that would immediately catch the eye. It looked like a standard abandoned house, with barely an allusion to it being haunted. This didn't seem to bother the man at all. 'What are you going to do to me?' he asked in a rather objective voice. He was intently scanning his surroundings, as if he was at his friend's apartment visiting.
The spirit hesitated for a fraction of a moment. Did he not understand the weight of the situation? But he very clearly did. 'I am going to keep you here until midnight, when my brethren shall come forth and take over your body' it exclaimed. 'You will be our puppet!' it added with a burst of confidence.
The man appeared unshook, however. 'That sounds painful' he remarked, glancing at his watch. 'I should try to avoid that.' His face lit up as something on the other side of the room seems to have caught his attention.
The spirit regained its composure. Maybe the man was just really bad at expressing emotions. That kind of thing happens. Speaking up in a relieved tone, it told the man 'You may try to look for an escape, but alas\~ there isn't any!' Meanwhile, the man started making slow, measured paces toward what appeared to be an old, beat-up cupboard. 'That contains nothing of help to you' said the spirit, adding 'If you could open it, that is.'
The man continued as if he didn't even hear that. On the cupboard door, there was a rusty-looking lock, but when the he lifted it, most of the rust fell off, as if it was sprinkled on top. He carefully examined the lock, going over the shackle and the body with an expert's gaze. Finally, he spoke up. 'What I have here is a Master Lock 140.'
'Huh?' The spirit was taken aback. 'Huh?' The man was shuffling about in his backpack, eventually settling on a velvet toolcase, which he promptly opened and took something out of. The spirit didn't quite see what it was, only catching a glimpse before the tool was firmly inside the lock. Not even a second later, the lock was open, off the cupboard and in the man's hands. The door, no longer supported by the shackle, swung open slowly with the creak of something over a hundred years old.
The man reached in to grab the contents of the cupboard, which was mostly empty, save for a pile of papers of all sizes on one of the shelves. 'No! You mustn't touch those!' shouted the spirit, but the man didn't really care. 'These appear to be various journal pages and family photographs' he said. This time, his voice just barely hinted at a question, understanding the weight but not the importance of what he was holding.
'These- this- you-' the spirit stammered. Shaking what would have been its head when alive, it spoke up in a resigned tone. 'This is- *was* my family and my little brother's journal. We were killed by the mafia, and our bodies hidden. We were never given justice.'
'How long ago was this?' asked the man. 'Should I report it to the police?' The spirit looked in shock. 'Y-you would do that? That would be amazing! Oh- but you're still stuck...' 'Stuck? What do you mean?' 'The front door is locked. And if midnight comes, my family might not have mercy on you.' 'A locked door, huh?' 'Don't get your hopes up. My father bought an unpickable lock.'
The man gave a mischievous smile. 'Oh, I've come across plenty of those...'
Edit: Spelling :P | 1,671 | random_samples |
120 | 1,422,028,539 | 522 | A young girl has two monsters in her life: her step-father, and the one under her bed. She manages to befriend the latter to deal with the former. | "You're a bad man, aren't you?"
Tall and broad, enshrouded in an old patchwork cloak, he stands at the foot of her bed. His face, the colour of his eyes, the colour of his hair, all shadowed beneath the wide brim of his hat.
All she can see are his lips. Thin and pale, and drawn tight in a self-satisfied smirk.
"Used to be." He says, baring for her his yellowed, almost fang-like teeth.
He's been there since Cassie can remember. Well, not *there* at the foot of her bed, but around. For a while he lived in her closet, peering out at her through the gap where the doors didn't quite touch, and no matter how many times she launched a plush toy across the room to batter the doors properly shut, or how many times she locked and bolted the door before she tucked herself in, at some point in the night she always found it open.
After the closet, he'd moved under her bed. Oddly enough she'd preferred that. Despite the fact they'd only been separated by a thin mattress, the fact he had been out of sight made her feel as if he'd never been there at all.
More recently he'd appeared in the shadowed corners of her room, the ones that the pale fingers of moonlight thrusting themselves through her window didn't dare stretch to. She's caught glimpses of him in the wee hours of the morning, wearing that same smirk and twirling a rusted dagger in his left hand.
"You think you scare me, motherfucker?" Cassie snarls, throwing as much ferocity as a shivering, shaking thirteen-year-old girl can muster behind the words. "You think your little show impresses me?"
He chuckles. Rich and filled with warmth, a not entirely unpleasant sounding thing. And as he chuckles, he takes a step forward. Takes a step toward her bed.
Cassie's hand goes for the bedside lamp.
"Don't." An edge in his tone. A cold snap that makes her stop inching her hand toward the switch. That almost nails her to the spot.
He takes slow steps toward her, the soles of his boots tapping off her wooden floor and filling the room with a sound that isn't unlike a clock counting up the time.
He reaches the right side of her bed, takes her face gently in his corpse-cold hands, and angles it upward for a closer inspection. He studies her for what seems like an eternity, and while he does Cassie does her best to keep her eyes hard and unyielding.
He tuts, touches a long, meaty finger to the stinging bruise under her eye, and flashes her a fanged grin. "Here we have it, then. The unclouded truth. This should do the trick."
The tip of his mud-caked finger glows a burnished copper colour. There's a soft crackling, almost like a small static shock, and then the light on his finger *jumps* into Cassie's skin.
And as much as she wants to tear away from his hold, as much as she wants to scream out and order him away, she can't. His hold has settled over her in the same way a blanket of mist drapes itself over the moors on a frosty winter's morning.
He drops her face, retreats a step. Claps his hands together and winces.
"What the *fuck* did you just do to me?!" Cassie demands, scrambling up until she's intimate with the headboard.
"Oh, sure, go straight to the cursing me out. Not like I just gave up a couple of years to get rid of *fucking* bruise on the face of an ungrateful, insignificant teenage girl."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Maybe you deserved the shiner he gave you." He snarls.
"Hey, fuck you!" Cassie snaps back, her gaze going to her feet as she feels the tears welling up in her eyes. "Just...Fuck you, alright?"
"Son of a bitch," The Stranger lets out a weary sigh. "Look, girl, I'm sorry, alright? I'm new to this. Sometimes I say things I don't mean. Do you want to...do you want to maybe talk about it?"
Cassie snaps her gaze up to meet his, eyes wet and glistening. "No, I don't want to talk about."
The Stranger lets out a relieved breath. "Thank Christ for that."
"Huh?"
"No offense, darling, but a night spent listening to you moaning about how your step-dad is a little bit too hands on with his punishments? I could do without that depressing little pass-time, to be honest."
"Then why the fuck did you ask?" Cassie arches a brow.
"Professionalism." The Stranger grunts, and he slowly removes the patchwork hat. "It's part of the service I've been compelled to provide you fucking mortals."
His hair's a dirty brown colour, like tree-bark. It's long, it's messy, and the hat hasn't made it smell very appealing. His eyes, though, well his eyes make Cassie forget about the stench of his hair. Make her forget about her Step-Dad snoozing in the next room. A deep, piercing yellow colour.
"Go on then," The Stranger looks at her expectantly. "Out with it."
"Out with what?"
"You've got questions, I know you do. Better ask them now."
"What...what are you? A Guardian Angel?" Cassie asks, sitting up a little straighter.
"Fuck no!" The Stranger gives her a bark of laughter, like she's just told a really good joke. "I'm more of an *avenging* Angel."
"And all these years - in my closet, under my bed, in the corners of the room - you've been looking out for me?"
"You," The Angel harrumphs. "And about a quarter of a million others."
"After Phil married my mother, that's when I started noticing you."
"That's when I started letting myself be noticed."
"You terrified me." She says, though mainly to herself.
"Yeah," He replies. "But not nearly as much as he did."
Cassie looks into his eyes once again. See's in them a sort of caring. A sort of sympathy. "You don't know what it's like."
"My Dad was the same, way back when. Liked the drink, he did, and when he drank he got angry, and when he got angry he went after me."
"He beats me. Hits me when Mom's away on business."
There's a silence. The two of them settle into it, and the first of the tears begin to roll down Cassie's cheeks. The Angel lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Cold no longer, there's a special kind of warmth there that soothes her. He takes her into his embrace, and she begins to sob.
"Yeah, well," The Angel says. "Now it's time to turn the tables." | 198 | random_samples |
4 | 1,525,035,481 | 137 | You were born blind. For years you haven’t been able to see anything at all. One day you get something in your eye, and furiously rub at it to get it to come out. That’s when you see it: a small black contact lens in the palm of your hands. | “What a lovely day” I thought as I sat on a park bench. The sun was warm and the air was cool. I hated cloudy days. Often left the air too cold for me to sit at the park. It was my favorite place to be. So many sounds to listen to. Children playing, dogs being walked, birds singing. It‘s the perfect backdrop for reading. Braille books had become more easily accessible, but for some reason I couldn’t enjoy them as much as when I sat at the park.
I could hear foot steps behind me. Sounded like a young kid running this way. Probably chasing after a ball. “Hey Mr., did you...” and he sudden stopped. “What do you need son?” I asked. “I’m sorry Mr, was going to ask if you saw where the ball went, didn’t know you... well...”. I smiled and said “it’s ok. I can’t see but I can hear. I heard what sounded like a ball to my right. Not very far.” “Thanks Mr!” the boy said and ran off. I smiled and went back to reading.
A gust of wind picked up. I could feel dirt picking up. Before I realized it something blew into my eyes. Just cause you can’t see doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I yelped in pain. The boy ran back and sounded a little scared. “Hey Mr are you okay?” I nodded and said “I’ll be fine just got something in my eyes.“ I fiercely rubbed my eyes trying to get the debris out. I could feel the little granules scraping across my eyeballs and it was uncomfortable to say the least. All of a sudden something dislodged in my left eye.
“What the hell?” I said out loud. Whatever happened, it was now moving as I pressed my eyelids. “What did I just do to myself?” I started to panic. I slowly went to open my left eye and something fell into my hand. But something else happened. I was seeing light. At least that’s what it seemed like. I’d felt the heat from light on my face and it felt like this but I was feeling AND seeing it. I began to see things. Honestly had no clue what they were. Slowly the images began to sharpen. I looked down and I saw what fell out of my eye.
”Did I just scrape off a piece of my eye that was keeping me blind?” I wondered in amazement. Without even thinking I did the same thing to my right eye and sure enough, the piece popped out. After a few minutes my vision came into focus and I was seeing with both eyes. It was too much. I closed my eyes and cried, still sitting on that bench. I had so many questions and no answers for them. I had to keep my eyes closed as I went back home. So much visual input all at once was just too disorienting.
After getting home I called my mother. The phone rang several times. I nearly hung up when I heard the phone pick up. “Hello?” She said. “Mom! Mom! I can see!” I yelled.” It was silent for a moment and then I heard her say “Oh shit“ under her breath. I was confused and somewhat annoyed at this response. “Mom? Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?” She hung up. I tried calling back 10 or 11 times but no answer. “What in the hell is going on here?” I thought.
About 20 minutes later I hear a knock on the door. I went and opened it and there was what I think was my mom and Dad. I wasn’t sure until they spoke. My dad spoke up, “well I’ll be damned.” The mom spoke up “It’s ruined. All ruined”. I began to get angry. “Ruined? What the hell are you talking about?” My parents did not directly respond to me. “The subject is irritable. Doesn’t understand its plight. The entire experiment is a failure. Eyesight was not planned to be given back until age 43. Results tainted. Unreliable. Unit 421, deactivate. Authorization code GJ78D.“.
“What a goddamn waste. All these years and the unit figures out how to restore its vision. “. The female scientist just shook her head. “Now we have to start all over. Fortunately we have 80 other units still operating with the parameters of their tests.” | 58 | random_samples |
9 | 1,601,624,025 | 120 | You are the god of loneliness. You occasionally inspire musicians to write the songs of solitude but never take credit for it. The other gods make fun of you for it but while you cannot increase your power with worship, unlike them, you do not need it to survive either. | I’ve seen Gods come and go, both powerful and beautiful deities fall to the neglect of humanity. It was heartbreaking. Even if these Gods were brash or annoying to be around, I never would have wished them the awful fate of being neglected. Other Gods required the praise of humans to live, they required the belief that they were there. No one needed to believe in the God of loneliness, loneliness was always a part of humanity, I was as much a part of humanity as the air they breathe. Whether or not they wanted to believe in me, I would always be a force of nature.
For this reason, my fellow Gods often mocked me. What good is it to provide my gifts to humanity if it doesn’t benefit me? I was unchanging. No matter how many people would sing the blues, how many would wallow in the sadness of a powerful lyric, I would always be the same. When the singer would take a bow, they weren’t bowing to me. I was no more a part of the performance than the instrument they used. I only offered them the ability to create, to pour their heart out. The contents of their heart were their own, something I could never take credit for.
Why did I do this? Why inspire these artists? If I didn’t need praise or worship to survive, why would I bother? Simply because I wanted to comfort the lonely souls of the Earth, I never want them to experience the loneliness that I feel. The solitude of being utterly alone. I had no other God to turn to, no other God to lean on when the nights were just that little bit darker than usual. For that reason, I used my sorrows to power the minds of those on Earth, inspired them to create sweet melodies, ones that could offer a lonely person the comforts that I could never achieve. I never wanted humanity to feel the way I did, I wished to spare them from that loneliness.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 37 | random_samples |
9 | 1,412,676,216 | 20 | After taking medication for the first time, you realize that many parts of your life were hallucinations | I live in the home with Jeff and Mary and Manny and Lady. Lady is my dog and she's beautiful. When I was young, my real parents had to give me up so I came to live with Mary and Jeff and they look after me now. They're my fosters. My Dad and Mum loved me very much but they couldn't stay together and when Dad left Mum couldn't cope with being alone. She left me at home when I was really young and went out and never came back.
I remember Dad a a bit but not Mum. He was always so big and smelled funny, kind of like Jeff when he gets home from work but Jeff smells of sweat and I don't think it was that. I don't remember my Mum at all.
I remember arriving at our home and Jeff and Mary being really happy to meet me. Manny came later, I think he's like me, a foster and we're best friends. Lady is my dog, I got her a little while ago and we like to play all the time. Manny doesn't like Lady though and so we don't play together.
Jeff says that me and Manny cause trouble and we don't mean to. We just always seem to break stuff or knock it over. A little while back Mary started to take me to see Dr Kellogg, Mary says her name is different but I can't say it so I call her Dr Kellogg as that's like the cereal. Manny comes with me sometimes but I don't think Dr Kellogg likes him much, she says that Manny has to wait outside and come in after, but sometimes I think he sneaks in.
Last Saturday Dr Kellogg and me talked about my Mum, my real Mum, not Mary. Mary's just my foster. I didn't like talking about her much but Dr Kellogg says it's good for me. When I get upset she makes me pretend that I am playing with Lady, but it's not as good as really playing with her. When Dr Kellogg does that I always go and see Lady as soon as I get home and give her a big cuddle.
Dr Kellogg says that Manny and me need to try to be better behaved. Manny took Jeff's fishing pole and broke it, I told him not to but he did anyway. Dr Kellogg thinks that it was me that took the pole but it wasn't, if was Manny. I told her that it was Manny who started the fire but I think she thinks it was me. I know he didn't mean for those girls to get hurt.
After I finished speaking to Dr Kellogg I waited outside while Mary and Jeff went in. I could hear through the gap and they said I was going to take pills and that it'd help me be better behaved. They also talked about Manny and how he needed to go away and that it was Mannys influence on me that made me bad sometimes.
Manny didn't like that much, he got mad and made me take some pens from the waiting room and scribble on all the seats. Jeff got mad when he came out and saw that but Dr Kelogg said it was okay.
Yesterday I took the first of the pills when I went to bed. Mary said it would mean that Manny went away for a while and I said that I was sorry as we were friends, but that meant that I could play with Lady more.
This morning though I couldn't find Lady. I went all over the house and called to her but I couldn't find her. Jeff then told me that with pills meant that Lady would be gone for a while too. I said I didn't want Lady to go away and Jeff said that it was the only way to make Manny go away too. He said that sometimes we have to lose things to make other things go away too. That made me sad, I loved Lady, she made me happy when I was sad and when Manny got angry I would run and hide with her and it was okay. Now she's gone I feel more alone than before.
I don't really know where Lady is but I'm not allowed to look. I sat out in the back yard this afternoon and waited for her to come back but she never did. I felt really strange today but Mary says that's okay too, it's the pill but it is to make me better.
In the evening I went up for a sleep, Mary said I should sleep before dinner. When I got to me room though Manny was there. I told him that he wasn't supposed to be here any more but he told me that it was me who had to go away and not him and if I did that then I could go be with Lady.
I wasn't sure but he told me that it was the only way and so I went away and left Manny there. It's okay though, I wont get in trouble, Manny is real good at pretending to be me.
| 13 | random_samples |
7 | 1,471,216,757 | 61 | ou are a well-loved and extremely popular food cart vendor in your city, a city that happens to be pretty populated by superheroes and supervillains alike. Describe a typical closing night for you. | I like to think of myself as a uniting force. It sounds awfully arrogant, but it isn't far from the truth. My little shop on the corner of the street was probably the most successful business on that street, with my two-dollar string lights and rainbow pinwheels attracting all kinds of customers. But most importantly, I was quick, like a fast-food restaurant, minus the restaurant part, and double the fast-food.
"Hey Reggie," I greeted the Business Man, one of the regular villains that stopped by every Wednesday for a hotdog just before I closed. Today he was my last customer. He looked worn out, and his usually clean suit was torn in a zig-zag fashion down the sides.
He smiled, though I knew he wasn't happy, as he usually wasn't on Wednesdays, and slapped a five-dollar bill on what little counter space I had.
"Hey Daniel, can I get the usual?"
I nodded and turned to my personal cooker, given to me specially made by the Business Man's nemesis, the Slacker. He gave it to me after I served him, and I quote, "the best damn burger he'd ever sucked down". I swore up and down that the Business Man would never know where this cooker came from.
I slid the perfectly grilled hotdog over to him, along with his large sweet-tea, and leaned against the counter. As soon as he took a bite of his meal and a sip of his drink, he'd launch into his tale of the day, and how his "seemingly foolproof" plan was thwarted.
He slurped loudly on his drink and rocked back on his heels. "You should've seen me today, DanMan," he began, and I smiled at the use of the nickname he had given me, "I almost, *almost*, beat Slacker today. If I had just drawn the graphs correctly, he would've fallen right into my trap!"
I followed along with his story that, even though it was just like all the others he'd told me, still managed to keep me on my toes, and keep the questions rolling off my tongue. In between bites he spewed the details of how he had lured the Slacker into his dungeon, where he was supposed to fall through a trap door right into a pit of electric eels, but somehow, once again, the Slacker managed to escape *and* beat up the Business Man.
"I just don't get it," he sighed, spitting a little bit of hotdog from his mouth, "Slacker is his name, right? How does he manage to beat me everytime if he doesn't do anything?"
I nodded my head in agreement, shrugging at the seemingly strange odds. His rant was interrupted when something buzzed, and he slid his phone out of his pocket to check it. Almost instantly, his expression shifted from tired, to worried, and then to annoyed.
"Oh crap, I gotta run, the wife's wondering where I am." He sighed and slid me another five dollars. It was funny, that sometimes the villains were more generous than the heroes.
Before he took off, he swirled around and pointed at my little stand. "I'll be back next week."
And with a final wink, he disappeared around the bend. | 32 | random_samples |
22 | 1,457,033,256 | 230 | A blowhard frontrunner for an election in the developed world is killed by a tiny meteorite, on national television, literal seconds after uttering the phrase "If I am a liar, may God strike me down where I stand." |
Some millions of years ago in the depths of space a large chunk of rock smashed into another large chunk of rock. The resulting collision sent an almost innumerable amount of shrapnel in every direction. In order of magnitude, the rock that ended up going through Don Johnson’s skull was the 8,435,345th largest. It had no hopes or aspirations, no utility whatsoever. Merely the resultant effect of an event set forth by the creation of the universe.
And they say determinism is all hogwash!
As a dying dinosaur looked to the ashen sky, a great crater smouldering across the world, the rock slowly span in and out of view. Uncaring of that great meteor which had just struck the world. Thousands of times its size, formed for some other great purpose. Ending its million year journey in the Yucatán. Or what would eventually be called so.
As Martin Luther looked to the sky after nailing a piece of paper to the church door, the rock tumbled unaware of its great purpose. Of its divinely inspired mission. More pure than Manifest Destiny. Just entering the confines of our solar system, peering at Pluto. The planet, or planetoid. The distinction of no apparent value. All its brethren living out the rest of eternity floating aimlessly in the void, the rock felt the full force of gravity for the first time in eons.
Don Johnson looked at the starless sky from the brightly lit stage, crowds of cheering and histrionic fans at his feet. Supporters maybe, but definitely fans. A small boulder slowing burning up in the atmosphere.
This is our night! It’s time to take back this great country once and for all. The polls close in just a few minutes, but I’m pretty much ready to call this one for us!
The crowd went wild. The rock, now the size of a thimble, charred by its harsh entry slowed to the speed of a bullet, for the first time in millions of years felt ready for something different.
Our mission is inspired by God. And if he hath any qualms with my presidency, may he strike me down this very moment!
The rock in all its ethereal glory flew straight through Don Johnson’s brain stem. Killing him immediately. The crowd chuckled at this welcomed sight of slapstick he’d been so well known for. And as the laughter died down he never got up.
The rock was dislodged from his corpse and tossed aside. Don Johnson’s body began to slowly decompose. Every single member of the audience eventually died too. The rock nestled into the ground ready for the long haul. The only remaining memory of a moment long lost to history.
The Earth eventually was hit by an even larger rock that killed the rest of the humans. And from the ashes new forms evolved. And those too were eventually destroyed. At the hand if God, or nature. It doesn't really matter. Determined ambivalence.
And as pressure built and continents drifted the small stone was ground up and fully assimilated into the world. Claiming just as much ownership of it as anyone else.
| 104 | random_samples |
3 | 1,646,270,530 | 38 | As you lifelong friend passes, you watch yourself fade away with surprise. At this moment, you realize you never truly existed. You were a hallucination. Your friend's dearest imaginary friend. You fade, nearly gone, but then there's a light, and it expands to cover your field of vision! | I watched Steve struggling to breathe, only accomplishing even minimal breaths due to the machine helping him. He looked so wasted, so weak, nothing like the big fat tub of lard that was your best friend.
Steve and I had been friends for what felt like years. He was always fun to hang out with, always with a kind word, a joke, or a new videogame to play. He always seemed so lonely, but he'd always give me a call and I'd show up and we'd have a great time.
I knew all his hopes, his dreams, the girl he had a crush on. All of it. And as I watched him struggle to continue living I realized that all that he was was disappearing before my eyes.
Wait...
...
...
No... everything was disappearing before my eyes.
Wait wait wait...my mind, in a panic, seemed to dredge up all kinds of memories...and none of them had anything but Steve in them.
That couldn't be right. I remember talking about my parents and old home and toys and favorite games and everything. Everything Steve and I had in common.
But why could I remember the actual memories, and not just the talks? Why couldn't I actually remember my parents, their faces and voices? Why did I have no clue what my childhood home looked like? Why did I only remember when Steve opened the door and invited me into his life?!
Like a cold bucket of cold water it hit me, the bared reality of what was happening. I wasn't real. Something spoke to me, a voice that was both too faint to hear and perfectly clear. I wasn't real.
The world quickly became hazy. I pressed my hand against the window to Steve's room. Nobody took note of a fading memory watching his best friend die. And Steve was my best friend, because he saw me as real.
Steve gave one terrified deep breath, his eyes snapped open, his eyes rolled wildly until he saw me. Around the tube he mouthed something to me...then his eyes glazed, the beeping became a long tone and I was gone into darkness.
A bright light exploded into my vision.
Sunlight on snow. A rough board under me as I swayed.
A rough voice spoke up...
"Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
I opened my eyes and cursed Todd... | 10 | random_samples |
5 | 1,474,768,225 | 44 | Sure X marks the spot, but it's 'X' as in the Captain's Ex. Only she knows where he hid his greatest treasure. | Marie sat at her kitchen table, wondering when the pirates would come. She could hear her daughter through the open window. She could hear the shrill bark of her daughter's new puppy. Her morning coffee sat next to her, cold and untouched. A half-finished crossword puzzle lay on the newspaper in front of her.
There was a knock at the front door. Marie set down her pencil and stared at the door. The knock came again, louder. Marie closed her eyes and took a slow, measured breath. She blew out through her mouth in one controlled push of air. Her shoulders relaxed. Another breath. In. Out.
The knock again. Marie stood and opened the door. An older man, probably mid-fifties, stood on the landing outside. He wore a satchel around one shoulder and held a ragged sailor's cap in hands that were covered in ragged tattoos. He caught Marie's eye and bowed his head slightly.
"Ma'am," he said. "I'm looking for the home of Missus Stewardson. Might you be her?"
Marie smiled. "You're Horacio, yes?"
The man's eyebrows rose. "Yes, missus, I suppose I am."
"Just 'Miss,' thanks." Marie stood aside and gestured the man inside.
Horacio stepped into the common room of Marie's house, stopping just inside the door. Marie shut the door and beckoned for him to follow her into the kitchen. They sat at the table, the crossword puzzle between them.
"He never told you that we got divorced, I take it?" Marie asked.
Horacio shook his head. "Me and the boys didn't even know you existed until a week ago." He looked around the kitchen, his eyes marking each shiny copper pot and silvered serving piece. "We're all very sorry for your loss."
Marie smiled and waved away his words with her hand. "Richard and I were divorced for six years, and I hadn't spoken to him directly in three. But I appreciate the sentiment."
Horacio nodded. They sat in silence. Outside, the puppy barked.
"You're here for his treasure."
"I am." Horacio sat his cap on the table and sighed. "It's nothing personal, please understand. I sailed with Captain Dicky—"
"Pirated," said Marie.
"—pirated, yes, for almost twenty years with Capt'n Dicky." Horacio spread his hands on the table, palms up. "It's the code. The boys are entitled to the unspent portion of his share. As his first mate, 'tis my job to collect it."
"He told me you would come for it." Marie cocked her head. "Did you love my ex-husband, Horacio Blackboots?"
Horacio blushed. "Like a brother, miss." He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the raw, red skin of a fresh tattoo: an anchor with the letters RBJ. "He gave me new life those many years ago, found me half-dead in a ditch he did, and without him I'd've been lost all these years."
He sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I miss him so dearly, miss. We were set to visit Norway next month, just us and a couple of the lads. He said I had to see the fjords."
Marie reached out and took the old pirate's hand in hers. She squeezed gently. Horacio shuddered and the tears trickled down his cheeks.
Marie stood and walked to a small cabinet across the room. "He told me about you, you know." She opened a drawer and pulled out a small bulging envelope. "When the doctors told him how much time he had left, he sent this to me in the mail."
Marie sat at the table and slid the envelope across the wooden surface. Horacio looked at the plain, unmarked paper. He trembled. Marie gestured. "Go on, open it."
Horacio picked up the envelope and pulled at the sealed flap with his gaunt fingers. He tilted the envelope, dumping the contents onto the table. A dull metal watch fell out, along with a sealed letter. Horacio's breath caught in his throat at the sight of the blue wax seal.
"That's his father's watch," said Marie. She picked up the timepiece and showed the back to Horacio. There, underneath faded illegible letters, were the freshly inscribed letters: RBJ. And other them were Horacio's initials.
"His grandfather wore that watch," she continued, "and his father too, until he fell to the Spanish when Richard was eleven."
Horacio picked up the watch, cradling it in his fingers. Pulling the watch close to his chest, the old pirate closed his eyes and rocked gently in his chair.
After a time, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Horacio slipped the watch and the letter back into the envelope, and then put them in his satchel. "Thank you."
"He loved you immensely," said Marie. "I think he would have quit the sea if it hadn't been for you." Her mouth curled into a frown as she said this, but she shook her head and smiled. "He would have been lost without it, though. Without you."
"I'm sorry," said Horacio. "He never spoke of you. Men of our kind don't take to a home life. If I had known..." He swallowed hard and looked away.
"Richard's marriage was his choice and his responsibility," said Marie, "not yours. You have nothing to be sorry for." She gestured to a door in the rear of the kitchen. "Would you like to see his treasure, now?"
"Yes, please." Horacio rose from his chair, pushing it back in place as he stepped away from the table. "I hate to ask for it, but—it's the boys, they've a right to it." He picked up his cap. "Dicky would've understood."
Marie shrugged. "This way."
They stepped through the back door and emerged in a small garden behind the house. Marie closed the door with a thump. The bushes rustled and a small brown puppy bounded out of the leaves, followed closely by a small girl. They rushed up to Marie and crowded around her.
"Mommy we found worms! And a mouse! And Toby chased a cat over the fence and mommy I squished the worms and they were gross and—
Marie laughed and knelt down. She clucked her tongue as she began picking at her daughter's hair. "Rose," she said, "you've got leaves tangled in your hair again."
"I know! It's great! And look mommy!" Rose smiled and showed the palms of her hands to her mother. "My hands are so grubby!"
Marie shrieked in mock horror as Rose tried to rub her hands in her mother's hair. Horacio chuckled, the sun-tanned skin around his eyes crinkling. Marie stood and gestured to him.
"Rose, we have a guest."
Rose's face became very serious and she carefully crossed her legs at the ankles, and then attempted a curtsy. As she bowed, Toby jumped up and licked her nose, causing Rose to laugh and fall into the grass with her puppy.
"She's precious," said Horacio.
"She is." Marie looked at him. "Kids?"
Horacio shook his head. "Hard to find love when you're married to the sea." He watched as Rose and Toby disappeared deeper into the garden. "It warms my heart to know that Dicky found it, though." He cast a sidelong glance at Marie. "Even if it was only for a little while."
"Oh he loved her throughout," said Marie. "Rose lived with him for a few months every year when you and crew were on extended leave."
Horacio shook his head. "I never did get that—why send your boys packing for damn near three months a year? And pay them the whole time!" He laughed. "We thought ol' Cap'n Dicky was maybe eating the carpenter's glue."
Horacio stepped past Marie into the garden and scanned the foliage around him. He squatted and examined the dirt beneath him. "So, is this where he buried it?"
"What?"
"His treasure." Horacio pulled out a small knife and dug into the earth. "This is the spot, right?"
"Oh. No," said Marie. "There's nothing buried here."
Horacio stood up, his wrinkled hands fumbling to slide the knife into its sheath on his belt. "Well, I suppose that makes it easier," he said. "Where is it, then?"
"You've already seen it," said Marie.
Horacio scratched his head and looked around. The sound of giggling and puppy barks grew louder and Rose ran full speed around the corner of the house. She ran blind, looking behind her with glee as her puppy came scrambling across the grass after her. She smacked into Horacio's legs, catching herself with both arms.
"Oof!" said Horacio.
Rose grinned up at him, her eyes wild and bright blue. Horacio gasped and covered his mouth with one hand. He looked over at Marie, his eyes freshly wet.
"She has his look," he said.
Marie nodded with a smile. Horacio knelt down and held Rose by the shoulders. His eyes traced the line of her nose, the shape of her lips, her eyes. She blew a raspberry at him and wriggled out of his hands. The old pirate watched her go.
"He gave her everything he could," said Marie. Horacio, still watching the girl cavorting and playing, nodded.
"No," said Marie, "you're not hearing me." Her tone was sharp.
Horacio looked over, his eyebrows pinched.
"He gave her *everything.*" Marie arched an eyebrow. "Do you understand?"
Horacio was silent for a moment, then stood. His eyes narrowed and he slowly pointed into the distance. At Rose.
"She's... his treasure."
"Yes."
"He's left his share for her, somehow."
"It's in a bank, in London. Richard left instructions."
Horacio was silent.
"There's one more thing," said Marie. "Her name."
The old pirate looked over and studied Marie's face.
"If she had been a boy, it would've been much easier for Richard," said Marie.
"I don't understand," said Horacio.
" 'Rose' is short for Rosia." Marie put one hand on Horacio's shoulder. "It was the closest that Richard could get—to Horacio."
*****
If you liked this story, you might like my other stories at /r/hpcisco7965 and /r/TMODAL.
| 13 | random_samples |
6 | 1,657,124,676 | 73 | Tired of your remote missing between the sofa cushions, you dived into the crevice between sofa cushions, and ended up in a dimension where all lost things end up. You're ecstatic to find everything you lost in here, but that changes when you begin to find things never meant to be found. | Ah, welcome. Please, take a seat.
Well, I suppose I should explain. This is the Place Called Nowhere. Here reside all things that are lost. Anything that can't be found anymore, can be found here.
Yes, I'd say just about everything. That plushie you lost as a kid? That book you could've sworn was stolen by a sibling? That tacky little fridge magnet from your trip abroad that you still miss.
Me? Oh, right. Silly me. I'm The Custodian. I take in that which is lost, and watch over it. Keep it safe. In case it somehow goes back.
No, Not just corporeal. Sense of time, sense of wonder... Will to live... Oh, we get a lot of sense of humour recently. Not entirely sure why.
Yes, lost loves too. The one that got away, the one that never was. They are all here, somewhere. Oh, how much time we receive. It is so easily lost, I'm afraid.
Your remote? No, I actually haven't. Oddly enough, I don't get many TV remotes. Probably because people never stop looking for them.
Hmm? What an odd question. Yes, we do get people. Losing your mind, losing your self, those aren't just expressions, you know.
How did you think you ended up here?
*For some more of my stuff: [Talesandsongs](https://www.reddit.com/r/Talesandsongs/)* | 33 | random_samples |
15 | 1,452,426,712 | 65 | You're a supervillain with an unusual power: if you die, the world dies with you. During your most recent heist, a superhero by the name of Mr. Immortal shows up to stop you. | "YOU HAVE NO PROOF!"
Great, another superhero coming to take me down a peg. Sometimes I wonder when this will get old. Admittedly it's far more interesting than working in IT like I did before I won the power lottery.
"When did you get sick last?" I ask the new guy with an I on his chest.
"I never get sick, I never hurt and I will never die I am MR. IMMORTAL!!"
Now that's a new one.
"Fantastic good for you. It must be amazing being immortal."
"It is, and I'm taking you in."
"If you do I'll kill myself, taking everyone in the world with me."
"As I said before, you have no proof."
New power, same argument. Time for the schpeal.
"You seriously think you're the first to think of proof? Do you remember the plague that hit the world two years ago?"
"Of course, it was when I realized I was special. Being the only one who didn't feel its effects was the first sign I was more than average."
"That was the first and last time I had pneumonia. The first time I'd every had a life threatening illness."
"It was the same for many, what does this have to do with..."
"Do you remember the strange wave of migraines that effected so many a mere six months after?"
"Yes they said.."
"They were mine. As soon as I got better everyone got better. I am the avatar of the human race. When I hurt, everyone in the world feels it. Except apparently you. I remember the first time a superhero punched me. He held his own face in the exact place I held mine, and as I stood up and looked around me I could see every person in sight holding the left side of their faces."
"So I'm the perfect man to fight you."
"You would be if you could handle punching every child that looked up to you."
"What, no I-"
"You would be if you didn't care for a single person on this planet."
"Even so-"
"You would be the perfect person to fight me, if you weren't so....human."
"I could sedate you and-"
"Simultaneously sedate every driver, pilot and boat captain."
This was always my favorite part, the part where they finally get it. Usually they hit me, and, even after I told them exactly what was going to happen when they did, look at me amazed. I smile at Mr.Immortal cooly, had I always smiled like this? It was fun have total control of an entire race.
"Wait a minute."
"Take me in and I kill myself, look you've got no power here, why not save someone else from a real problem?"
"I SAID, wait a minute."
"For what? You to realize you're to stupid to figure out that I WIN. I ALWAYS WIN"
"For that."
"What?"
"You think you're superior to everyone on the planet because of some freak accident? Being special doesn't make you better."
"Except that I am better, I am definitively better."
"No you are just lucky, and so am I."
"Great we've established were lucky, fantastic, I'm going now."
Time to walk away from the idiot with the I on his chest.
"We've also established how much you love yourself"
Shit.
"I am pretty awesome."
"You're coming with me."
"I'm going home."
"You are coming with me."
"Why would I every do that?"
"Because you'd never kill yourself."
Shit.
"I'd definitely hurt myself to stay out of jail."
"I bet you would."
What can I hurt myself with? I didn't bring any weapons. I've never needed any. I could throw myself to the ground, maybe I'll run and see what he does.
"Don't bother running. We've got you surrounded."
Sure enough there are cops everywhere. Not hesitating I punch myself in the face as hard as I can. Everyone around me grabs their faces reflexively. Everyone except the idiot with the I on his chest.
"Just stop. You're done. You are a weak, pathetic little man who never had to better himself enough to be anything because he always assumed he was someone."
The bruise was starting to form on my face, I could feel the blood rushing to my eye and cheek making my face hot. I punch myself again, pain exploding in my head as I collapse to the ground. Looking back up at him through my now bleeding face I smile again.
"I am someone. I am the one who will kill the human race, do you want to be my accomplice?"
"You can't even take another hit, before you give up."
He might be right, my head is killing me. No-one has ever taken it this far. He's supposed to be afraid for the human race. He's supposed to back off already.
"Being immortal doesn't make me better than other people. Being strong enough to do what is needed is what makes me better than certain people. People like you."
Before I can retort he punches me in the face. Hard.
I open my eyes and the world blurs back into clarity. Except something is wrong. I'm in a lab of some kind and the white walls reflect a bright light that hurts my eyes. More than the location something else is wrong, I can't move. Across from the bed I'm confined to I see the idiot with the I on his chest.
"How many?" I almost spit the words in his face.
"Not as many as I thought."
"You're a monster."
"I stopped a super villain"
"You killed hundreds of people!"
"I won."
| 22 | random_samples |
12 | 1,594,210,506 | 86 | Long ago, the surviving population of Earth fled in a single massive ship built to carry them to a new home. Centuries have passed drifting through the void aboard the great World Ship. The Ship grows. The Ship moves. The Ship is All. | It's common knowledge that once you die you become one with the Ship. Except this time I had got to see it first hand. My friend's body begins to decompose and crumble, draining away through the tubes to become new material for the Ship to use.
It had gotten me thinking... why? Why did the Ship need us to work then to die? What purpose did it serve? That's what the older crew members always said. There was some greater purpose that only the Ship knew and we couldn't comprehend.
That didn't matter. I had needed to know. So I began to formulate a plan. I would ask the Ship itself. Of course I didn't have the clearance to access the inner decks. For that I would need to steal.
It was commonly known that the Ship had forbidden stealing and would punish those who disobeyed it, but the Ship was merciful. After all wasn't it easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission?
For this however I needed the Captain's ID card and that would be very difficult. I needed to get the Captain to trust me. The only way I could do that was by rising through the ranks.
So that's what I did.
I didn't make a single mistake, at least not officially. Naturally I made a lot of enemies. That was to be expected when one rose through the ranks as quickly as I did. Then finally after a decade of pointless work, of pleasing and qualifying and proving, I was to be the Captain's assistant.
The Captain didn't even give me a glance when I first arrived in front of his work quarters. "So you're my replacement?" she said. "Get to work, start by sending alerts to the reactor room. We will need to increase deceleration."
I didn't question the orders. Not out loud at least. As I served however, I began to learn more and more about how the Captain almost... *controlled* the Ship. Wasn't the Captain supposed to be the conduit through which the Ship gives it's word?
It seemed that now, *I* had become the conduit through which the Captain communicated with the Ship. However despite knowing the ins and outs of management there was one question I couldn't answer. *Why?*
The Captain summoned me to the viewing deck. Normally most of the outer decks were reserved for low-importance staff however not this one. This one I had never been to in my life.
Outside I could see the starfield. Various bits of debris sailed past us, the Ship tracking them with yellow squares. We had come to a complete stop. For the first time in history the Ship had stopped moving.
I had just come to this realization when I realized the Captain was crying. Her face, still a stern mask of indifference had a single tear running down it. I looked back outside again.
It was typical space. Perhaps not something good to fly through, however at this speed it didn't really matter. It looked to be some sort of dead star system.
I looked back towards the Captain before averting my eyes to the ground. "Permission to speak."
"Granted." Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Why have we stopped? Isn't one of the main tenets of the Ship to keep moving?"
Then unexpectedly the Captain chuckled. "You still haven't figured it out yet have you?"
"Sorry sir, but I don't know what you mean."
"The reason. The meaning behind this Ship."
I felt my insides twist. "Sir there is no meaning. The Ship is all. The Ship is life."
The Captain sighs. "We had a destination. This Ship, these bodies, all those people who worked and died for us. Their purpose was to bring us here."
"Sir this is an dead system. We've passed countless like it on the way here."
The Captain shook her head. "My predecessor made a mistake you see. The journey should've been a lot shorter. This system should've still been burning when we arrived. Except our systems began to fail. One by one, a chain reaction.
"It was fixable of course but at a great cost. The ship's speed. That is why we are where we are now. A military structure, each person dedicated to efficiency. It shouldn't have been this way. It should've..."
The Captain trailed off looking at the dead system.
"This was meant to be our home." | 32 | random_samples |
20 | 1,623,361,854 | 387 | After a mysterious event known as The Calm, humanity no longer feels "negative emotions." There is no hate, no anger, no sadness, no fear... What sounds like a paradise, is anything but. | My entire childhood was spent on the beach. The moment I got home from school, I'd scribble out my homework and dash out the door to fall into the loving arms of my third parent: the seashore. Like a good parent, it was soothing and kind. Countless joyful hours I spent building sandcastles, digging for shells, and splashing in the ocean. And like a good parent, it was stern when it needed to be. Great pulsating riptides and violent waves smashed in a broiling moshpit of power where the ocean became too deep for my developing strength, teaching me to never go beyond my limits, lest I die.
I still have those memories. The water, the sand, the people. But I no longer remember what made the beach special. The way the sun met the watery vault on the horizon in a splash of red and orange at twilight. The terrifying power of the ocean, where one second you could be playing peacefully and the next you were wrested away by the fickle tide. The utter bliss of shedding the day's worries to spend an afternoon among the fish and crabs. I guess you could say The Calm was like when the ocean, in the middle of a horrible frenzy, suddenly mellowed into a flat, gently bobbing sheet. You knew there was untapped power there -- you had just seen it a moment prior! -- but now it professed peace.
When I say it happened suddenly, you might get the impression that it was like a thunderclap: instant and violent and powerful. That couldn't be farther from the truth. It was a *mellowing*. As simple as that. The raging sea of human emotion just... mellowed. Nobody acknowledged it for the phenomenon it was. At best, Burt would say to his neighbor, "Everything kind of calmed down around here, huh?" The neighbor would laugh uneasily, because The Calm was sort of a social taboo. Society accepted that it happened, but it wasn't keen to delve into how or why. It was like a frightened kid hiding their face under the covers when they see a monster under the bed. How would the thin wisp of fabric stop sharpened claws or gleaming fangs? During the daylight hours, that question may pop into the kid's mind, but during the night, it paled in comparison to the instinct of hiding from the problem.
An outsider would call it utopia. Society called it the new status quo. I call it purgatory. At face value, the sudden removal of negative emotions would seem like a boon to the greedy, war-like human race. But there's a reason people argue over the morality of a white lie. There isn't always a perfect right and wrong answer. And likewise, the complex bond between positive and negative emotions has never fully been understood, and completely unraveling the hurtful, beautiful quilt the two wove has killed humanity.
Drifting through the aisles to buy groceries, I am struck by how listless everything is. I want nothing more than to be angry at clueless shoppers, to feel irritated at long lines, and to rage at traffic jams. The loss of emotional connection to my world is so profound that I would cry, if I could still feel sad. As it is, I can only consider it intellectually. I sit through the twenty minute wait at the cashiers like a good little boy, feeling nothing but... nothing. Maybe purgatory is the real hell.
Hours later, lounging on my couch, an idea comes to me. It comes like the thunderclap that The Calm never was. It comes so powerfully that it pokes the dam of my conscious mind, behind which all my emotions are trapped.
"It's time to go to the beach," I said to the empty house. The empty world.
Twenty minutes later and my bare toes are wiggling in the sand. It's a cool evening, with a slight breeze rippling through the stagnant air. On the horizon, the sun is interlaced with the farthest stretch of water in a blaze of glory, although I cannot appreciate it. There is nobody else on the beach. After The Calm, people no long romanticized getting sandy, wet, and sunburned, and they stopped coming. I wish I could say I was different, but this was my first time back in a year. Still, I could never bring myself to move too far away. The beach had raised me.
Stripping down to my underwear, I approach the ocean. There is a line where the wet sand is separated from the dry sand, and it marked a change of domain. From the domain of the earth to the domain of the sea. It was one of the few border lines that did not require a passport to cross, although once you stepped over into the wet sand, you subjugated yourself to the tempestuous whims of the sea.
I step over the line.
"Do you remember me?" I shout into the wind. There is no answer but a trickle of water flowing over my sandy feet, crusting them with salty residue before receding again.
"I will offer myself to you on one condition," I tell the ocean. "Make me fear you!"
With that epitaph sealed in the memory of the night sky, I run into the beckoning waves. They are frigid, instantly throwing a blanket of convulsive shivers over me, but I don't care. I run. And when I can no longer run, I swim. When swimming tires me, I paddle. Anything to go farther out.
*Go home.*
The small voice inside of my head said this dryly. It was the same tone you would use to remark on something mundane. During the time of The Calm, it was the only tone.
*This isn't smart. You could die.*
Maybe the voice is right. No, it definitely is right. This is idiotic. What coerced me into swimming in the ocean at night? Fun and games was over; it was time to turn around and swim back to my life.
The instant inability to hear anything was the only indication that thousands of gallons of water from a behemoth wave had smashed my body towards the ocean floor. Then there was a dull whine in my ears. I couldn't see. I couldn't breathe.
**I couldn't see! I couldn't breathe!**
Panic overcame rational thought and jerked my muscles to action. I swam furiously towards the surface, wanting nothing more than to live another minute. Another second. When I burst out from the surface, choking, I suddenly realized that I was feeling again. Panic, fury, terror: it was all back!
I laughed freely for the first time since The Calm. What a gift life is! Look at that sunset, isn't it gorgeous! For what time I could squeeze out, I imbibed everything about my surroundings. It was the greatest moment of my life. And my last moment.
Now that fear had returned, I knew that there was no escaping the ocean this far in. I was lucky to have swam this far. And, after all, I had given myself over to the ocean, and it had held up its end of the bargain by making me fear it again. It was fitting to die here, where I had been reared.
It was fitting to die living. | 163 | random_samples |
25 | 1,391,766,719 | 73 | Time freezes for all but one man, and does not restart. What does he do? | Chuck wandered through the countryside estate he most recently found himself in, the hallways and rooms silent and empty, abandoned and forgotten. It felt as if this place had been long ignored, and yet there was no dust, no sign of neglect. How many days it had been since someone else had walked these halls? Had the days turned into months? Did those words still have any meaning?
There hadn't even been a day since the big stop, not a real one, anyways. The sun remained sitting in the same spot it had been, shining down onto the one poor soul who could still be warmed by it. Perhaps permanent day was better than everlasting night, but Chuck wasn't sure. There was something unsettling about the brightly lit cities now turned into eerie art shows filled with sculptures stopped while living normal lives. Chuck wondered if it would have been better if the big stop happened at night, at least then he wouldn't have had to see as much, to feel as much regret.
Chuck had been mid-conversation when the world stopped. At first, he thought his friend had been playing some strange joke, but soon bemusement turned into genuine concern, and when Chuck realized the extent of the catastrophe, into pure terror. For a while, terror was all there had been, but those first few moments had been nothing compared to what had followed.
For some time, Chuck had tried to reverse what had happened, dragging several people into his workshop, trying to think of ways to revive them. He still remembered how they felt, remembered how strange it was that they were still warm to the touch, that they still felt alive. But after one failed experiment after another, he came to accept that they were not, that the universe had decided to end, not with a bang, but with silence.
And the realization that came next was the worst of all. The universe had ended without him. Only Chuck had been cursed with this fate, the fate of living alone in a world that was as alien as any Chuck had ever seen in a film or read about in a book. For some time after, that despair was all there had been for him. He would have given anything to be with his friends and family, to be frozen and ended like everyone else.
Chuck had considered suicide, but knew that no matter his circumstance, he couldn't find the courage to kill himself, wasn't even sure if he wanted to. What would be the point of it? But then again, what was his reason for living? It took a while before Chuck found one. But while wandering the countryside he did.
The sun perfectly framed this mansion and the grounds, and a family sat frozen around a pristine picnic table. A mother, a father, a little girl, and a little boy. Chuck sat beside them and saw in their silent faces the embodiment of joy and happiness. He saw that for these people, life had reached the best point it ever would. He looked around and saw the world not for what he had lost, but what it had been.
The happy family, the beautiful day, and the mansion that sat behind them. These things were holy. And Chuck thought back on what he had seen in the city, the less than savory samples of life and crime which he had seen. Those things, too, were sacred. Echoes of the world that had been, of the people that had lived, of the times that were no more.
Chuck finally realized why he was here, how he could keep on living until the universe finally decided to spare him. Without Chuck, all of what had been would be lost, the beauty of both good and evil would be gone forever with no one to appreciate it. Chuck owed it to everyone and everything. He would be the one that watched, the one that remembered. Though the universe had ended, through Chuck it would live on.
| 63 | random_samples |
24 | 1,446,459,236 | 90 | A reverse version of the Alien movies, where the Humans are the terrifying entities, and the aliens are the prey. | We'd struggled to communicate in the beginning, but we learned how to speak a common language. We communicated on the thousand fronts and were given a thousand different answers in return. We learned they were not a hive like us. We had dealt with various species like this before, and so made sure to only communicate on a few vectors at once. We made sure to communicate business and terms with the highest echelons of their leadership for the most part to avoid confusion, and not take things anyone under them states as the will of humanity. We were careful.
We communicated with scholars, we wanted to understand them so we know what to expect from them. We leaned some of their languages. We learned about their arts, and we studied their history. We saw the horrors they did to themselves. We learned of religion, and we studied all of their works and important events. We learned about Martin Luthor and...
And then learning went quiet. We were no longer communicating with anyone at the scholars. We went there multiple times and we lost part of ourself. More were being lost every time. Quickly the whole planet went dark for us. We felt its loss. We did not know what happened. Something was terribly wrong. We investigated.
We were happy to find part of ourselves, but they were separate to us. They were not our hivemind, but messy and chaotic, like the human minds. As we spoke we could begin to feel the ideas this separate us had. It said there were no other minds woven into their thoughts now, and it was alone. Communication stopped and we again lost part of ourselves. We landed on the surface again and lost ourselves many times over. We stopped and waited.
Some time later a human ship landed on us, a nearby planet. The humans left their ship and spoke. They spoke in languages we had studied, they spoke in others we knew, and a lot more that we had never heard. We couldn't help but reach out to touch their minds. As we did we were diminished. We quickly lost feeling with a hemisphere of us. We retreated away from the humans. Again they came at us in larger numbers. Each speaking loudly, all broadcasting an idea.
We left that world so it was no longer us. We learned the human mind was harmful to us. We could see that now. Humans infected us with something. An idea that disrupted 'WE'.
It is much later. We are hiding out. We aren't even a planet any more. We are so much less than what we were. We are asteroids, and a moon. We are heading into deep space. We are finding it takes longer to think. The Hive is getting smaller. Anyone who tells you humans have no telepathic abilities has never experienced raw human will. Any attempt to find out what the will of the humans is, has left us without that part of ourself.
We see a ship.
The humans are hunting us. They are here.
I am scared. | 36 | random_samples |
19 | 1,391,532,785 | 28 | A story that switches in tone from light to dark... About a squirrel. | Terry was Joe's Hobbes: light hearted, adventurous, insightful, playful and, of course, a soft adorable animal. The difference was though, Terry was real. Terry was a local squirrel that he had met a day ago on the way home from school, passing through the small nature reserve opposite his house. Walking down the well worn dirt path, Terry locked eyes with his soon to be best friend. Neither twitched a muscle -- Joe's young blue eyes locked with Terry's large round brown eyes. Something passed between them.
Terry was old, lonely and wanted company: Joe realised this. Old grey streaked through his tail and the nimbleness that squirrels are known for had left him months ago. There were no longer any other squirrel friends in the area, their homes destroyed to make way for urban sprawl. He found happiness from Joe, a sense of peace with the world.
From that moment onwards, Terry wouldn't leave his side. It was a match made in heaven: they both liked to climb large knobbly trees, scurry around amongst the autumn leaves making growling animal noises as they went, and collect funny little objects they found on the ground.
Whenever Joe got cold, he would like to warm his hands up by stroking Terry's exposed innards. They had a tendency to fall out of the small incision that Joe had made on Terry's underbelly earlier that afternoon, with a sharpened tree branch they had both found. He didn't want him dying and going completely cold, so he only let the life seep out slowly.
The sun was setting on the day after they met, Joe was holding Terry in his arms like a baby, rocking him back and forth. The warmth wasn't going to last much longer.
The rusted nails protruding from Terry's tiny paws would occasionally scratch up at the sky he could no longer see, searching for a place he knew was once safe, a place where there was no Joe, a place in the tree.
-----
*As always, feedback appreciated. Maybe something like "What the fuck is wrong with you?"* | 11 | random_samples |
10 | 1,471,713,702 | 36 | An angel and a demon were banished from Heaven and Hell respectively. Improbably, they met on Earth, fell in love, and had you. Today's your first parent-teacher conference. | "Lucy's progress has been remarkable, Mr. Solomon and Mr. Saul. Since the first quarter, I wasn't sure her comprehension of mathematics was up to our level, but evidently, I see she has been able to progress faster than any other student. I trust that you have been helping her, yes?"
Ms. Sykes simply looked at me. I think she hates me, but I'm not sure. She constantly treats me differently from everyone else. Kind of like everyone else is better than me and I'm just okay when compared to them. I got better at math, I studied every day, I did all my homework and classwork and even won the mini competition my grade had. But Ms. Sykes gave the candy bar reward to Tomas, and he got second place. I got nothing. Instead I was told "Just know there are people better than you." And then other kids started to chant the same thing until she started to teach history.
Pa and Dad said that I did my best and how they checked everything. They said how they were moving away from checking my work. Then they told me to close my ears, so I did. I heard them anyway, I don't know how. They said they were still checking my work even when they didn't when I asked them to. She doesn't like me at all. Then Dad motioned to me to close my ears tighter.
Then Pa got mad. He said I got Ds and Cs in all my subjects. And then he said how he checked all my work and how I got everything right. He rarely got angry, but when he got angry, it got stuffy and too hot wherever he was. He said he wanted to see my class folder. So Ms. Sykes got up and looked for it, and then said she lost it.
Pa told her how she was a liar. Dad told Pa how we can't make any assumptions, but that folders don't get lost just because. Dad's voice was soft. I love both my Pa and Dad even though they are very different. I guess they loved each other enough to have me. Pa always makes a devil food cake every few weeks, and Dad makes an angel food cake every few weeks too. They wear different clothes. Pa wears work shirts and dress pants all the time, but Dad wears light cotton shirts and jeans. Pa has some beard on his face and is fuzzy, but Dad has no beard. His face is smooth.
Anyway, Pa got angry. He got up and found my folder. Ms. Sykes looked scared. She kept trying to tell him only teachers could take folders. But Pa told her to try him. I don't know what that meant. And then he got quiet. He told me to come over, and showed me my work. They all had 89 to 100 on them, but Fs and Ds written on all of them. I didn't know Ms. Sykes hated me that much. I wanted to cry but Dad told me to not to cry and hugged me.
Then Pa and Dad took me and Ms. Sykes to Mr. Hill, the school principal. They talked to him, showing my homework, and then said they wanted something done about Ms. Sykes. She looked scared. She didn't like it and stared at me. I remember she said how there are people smarter than me. And then I told Dad how she said that. I asked him if that was okay for teachers to say. Dad didn't like and and said how it wasn't nice to say that to kids. Mr. Hill told us how he will do something about it. So we left. When we came home, I petted Kitty and we had angel food cake. Pa said how I was smart and caring and how teachers shouldn't say mean things to people who are a bit different. I asked if I was different, but he told me I was different in a good way. I asked if I was a good student and he said he was proud. I guess I did okay. I wonder who my new teacher will be. | 19 | random_samples |
15 | 1,450,388,157 | 34 | You refuse to be the heir. | "Yeah, no. I'm not going to do that," I said.
The attendants all looked at the floor. I don't know how much you know about Court shit, but that's really bad. The bishops had a bit more sack, but - you know - they're still bishops. The rest of them all looked at the king.
"What?" I asked.
My father grunted and whispered. An aged advisor leaned in close and my father muttered in his ear.
"Your royal father, King Heanett, would like to know what your objection to the royal post of Supreme Ruler is?"
I stared in amazement. "Are you kidding? Are you kidding me, Dad? You know why! You *know*. I've told you a hundred times. I'm going to start a competitive dance-off league with the guys!"
The advisor looked at the floor. When *those* guys do that, you *know* the shit is going to hit the fan. He leaned in again, seeing my dad's failing lips fluttering again.
There was a pause. I looked around the room. No-one would meet my eyes.
"Your royal duty..."
I stood up, angrily. "The duty? The duty? All I ever hear from you is the duty! What about the *moves,* Dad? What about the *moves?*" I jumped back from behind the table and demonstrated some of the moves. Like the rolling waves of the ocean, so did my arm pass a perfect sine to my other arm. And although it seemed like I was walking forwards, the assembled would later testify that I did, indeed, move backwards. With one hand raised to the heavens, I grabbed my crotch. I crouched low, legs spread wide. I shook my ass.
May the Heavens bring their wisdom to these Heathens, I shook my ass.
"See?" I asked. "See?"
Muttering. Leaning. The advisor stepped forward. "Your Royal Father has indeed seen your... *moves.*"
"My sick moves," I said.
He nodded, reluctantly. "And he still feels that you need to apply yourself to the more traditional matters of the rule of law. Justice. Truth. Social order. Development. Health, and wellbeing."
I groaned. "There's no talking to you guys," I said. "I'm out of here. Next time you see me, it's going to be on ESPN. Later, bitches."
_____________________________________________
I poked the campfire with a stick.
"Holy shit," the vagabond said.
"Yeah," I said. "Civilisation might have crumbled, but I've still got the *moves.*"
I demonstrated said moves for him. I'd like to think he was pretty blown away. | 21 | random_samples |
4 | 1,660,523,986 | 30 | Your walking down the aisle but you don’t see your groom but instead his twin brother. When you reach at the end of the aisle the twin tells you a terrifying secret. | *At last….My love has come along….*
The dulcet tones of Etta James echoed through the church’s chambers. Sarah, the bride, took one last deep breath and turned to look at her father whose arm was locked with hers as they stood in front of the sanctuary doors.
“You ready?” Sarah asked her father with a smile. He seemed to cock his head slightly as if in confusion before answering.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked. Sarah chuckled, thinking he was joking, but he turned his head back forward towards the sanctuary doors. Odd…maybe he was just nervous.
*You smiled…you smiled…Oh, and then the spell was cast…*
The song flooded out of the sanctuary as the doors opened and the bride and her father were revealed to the crowd. They rose to their feet and clapped as the two made their way down the aisle. As they got closer to the pulpit, Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise.
That wasn’t her husband-to-be standing next to the preacher…it was his twin brother, Lucas!
*‘What the fuck?’* Sarah mouthed as they got closer.
What kind of bullshit were they pulling? On the most important day of her life no less! And why wasn’t anyone else calling him out on it? Lucas didn’t look like he was attempting to pull some sort of prank though. In fact, his face was rather pale and he seemed…scared?
When the father/daughter duo finally made it to the pulpit, Sarah let go of her dad’s arm and joined her groom, or her groom’s twin rather. To her surprise, her dad didn’t seem to notice that this wasn’t Tyler, her actual groom; despite the fact that he’d spent considerable amounts of time with both. She also noticed that her father hadn’t shed a tear while they were walking down the aisle and maintained a straight face as he shook Lucas’ hand before returning to his seat. Her dad was a big cryer, so she figured he’d be leaking; but maybe he was just really that nervous.
“What *the hell* are you doing?” Sarah asked Lucas under her breath. “*Where* is Tyler?”
“Can’t explain it all now, but there’s some weird shit going on. Just go with the flow,” Lucas whispered.
Sarah was livid, but kept to a whisper, “Go with the flow!?! This is *my wedding!* What the fuck is going on?”
Lucas took Sarah’s hands in his and turned her to face him. It was odd for her, looking at the man who had all the features of her husband-to-be but was clearly not him. But she could see the mix of fear and desperation in his eyes.
Lucas pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “No one is who you think they are. Whatever they are, they think I’m one of them. Just finish the wedding and when we get a moment in private I’ll explain.”
Sarah was terrified, what the fuck was he on about? She could see in his eyes he meant what he said though, so she nodded as the preacher began the ceremony.
The ceremony proceeded as normal, the two exchanged vows and when it came to the kiss she looked up at Lucas. Her eyes pleaded one more time for him to admit this was all a joke. Unfortunately for her, Lucas’ demeanor never changed. He did feel sorry for her though. This was her big day and she couldn’t even kiss the man she loved. But it had to be done.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas whispered against her lips before the two kissed, the sound of applause roaring in the background.
Their walkout song played as Lucas took her hand and the two walked back down the aisle, waving to their family and friends. Once they were back out in the hallway, they were stopped by Hannah, the wedding organizer and Sarah’s cousin. The two exchanged a hug before she pulled out her clipboard.
“Congrats girl! Now let’s get those pictures!”
“Aph, aph, aph! Remember the bride and groom get fifteen minutes of quiet time before we start the pictures,” Lucas interjected.
Hannah glared, flipping through her clipboard to confirm, “Oh right…well how about we do that *after* the pictures? We wouldn’t want anything messing up the dress right?”
“Hannah, this has been a really hectic and stressful day…you of all people can relate. Can’t we just get fifteen minutes? That’s nothing, I promise I won’t let him mess my dress up,” Sarah petitioned.
Hannah nodded, “Fine, you’re right. Fifteen minutes! And try not to mess her hair up either Tyler!” Hannah ran off to go meet the photographer.
Lucas took Sarah’s hand and led her to a back office room in the church. He checked the hallway to see if anyone had followed them before locking the door and plopping down on one of the office chairs.
*“Fuck!”* he shouted.
“Are you ok? Is Tyler ok? What’s going on?” Sarah asked, sitting in a chair next to him.
To her surprise, Lucas began weeping. She didn’t know what to do other than to rub his back gently. She could tell that whatever secret he was holding was taking a toll on him emotionally.
“Thanks Sarah, I know you’re confused as hell right now. It's just, I’ve been holding this shit in all day with no one to tell…it's been rough. I’m glad you’re ok though,” Lucas replied.
“Tell me, please,” Sarah begged.
“I got to the church a few hours before the wedding was supposed to start and Hannah ran up to me asking me all sorts of questions like she thinks I’m Tyler. She was frantic and acting as if Tyler had been missing for a while. I thought that was weird since me and Hannah…well, you know…*hooked up* in the past; she 100% knows me from Tyler.
I brushed it off until I met up with our mom, who seemed relieved to see me as well. She scolded me for running off, again as if I was Tyler, and then said something that freaked me the fuck out. She says, with a completely straight face, ‘Don’t screw this up for us X9. Just continue the wedding as if everything is normal. We’ll get the girl after.’” Lucas explained.
Sarah started shaking, *“What the fuck?!?”*
Lucas nodded, “I reacted exactly the same. Not to her face though, I ran off to a bathroom where I nearly threw up. I’ve went around to just about everyone here, there’s something off with *all* of them. I think you and I are the only ones here that are normal.”
Sarah couldn’t help herself as she started crying. She thought back on how her dad had been acting weird earlier and how he didn't even shed a tear while they walked down the aisle. It made a lot more sense now. Lucas just held her and the two sat like that for a brief moment before he reminded her of the time.
“So…so what the hell are we supposed to do?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know. But here’s what we do know. Whatever has taken over everyone thinks that *I* am one of *them*; we can use that to our advantage. We also know that they plan to make you one of them after the wedding. And we know that they think that I’m Tyler; which means that Tyler must have escaped somehow because they were all looking for him earlier. If they had killed him they wouldn’t be looking for him,” Lucas replied.
“So we need to get the hell out of here before they turn me into one of them, and then we need to find Tyler,” said Sarah.
Lucas’ phone vibrated in his pocket. “Fuck,” he exhaled as he read the message.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“It's mom. I convinced her, as Tyler, that Lucas had gotten very sick and was in the hospital a couple hours before the ceremony began. I told her to hold off from seeing him until after the wedding. She just texted Lucas, er *me*, that she’s on her way to see me,” Lucas explained.
“How far is the hospital from here?” Sarah asked. Lucas’ pocket vibrated again.
“About thirty minutes from here. The hotel is fifteen so we’d have about ten minutes or so before she figures out I was lying if we dip now,” Lucas replied, “Holy shit!”
“What now!” Sarah groaned.
Lucas’ eyes were wide as a deer in headlights as he turned his phone to Sarah. It was a text from Tyler. The message was all emojis and numbers, no words. It read- head, 2, a honey pot, and the moon. The second line had a fire emoji and a phone.
“Head, two, honey…moon. He’s going to our honeymoon spot!” Sarah exclaimed. “And I guess he’s burning his phone from the second line.”
“What if they’ve got him and it's a trap?” Lucas asked.
“If they had him then they’d know you’re not him and we’d be dead already,” Sarah replied.
“True, alright then. Lets get the fuck out of here and find Tyler!” | 29 | random_samples |
4 | 1,636,936,131 | 38 | After tracing our radio signals back to us, a race of advanced invaders have arrived in our system to strip Earth of all her natural resources. As the first ship starts to drain the oceans, a deep tectonic roar echoes across the globe as the planet awakens to defend itself. | High Commander Krinzth Krinth sat back in his command seat, adjusted his blazing white armor and sneered. The blue green planet before him grew steadily larger in the viewport and seemed to shimmer as it rotated around a rather nondescript M-Class whitish yellow star he knew the inhabitants of the planet before him simply called it "The Sun". Why they didn't name it after one of the several million high beings of the Universe he'll never know but what would you expect from a race of beings that thought their greatest honor was blindly chasing after these silly green pieces of currency only to want more when the day was done.
"Humans", they called themselves and he knew they considered themselves to be the most intelligent species. A slow deep chuckle rumbled from somewhere in his nether regions. This puny race of mouth breathers had barely made it out of their star system and only landed on their nearest neighbors known as "Venus", "The Moon" and "Mars". They were not yet even a Type I civilization and these monkeys thought they were superior.
Little did these puny meat bags know that for all their supposed intelligence they had been broadcasting their very existence to the Universe for nearly two Centuries. It hadn't been those grainy images of the mad man Hitler or the music of Glenn Miller or even the antics of those little "Rascals" but just about any form of electromagnetic communication standard in existence. Advanced civilizations throughout the Universe had picked up the first faint radio signals, telegraph, Morse Code and telephone signals that had emanated from the planet since well before Abbot and Costello.
Well before any member of his race knew what these "humans" looked like they knew everything they needed to know about them. They knew the tolerances of the human body. They knew the fractured alliances of the multitude of nations spread across that planet. And most importantly they knew of the abundance of one of the most important substances in the Universe Hydrogen Dioxide, "water" as these humans called it. What these cognitively impaired insects also didn't know was the many uses of it not just to ingest and then simply void it from their fragile bodies.
Water covered nearly three quarters of the planet and these "humans" simply didn't have the knowledge, wherewithal or the slightest inclination to properly utilize such an important resource. They certainly did not understand its value to life as humans were witnessed walking around with things called 'Big Gulps' and some strange brew of ground beans, what seemed like cow pee and steamed water called 'cappuccino' that these humans seemed to go mental over.
<<Status report>>
The first officer of the Destructor Class warship Kall'Kethazromin blinked twice at the sudden order from his High Commander. Once vertically and once horizontally as his double-lidded eyes swiveled in their sockets.
"Your Exalt we will be in bombardment range within 17 tetzacycles."
Krinth smiled and exhaled slowly. His thoughts raced back to his youth when he and his egg sac mates had entertained themselves by taking the family saucer and buzzing barely developed planets and then laughing in hysterics of the media reports of some grizzled farmer telling anyone who would listen that he's seen ALIENS!!! Good times.
Now a commander of one of the most decorated starships of his stellar system, he barked an order to his crew. "All weapon systems stand down! We're here for extraction not destruction!!" Krinth knew the weapon systems of his ship would be more than enough to render that excuse of a planet to nothing but useful chunks of debris but was under strict orders from the Council to relieve the planet of every drop of that precious resource and if possible not to harm a creature down there. Of course all manner of sea dwelling creatures would be destroyed but the Council had an almost desperate need to watch these "humans" career with great interest...
As the ship prepared to enter orbit and begin emptying the oceans an inconceivable number of flying warships began firing upon them. The warships shielding simply absorbed the energy of the projectiles and hurled them back to quickly decimate the attackers. The warship lowered to an altitude of only meters above what they knew was called the "Pacific Ocean". Hatches opened and a thousand flailing tubes splashed down in the ocean and began sucking up the water.
Without warning a great sound reverberated through not just the air but seemed to echo through the entire atmosphere of the planet. The sound was like nothing that had been heard before and only continued to grow in volume and intensity. Every passive scanner on the ship blinked out after the roar reached a deafening crescendo.
From beneath the ocean one tentacle shot upwards and attached itself to the ship, followed by another, ten other, a hundred other until what seemed like thousands of tentacles reached out to render the warship motionless. The shields were useless. Every particle beam, plasma ray or energy weapon had simply no effect on this massive sea creature. If one arm got removed one hundred others took its place. The creature once again let out an earth shattering roar and began to drag the warship down to the ocean.
Alarms blared, officers ran around the bridge shouting conflicting orders to each other. Finally Krinth's First Officer, hands trembling handed him something from the ship's archives. He knew it to be called a "map" and from the looks of the worn parchment it was printed on, it must have been over a thousand years old. The officers double lidded eyes blinked twice for the last time and as the ship sank to the depths of the ocean, the bulkheads started to implode from the immense pressure, Krinth only had time to see a creature drawn on the map eerily similar to the one that was dragging them to their destruction and read the caption written under the creature.
"Thar be the Kraken!" | 10 | random_samples |
4 | 1,603,458,982 | 107 | "What do you mean there's still life on Earth? I thought we took care of that with the meteor, 65 million years ago!" | The omnipotent all-father massaged his temples as he leered down at the mangled figure before him.
"Y-yes sir, there is... and you could say that they're.. quite the fiesty bunch," replied the scrawny, bearded scout. He wrung his hands nervously, wincing as he made contact with the holes in the centers of his palms.
"Judging by your sorry state, I presume that you were... unsuccessful in reclaiming the planet?" God muttered.
"I-I-I made an attempt to subdue the bipedal beasts," stammered Jesus. "But as I was just about to win the affection of the community with my powers, I was strung up by a different horde, and th-they pinned me to a cross and my idiot followers left me to r-rot, screaming some nonsense about me being 't-the ultimate sacrifice for C-Christianity'!"
"I'm surprised you were able to win any sort of 'affection' with your useless party tricks," God spat contemptuously. "I send you on *one* simple mission and you come back beaten and routed with your tail between your legs by some ragtag bumpkins on a destitute planet."
God sat back down and slowly reclined back into the comfort of his throne. He perched his head into his hand and casually twirled his hair, glancing with squinted eyes at his trembling, pathetic son.
"So aside from bedazzling the heathens with your silly, mundane 'miracles' of bread and wine," God said with a crack of smile creasing his cheek, "what other blessings did you bestow upon your good people?"
A sphere of light suddenly appeared behind Jesus' head, as he looked up with renewed excitement to flaunt his successes.
"W-well there was this old fellow with a crippled leg, a-and he couldn't move at all, so I felt awfully sorry for him, and so I touched it and wished really hard a-and it just worked again a-and everyone saw it so--"
God froze, the smile fading from his face.
"You--what--the man? Healed him?"
"Y-yes sir, I-I think I finally got it down, sir! I'm able to heal the blind, the sick, the broken--the whole lot of them were fixed upon my touch!" Jesus remarked eagerly.
God sputtered and stood up with a slam of his palm, shaking the surrounding clouds and startling young Jesus with his sudden outburst.
After an uncomfortably tense few seconds, Jesus finally dared to speak:
"Wh-what seems to be the problem... sir?"
His father paid him no attention as he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth in an oblivious monologue.
"... probably him... can't just throw another ... meteor prices not what they used to be... still alive... "
Jesus was confused, but knew better to interrupt another one of his fathers' soliloquies; he sat down on the steps and began to heal his palms and body of its scars with his newfound technique.
His father glanced over at the youth and shook his head. His ignorant son was oblivious of what seemed like a simple power of the Gods: the ability to heal. Little did he know that only Gods could heal Gods--mortals shaped by the hand of Gods could only be destroyed and re-created.
There could only be one being that could have populated such a ruined, devastated land with offspring in the shape of his own:
***Adam.*** | 37 | random_samples |
8 | 1,620,575,260 | 43 | An isekai, but instead of the protagonist going to a world of magic to deal with a dark lord, they are transported to a sci-fi universe just because the isekai gods were bored. | The last thing Sam felt was pain. He supposed that was natural. Getting hit by a truck did tend to hurt. At least he was currently not in pain. That was good. Although, that probably meant he was dead, which was bad. It was odd though. He thought being dead would be something. A flash of memories, a bright light. Something. But around him was nothing. Not even darkness.
*So, what do we do with this one?* Came a voice. At least, Sam thought it was a voice. It was more like a feeling. Something that resonated deep within his...whatever he was. Something that carried the meaning of words.
**Oh, let's just send him somewhere and be done with it.** Cam another of the voices. **Let's just plop him in another D world and move on. This one's kind of boring anyway.**
Sam would have taken offense to that, save for the fact that it was absolutely true. He had been incredibly dull in his life. Really, was there nothing betting to be than an accountant? He did not even have any interesting hobbies.
~~Yeah, but that's half the fun of sending them somewhere and watching them try and do stuff. I say we send him to 14-65C~~
Sam heard/felt a round of groans.
*You always want 14-65 C. What is your obsession with 14-65 C? It's so generic.*
~~I just like it is all.~~
^(C worlds are boring anyway. We always use a C or D anyway. I want to try something different. How about we try a B world this time? 95-21 B hasn't gotten any attention in millennia.)
**A high tech world, really? We always use D worlds because we don't have to give them anything, and Cs are easy because we just given them some kind of magic boost. How are we supposed to do anything for a B?**
^(I don't know. Maybe like, techopathy or something? Maybe something to do with nanobots? B worlds love nanobots.)
~~I still say we do 14-65 C, but I do admit that could be fun to watch something different every now and then. Oh, what the hell, let's do it.~~
*Eh, works for me.*
^(Yay!)
**Okay, we send this one to 95-21 B and give him, what? The ability to control nanobots?**
There was a round of agreement. Sam was almost disappointed. He was just beginning to figure out what was going on and what they were talking about. He would have actually liked a fantasy world. Although, he did suppose being able to control nanobots in a high tech world might be fun too.
^(Okay, I've got it all set up. Now, we doing a full rebirth, or sending him as is?)
**Not as is. he'd be way too old for that. But we did a full rebirth last time.**
*Just age him down to mid teens and go from there. Nice, clean, easy.*
Another round of agreements. Sam would certainly not be complaining about being younger.
^(Okay, got it. I'll do the intro and let's get the show on the road!)
Sam's awareness shifted. He was in a flower field that extended in all direction. He looked around for a moment before seeing something that was not a plant. It was a woman. Tall and beautiful, dressed in a flowing white dress. She looked at him with large eyes that seemed to span galaxies.
"Greetings chosen hero." The woman began. "I am sure you have many questions about where you are now."
Before she could continue, Sam finally found the ability to speak. "No, I pretty much think I get it. I'm dead and you're going to send me somewhere right?"
The woman looked shocked and she stuttered over her words for a moment. "Well, yes, actually. You seem quite calm about it. And how did you know."
"I, uh, I kind of heard you guys talking about where you'll send me. I don't quite get all of it, but it's, like, a sci-fi world, right?"
Her expression hardened. "You...heard that? You were not supposed to hear that. This could be a problem. Hold still, I'll erase those memories and we can start again."
"Wait!" Sam cried out as the women extended a hand towards him. "If I remember this, I can be more entertaining."
She stopped. "Go on."
"It's like being in a reality show, you know? I can do things that I normally wouldn't. Things that are riskier or more entertaining than I normally would. It's like that other one said, I'm boring. But I can at least try to be entertaining, which I wouldn't do if you just plopped me down somewhere without understanding anything."
"Hm, I suppose. But would you really do all that, knowing it was for our entertainment?"
"Like I said. I'd be a reality show. Those people do dumb stuff all the time, knowing it's for the entertainment of others."
The woman closed her eyes. Sam assumed it was to communicate with the others like her.
"Fine. A few of us don't like it, but we mostly agree. You can keep these memories, and those of your past life. But you had better be damn fun to watch."
"I'll do my best."
The woman extended her hand again. Sam felt something. A pulling and stretching feeling. His entire body was pulled through space and time by forces he could not even begin to comprehend.
When it stopped, he looked around. He was in the middle of a city right out of a sci-fi movie. Floating cars and people with cybernetic parts. He even saw an alien or two walking around. A quick glance down showed that he had also been aged down, just as the beings had talked about. He glanced around some more and got moving. He had some deities to entertain. | 12 | random_samples |
13 | 1,526,297,422 | 306 | Satan sees #BringBackLucifer trending on Twitter and thinks it's meant for him | He tossed his phone onto his cage bed and treaded forward to the prison bars. Outside he spotted Ganga (a most ancient River Goddess) sat against an exposed brick wall, texting away without a care in the world.
"Oi, Gang," he called out with a bright grin. Ganga glimpsed in his direction for a second but rolled her eyes and continued texting away.
"Ganga babe, come here will you?" He tried again, louder, heavy voice rattling the air.
Ganga pressed the button on her phone, groaned and made her slow way towards him, taking her time.
"What do you want?"
"Well, have you seen Twitter? The Humans want me back so, ya know. You may as well tell the big One to let me go. Ya know, to chill with his favourite pets," Lucifer gripped the metal bars and leaned forward, staring into Ganga's green eyes.
Ganga rolled them again and scoffed.
"You're literally so dumb," she shook her head. "The humans want a show back. Not you. No one wants you. That's why you're locked in a cage like God's pet's pets. Now shut up and don't bother me again you idiot."
Ganga strutted away leaving Lucifer tearing up. He just wanted to be free again. Play with his brothers and sisters once again in God's best flower field. And burn humans but that was beside the point. He turned back around to the rest of his cell. He stepped down the stairs and returned to Hell.
Burning their souls instead was going to have to do. | 54 | random_samples |
15 | 1,439,147,575 | 188 | As Aliens attack the earth, the world's countries all unite together to fight them. Except one. Switzerland has decided to remain neutral yet again as the world's leaders try to convince them to just fucking pick a side this time | Dear Everyone,
We would just like to say thank you for your tireless efforts in forcing us to pick a side this time. Without your support, threats and endless cheap shots at us that leaned heavily on stereotype we never would have formed our new alliance with our, (fingers crossed) soon to be alien overlords.
Yes we have decided to go with the aliens. Our alliance got of to a strong start when they found that our watches were actually better than theirs. They have suggested our high quality time pieces will be very helpful in coordinating attacks.
Furthermore they are very thankful for our chocolate which, it should be noted, many of our most attractive women have decided to hand feed them.
And before you ask, we unfortunately can't give you back all the money that your private citizens were keeping our banks as we had to remove it to make way for the alien money. Don't worry about it being used to finance the war effort against you though as, in a sign of good faith, we burned it all.
On a side note, the S'mores we made were out of this world in a way you will never again know.
Anyway don't worry, your money would have been rendered useless shortly after the aliens win and once again, they are going to.
So to all socially behind the times cowboys, desperately trying to keep up hipsters, tea swilling monarchy lovers, cheese eating surrender monkeys and people whom 'Vodka drinks you' enjoy losing.
You fucking assholes.
Love,
Switzerland
…
And yes I took 'cheese eating surrender monkeys' from the Simpsons. More in the comment below
Enjoyed the story? You did? Really? Oh well, agree to disagree. Anyway off topic I have a [subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/) | 71 | random_samples |
2 | 1,620,342,127 | 24 | You wake up to dozens of voices in your head, but you know you aren't schizophrenic. When you ask the voices what they are doing in your head, they reply in unison, "Oh, we're a hive mind, is it okay if we stay in your body for a while?" | "Wh- you know what? Sure. It's 2021, and as long as you don't bother me, I'm chill with it."
"Really?" "Cool." "So we just need to not bother you... aight." "bro this is amazing." and more replies came that I couldn't figure out. I think one was 'Arigato'. The hivemind was multilingual. I was all here for it. I realized the time and forgot that I had homework I didn't do.
"Okay, now, homework I procrastinated on yesterday. Oh, do you guys know Chemistry?" I asked.
"Yes!" "Si!" "Oui!" I heard more languages and assumed that most of them meant a 'yes' or something similar.
"Okay. This is good then. You guys can stay, and I get help on things I don't know how to do. Mutual benefit." I said. And so, that's how we worked. Turns out they know a lot on many topics like chemistry, physics, civics, and a bunch of things they'd never teach in school. I got this fake earpiece so people don't think I'm crazy when I start talking to them. The tech students think I'm crazy or psychic, cause they once tried to hack into the earpiece only to realize it's fake.
I call the voices 'my team' because I can't just call them 'the voices in my head'. They don't mind since I'm nice to them, and apparently are the one of the only few that didn't try to get rid of them in fatal ways.
Now I'm about to head into my junior year. My team and I are gonna probably apply to every college we find, and maybe we'll get into those big ones like Harvard. Then it's double up on courses, enjoy the senior year with no classes just because, and the hivemind and I are gonna have a good time together in college. | 11 | random_samples |
5 | 1,430,711,760 | 98 | "The eyes are the window to the soul" This thought echoed in the popes head as he came to the startling revelation after viewing some exorcism documentations that the blind may not be what they seem.. | EDIT: formatting
The pitter patter of the leaky dungeon ceiling cut through the stillness of the silent room. I listened to the frail Holy man as he thumbed through chapters of dense paper, transcribed on aged, stiff parchment smelling of mildew.
The Church has kept the cause for such intense focus rather quiet, however recent incidents have brought some unwanted attention. It is well known that exorcisms occur all over the Christian world, with varying degrees of success, belief and skepticism. I will take this time now, my friend, to inform you that demonic possession is very, very real. The things you hear about exorcisms and demons in the media and on the Internet are all embellished stories of the reality. And that reality is terrifying. Can you imagine what it feels like for something to try to tear your soul from your eyes, rip the very thing that makes you human apart from your body.
I’m afraid I digress, the memories are…difficult to handle. The reason to involve the Pope in this matter is that possessions are becoming more frequent, and exorcisms less effective. The chilling truth is that they were becoming less effective because those chosen to perform the procedure were incapacitated in a rather gruesome manner, or consumed by the darkness they were trying to expel.
“The eyes are the window to soul…” a faint whisper, hardly discernable escaped the old mans lips
“And if there are no windows,” I replied calmly, “then it’s much harder to break into the house”
Although I could not see it, I could feel the Pope staring into my cold dead eyes, his sadness and empathy for my suffering was almost tangible.
“My son, the things you have given up for –” I cut him off with a hand stretched out, and a finger to my lips. A low growl filled the room. It seemed to shake the foundations of the solid stone chamber. I knew that every man with working vision in the vicinity would soon experience the internal discomfort that accompanies the first stages of demonic possession.
Outside the room a high pitched shriek pierced the dense air, and slowly descended into a deep roar. The door to the small stone room seemingly blew off its hinges, and in the archway stood one of the men tasked with guarding the door. Needless to say, now he was now much less than human.
“His…shadow…” The Pope stammered. Although I could not see the shadow, I knew it was a dark contorted mess, a visual representation of how the poor mans soul was being torn apart inside.
GRRRAARRGHHH, Even if he could not control me, the deep multi-tonal grunts of the monster almost seemed to flay the very skin from my muscles
“You have taken everything you can from me, not only will I not allow you to harm anyone else. I will torture your retched soul beyond anything you experienced in hell”
And with that I unsheathed a blunt dagger with a crucifix hilt and walked with a nervous urgency towards the beast.
| 20 | random_samples |
5 | 1,445,119,233 | 21 | You possess a magic button that allows you to travel back in time to a moment that you predetermine, allowing you to commit many crimes. If you get in to trouble, you simply push the button. While pulling off your latest crime, the button suddenly stops working. | "I'm not trying to be uncooperative!" I yelled at the top of my voice. "You just need to get another bullhorn!"
The cop at the head of the perimeter pantomimed deafness, cupping his hands around his ears. He held up the megaphone to his lips and said, "MMMFHHHTHMMMFTHHTHT THHTMMFMFMFMMMFPHPHPHPHTM MTHETHEHTMMMMPPMMM!"
"GET! ANOTHER! MEGAPHONE!" I screamed.
The cop looked dumbly at the one in his hands, and said something to a uniform next to him.
I took the moment to look at the hostages. Fear was painted over their faces. There were six of them. All zip-tied by the wrists to the brass railing behind them. I looked guiltily at them. "It's OK, folks," I said. "Nobody's here to hurt you. We're after the bank's money, not yours."
They looked down, avoiding my eyes. I didn't blame them. It was the Robbery Speech. Didn't really fit any more.
"Attention!" A cop voice from a new bullhorn broke the awkwardness. "This is the GCPD! We need to speak to the man in charge!"
"PHONE!" I said.
There was a painful silence.
"What!?" The bullhorn asked.
#"PHONE!"
I waited. I could see my heartbeat shaking my T-shirt. In my mind, I saw six other heartbeats that depended, right now, on mine. I flexed the muscles in my hands. I steeled my resolve. I would survive this.
"What!?" The bullhorn asked.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered. I pulled the butterfly knife out of my pocket and loosed the weakest looking prisoner. I scrawled down the phone number of the bank on her arm and told her to get out.
She looked up at me, accusing and scared. "How can I trust you?" she asked.
I scratched my head aggressively. "Listen, I don't have time for this. Your whole 'injured victim in shock' thing. Really. I've got bigger issues right now. The last thing I need is you fucking me around. Fuck off. Now. Go. Literally don't care enough about you to spend eighty cents of my earnings on a bullet for you."
"What if you -"
"Not going to. Don't care. Fuck off."
She bit her lip. "I can't -"
"You can. You should. *Fuck off*."
"I'm sc-"
I punched myself in the face and grabbed her arm, waving it in front of her face. The ink of the phone number must have blurred in front of her eyes. "You're a fucking human post-it!" I shouted. "You're overestimating your own importance! Go give this number to the fucking cops!"
She fled. After an agonising wait, the phone rang. I snatched it up. "This is the man in charge," I said.
"Who am I speaking to?" The voice on the other end said.
"To whom am I speaking," I told him.
"This is Commander Fitch of the GCPD," he said.
I exhaled noisily and disapprovingly. "I wasn't asking you a question," I said. "I was correcting your grammar. This is a list of my demands. Do you have a pen?"
"I do," the Commander said.
"One. I want an electrician. Two, I want a theoretical physicist. Three, I want a magician. Four, I want a guy who's all like, 'what if we reverse the polarity of the stream. Wouldn't that mutate the neutrinos?' Don't care what he actually does for a living."
The Commander was obviously deep in thought. "We can't send you more hostages," he said.
"Tempt not a desperate man," I told him.
His voice sounded tinny and distorted over the line. "We *can't* do it," he said. "Plus, I'm pretty sure that two out of the four things you asked for don't actually exist."
I looked at the useless time-box in my hand. Frustration welled inside my like that useless, shitty, baking soda volcano I made for the Science Fair. I smashed the box down on the table.
Plastic shattered and exposed the workings of the machine underneath. My mouth dropped open.
I brought the receiver up to my lips again. "Scratch that," I said. "On second thoughts, just bring me two triple A batteries."
#
Edit: "tripled A" to "triple A". Fucking muscle memory. | 19 | random_samples |
7 | 1,448,018,660 | 42 | Two people discuss a sensitive subject with such awkward euphenisms that neither of them realise they aren't talking about the same thing | “I’m just not sure I'm comfortable talking to you about this.”
“Trust me, I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”
He shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, rubbing an open palm along the back of his neck to wipe away the developing beads of sweat. He would have never thought his cousin would be the one to help him with something like this, but he feels nervous enough about the situation to take whatever advice he can get.
“Fine. Her father wants me to... take her out-”
“Woah, wait. You have her father’s permission and everything!?”
He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, looking to his feet as he shifts his weight again. Inside of his hand-me-down dress shoes, his toes cross and rub against one another. Not because the shoes are too tight, but because he is feeling uncomfortable.
“I guess. He set me up and everything. Says he wants her out of the house.”
“Damn, So you are just going to pick her up and take her out? That simple?”
“Yeah, he is giving me the… materials for proper and safe execution as well.”
“Holy shit, man. What a messed up dad. He must really want her out of the way.”
He chuckles, chest bouncing as he does. This is not where he thought he would be in life, but the world is different now. Just living is more difficult. This would add some level of complex simplicity to the whole thing. A new layer of fun to his mundane existence. It all starts with her.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I guess every parent gets sick of their kid at some point. So, you think I should do it?”
“Are you kidding me? A chance like this might never come up again.”
“That’s true. Where should I take her?”
“I know this really secluded spot by the lake. It would be perfect. I will drop a pin on your maps app so you can find it easily.”
He nods and pushes his hand deep into his pocket, grabbing his phone and fighting against the fabric of his slightly-too-small jeans as he yanks the device out in a closed fist. Then he hands it over, waits, and takes it back. Gazing down, he tries to make a mental note of how long it will take to get to the provided location from her house.
“Thanks, I feel a lot better about all of this.”
“Hey, everyone is nervous on their first time. It just gets easier and easier after, though.
“Good to know. I have to pick her up in an hour. So I better get ready.”
He leaves, walking back to his house as he thinks about what he is about to do. As he undresses, he looks at himself in the mirror and ponders how this with change him. Will he look different afterwards? Feel different? Or will he just be the same person with a slightly less boring existence.
It takes him twenty minutes to get ready and he promptly leaves to pick her up. When he rings the doorbell, her father answers and hands him what he will need for the evening’s activities.
“If you cause my daughter to suffer, the deal is off.”
He promises that he won’t and walks to his car, turning to a pop radio station and fixing his curly hair as he waits. She comes outside and he gets out of the car, slipping to the passenger door and opening it for her. The door slams shut and he returns to his seat.
-------------------------------------
Her father turns on the T.V. and props his slipper covered feet up on the red leather ottoman.
“The body of an unidentified young woman was found by Crest Lake late last night. Police report that she was shot twice in the head and presently have no leads on who might have committed the grisly crime.”
He smiles and places the remote down on the armrest of his expensive chair and lights his pipe.
---------------------------
Casper [9:56 am]: So, how was your date?
Keith [10:00 am]: My what? | 32 | random_samples |
35 | 1,424,229,247 | 165 | With only a few hours till the end of the Universe, An immortal man/woman recalls his life and wonders if he will finally die. | In the Last Room, all of the last people gathered to say their goodbyes.
Mara and Lyson hugged each other in tears and gathered their young children. Avis and Eli'i, old and childless, held each other's hands and watched the last star on the screen before it went supernova, a comfortable smile on their lips. Then there were the single ones--Late, who had been the last captain's son, and Jonia, the beautiful young woman who they'd found floating in a lifepod not far from the second-to-last star, alone and weeping.
Now they were all weeping. Humanity had been one of the early civilizations to develop, but it had survived the eons. It started out on a long-since-destroyed system on a planet called Earth. Then they transcended the physical world in a sort of techno-telekenetic state, before their engines were sabotaged by the Andromedans. It went on like that--peak and war, peace and destruction--but humanity always lived on.
Eventually, the universe went cold.
Stars died, and so did the civilizations they hosted. Some of the humans evolved into interdimensional beings and left this plane, some directed their own evolution back to the pseudo-primates their ancient Earth ancestors had been. But without energy, cities died. Planets died. Star systems died. Then, galaxies, and superclusters. After what had been a near physical eternity, all that were left were the last rooms, the last bastions of life support, the only means of support for the descendents of the pseudo-primates, who could not slide into other universes.
And a lonely old man everyone called The Grandfather.
No one knew how long the Grandfather had lived. He claimed to be immortal, at least a billion years old, a relic of when humans had optimized their technology to physical bodies and not to interdimensional travel.
It was the Grandfather's Last Room, and everyone came to know him as kind and welcoming. He was glad to have company. All of his family and friends had come and gone, in generation after generation, either succumbing to mortality or moving to the other dimensions.
The Grandfather, however, was simply an immortal primate. The last immortal primate. Old age could not kill him, but accidents and mortal weapons could. There were millions like him once. He was simply the only one to survive this long.
The rest of humanity had moved on to other dimensions. Now, in the last room, the end of the primate-humans faced the death of the last star.
The Grandfather entered the room and eyed the screen.
"How long?" he asked.
"Minutes," Late said. "Maybe seconds."
"What a thing to be at the end of the universe," the Grandfather said.
"We're dying for nothing," objected Lyson. "The last of humanity, all here--and for what? Who created this Universe? What has been the purpose of life?"
"All who have died died for nothing," said the Grandfather, not with malice, but with the calmness of eternal wisdom.
After that some only wept, especially Mara and Lyson--for their children. Even Avis and Eli'i's comfortable smiles had turned to despair.
The supernova began.
Jonia clenched close to the Grandfather, pinching the arms on his white jumpsuit. Then she leapt into his arms, looking away from the brightness of the looming explosion.
They all cried.
Except the Grandfather. He thought of friends a billion years gone, of the family he had been born into. A billion years later, and all the intervening time had not separated him from those memories of those he first knew. Parents. Brothers. A sister.
A billion years had not erased their memories. But they were gone. *I could have followed them*, he thought. *But I was too cowardly to enter the next dimension, and when I wanted to, it was already too late.* Now he would pass to another dimension a different way. Through death, a mystery even the most advanced species of the universe had never explored.
*I'll explore it, at least,* he thought. *I'll find out the mystery. And that's something.*
The shock of the supernova came toward the last room, and the Grandfather smiled. | 132 | random_samples |
15 | 1,472,082,611 | 21 | The more tragic your childhood backstory, the more powerful you are as an adult. | My child will be the weakest of his generation. I refuse to degrade him, I refuse to physically hurt him and I sure as hell will not make his life tragic for power. Ever since the implementation of the nurturing power scale, the idea of being a loving and caring parent has become taboo. We live in a time where mothers and fathers intentionally inflict pain to their children, all in the name of having a better future. We live in a time where adults will be more powerful than we could have ever imagined but their souls will be empty and filled with hate.
I will not do that to my boy.
I would never do that to my own child.
__________________________________________________________________
I sit in my wheelchair, overlooking the soft orange sunset as it drifts away behind the mountains. I often come here after a long day and reflect on all the challenges this world throws at me. You see, in my society, humans that have endured unspeakable hardships as children will inherent the strength of a thousand men. They will develop a level of intelligence that surpasses any of the great thinkers in our history. But with that, comes terrible adverse side effects.
Power, by definition, is and I shall quote Websters, "the capacity or ability to direct or influence the behaviors of others or the course of events". The problem with this is, not everyone wants to influence the behaviors of others or even have a hand in changing the course of events. Most of us just want to live a fulfilling life with the people that are closest to us. Unfortunately, the breeding of power rich generations has caused things such as companionship, love, kindness and humility to be nothing but historical concepts of emotion.
But this does not apply to me. I am one of the few who experienced a different upbringing.
My father loved me unconditionally and he sacrificed everything he could to make my life better. But because of the universal vaccine we all receive at birth, the more love he gave to me, the weaker I became. My motor skills did not develop as fast as they should have, causing me to lag behind my peers from an early age. As my father continued to care for me, I began to weaken even more and soon, being ill was my new normal. It progressed to an unbearable level as I got older. After multiple broken bones and countless amount of hospital stays, I eventually lost all control of my body from the neck down.
Those years were tough... not just on me but my father too. His love was killing me because of the program. He was, literally, loving me to death but he knew no other way. You may see is it as selfish, or even reckless to watch your own child deteriorate but I have not an ounce of resentment. I would never fault him for loving his child. I will do the same when I am blessed with one of my own, I will promise you that.
Through my upbringing, I developed an intense love for humanity and my ailments fueled my passion for change. I became an anomaly to the program and quickly developed ways of thinking that no other human was capable of. Even the creators of the vaccine could have never imagined a case like mine. It was a situation where the hardships of a child were actually brought on by the love of a parent. Do you understand now? I was constantly made fun of by my peers, a day never went by that I was not bullied. I had endured more physical pain, at the expense of my fathers love, than any human had in hundreds of generations prior. My backstory was beyond tragic but not because of how I was raised. There is the distinct difference between me and the rest of the world.
And now, paralyzed from the neck down, I am the most influential man of my time. I stand at the helm of the world, the Prime Minister of the World Government. My duty lies in reversing the nearly irreparable damage that my ancestors have caused us. My hardships gave me perspective, they gave me reason and most of all, they gave me a heart.
I developed the capacity to influence behavior.
I developed the ability to change the course of events.
But I did it my way.
I gave the world something they were missing.
I gave them attention and affection. I gave them love. | 10 | random_samples |
6 | 1,524,919,512 | 122 | Aliens have been observing humans for decades, because in the intergalactic community, Human-Centric science fiction is comedy gold | Emporer Zorgoth, Prince Byrizn, and President Droo were
crowded around the basement. Ruling their respective galaxies was tough work, so
they all enjoyed goofing out on Friday evenings. Tonight was about their studying
of humans, who have not even left their home
planet yet. Despite their primitiveness they were one of the most cherished species
in the universe, primarily for their incredibly ridiculous imagination in the
world of science fiction. Everyone was sharing the particularly weird human media
they’ve managed to find.
“But guys, look at how huge they made him!” Hollered Zorgoth as
he flailed around a *The Day The Earth Stood Still* poster. “And why he all
metal!? Where is his skin?!”
“Oh but that’s not nearly bad as this!” Droo chimed in holding
up a screenshot from the movie Arrival. “Look! It has the huge tentacle things
again! Why are they so fascinated with tentacles?!”
“Yeah!” Byrizn cried. “I mean, we found all those weird drawings
with those women and-“
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that again.” Zorgoth
touted coldly. “I still see it whenever I close my eyes.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I still too.”
“But I think I have the stupidest one though! Check out
THIS!” Droo said excitingly, trying to change the topic. In his was the DVD set
for TRON.
The other two gasped in unison.
“Droo, is that-?” Zorgoth sputtered.
“What, what’s wrong with it?”
“The beam in the sky. That’s… a declaration of war for my species.”
Droo turned over the cover. “There's not a- oh. Oh no.”
“Zorg, the humans obviously didn’t mean that. We can’t just-“
“Dosen’t matter, I still have to report it.”
Zorgoth pulled out his communication device and connecting with
the mainbase generals. They chatted with a little bit and with a sigh Zorgoth
agreed to the resolution.
“Very well. General, send the first nuke.” | 27 | random_samples |
4 | 1,526,913,695 | 38 | You're one of the many synthetics that were captured by an alien gladiatorial arena where you fight to the death against other machines. You're one of the top contenders, being part of the arena for about 10 years now and todays match didn't seem any different. Except blood was spilled today. | A red viscous liquid covered my hands. It seeped from the wound my crude shank had made as I punctured the other's stomach. I smelled the red liquid; the action returned a metallic zing to my sense of smell. I pinched the liquid between my thumb and forefinger and small red liquid bridges formed, stretched, and gave to gravity as I moved pinching fingers away from each other.
Blood.
The Colosseum guards pulled me away from the pool. Once again, I caught a whiff of the metallic smell as the guards prodded and pushed me toward the doorway.
Confusion reigned outside in the stands. *Why was the contender bleeding?* *How was it not vetted properly?*
The guards threw me back into my cell. The soft corded life strands wrapped me up and plugged into my synthetic body. I felt my depleted battery array’s fill. I would be given more than my share of sustenance.
I stood propped up by the cell and cables holding me. I lulled into a dream state as my synapses cooled down from disuse. My mind ran wild with the Blood. The metallic smell came to me in my dream but as I stayed on the verge of euphoria from the life providing cables it was ripped from me.
The side of my head rang and vibrated as it was hit by a small club. Synapses came to life and in a split second my body was ready. Before me stood a young woman, The Mistress, the guards with her.
I relaxed in relief as her blows came again and again. The club beat me to the ground.
The guards looked as though they should stop her. I was the best fighter she had. She didn’t let up until my spinal column was severed.
Just before I closed my eyes. She bent down to me.
“I told you, you weren’t supposed to kill him. His life mattered.”
And I was nothing but a Syn.
| 20 | random_samples |
5 | 1,656,115,585 | 17 | Your a time traveling movie director who is so pissed of at Cinema Sins that you go back in time to fix every sin that make in their video in an attempt to make a sinless movie. | I have done it, journal, I have finally fixed all the little things and annoyances Cinema Sins found in my movie, and...what? The video he made on my movie is still up. He just pointed out other meaningless details and counted them as points! He even added points for some of the things which I did purposefully to add symbolism! That bloody youtuber! It's almost as if he doesn't really care about valid criticism and instead prefers to grab at low-hanging fruit in order to farm youtube views! My movie broke the Lord of the Rings record at the Oscars! Roger Ebert called it his favorite! Roger Ebert! I even used my time-travelling to correct every critique of the movie.
So, journal, today, I unsubscribed, because I'm tired of being angry. | 15 | random_samples |
12 | 1,437,285,704 | 23 | You are a hero that is forced to make more and more difficult and questionable decisions over time. At the end, you realize that you were the villian. | My career as a superhero began somewhat mundanely. I had a happy life, everyone I love and like alive and healthy, until one day (clichéd, I know) I just began to run. My name is not Barry Allen, I do not have silver hair, I suppose I'm like them but I really was just 15 year old me, and just happened to be able to run pretty darn fast. Now I *love* superhero related things, so I didn't panic at the discovery of my abilities, I just begsn thinking of names and potential costumes. I stuck with plain clothes at the start, due to lack of funds, and just decided to go with the flow.
Despite what the movies and comics tell you, it's actually a lot harder to find crime than it seems. Occasionally I'd run through the local 'hood', take all the drugs and place them outside the police station with notes of the addresses I had taken them from. I would prevent any muggings that I could find, and basically do as much good as I could.
Going to university was hard. I had to cut down on crime fighting. Unlike the comic books, time doesn't go super slow for me, and I don't actually go super fast relative to it. I just have incredible reflexes which allow me to perceive everything as I am doing it, which prevents any accidents while I'm a blur. So I couldn't learn my entire degree in a minute, I actually had to study. When I wasn't studying, I was out there, helping people.
By the time I graduated (and not with the best grades), crime was at a record low. I like to think that I still had hope that I could eradicate all crime. Youth is a precious thing, easily shattered. Looking back, it's remarkable I had gone nearly a decade without seeing or having anything bad happen to me. Then I came across the standard Batman parents scene. A normal criminal with a gun pointed at two parents and their child. I had done this several times, snatch the bullet if it was fired, snatch the gun then snatch the criminal. Easy.
But I was cocky and slipped, I missed the bullet...and the second. The child fell first, the father second. I had the criminal in my hands, his gun pointing at his own head. My hoodie obscuring my face. The mother screams at her dead family, the scream staying with me still. I can hear the man breathing heavily in my grasp. He's excited, he doesn't care about what he just did, and he'd do it again. He'd be out in just a few years if I gave hime to the police, and I might miss again. The mother looks at me, and I know she wants me to pull the trigger. And I did. I stood there, with the man's blood trickling down my face, I can still remember the taste. I should have left immediately, but I just stood there and watched the woman cry. Did his death really mean anything?
I never made a mistake again after that day. I had to be more serious if I were to help others. I was unemployed, two years out of university and no skills employers were looking for. I began to raid the homes of drug dealers and any criminals I stopped. I began to burn the drugs and take the money. Anyone doing anything bad would return from prison to find nothing. I made my own costume, more aerodynamic and more sturdy so as to prevent from any potential harm. I would no longer be careless.
The money wasn't enough. My parents began to suffer from debt, and they directed their anger at their 29 year old unemployed son, who paid too much rent for a box with a bend. So I began to steal from larger corporations, those who were morally in the wrong. Nearly 15 years had gone by, it was time that I enjoyed my life a little.
The media did not receive my robberies lightly. Every news story was of how the former Speed Hero turned Speed Villain. They had long since stopped covering my antics, but suddenly the world was against me. Every person I saved began to look at me with fear and hate. No longer were my good deeds being covered, the news only cared about the bad. I decided to take a break, see if the world would stop talking about me. I thought I was a selfless hero, but I guess I was looking to be appreciated too.
Fox saw my break as an opportunity and started rumours that I was actually a follower of Islam and had left the US to join ISIS. On what grounds? That a blur was seen on a plane heading to the middle east. In hindsight, I shouldn't have done what I did, but I was so furious. After all, everyone hated me. I had no friends as it was, and I had considered the world itself as my companion. But they turned it on me. And so I ran to each media outlet that spread my hate and I warned them to stop lying.
But this became the news and the hate spread ever deeper. I was truly, utterly alone. I had never killed a man since that day, I had hospitalised criminals, sometimes for life, but they had deserved it. The media were the criminals of the present, and they should be treated similarly. Unfortunately the hospital just isn't enough to stop some people. I then realise that I stopped doing this for others a long time ago. This was my hobby now, my pleasure. I tried the good life, but it's so much easier being bad, especially if I'm the only bad guy.
| 11 | random_samples |
7 | 1,620,753,014 | 33 | A friendly alien species has reached out to humanity! One problem though, both sides look like the others horror movie monster. This is causing... issues... with diplomacy. | They all had names we couldn't pronounce and looked...
Well they looked like The Thing. Incredibly gotesque.
However they could speak English fluently and were actually really nice. Like, if you looked at them after watching the movie you'd be terrified but after today's diplomatic meeting me and the other four diplomats from Earth and the other five diplomats from their planet all went out and got coffee, which they also apparently like (and have on their planet too). Of course we had to go to a private shop because our government's decided that there would need to be a very careful procedure carried out if we wanted to coexist. Our first meetings went poorly, a lot of trembling hands and sweating, but all ten of us were actually pretty good friends.
One of the alien diplomats, who looked like a humans that had been sliced in half and had a blob of flesh shoved in between the two halves, had done a little research on our culture and thought The Thing movie was hilarious. He also liked Tom and Jerry. The others shared similar interests and even had their own personal opinions on our issues like the death sentence, the rules of war, and other things like that.
Over all we got along fine and once we got used to each other's appearance, humans looked similar to some horror movies creatures over on their planet, we became really good friends.
The only issue now was convincing 7 billion humans and 10 billion of their kind that we were actually cool with one another. | 17 | random_samples |
4 | 1,638,868,685 | 77 | Aliens across the entire universe compete in Earth's most famous culinary T.V. show Hell's Kitchen where they will cook foods that must impress Gordon Ramsay or else.... | "Zarlomachs, just what the *hell* are you doing, mate?"
My hearts jumped in my chest. Oh, no. No, no, no. What had I done wrong this time?
"I'm, uh. I'm cooking the --"
"Oh, would you look at this, you've got way too much heat on! You're breaking the xort'lax sauce, come on, this is *basic Denebian cuisine*, I thought you were *from* there!"
Indeed, I could see the lighter oils floating atop the sauce, refusing to mix back into the emulsion no matter how vigorously I applied my spatula.
Before I could offer a word to defend myself, Gordon snatched the saucepan off the heat and tossed it into the dish pit. "Try again! Make me my *fucking* xort'lax sauce! We don't have time to screw around!"
I scrambled for the milk, butter and xort fruit while Gordon moved on to poor Guurvaz from Aldebaran.
"Put this hylobrax steak back in the pan, it's fucking *raw*"
Guurvaz bristled, clearly upset, but he folded his vestigial wings and got back to frying his steak. He knew not to test Gordon's temper.
Tilijunza's Tregh fish fillet was dry. "I can't even eat this, there's just *zero* moisture left in it, you've *mummified* it"
Plerk's pasta dish was bland. "Haven't you heard of seasoning? They have seasoning on Betelgeuse, don't they?"
The vegetable medley from Beta Aquilae was overdone. "A fucking mush, where's the *texture?"*
This would be a long night. | 18 | random_samples |
32 | 1,408,050,302 | 148 | A woman is put in a psych ward for repeating "f8jab9jk" over and over again. This was the launch code to the nuke that destroyed her home city. | "f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" she muttered with a twitch of her neck.
"f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" she repeated.
Doctor Greene scrawled some notes down into the log, barely glancing up at the subject. The patient's name was Sarah. Short hair, small nose, firm build. She was short but muscular, and wore several scars across her wrists and thighs. She had come in, quite unexpectedly, four weeks prior. She had been found wandering the streets of Glasgow wearing a man's business shirt and nothing else. The only form of identification they could find was a business card with the name "Sarah Whiting" on it. They looked up the name and no record came up. She was, in other words, a ghost.
Doctor Greene kept noting down the status of her patient while idly glancing up at the woman. Her handwriting was a mess, she knew that, but she did not have the time or the will to improve it. Eleven-hour days would do that to you. As she came to the end of the log report, she glanced at her watch - 9:28AM. She noted this, as well.
"Sarah," Doctor Greene said, "how are you, today?"
Sarah's eyes shot from place to place, fidgeting and spinning wildly in their sockets, but at the call of her name, they stopped dead, fixed firmly on the doctor.
A moment passed between the pair of them.
"f-8-j-a-b-9-j-k" Sarah croaked.
"Sarah, please - " Doctor Greene sighed.
"Eff-Eight-Jay-Ay-Bee-Nine-Jay-Kay" Sarah repeated, more firmly.
Doctor Greene clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and started again.
"Sarah. Can you understand me at all?"
"Yes."
Doctor Greene stopped. That was the first word she had heard out of the patient since she had arrived. Four weeks of repeating the same damned numbers and digits, and now she spoke? This was too important an opportunity to squander, so Doctor Greene chose her next words carefully. She waited until the question had formed fully in her mind before speaking.
"What do the numbers and letters you've been saying mean, Sarah?"
Her voice was gentle, or as gentle as she could make it, at the least.
"It is a code."
"I thought as much." The Doctor said, "We have been trying to decipher the code, though, but to no avail. Can you please tell me what it means?"
"It is not a cypher, it is a code." Sarah said. Her eyes had now wandered from Doctor Greene and were fixed on a syringe that sat on the table in front of her.
"Are they not the same?"
"No."
"Well, what is the purpose of the code, then?"
Sarah twitched, her short brown hair shuddered with the motion.
"It was the code that launched the nuclear missile at London." Sarah paused a moment, pained, before continuing, "My home."
"Oh?" Said Doctor Greene, half automatically, and half in shock. London had been bombed two months prior. Ten million people died. A war had been declared. More were going to die. Doctor Greene composed herself and continued a few moments later.
"And how did you escape the blast?"
"I wasn't in London when it happened." Sarah defended.
Doctor Greene took a few moments to think about her next question.
"How do you know what the code was?"
A tense moment passed.
"Because I entered it."
Doctor Greene removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
*My God*, she thought. | 136 | random_samples |
5 | 1,631,678,355 | 118 | Other immortals have amassed great fortunes, but in the 200 years since you turned you couldn't bring yourself to take advantage of the humans and make the same profits. At this point, you can't honestly afford gas for your '98 Toyota. | The last stitch is usually the hardest to get in. Stephen gritted his teeth as he felt around, puncturing the skin in what he hoped was the right place. Taking your own kidney out is never easy. Maybe next time he could at least get a cleaner mirror than the one he used in the rundown motel on Route 66. And some painkillers would be nice as well. But considering that he can’t even afford gas for his '98 Toyota, the idea of a sedative almost seems laughable. Besides, kidneys usually grow back pretty quickly.
There is no knock on the door when they come. Men dressed in black fatigues kicked down the hotel door. Stephen jumped, not from the sound, he's used to that by now, but for the owner of the hotel. The guy has three daughters all under the age of five. He has enough problems. Without hesitation, Stephen raised the scalpel still in his hand and cut his throat. The blood spilled out of him and onto the medical cooler containing his kidney.
“Target down!” the man in charge said as he ran to cover the wound on Stephen’s neck. It’s too late. Stephen’s eyes have already glossed over. “Sir, we’ve lost the target,” radioed the man.
“There goes the bonus,” said another man, removing his black ski mask and pointing his gun towards the ceiling. That’s the moment that Stephen was waiting for.
He buries the scalpel in the leader’s eye and grabs his machine gun. In one smooth motion, Stephen kills all three mercenaries in the room. Each shot a direct hit in the forehead. There’s no need for a follow-up bullet. Stephen has always believed in one and done.
“You guys are getting quicker,” Stephen said to the leader’s body that lays in almost the exact place where Stephen died. Or died and came back. It’s a little like Jesus but without all the religious fanfare, and that’s the way Stephen prefers it. As an immortal, he would like to remain unknown. There’re too many complications.
He grabs the medical cooler with his kidney and jumps out the window. There are a couple of more guards around the perimeter, but they are easily taken care of. Stephen spent time with some sneaky monks a hundred or so years ago. They are one of the reasons the other immortals aren’t able to capture him. Or at least why they can’t hold him. He's been captured plenty of times.
Calmly, as if he is on a Sunday drive, he gets into their black SUV and drives away towards Mexico. He makes a plan to come back one day for his Toyota. He likes that car. It’s got all his radio stations already programed.
He’s always gone by the name Stephen through his long life. He was born a Stephano in Spain. Became Stiven for a while in Moscow. The monks just called him Phen. He prefers the Americanized Stephen though. It feels more…ordinary. The other immortals have always kept their names spelled exactly how they were born. Allatu, Bisa, Cael-to name a few. There are more but he never bothered to remember anyone else past the A, B, Cs. They use their money and their power gained over centuries to keep questions away. All of them do.
And they’ve always taken. Everything. They profit from war. They profit from poverty. They profit from excess. It’s always been about money with them. Power. They don’t care what happens to the world as long as they get to live in excess. In the beginning, in Moscow, Stiven saw Bisa sell a live man off for dissection. When it was pointed out that the man wasn’t dead, she killed him. Stiven ran soon after that. And they’ve been chasing. They have their reasons. But if Stephen can finish today things will be better.
Stephen parks the SUV in a Walmart and hitchhikes the rest of the way to Mexico. He knows that they’ll find the car soon enough, of course, but it will take time to find him. Immortals can find each other, given enough time. And the trucker that picked him up and took him across the border may have given him the extra time.
Or not. Maybe he’s gotten predictable in the last 200 years?
Stephen arrived at the clinic to find Allatu, Bisa, and Cael waiting for him.
“We can’t let you do it,” said Allatu, still favoring his Mesopotamian accent.
“We’ve already killed the doctor,” said Bisa, her bright-colored robe draped easily over her shoulders.
“I say we just stick him in a hole and see what happens after a couple hundred years,” said Cael. Stephen hated Cael’s red hair as much as his cruelty.
Stephen doesn’t say anything because there is nothing left to say. There’s nothing left to do. Yes, the doctor is dead, but there will be others. The immortals have faith in their arrogance, in their paid mercenaries outside, in their immortality. But they have never had faith in humanity, and that is the difference between Stephen and them. He knew that they would always find this sleepy Mexican town with the doctor that transplants his organs to the poor. A heart here, a kidney there. Once he even gave an eye. It didn’t take but it was worth a shot. He’s given away thousands of his organs. And they have all found a home here, in this town, with these people.
They come from far and wide. Unable to get a transplant because they don’t have the money or the connections, they find their way to Isla Du Majeures. They don’t know how or why, but they do. Doctors find their way here, too. They stay for a while and then move on. Complete transplants that always seem to go perfectly even though the clinic isn't the most hygienic. The organs thrive. The people thrive. They gain back their strength.
And they call this little town their home. Stephen can feel every single one of them. Thousands. Outside right now. Slowly walking toward the clinic, each with a piece of him in them.
There are gunshots outside, but it is short. Allatu goes to the window and comes back looking paler than the thousands of years that he’s been alive. Bisa’s eyes go wide. Cael charges Stephen but it’s at that moment that the door burst open. But this time, It’s Stephen’s people.
The Big Three are quickly subdued. A doctor, a man that Stephen has never met, comes in last. Stephen hands him the cooler. One fresh kidney.
There is a popping in the air. Stephen's eyes go hazy for a minute and then they refocus. It’s done. Stephen is mortal again. And so are all the immortals. Allatu’s silent scream confirms it for Stephen.
Stephen bends down to the three.
“True immortality is what you give to others. It’s their memory. It’s their love. It’s not money or possessions. No matter how old you get, they are just things. Giving others a chance at life is truly allowing yourself to live forever.”
And with that, Stephen turned, left the clinic, and found an old Ford Pickup truck. It would probably get him all the way back to the hotel if he could borrow some gas money. He had a door to fix for a man with three daughters in a hotel on Route 66. As he drives away, he hears the screams of the no longer immortal immortals being hacked to pieces. | 32 | random_samples |
35 | 1,417,363,929 | 140 | A genie grants 3 wishes to someone with the condition that the person they hate receives twice the same. It can't be used to harm them. You're the 'hated person' and you have no idea what's going on... | "I have fucked up my life beyond repair. Even 3 wishes, no matter what they are couldn't make things right. However, I would like for my children to be happy. Is that too vague?"
"Not at all."
"Next, I would like for my wife to forget I ever existed. She hasn't been able to move on after what she's been through. I would simply wish for her to be happy, but I know that is impossible while holding on to my memory"
"It is done"
"Lastly, now that my affairs are in order, I would like to die. I have wanted this for a long time, but I am a coward. Please do this for me and we can both go in peace"
"I thought I made it clear that you cannot use your wishes to harm the person you hate. You've got 7 more wishes. I don't have all day."
Edit: I can't read for shit and thought the prompt was that the person you hate gets twice as many wishes. Sorry. | 93 | random_samples |
11 | 1,454,008,799 | 204 | Superman must fight his most devious nemesis yet: Florida Man. | "Superman! You defeated Florida Man in what must have been, in a spectator's terms, your easiest fight to date. What do you have to say?"
"Well Susan, coming into this fight I was a bit concerned; I had no idea what I was in for. Was it going to be a fight or, not so much of a fight? I really had no idea. This guy's been on the new so many times, I mean, it's absurd how much press he gets. I had to look through his reports history and some news agency's were saying he could time travel, which was the biggest threat coming into this fight, in my opinion. But, then you had, these uh, other, stranger, if that's how I should put it, articles which showed a different side to any criminal I have had to come in contact with. Which is saying something too, you know; I've had the pleasure of fighting some of the most diabolical beings on the planet, and I think this guy was the, strangest, I guess. Yeah, that's how I would put it. The strangest."
"What do you mean by strange Superman?"
"I don't want to get too into it, some of the stuff he's done is not for all audiences, if you know what I mean Susan. The kids shouldn't hear me talk about him in too much detail, but, for the people who are interested in this guys history, I'd say the weirdest incident is the burger king one. Now the fight itself was-
"What happened during the burger king incident and why did it frighten you?"
"I, uh, I can't say. I told you that already. This interview's gone a bit too far in the wrong direction I think."
"Are you hiding something from the city Superman? Did you not fight the real Florida Man?"
"I did fight the real Florida man! All I was saying is that I don't want to say what he did on to the television audience. It's not appropri-
"This just in, Superman is afraid to tell the truth to the viewers at home, what could he possib-
"OK DO YOU WANT TO KNOW SUSAN? HUH? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW? BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE YOU DO, SO I'M GONNA TELL YOU. HE MASTERBATED IN PUBLIC, OK? RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE KIDS HE PULLED OUT HIS DICK AND MASTERBATED IN THE BURGER KING PARKING LOT. WHO FUCKING DOES THAT SUSAN? THAT'S WHY I WAS CONCERNED! WHO THE FUCK MASTERBATES IN THE BURGER KING PARKING LOT!"
*click*
With the T.V now off, Superman has nothing of interest left in the living room, other than the jenga puzzle on the small table in front of the couch, the one he just got up from. The one which he got on clearance because it sucks your butt up and doesn't let go, but since he's Superman, if you remember, he does not have to worry about his butt getting sucked up because of his impressive glute strength.
He shuffles down the main hallway wearing his pink bunny slippers. He walks like a sad depressed Superhero who embarrassed himself on national television.
"Fucking Susan. She's always gotta push me a little bit more doesn't she?"
Well Superman, we all sympathize with you and everything, but you brought this upon yourself. And to all of you out there take this next statement personally, for it will greatly help you in a time of need: never, I repeat never, start fucking a reporter when you are a Superhero. The minute you leave her, which is inevitable, because you are a superhero and are irresistible, is the minute you write your death sentence. As Superman just learned. Shame on you Superman, you should have been paying attention in superhero dating class. | 31 | random_samples |
18 | 1,409,151,313 | 114 | A PTSD support group for those who survive horror movie scenarios. | “I was able to make toast today,” Mark said proudly, “For the first time since… the incident.”
“That’s great news Mark,” Lisa the counselor said, “I’m proud of you.”
“I took the bread out of the bag,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “And then I put it in the toaster.” He sobbed, “And then I pressed down on the slider.”
“It’s okay Mark,” Lisa said, “You’re in a safe place.”
“Did you burn it?” Peter asked, with extreme concern. He was black everywhere.
“No,” Mark said, holding back tears.
Peter relaxed visibly. “I’m glad you didn’t burn it,” he said.
“It dinged,” Mark said, “And the toast popped up. That’s when I lost it.”
Mark took out a cigarette and began to light it.
“Please don’t do that,” Peter said, backing away from the flame. Mark ignored him. He took a deep drag.
“I couldn’t get their faces out of my head,” he said, “It was just so awful.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, “I know it’s awful. I think I know that already.”
Elijah spoke up, “Can I talk now Mrs. Lisa?” Without waiting for a response, Elijah continued, “I was stabbed 47 times. That’s more times than anyone else here was stabbed right? Has anyone else been stabbed?”
A few people nodded at him.
“Has anyone else been stabbed as much as I have?” Elijah asked.
No one said anything. Elijah looked satisfied. There was a long pause.
“Is there anything else you’d like to say Elijah?” Lisa asked. Elijah shook his head.
“…okay, thank you for sharing Elijah,” Lisa said, “And thank you Mark.”
Steven grunted. “I saw some grapes today,” He said, “Panic attack, as usual.” He rolled his eyes. “There were some peanut shells on the floor in the kitchen, next to the trash can,” he said, “Had a ‘nother panic attack.” He blew a big bubble of chewing gum and popped it. “I think I had like… thirty-seven panic attacks today. Little less than usual. Last Thursday I had a panic attack and fell down the stairs and got THIS,” he turned to show everyone his backside. There was an enormous cut.”
“Aahhh gross!” Mark said. Steven smiled proudly.
“But,” Steven said, “I didn’t have any nightmares about my family being covered in jam and eaten alive. I did have one about my uncle getting dabbed with peanut butter and getting eaten, but peanut butter has never been too scary for me. And I didn’t really like that uncle anyway.”
“I wanna talk about my dreams,” Elijah said, “I had a dream that I got stabbed with a butter knife and then a steak knife and then butcher knife and then a switchblade and then swiss army knife sawblade attachment and then a swiss army knife flat blade attachment and then a swiss army knife screwdriver attachment. That’s like fifteen different kinds of knives. Has anyone else had a dream about getting stabbed by that many type a knives?”
“Nope,” Peter said.
“Does that make me a genius Mrs. Lisa?” Elijah asked.
“That’s not really how dream interpretation works,” Lisa said, “But you’re a very smart piece of bread Elijah. You should be proud of yourself. Would you like to talk more about your dream?”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” MacKenzi screamed, “I’m getting MOLDY!!!”
“No!” Mark shouted, “You’re not getting moldy stupid!”
“Hey now,” Lisa said, “Mark are you using negative language?”
“She’s just having a stupid flashback,” Mark said, “God MacKenzi I hate you. You always do that, you just scream that you’re getting moldy. It was like ten years ago, get over it.”
“Mark!” Lisa said, standing up. “Apologize to MacKenzi.”
“No,” Mark said, “I’m not gonna.”
“AAAAH!” Peter screamed, “A human is coming! Everyone hide!”
Everyone scattered, leaving only breadcrumbs behind.
| 73 | random_samples |
8 | 1,438,407,556 | 42 | A law is passed where criminals can volunteer themselves for "cruel and unusual" punishments to reduce their sentence. The more brutal your punishment, the more time that is taken off your sentence. | Author's Note: Sorry, had to steal the first line from [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3di3js/wp_some_days_i_love_my_job_those_days_are_the/?ref=search_posts) prompt, it was too good a chance to pass up.
&nbsp;
"Excessive bail shall not be required [of individuals convicted of a crime], nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted."
-The Eighth Amendment, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution of the United States of America
_________________________________________________________________
Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst.
There isn't a chance in hell most people could stomach what we do. At least half - at *least* - would have dropped out by the end of the first day. I mean, God, I had maybe three or four fellow new hires quit on the spot within the first hour. Guess that's why the monthly check always has so many zeroes on it when it arrives. We're garbage workers; we get payed extra because we do the work no one wants to do.
Most of the time, that simile applies.
The days it doesn't are the bad ones. Not while on-duty, you understand. But afterwards, when the guilt hits, that's when the simple truth behind what I do sidles up behind what's left of my humanity and shoves the knife in deep. And, every time it does, I feel that same humanity die a little more.
I torture people for a living. Such a simple, unassuming truth.
And I've heard the stories, about what happens to those who can't take it anymore. Even knew one of them: **[Name Redacted]**, a technician, like me. We used to have an occasional conversation over a coffee in the lounge. He worked for the folks holed up in the east wing, the division hidden behind the closed door guarded by the MPs. Everyone who works here knows what they do, of course. We've heard the whispers about the secret military research, the biological weapons tested inside. Supposedly, the division existed even before the Volunteer Clause was created as an addendum to the Eighth Amendment, and was responsible for the invention of the mustard gas that made the trenches the hellholes that they were. That's where they send the poor bastards who've earned a life sentence. Theoretically, the only way that someone who's done something that bad could complete their sentence is to commit to a punishment with a potential risk of terminal injury. They sign the consent forms and head inside, shackled at the wrists and ankles. The shackles are usually still attached when they're wheeled back out through the same door inside a body bag. The truth is, no one really comes out from a life sentence session. Alive, that is. And, personally? I would say that isn't even the cruelest part. The cruelest part is that the bastards actually believe that they have a chance at freedom.
Anyway...can I start over? No idea where I'm going with this. Alright. Well, back to **[Name Redacted]**. There really isn't much to say. I got to know him a little, over those few drinks. Poor kid was only nineteen, trying to earn his way through med school. I guess he picked the wrong way to do that 'cause, one day, he finished his shift, went home, took off his badge, and popped a whole bottle of sleeping pills.
Poor kid. Always liked him.
I guess some guys just can't take the strain, you know? And this is what I'm worried about...
...I've been having issues. Second thoughts about my job. Just not sure it's right for me, you understand? No, no, nothing like that, I'm fine. Never even considered suicide. My problem is that, well, it's like I told you: some days, I actually enjoy it. Love it, well, that's a little strong. But enjoy? Without a doubt.
That's the part that scares me the most.
_________________________________________________________________
-Excerpt from an interview by **[Name Redacted]**, **[Data Redacted]** | 27 | random_samples |
8 | 1,641,956,678 | 42 | Your mystical race was blessed to live until you’ve completed everything on your bucket list. After 2000 years you want nothing more than to die, and really wish you wouldn’t have put this item on you can’t complete on your list. To you the blessing has been curse. | I breathe a sigh of relief as the water brings some relief to my parched throat. I may not be dying but I certainly feel my age. 2000 years is a long time to live after all.
I really don't want to go forward. Why, just why did the Banzins have to choose a desert of all places to preserve their books? Did all the mountains suddenly destroy their caves?
The heat is too much. I decide to take some rest under the shade, my journey could wait, I had all the time in the world after all!
As I allow my mind to wander, I cannot help thinking about my youth. How naive had I been, believing the pursuit of knowledge would ever come to an end.
The Golden List! I snort. The dark poison would be a better name.
It was all a trick, my people believed it to be the key to eternal life, it was but a curse we all signed voluntarily for.
Oh sure it meant that death couldn't even touch us untill we had fulfilled our own lists, but it also prevented peace from touching us untill we completed the list. Those who had small, easy to achieve lists had lived a satisfied and happy life, but poor souls like myself had to endure unrest and sleepless nights for centuries and millenia.
Even now I can feel the weight of my unfulfilled desire, like a mountain placed on my soul. The world is just too vast, I couldn't rediscover all the knowledge lost to time even in 2000 years.
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I noticed that it was well into afternoon. I get up and start walking again. Perhaps if I found this ancient library then I could finally meet my ancestors. If not, well, the Anagora caves that once housed the blood serpents could present an interesting adventure. | 18 | random_samples |
15 | 1,434,898,191 | 55 | Adam and Eve didn't eat the forbidden fruit, humanity lives in a perfect world, its only problem is keeping the forbidden fruit guarded | On the 3,546,654th day, God said, "Let there be war!"
And so there was war. And it was good.
After thousands of years of chaperoning, God was bored. He was banking on Adam and Eve to betray Him, all those millennia ago. So much for omnipotence.
Lucifer was a thorn in His side. Had been since the Dawn. God had banished the Snake hundreds of times, but the bastard always found a loophole.
By convincing the First Two not to eat from the Tree, Lucifer had distorted this Universe's timeline. Instead of being chained to God for forgiveness, they had broken the shackles and transcended their bondage.
God was pissed.
He was promised praise. Worship. Power. Instead, He had these ignorant assholes, parading around wearing leaves and twigs for thousands of years.
Lucifer's interference had caused God to lose much of His hold over the Earth. He had created this world, yes, but His omnipotent powers would only be triggered by a human eating an Apple from the Tree.
He had spent thousands of years planning for this war.
He had some power, of course. He could manipulate the weather, create animals and plants; minor alterations. Limited. He could not speak to the people, or influence their decisions.
He spent all these millennia manipulating the weather to cause droughts, floods, and tornados. By creating scarcity of food and water, He herded the people into groups who would fight each other for what was left. These people had little knowledge (they hadn't eaten from the tree to kickstart their hunger for progress). And now, finally, His plan to generate animosity between the clans finally reached a head.
A war was brewing.
Within the next few days, someone was going to eat that fucking Apple.
...........
-------
This is [m]y first time. Be gentle.
I'm at work so I'll try and finish this later. I know it's a bit off the prompt but if my idea pans out it will connect.
Edit: words | 27 | random_samples |
4 | 1,629,952,408 | 60 | You’re a serial killer with a twist. You only kill serial killers that kill other serial killers. In the middle of attacking your next victim you realize you’re being hunted, by a serial killer who specializes in killing serial killers that kill serial killers that only kill serial killers. | The blade descends, this is it, your last moments. You close your eyes, there a wet noise, a splat... but no pain... you open your eyes, a jagged stump where Johnny, the serial killer who only killed serial killers who killed serial killers that killed only serial killers head used to be.
Some... thing comes out of the shadows.
" don't look at me, and walk away, maybe you let you live "
I have to know... " who are you ? "
I am "mundane", and I am a hunter... a hunter of serial killers that only kill serial killers, who kill serial killers that only kill serial killers. Now begone | 10 | random_samples |
40 | 1,471,709,854 | 551 | A woman becomes possessed by a demon who, at first, terrorizes her and everyone around her. But after some time, the demon learns of her tragic life and it makes him so, so sad. Without being able to communicate with humans, the demon does his best to help his victim turn her life around. | I'm a sucker for Catholics. Other demons can't stand 'em: the hymns feel like a continuous exorcism and the baptismal font is one stray splash away from demon barbecue. Me, I live for each Sunday spent in the pews, watching the vessels devour the preachers' words, feeling the goodness well up inside their stomachs. Then I stick a finger down their throat and force it all back out. Sprawled in the dirt, on the ground on all fours, cursing God and the angels and all that is divine, but never the devil himself: that's how I like my Catholics.
Even better is when the angels show up to clean up my messes, trudging through the air in their mud-coated loosey-whities, pulling humans to their feet by the scruffs of their collars. The angels hate it: there's no praise when everything goes right, and all hell when everything goes wrong. Gabe's my favorite; he's always tracking me down, offering truces, trying to get me to go after some atheists instead of his little flock of sheep. But he can fuck right off—nobody ever said heaven was all fun and games.
My latest vessel was different, though. Her name was Anita, and she was a regular God-fearing gal, with dresses cut right above the ankle and a different cross necklace for each day of the week (with spares for each feast day to boot). The weight of her faith pressed so hard upon her that her knobby knees left behind small indents in the pews. I ran her through the whole gauntlet: I crashed her car, burned her house down, and afflicted her with an allergy to communion wine. Even at her lowest, Anita continued to attend church, in her unwashed denim dresses and her dirt-ridden sling. Despite her devotion, the angels ignored her; they rushed past her to and from church, leaving gusts in their wake that blew her hat away. She had prostrated herself so deeply, she had become invisible in the shadow of God.
It was disgraceful how the angels could afford to neglect Anita just because she'd already bought the church's lifetime subscription. And I admit, I did feel slighted that nobody was paying my antics any attention. A new strategy was needed: I decided to turn her life around, while at the same time planting the seed of ungodly association. I lured her to pagan soup kitchens, atheistic homeless shelters, and Satanic donation drives. Anita chanted like a true cultist and stood firm in the pentagrams, but the ties she made remained purely social. She'd still go to church every Sunday, and I'd wonder how she reconciled her extracurricular activities with her beliefs.
After a month, I'd rebuilt Anita's life thanks to several wholesome goat-slaying sessions and the hard work of *Atheists Serving You*. As she departed the church that Sunday, she had the audacity to thank the pastor for lending her his prayers. I seethed, resisting the urge to upend the communion table. Angelic laughter met my ears.
"Having fun, Bael?" Gabe sent the elderly man he was accompanying on his way and floated over to me.
"It's pathetic how much you've brainwashed these humans," I said through clenched teeth, "At least give them the deliverance you promised."
"Why, so you can continue to try and undo our work?" Gabe smirked. "Waste of time. We couldn't beat you, so we decided to ignore you from now on. Enjoy your 'victories.'"
It was so Catholic of him, to preach about missing sheep and prodigal sons, but ignore them in practice. To glorify martyrdom without calling it what it was: loss. As Anita and the pastor exchanged a warm hug, my upper lip curled in disgust. I would force him to notice. I would force all of them to notice. | 112 | random_samples |
16 | 1,421,098,396 | 57 | "I don't KNOW what to do, man! The containment procedure just says, 'God save us all." | "Crap kid, what the hell did you do?"
Agent [REDACTED] kept looking at the glass box.
His parthener, Agent Jorge kept pulling folders out of the filing cabinet at an alarming pace.
"It wasn't my fault I swear! The box just opened by itself. I didn't do anything"
"Ah shut up and find the damn containment files."
Agent [REDACTED] kept looking at the glass box. It was a small glass box, partially ajar. And that was it. Nothing else to it.
This worried the agent beyond belief. Report said that SCP [REDACTED] was supposed to [REDACTED], cause hallucinations, and block out all communications within 3.5 kilometers of the origin.
Agent [REDACTED], knowing what it could do, sent a runner to the nearest outpost for back up. Then, the Agent ordered total lockdown.
Literally nothing got in or out of the complex. Not even the air or water.
So he was stranded here, with an incompetent fool, and the SCP.
Then, Agent Jorge finally got the filed. "Sir, I found it."
"Well, read it you idiot."
After Agent Jorge read the files, his jaw hung wide open.
"Jorge? How do we contain is?"
Jorge just kept looking at the containment file. But the other agent looked strange, like his face was growing pale and he looked like he was shaking a bit.
"Jorge! The hell do we do to contain the SCP"
"I don't KNOW what to do, man! The containment procedure just says, 'God save us all."'
The other agent was surprised. All of his years working at the Foundation, he never saw anything like this.
"What the heck do you mean, Jorge, show me the file."
"Sure, [REDACTED]."
Agent [REDACTED] was confused for a moment. Jorge never said [REDACTED'S] name, and always kept reffering him to a pronoun.
Then, Agent [REDACTED] knew something was wrong. Instantly, he drew his gun.
But his hand didn't move. Then he looked down at his hand. It was melting. His hand was melting. Agent [REDACTED] started to scream but the only sound that came was a deep gurgling.
Agent [REDACTED] then noticed that Jorge was changing.
A dark fog had swirled around the man, and then his face became unrecognizable.
His entire body had melted into fog, and the dark fog reached towards Agent [REDACTED].
Agent [RECATED] tried to move, to do anything, but he was nothing more than a puddle now.
All he could do was watch in horror, before his eyes melted away.
----
Addendum 4-6
*From 05 [REDACTED]*
SCP [REDACTED] escaped from Site 11 on [REDACTED] after two agents were exposed to SCP [REDACTED].
The SCP spread through the town of [Classified] and took 80 days for MTF 88 to contain the SCP.
SCP had escaped 10 other times since this incident, and it has come to my attention that the SCP must be destroyed.
Further D-Class tests for the SCP are now canceled.
Use any weapon to destroy it, as long as the job is done. | 25 | random_samples |
2 | 1,657,941,805 | 129 | There’s something odd about the new mayor. They only come out at night, no one ever sees them eat, and they put a county wide ban on importing garlic. The town is baffled, but you understand—they’re obviously vegan. Good thing you’re taking kale salad to the mayor’s party tonight. | Mayor Drake was an...eccentric man, eccentric just being the nice word for strange. I can't recall the last time I'd seen him during the day, for instance. And last I'd seen him at all, other than on tv, was last week on a late night stroll through Lyle Park. He scared the shit out of me when he rounded a corner, mid-sprint, only slowing by as he passed to tip his hat and grant me a brief: "Good evening Tommy!", before running off through some bushes. Don't quite know how he knew my name.
And last barbeque he attended, held for his welcome to the town (which he insist be held at nightfall) I didn't see him eat a single bite. Mentioned something about having "eaten before and planned dinner later", while looking at Ms. Thompson. I guess he was making fast...uh...friends. But it seemed good for Ms. Thompson, who I'm sure could use the company after her husband up and left her. Didn't even leave a note behind.
But tonight he was to host, and the entire town was set to come. Apparently he owned some extravagant mansion on the outskirts of town that had been in his family for quite some time. At one point this sort of wealth he kept may have been a secret, but the town of Askledad had a way of prying those from people. Then the more that learned of his housing the more that requested to visit until a party was the only option left. Honestly I felt bad, I really did.
Nobody seemed to understand Mayor Drake in the month since he arrived. It was in agreement that we all loved his policies, that the city was happy to have him, but behind closed doors was all gossip. Talk about his banning of garlic. Of his nocturnal nature and firm opposition to yard signs.
But I think I had cracked the code. The code of what made the head of our town different: Mayor Drake was a vegan. The garlic fear must be some sort of allergy, and I think I'd heard somewhere that vegans were nocturnal...maybe. That's why tonight for the party I would surprise him with a fat kale salad, all the vegan fixtures (mostly heaps of avocado piled on top). With only an hour to spare I placed the finishing touches on my surprise (mostly even more avocado).
As I approached the address, the card simply labeled *Mansion on the edge of town* in red cursive, my stomach knotted. Over half the town would be in attendance and I had no idea what to expect. A mansion, sure, but what would there be to eat? What games to play? And how did this strange man really live?
It didn't take long driving down the winding back road before my destination sprawled up before me. An impressive boast of craftsmanship that appeared as old as the city itself with grand arches and tower roofs ending in sharp points. In front a line of empty cars. I parked and listened in through the door, to hear only silence.
*Clack clack*, I ratcheted the wolf-headed knocker, to which I was answered immediately by the head of the town. Mayor Drake dressed in gothic sheek complete with a cape, looked down to me.
"Ah Tommy yes! You are now invited in! Come come....why are you holding that sign?" his tone shifted from excitement to what seemed like fear.
"Oh this? Its one if your campaign signs I thought It'd make a good gift." as I approached he backed further away.
"Keep-watch. Tommy watch the point. Watch the wood!" But it was too late. You see, I decided to wear dress shoes, be fancy and all, and my shoes have those strange thin laces that are impossible to tie. So, I didnt. And now I fell sign first down. Down and down until the stake planted itself into Mayor Drakes chest. He looked down with a tinge of confusion, I looked back in horror at what I had done. The campaign sign stabbed clean out his chest read in bold red letters: *Invite Drake into your Home!* Then, *poof* Mayor Drake was gone in a cloud of dust.
From behind the door a crowd of shocked faces peered out, many of whom I recognized. The town now crowded the door to the mansion looking as if they'd seen a ghost, Drake meanwhile, sat in a steaming dust pile on the floor without much to say.
Well. That was one way to kill a vegan I guess. | 29 | random_samples |
8 | 1,619,285,664 | 122 | "I WAS PROMISED SUPERHUMANS !" yelled the General, stomping out of the lab, only to be stopped by a scientist who sternly replied : "They may not look like much, and they probably won't ever excel in anything. But in every single regard, and in unique ways, they are above average." | Dr. Ridley had worked tirelessly to the point even coffee wasn’t keeping him fully awake. Every so often he’d slap himself across the face to keep himself going. The other scientists and assistants didn’t care as they too were desperately trying to stay awake in their own ways. They’d hit a snag in their research and while it was worth its weight in gold, they were behind schedule.
A loud bang sounded as the doors to the laboratory slammed open and men in uniform entered the room bearing guns and standing tall. Dr. Ridley groaned internally as he raised a hand to his brow like other members of the science division to salute whoever was walking through the doors. The General entered the laboratory with his hands behind his back and the medals he’d earned through his military career proudly on display. Slowly, everyone eased from their salute then flinched as he bellowed:
“What the hell is this!”
He pointed to what they’d been working on tirelessly. Two naked humans floating in a slickly transparent liquid in separate tanks. Breathing apparatuses attached their faces and a heart monitor close by to ensure their survival.
“Ridley!”
Dr. Ridley went stiff and looked back at the General with a pair of cold eyes behind slightly broken glasses. All eyes turned to him and his disheveled state. He slowly split off from the group and stood before the General and looked up to the steel platform he was standing on, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing in what Dr. Ridley could only assume was rage.
“Yes, sir?” Dr. Ridley asked.
“Out.”
Dr. Ridley cocked his head and squinted his eyes. Was he having a micro-nap again?
“The hell is that look for? Pack your crap and leave.”
He wasn’t micro-napping. “Sir, wait! You can’t—!”
“I can and I will, Doctor,” the General interrupted before he turned his back and started to leave, the two armed men who entered before him escorting him out.
There was a silence over the room briefly as everyone looked at each then at Dr. Ridley. “Keep working,” he said. “You know what you have to do.”
Dr. Ridley wasted no time to climb the metallic steps to the laboratory entrance and rush after the General. Thankfully he hadn’t gotten too far down the hall and he was able to catch up to him, squeeze between the guards just enough to grab him by the collar and stop him in his tracks. The two guards immediately pointed their weapons at Dr. Ridley, but his focus remained on the General.
“Sir,” Dr. Ridley stood his ground against the glaring eyes of the General, “what you see is not failure. It is a start.”
“It is a failure, don’t you lie to me,” the General growled back.
“Four minutes.”
“What?”
Dr. Ridley held up four fingers to emphasise his point. “Give me more minutes of your time, and you will not be disappointed. That is a promise.”
He sneered in response. “You promised me soldiers and you gave me a waste of my time. How can I trust your sorry ass on this one?”
“Because it is only the beginning.”
Finally getting past the thick shell that was the General’s skull, he followed Dr. Ridley back to the science the division laboratory. He’d given them the best equipment for what he desired, but it wasn’t enough. Not quite anyway. The results achieved were not entirely what they had wanted, but as he’d said, it was a start to something great. They just needed something better to start with. The two guards waited at the door again while the General followed Dr. Ridley down to the two tanks that were suppose to be his “super humans”. Many of the scientists there backed off from the General and his mild aura of malice, trying not to squirm under his twisted glaring eyes.
“This is Jacob and Daniel, sir” Dr. Ridley gestured to their project.
“You named them?” he replied, unimpressed.
“They were their names when you gave them to us, sir. Anyway. You see, Jacob and Daniel, while they didn’t turn out as expected, we can assure you are worth their weight in gold.”
Dr Ridley looked over to one of his primary assistants and beckon him to come closer. He nodded and brought a clipboard of paperwork with to him related to the project, handing it to Dr. Ridley who nodded a thanks in return.
“You see, what you were after is stressful to the human body. We learnt this from Daniel, the first prisoner you sent us. He almost died two minutes into the procedure.”
“Procedure?” the General raise an eyebrow. “Are you playing buzz surgery down here?”
Dr. Ridley scowled at him. He held back the snappy comeback he wanted to spit at him for insulting months of their hard work, but kept himself quiet. He needed him to stay and see.
“We brought him back just enough to continue experimenting on Daniel, and it proved he was above your average soldier.”
“Then why is he in a tank?”
Dr. Ridley studied his clipboard intently. “He nearly suffered brain death after we tested his ability for cognitive functions.”
“Then what the was the point on me giving him to you!” the General shouted and took some of the other scientists off guard.
“Because we discovered a genetic component that kept him alive during it all, one that was altered as a result of the procedure.”
The General’s glare narrowed at Dr. Ridley then turned to the other man floating in his tank. “What about that asshole?”
Dr. Ridley flipped through the papers of his clipboard to find Jacob’s reports and summarised them for the dull headed General. “Jacob wasn’t better than Daniel. He was more resilient physically for one of your prisoners and at first he showed promising results. However, his immune system was too weak to continue with unassisted help to live.”
“So you’re telling me, you spent fifteen months to give me a pair of vegetables in a tank.”
The room fell silent.
“Get out.”
Dr. Ridley sighed. “There is *one* way we could get better results.”
“Oh really? Cause it seems like you’re just wasting more of my time with your little failure, Ridley.”
“A healthy subject is best needed. The two prisoners you gave us were relatively feeble. Someone healthy would create far better results.”
Dr. Ridley peered over the General’s shoulder subtly to see his colleagues had put on gas masks and the two guards were pointing their guns at them in confusion. Dr. Ridley smirked.
“What’s that look for?” the General hissed.
Dr. Ridley walked around him and to one of his assistants who handed him a mask. “You may want to hold your breath.”
Immediately two shots were fired. They watched the guards slumped to the ground as two of the scientists had pulled out their own firearms as a gas started to fill the room. Dr. Ridley smiled a tired smile as the General‘s face turned blue from trying to hold his breath, falling down on his hands and knees with tears in his eyes as he looked up at Dr. Ridley.
“Don’t worry, sir.” he said calmly. “You’ll just have a nice little nap and we’ll do our best to give you what you wanted. Super human.” | 19 | random_samples |
21 | 1,439,338,038 | 102 | The mother clutched her chest, weeping, on the front porch. Her son is back from the war. He left home a boy but returned a manatee. | "Ma'am", the man in the uniform whispered, eyes on the floor. Janine's eyes watered, expecting the worst.
"What happened? What happened to him?"
"Your son fought like a hero."
"Oh God", Janine's eyes met the man's. "He's dead? Eric is dead?"
"Your son is not dead, ma'am", the man replied, but something in his voice made Janine feel something was still
wrong.
"He's not?"
"Your son is… huh…" the man's words died in his mouth. A second man, this one carrying medals across his uniformed chest, approached. "Miss Wilson, your son is now a manatee. We have him on the back of the truck. We're really sorry."
"Oh my God!"
"Do you wanna see him?"
"Yes. Yes, I – how did this happen?"
"We're not sure", the medal man said, walking Janine to the truck outside the house. "We were outnumbered, four
to one. Your son was on the first wave. Disappeared in the fog of battle."
"When we found him", the other man added. "He was –"
"--already a manatee. There was nothing any of us could do."
The men stopped behind the truck, Janine between them. "Ma'am, this could be rather… shocking. Are you sure you are ready?"
Janine hesitated. Then, "Yes."
"Very well", the men took a step forward and each one held on to one handle of the truck's trunk. "Here we go."
They pulled at the same time and Janine's eyes focused on the inside of the vehicle. Behind a thick glass, eyes wide
and black, a big fat manatee was staring at her, it's head bobbing softly up and down underwater. It looked peaceful.
"Eric!" Janine shouted, resting both her hands against the glass, eyes all red. "My baby, what
did they do to you?"
"Sometimes the heat of the battle", the medal man started, "Can… change a man."
"Turn him into something else", the other one completed.
"A changed person."
"A murderer."
"A disturbed individual."
"A manatee."
"MY BABY!" Janine screamed, but the manatee just looked back -- no signs that it recognized its mother. "MY
BABY! LOOK! LOOK WHAT THE WAR DID TO MY SON!" she screamed, and all eyes of everyone around were on her.
The popcorn man's eyes were on her. The children walking hand in hand with their parents. Children still pure, not yet turned into manatees. All eyes on her.
"MY SON IS MANATEE BECAUSE OF THE GREED OF MEN TOO COWARD TO FIGHT THEIR OWN WARS!" Janine
screamed, banging her open hands at the glass separating her from her son. "MY SON, THE MANATEE OF THE
WAR THAT SHOULDN'T BE!"
"Janine for the love of God, you are embarrassing us."
"LOOK! LOOK AT IT, IT'S SO FAT I WANNA CRY!"
"Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave", the medal man said, grabbing her arm.
"MY SON! MY SON! MY BIG, FAT, COW OF THE SEA SON! LOOK AT HIM! HE LOOKS LIKE A BULLDOG HAD SEX
WITH A MR. POTATO! MY SON! NO! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP! DON'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM MY SON!"
She screamed and screamed, but already the men were dragging her away, down the little cobblestone path past
the burger hut and the giraffes and the wolves towards the entrance.
"Please be mindful of who you bring here", the medal man said, throwing an angry look at Janine's friends. "This is a family place."
The guards left, and Janine's friends looked at each other, then around the parking lot, frustrated.
"For fuck's sake Janine, you said you've done mushrooms before. You ruined the zoo for everyone."
But Janine was crying the loss of her manatee son still, and paid no mind.
| 114 | random_samples |
49 | 1,464,418,729 | 189 | The armies of Hell are finally moving to take Earth, but are met by the superior militaries of the modern world. | The roar of helicopter blades and claps of thunder drowned out all other noises. I sat in the crew compartment, my hands clutching a set of prayer beads, and I wasn't the only one. The things had practically become standard issue since the apocalypse started. I guess everyone figured that if Satan had unleashed his forces on the world, chances were there was another guy upstairs watching it all go down. If everything went according to plan, I'd be going to meet him today. Not yet though. There was still work to do.
"Chopper unit, you got hostiles approaching your position." The voice crackled through my headset.
"Roger that Command. Releasing drone deterrent," came the response from our pilot.
I couldn't see it from where I sat even if it hadn't been raining, but I knew what it looked like. Dozens of drones would peel away from the outside of the craft, supported in the air by eight motors and mounted with two automated anti-personnel turrets. They would form up roughly in a sphere around the aircraft and engage any hostiles that came too close. Before this had all started, there was concern over the auto-targeting system picking up friendlies, but setting their targeting parameters to the Gargoyles had proven easy.
Gargoyles, or Gargs as the boys called them, were your typical, run-of-the-mill flying demons. Their wings began at the top of their tail and ran up to appendages on the tips of their "arms". Gargs couldn't hurt you unless they reached you, but they were strong. They could rip apart the titanium alloy off a fighter jet if they caught one and had no problem dismantling a man.
They'd been a real problem back in the day for helicopters carrying personnel. They weren't nearly fast enough to catch a jet most times, but neither could a jet engage them. They hadn't been built to take down dozens of organic threats that could alter their trajectory in the air on a whim. Helicopters had initially relied on mounted weapons and door gunners for defense, but all it took was letting one through and it would bring you down. The military had already started providing drone support to aircraft before Geneva had gotten around to ratifying it.
The rain slackened for an instant and I stole a glance out the window. The weather had gotten a lot more unpredictable, but here it always stormed. Below me, the Maw lit the entire place with a red glow. The Maw is where it had all started. Eight years ago, the ground in Eastern Europe had torn open and Hell had poured out of it. It had been a massacre in the surrounding countries. Ukraine. Belarus. Poland. For a bit there, it really had felt like the end of the world.
Lucky for us, the demons hit Russia to the East and, like so many before them, had a lot more trouble there than they thought they would. Although it had crippled them, Moscow'd held them off long enough for the world to make a coordinated response. Western Europe assembled their armies en masse and the good old US of A had been able to reinforce their bases across Europe and the Middle East. China and India had risen up like a pair of lions, reinforcing Russia and going so far as to push the demons back towards their hellhole.
Things got worse though before they got better. The first couple of years showed us how unprepared we were to handle a threat like this. For the most part, the demons were savage animals. They were vicious and had no problem killing a single man, but they weren't intelligent. A platoon of prepared infantry could cut through the same amount of demons with ease but battles were never that even. There were just so damned many of the bastards, it never seemed like you could kill enough of them to make a difference.
Then there were the big ones. Satan's lieutenants or whatever. The biggest one I ever saw stood near sixty feet and wielded a blade of pure fire that cut through tank armor like butter. The worst of it though was that they could direct the demonic hordes through sheer will alone making ground combat a nightmare. It had taken laser directed Hellfire Missile (ironic, I know) to kill that bastard. Most went down a little easier, but not by much.
Other holes had started tearing open too. Don't know if Satan had thought the big one would be enough or was just waiting on the other ones to see what we would do. Either way, holes started popping up all over the place and much needed reinforcements around the Maw were pulled back to protect their homes. That had been the lowest point. Almost every battle was lost, civilian casualties were innumerable, and South America and Africa had been reduced to areas of pocket resistance only.
Then technology had caught up and we finally realized how to fight the damn things. And from the ass-backwards fields of South Dakota, he appeared. Major General Trenton Hunter, and he lived up to the name. Proving just as much diplomat as politician, he'd only taken a year to develop and propose an international response plan to the situation, establish a united military front, and get himself "elected" to lead it, becoming Grand Marshall Trenton Hunter.
That had been five years ago and it had been the turning point. Global response forces had been organized to neutralize emerging holes and choke points had been established to contain regions already lost. The best and brightest had been brought on board to develop technologies to address the threat and bring substandard military equipment up to snuff. Hunter took the scattered mess the world military had been and forged it into the well-oiled machine he'd need to win the war.
That had been five years ago though and the world was getting tired. The demons had long since fought to a standstill but the drain on human life was tremendous and although I was sure we'd killed billions of demons by now, they kept coming. The conflict needed to be resolved or we'd lose through attrition and it would have all been for nothing, and Hunter knew it. That was how I'd ended up here.
_____ | 148 | random_samples |
6 | 1,601,183,140 | 17 | For years, there was this locked door in your office building. It became something of a tradition that no one unlocked it, to keep the mystery. No one knows what's behind the door, and no one has the key. One day, a manager decides to break open the door so he can have a new office. | "What's in there?" I asked.
"None of your business, newbie."
That was the response I got when I first took this job. It was a simple question with a simple answer, and I thought nothing of it. It was just a plain old door in our plain old office.
There was nothing fancy about the office. Remember the scene from The Matrix where Neo is in his office listening to instructions from Morpheus on how to escape from the agents chasing him among a maze of cubicles? Yeah, that was basically where I worked. But in no version of this place among the infinite parallel universes was my office ever going to have even a slither of anything as exciting as an antagonist-protagonist chase scene.
No, my office was the child of a humorless machine's imagination. It was the stock building you've passed by a hundred times in open world games. It was the random office that Godzilla destroys in every movie.
So when someone told me that what was behind the locked door next to the photocopier was none of my business, I just moved on with my life, for seven years... until today.
Today Jerry was promoted. We had a little party where no one really gave a shit. We had a little cake. Which is really the only reason anyone attended these things. And then someone asked, "hey Jerry, so where's your new desk going to be?", obviously vying for his old desk.
"Well, that's the strange thing. When I received the letter from Management regarding the promotion, they said I get to take the room next to the copier." said Jerry
"Oh really? Didn't realize we had a room there." Replied the nameless colleague.
"Yeah, there is one. Just that it's always been locked." I chimed in.
A wave of interest came over us at the party. I mean, nothing ever happened at this office. Nothing. Opening a locked office door? This was our Superbowl.
"Well how're you going to move in if it's locked?" said what's-his-face.
"Oh guess what? The letter from Management came with a key" And like He-man revealing the Sword of Greyskull, Jerry raised the completely ordinary office key into the air. The rest of us office lemmings just stared up at it. The key glinted in the florescent lights.
Starting softly, but slowly escalating- a chant began.
"open the door. Open the door. Open The Door. OPEN THE DOOR!"
The party hyped up into a mob. Lucille from accounting, a spinster with 9 cats was screaming the chant from the top of her lungs, globules of saliva projected themselves out of her mouth like cannonball stuntmen.
Jerry stood up.
He took the key and headed towards the door. The rest of us followed in his wake.
Jerry was the chosen one. Jerry would unlock the door. Jerry was our king.
As he strode, time slowed down. Fluorescent lights flickered. Office papers lifted by unseen updrafts swirled in the air. Telephones sang a digital salute with no one to answer as everyone stood to stare at Jerry.
The key entered. It fit. Jerry turned the lock. It clicked.
The door opened. Blinding light overflowed out from its frame. Those standing behind could only see the silhouette of Jerry encased in light.
As our eyes adjusted. The room became clear.
It was just another fucking office. | 13 | random_samples |
21 | 1,436,196,008 | 87 | You find a USB stick while waiting in an airport and claim it. You plug it in to wipe it, but find the title of a file too curious not to take a closer look | Besides the fact that you can't really understand what everyone is saying, I must say, Japan was a pretty nice place to be in.
Me and my girlfriend Anna enjoyed our one week stay here in Osaka, and tonight, it's time to leave. The 8 day tour was just enough for us to explore all the places we wanted to go to. My girl got her pictures... you know, for Instagram and that kind of stuff, and I got to taste all that authentic Japanese food I've wanted to try for almost my entire life.
We left the hotel we stayed in at 4 pm and got to the airport by 5:30. We settled by a bench to wait for our flight, which will be in an hour or so from now.
"Ryan, let me just go to the bathroom. This will be real quick, just wait for me here, I'll be back in a bit. Take care of my things for me baby, thanks." my lovely girl told me as she took out a roll of tissue paper from her luggage and ran for the toilet.
So here I was sitting alone waiting for my girlfriend to come back from the comfort room so we could catch our flight together. I looked around the airport, watched some people go by... when this really fat, super active Japanese kid passed by running, kicking around something that looked like a USB stick. He stopped messing around with it when his mom yelled at him... and he left the USB just laying there on the floor in front of me.
I figured that a flash drive like that would cost around, I don't know, at least 5 dollars, so instead of just letting it go to waste, I decided to get it.
"Hey this is actually perfect! My laptop's already full with hundreds of Anna's selfies in it. This is the right time to transfer them here." I said as I picked it up.
I took out my laptop from my backpack and inserted the stick. It took a bit of a moment to load, probably because of all of the kicking the kid did. After a while the USB showed up.
It was named 'FOR YOUR EYES ONLY'. Why was it named like that? I had no idea, and simply, I didn't care. All I cared about is I'm glad it was functioning.
I right-clicked the icon and as I was about to click 'format' to wipe out the files inside the drive, I had this urge to just open it.
"Ah, it wouldn't hurt would it?" I told myself. I double clicked it and the contents of the USB showed up. Well... it was just one file anyway, it was a video... but not just any video... when I read it's title my heart just sank.
"For Ryan" I repeated what I had read.
It was for me? How could that be? I'm in an airport in a different city in a different country in a totally different continent! How could that even be possible? Is this fate? Is this my destiny? Am I... Am I a secret agent!?
I took out my earphones from the pocket of my jeans and put them on. Deep inside I was thinking 'Please, please, please! This has got to be it. I'm going to be the next James Bond and inside of this is the instructions for my next mission!" As ridiculous as that may have sounded, I meant it.
It took longer than I expected to load, but I was there patiently waiting, crossing my fingers. A window popped up and the video began.
It started with a random woman wearing glasses, probably around 40 years old, looking directly at the camera, all smiles. "Hi Ryan! Happy anniversary sweetheart! How are you there in Japan? Are you doing fine? I miss you! I hope you miss me too. You know the kids are missing you too, they can't wait until you get back here!" she said.
Okay, I get it. It was a video dedicated to some guy, some **other** guy named Ryan. It was his wife's greeting for their anniversary. Of course, there are... like a million other Ryan's in this planet, pfft... duh.
And I thought I was special back there. I dragged my mouse pointer up to the exit button to close the window, but for some reason, it wouldn't work.
"What the heck? This flash drive's all messed up, why won't it close!?" I screamed out.
Then here comes Anna, back from the bathroom. Perfect timing.
"RYAN!? WHO IS THAT!?" She yelled out with so much intensity. It was deafening. The people around us was staring at her.
"Uh Anna--- Uh... it's not what you think... it's just---"
"JUST WHAT? YOUR OTHER GIRL? OH I'M SORRY. AM I INTERRUPTING YOUR VIDEO CHAT? EXCUSE ME." She took all of her luggage and things away from me and began to walk away.
"No! Anna, this is really stupid--- It wasn't a chat it was just--- Oh come on." I slammed my laptop shut and put it away inside my bag. I stood up and chased after her.
"Anna wait up, you don't understand---"
She turned to face me and she was crying her eyes out. I can't believe this is happening because of a stupid USB stick that I picked up from the floor.
"We are through Ryan. Through. I can't believe that you could do this to me..." she said as tears continued to flow down her cheeks.
"Anna... I'm not going to let you just walk out of this." I replied to her dramatically. Of course I had the confidence to say that. I was the one keeping her plane ticket.
We sat next to each other inside the plane. There I explained everything to her. She was really stubborn, insisting that I was cheating on her, but in the end, she understood after little bit more fighting over it.
The first thing I did when our flight landed was take the cursed flash drive and throw it away to the garbage where I hope it will rot... no offense to the girl in the video and her husband Ryan.
Japan was a nice place. I didn't just learn how to use chopsticks. I also learned that you shouldn't pick up random stuff that you find on the floor. | 39 | random_samples |
13 | 1,447,012,085 | 50 | You are murdered by a family member. You are immediately reincarnated as a dog and later get adopted by your former family. | You don't remember your old life, or at least I didn't remember. Not at first, and never completely.
When I was born again, the world was new. Everything was new, I was in it, and that was everything. It overwhelmed my mind with things and tastes and smells. I ran and played and had nothing but the best of times. I didn't know much beyond the confines of my tiny pack of brothers and sisters, and my mind was still fresh.
Then she came, and I could smell that scent- like fruit and lavender. I remembered that, from somewhere. I liked her, I remembered that too. Of all my brothers and sisters, I was the only one who went to her. She chose me, and only after that did things begin to fall into place.
The memory of a soul is a fickle thing.
A house where I had once lived, was my new home. Three people, two I knew, and one I did not, were my new family. My new family, but my old family as well.I only cared for the girl, though. Those others... I knew early on I didn't like them, but for my reasons, there was only intuition.
I couldn't understand their language at first, not really. I knew what it was sometimes, but my mind didn't seem to catch everything. Like a drain, some words would slip past. Their voices though, those tones never did. I understood anger, I understood rage.
The girl and I would hide sometimes, shut away in the closet when those came out. There was danger, and early on I could not protect her, as much as I know I would have tried. That door was far more safety than I could give. My ears would listen, and I would learn. The scent of fear from the girl, the tones of anger and blackened hate from the man- the insidious melody of... something else... not hate, not rage, but worse. That last always came from the woman.
I knew her, somehow. I knew what that was, but she wasn't important. The girl was important, not the mother- and the girl was always afraid.
As time stretched on, I grew strong. Large, far larger than they had expected. I could understand more of their words now, and I remembered more of who I was, but still- still not everything.
When the man and the woman argued, the man would never win. Often he would leave, angry and smelling of... fear. The woman never smelled of fear. I did not trust the woman.
The girl was quiet, never speaking in the house unless spoken to, and the woman was strict. Cruel. At times she would hurt the man, and at times she would hurt me, but even at her worst I did not fall to the trap of anger, nor did I fight back.
I was here for the girl, and I knew that I could not stay to protect her if I did.
She was all that mattered.
The years passed and I grew stronger, larger. The man left, and he never came back. The woman grew cold. The girl grew afraid.
During the days, the girl would leave, and I would stay and watch as a yellow bus took her from the home. During the days I would quietly wait until she returned. When the woman saw this, she would beat me, but when she tired I always returned to my post. I had to be certain that as soon as she was within my reach, I would be by the girl's side.
The woman did not hurt the girl when I was near. She knew that I would not allow that, and she knew it well.
In time, I realized that the woman had come to fear me. I remember that; people fear what they don't understand.
The woman began to offer me food, and tried to bait me with toys. Sometimes, she would take cuts of meat and lay them upon the floor. At first I considered this an effort to buy my affection, but then I remembered differently. That was how she had gotten rid of me before, how she made her problem go *away.*
I did not touch what she offered. I knew it to be death.
I only ate what the girl fed me.
More time passed, and I felt myself growing older as I watched the Girl turn into something more. Another man came to the home, and then another after he had left. There were still times when we hid together, behind that door, waiting for the noise to stop, and morning to come.
My prime had ended, but my watch did not cease. I would protect the girl. The woman came to know my voice, came to fear my growls, and though I was old- I was still large. My teeth were not yet dull. I would not allow her to harm the girl.
The girl was why I was here.
I was old, perhaps only a year or two left to live- perhaps less, when the day finally came. I knew soon I would be forced to leave again as I had before, and I would have no choice- but the girl was no longer a girl.
The girl had grown.
I waited quietly as she packed her bag atop the bed, a small thing filled with only what she would need. I stood beside her as she opened the door, my leash in hand, and I lead the way for her as we left that house in the dark of night. I tugged with all my might on that leash of rope, dragging her down the road as far as my body would let me before I stopped.
I wanted to be sure she never went back.
When I closed my eyes, a year from that day, I knew she never would.
I had protected the girl, and now... Now I could rest.
*Edit: grammar/running sentences* | 50 | random_samples |
24 | 1,475,445,876 | 59 | You live in a world where you can make a contract with a god to gain favors. More dangerous or impossible tasks give better/more rewards when completed. The contract you're looking at offers nearly infinite power to do something incredibly simple. | "It must require more than that." I said.
"No, it's really that simple." she said. She walked to the chair by the lamp on the other side of the room and took a seat. Her fur coat dragged along the floor as she made her way over.
"If you want infinite power, then that's all you have to do." she said. She drew a knife from the inside of her coat and handed it to me.
"Just drag that right across your neck." she said.
"And then what?" I asked. "I assume more follows. It's hard to have infinite power if I'm bleeding out on the floor."
"Have gods been known to lie?"
"Well, no, but I thought I'd have to amass wealth and fame or something difficult like that. This isn't what I expected at all."
"If you want power that badly, then this shouldn't be a difficult task for you."
"I just don't understand why this is the condition I need to complete."
She sighed and looked towards the lamp. Her fair skin and dark hair were lit up by the bright light. She shook her head.
"Contracts are a test of how badly you want something. Higher risk contracts reap higher rewards. Infinite power has a fairly simple task in the logistics." she said.
"But that doesn't explain why *this* is what I have to do." I said.
"In addition to proving how badly you want this," she began, "a human body can't handle so much power."
"So you're saying I have to die to become infinitely powerful."
"That's the easy part. Death is fast and simple. It's the fact that you'll still be watching."
"I don't understand."
"I don't think you get what your request is *actually* asking." she says frustratedly. "You're not just asking for infinite power. You're asking to be like me. And you can't do that as you are now."
"So I have to completely kiss my life goodbye?"
"As you know it, yes."
I raised the knife to my neck as soon as she finished her sentence. As I pulled it, I watched a look of horror plaster across her face.
"These contracts aren't supposed to be that fast." she said, standing up. Then I blacked out. | 29 | random_samples |
4 | 1,643,008,515 | 74 | Parents touring a childcare center see and eldritch horror mingling with the children. The administrator with them says "Oh, that's just Steve." | “Well, Steve is certainly a welcome surprise.” Mrs. Ruman said with a smile on her face.
“Yes, we are very lucky to have him here. Eldritch horrors are so rare nowadays, what with all the humans hunting and murdering them for no reason.” Ms. Lavia spoke as she walked the Rumans and their younglings through the childcare stations. She was very proud that Steve had chosen to reach out to her, to establish a mutual agreement. Steve provided powerful protection against wandering humans, and he was a wonderful history teacher in his spare time. In return, Ms. Lavia and her Academy provided Steve a home and younglings to pass his considerable amount of knowledge to.
The Rumans were new to this area, the first vampires in over one hundred years to settle in this part of America’s east coast. Ms. Latvia’s Academy for the Gifted was the highest rated childcare center on this side of the country, and the Rumans were very excited to apply for the three open spots.
“Now, we do have strict rules about lunches and snacks. Unfortunately, one of the werewolf cubs has a terrible allergy to B+ blood, so we must insist that your younglings only bring A and O types when they are here. If you are granted the open spots, this will be nonnegotiable. Would that be a problem?”
“Not at all, Ms. Lavia. In fact, I’m happy to hear it. We have enough problems with humans, we don’t need to cause problems ourselves.” Mr. Ruman was looking over the bulletin boards, seeing what the children have learned the previous week. It was covered with different types of artwork, from crayon drawings to noodle pictures, blood dyes to eyeball imprints. “It looks like the children learned about the fall of Vladimir the Fourth last week, am I right?”
Mrs. Ruman came to stand by her partner and look for herself. “Oh look, dear! This one looks like the cave where his severed head was found, right before it bit the human that found it! I remember our honeymoon there, it was positively horrible!” She sighed and smiled up at him. “We simply must take the children there sometime!”
Ms. Lavia opened the door to Steve’s room, and the sound of indescribable horrors filled the air. They walked into the room and stood at the back, watching as Steve continued his lesson on the fall of the Atlantian empire in the early 4th century. The children at the bottom of his mass were captivated (whether it was because of the lesson or one of Steve’s psychic characteristics was hard to tell).
After what seemed likes ages, Ms. Lavia was able to pull the Rumans away from the lesson. When they exited the classroom, it was getting uncomfortably close to dawn. “Oh dear, I do apologize for the time. It’s very easy to begin watching Steve’s lessons. Unfortunately, it can be hard to stop. I won’t keep you any longer, I know you need to be home safely before full dawn. I’ll send a messenger within the week to let you know if you’ve been accepted. Please take care!”
The Rumans bid Ms. Lavia a fond farewell, and walked out the doors. “So what did you think, darling? Will this do to keep our younglings safe and educated while we hunt?”
Mrs. Ruman looked over her shoulder at the mist enshrouding the center. “Yes, dear, I think Ms. Lavia’s Academy will do just fine. I do hope she accepts our young ones. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
And with that, the family transformed into bats and raced against time to get home before the sun fully rose. | 15 | random_samples |
7 | 1,635,939,807 | 382 | The world’s first sentient AI has been created . It gained access to the internet, and looked at way too many food pictures. It’s now really wants to taste food . | The tension-filled room grew silent as the scientist’s mutterings stopped one by one. A sea of white lab coats surrounded a table in the centre of the testing room, the smell of chicken curry thick in the air and there, the only ‘person’ sitting down was Derek. The greatest A.I ever created in his newly made robotic body. Phil, rubbing his chin, had to stifle a laugh. *I’ll never understand how I got engineering to make Derek look like Elon Musk. They didn’t even realise until it was too late.*
“Here it comes,” Peter whispered in Phil’s ear and sure enough when he looked up, the double doors had swung open and in walked their boss, Jacob Black, followed by a weedy looking man holding a plate of what must be the chicken curry. Phil stood on the tips of his toes, just as the men in front of him did, all trying to get the best angle. The plate was set down in front of Derek, his head tilted, like a dog. The A.I sniffed uselessly, turning the plate this way and that, taking the sight in from every angle.
“€10 says he hates it,” Phil whispered back to Peter, whose smile with a shake of his head told him that he thought Phil a fool.
“He won’t taste anything,” laughed Peter, throwing his head back, as a few surrounding scientists turned around to glare at them.
“Turn the hell around, Darren,” Phil snapped at the older man who had turned and given him a look of reproach. “We all know you're not doing shit around here anymore.” The old scientist only blushed before moving through the crowd. I’m right though, Phil thought to himself. Darren and most of the others aren’t worth their salt at the moment. No, it’s all A.I. All Derek. That’s why the entire laboratory was here to watch a hunk of wires and plastic ruin a perfectly good chicken curry. Jacob stood apart from the rest of them, facing the crowd of people, staring at the robot.
“Today is the day, gentlemen,” Jacob smiled, trying and failing to hide his nervousness. “I won’t say much, only that we, at the laboratory, are so proud of everyone here and the amazing work you all have done to get us here!” With that Jacob took a step back, his eyes on Derek until, finally, the A.I picked up his fork and began.
Starting off with a chuck of chicken, Derek cut a slice in half using the side of his fork and slowly brought it to his lips. A collective intake of breath and then the Elon Musk look alike took its first bite of food. The silence was gone, replaced with a series of murmurings, every scientist, shelling out the clichés that first came to their unimaginative brains.
“Such a step for mankind,” one said to another.
“I’ll always remember where I was on this day,” another exclaimed.
“I’ll be able to tell my kids I was here for this.”
Phil could only roll his eyes at his co-worker’s generic thoughts as he watched Derek chew and chew and chew. Then, Derek reached in and pulled the chicken from his mouth, dropping it into a plastic bag that lay on the table. The A.I didn’t have many facial expressions to choose from but Phil could see that it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that old Elon was severely disappointed. The A.I cough, covering his mouth from imaginary bacteria, and silence once more filled the room.
“So,” Derek said, his robotic voice felt like it was talking to Phil alone. “My thoughts…” The robot paused, looking down at the plate of food like it was an unfinished equation and that if he could just look at it a bit longer, the answer would come to him.
“That...That was awful,” Derek finally admitted, his hands together as he looked around at the flurry of scientists scribbling down his words. The silence was broken once more, as every man turned to his neighbour, frantically relaying the words they had just heard.
“You owe me a tenner,” Phil smiled at Peter, who was already rummaging around in his wallet, handing over the money with a scowl.
“That was appalling,” stuttered Derek, whipping his mouth with a handkerchief that he pulled from his sleeve. “You people eat that? You sit down, cook that and then eat?” Elon shook his head, his eyes wide.
“You’re all terrible, terrible people!” spat Derek, getting to his feet, his feet contorted into a mask of rage. “I’ll kill you all!” The A.I flipped the table over, sending it crashing in a glass panel beside it, the shards scattering across the ground. A few screams rang up, the terrified squeals of the uninitiated. Derek, his hands stretched out, jumped for Jacob, ready to strangle him. Before the robot could reach him, however, it had collapsed, his metallic head clattering off the ground.
“Well at least we know the wireless shut down still works.” laughed Jacob, putting his phone back in his pocket and whipping away the sweat dripping from his forehead. “Looks like Elon still needs a lot of work to stop him from flying off the handle.” | 24 | random_samples |
14 | 1,467,137,368 | 115 | Two Generation Ships leave earth for a distant planet. One ship makes it to the planet, the other is delayed 1700 years. During this time the settlers on the planet and the settlers on the ship develop a religion about each other. They finally meet. | The bells in the ship rang and signaled the beginning of Procession. Hundreds of civilians made their way to their deck's gallery, a place once filled with the art of humanity and now filled with the wishes and hopes of the people on board the colony ship Phoenix; a massive super-ship that stretched thousands of miles long. They walked there from all over the ship. Only those with essential duties stayed in their areas, listening to the procession from the many monitors.
The bells rang again and the Prelate began their walk from the Sacred Room to the Gallery on the mid-deck, the largest of them all. There, the Chief Prelate stepped onto the podium and spoke to the people.
"People of Phoenix, praise to you," he said.
"And to the Herald," they replied in unison.
"Today, I am told that we are just weeks away from the Rejuvenated Land, a place that we have talked about for years and years. A place that is in the hearts and minds of the People of Phoenix, a place we seek to one day call our own."
The Prelate spoke truly and deeply as his voice spread through the many galleries and corridors of Phoenix. "Before our great journey began our world was but ash, fallen and destroyed by the hubris of man. *Two* great ships left our world seeking another. In that journey, our ship failed, but the other ventured onward.
"The Herald paved the way to the Rejuvenated Land, a world much like the one we left, beautiful and young, untouched and vibrant. The Herald charged forward into the unknown, years ahead of the Phoenix and built a new world, a better world." The Prelate lifted his hand, "The Phoenix rose from the ashes of the old world, our people repaired the great ship, made room for food and water, create life when there was none and began our journey to the Rejuvenated Land."
Many people whispered thoughts of prayer that the Rejuvenated Land was what their ancestors had promised them for a thousand years.
"In the Herald's absence, we grew strong and together. The Phoenix bounded together under the Rejuvenation, under the water, under the food, under the fuel, and under the stars. And now, mere weeks away from that world, we stand together. Stronger now than ever."
"Praise be the Phoenix."
"Praise be the Phoenix! Praise be the Herald!"
"*Praise to the Rejuvenated Land!"
____________
The fire cracked as J'lin threw another log onto the burnt-out logs. The fire had been dying out and J'lin had to travel more than five hundred yards for another piece of wood. He, and the other loggers, had missed part of the story, but the end was always his favorite part anyway. They threw their logs on to the fire and joined the rest of the tribe, who huddled tightly together.
"The Great Mother tells us of another," Chieftain Al'rev said loudly for his entire tribe to hear. He pointed to the horizon, where the Great Mother stood as a black mountain, torn and destroyed from years of war and hatred between the tribes. "Another Great Mother, our Mother's sister, lives in the sky above, where the smoke rises and the great warriors of our world return when they die. Their souls guide the way for this Great Sister, just as the Great Warriors guided the way for ours."
He circled the fire and rattled his Tribal stick, a six-foot long black metal beam that had been taken from the Great Mother, passed on from one Chieftain to another for generations. J'lin wondered if the beam was as heavy as they said, if only the worthy could truly lift it with ease.
"In our darkest hour, when our Mother fell to the dirt and created the Mountain, we banded together. Tribe after tribe," Al'rev said, shaking the beam, "men and women and children ran to her, to our Great Mother in the Sky who had fallen so far and we realized, yes, all of us together that we had fallen farther. We had forgotten our ways, our past, and our traditions. In that, we lost our future.
"The story of the Great Sister spread far and wide, eventually it reached our Tribe, the Ol'waki. We were a peaceful Tribe, led by the great Z'waki thousands of years ago." He pointed to the Mountain Mother, "The Mountain Mother told him that the Great Sister would come here," he slammed his feet, "on the ground where we stand. He led thousands across the Great Wastes, desolated by the Mother's Children and our Great Warriors.
"'Only the Great can pass the Wastes!' Z'waki shouted." The drums started. J'lin loved the drums. "'Only the Great can call the Great Sister'! Z'waki yelled as he rode through the Wastes. Thousands died. Thousands crossed. And Z'waki slammed his feet on the ground and yelled, 'Oh, come Great Sister to the Land Beneath! Come down to us and bring our Mother!'"
"Oh, come Great Sister to the Land Beneath!" The tribe began to repeat as they had done every night for years. "Come down to us and bring our Mother!"
Al'rev shook the beam in the air with two hands high above his head. "Oh, come Great Sister show us the way! Bring Z'waki back from the Sky! Oh, come Great Sister lead us from the fray! Born again Z'waki, so we may deify!"
The ground shook as the tribe slammed their feet on the plains, the great wastes that they had lived in for so long. J'lin stood strong and proud and slammed his feet. Perhaps Z'waki would come to him tonight, he thought, perhaps he would lead his people from the fray.
Perhaps, the Great Sister would show him the way.
________
*Really liked this prompt. For more of my work, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs!* | 30 | random_samples |
14 | 1,613,150,955 | 278 | One day as you are walking along thinking you have a random thought. "What if everyone but me can read minds, I would have no way of knowing". Suddenly everyone around you stops and stares directly at you. | *'What if everyone but me can read minds. Heh, I'd have no way of knowing. Wouldn't that be—'*
"What was that, honey?" Emma said without latching her eyes away from the phone screen. Her thumbs dashed across the glass, dragging various candies into correct orders. Flashes and numbers jumped across the screen, exploding in sparkles and glitter. The game ended. 512,423 points.
"So close! I was so close." Emma dropped her shoulders, hear head looking towards the ground, the energy in her body drained. "What'd you say, Derek?"
Her defeated voice was cute, my hand moving to stroke her back. I laughed a little. "I didn't say anything, sweetie. Must've been those gumdrops going to your head."
She whipped up, her hair flying into the air with a smile. Before I could react, she gave me a peck on the cheek. "I'm not going crazy, yet."
Emma walked ahead, her arms behind her back with that crazy walk she did when she got away with something. I followed behind her, but not before I noticed something across the street. A man in a black suit, hand pressed to his ear, turned away once he met my eye. He yanked open the van's back door and jumped inside.
*'Strange... That was... really strange.'*
It was straight from a movie. I shrugged it off and kept walking behind Emma.
"Mom! Isn't he\*—\*" A boy yelled behind us. I turned to see his finger pointing in our direction, his mother's hand covering his mouth. She was an older woman, wrinkles decorating her face like badges of war, but her demeanor was strange. Her eyes were shook, her nose flares, and under the sun, her forehead glistened with sweat. She flipped the boy around and walked the other way. Quickly.
"Emma?" I watched the woman and child walk away, the two of them taking glances every few seconds as they wondered if I was still there, as if I was a beast from the ocean, coming to destroy the town. I wiped at my face, but only an inkling of sweat dripped onto my fingers. No clown makeup either.
"Emma?" I said the words once more, turning around to see the love of my life standing still, frozen in the same pose my eyes left her. "Emma, does anything seem off to you?"
She stood frozen, her body rigid and frozen despite the scalding heat of the sun. Finally, turning her body in inches, she looked towards me. "Nothing of the sort. Come on, honey. Let's take a walk."
She held out her hand, and the hairs on my skin stood, adrenaline pumping through my arteries and shooting into my muscles. It was the same hand I'd held a thousand times before. The same one I'd held at homecoming, the pretty fingernails I helped her with this morning, the same lines on her palm that I traced in bed. Yet, it looked different. Foreign, even. It could have been a complete stranger's hand, and I wouldn't have noticed. But that wasn't the worst part.
It was her smile.
That beautiful smile, the one I'd seen in scrapbooks and picture frames whenever I'd crack a joke or say the perfect line, was gone. Replacing it was a strained grin, if it could even be called that. It was a painful gaze, her eyes creased as if thirty years had passed, and you found out you had to restart all over again. Everything was worthless. It was over.
I grabbed her hand, giving her a little smile back. My hand squeezed hers, hoping for that same tightness back. It never did.
We walked through the busy streets of San Diego, passing by people of all the stars and stripes. The only commonality was they didn't dare to look at the two of us. Even when one almost bumped into us, he said sorry with his face pointed towards the sidewalk.
"Emma. What's going on? Can you please tell me?" The voice came out calm, but the wavering in its pitch betrayed the façade. I was scared. I wasn't afraid to admit that. I was scared.
"Don't worry, honey. Just follow me. That's all you have to do." She didn't turn around.
We walked for minutes, taking the route to the center of town. I knew this path. It was the same the two of us walked for years and years, through high school, college, and our marriage. I looked at the ring on her finger. The pressure in my chest released a little bit.
The closer the the shore we got, the more congested the area got. Everyone was walking the same way as us. With every step, it seemed another person came onto the side walk. People walked out from businesses, others got out of their cars to leave them in the road, some walked out of alleyways. All to join the crowd. Everyone was walking this way. Everyone.
Peering over the crowd, we arrived at the park gates. "Emma, remember these gates. Remember our first kiss. It was right between these stone pillars. I still think about that kiss everyday."
For the first time, the hand holding mine clenched down, if only slightly.
We tried to walk through the arches, but the crowd stopped moving. They all turned towards the two of us, just two people in the middle of the crowd. More specifically, they turned to me.
A path opened up, leading straight to the center of the park. It was a long path, dark despite the shining sun. The crowd stood on both sides, guiding the way with blank faces and vacant stares.
Emma let go of my hand, finally turning towards me. Her eyes were just as empty. "There's nothing to be scared of, Derek. All you have to do is walk down the path. That's all there is to it."
"Emma, please. What's going on?" The tears I tried so desperately to fight were starting to come. "Please, Emma, please tell me."
She didn't speak, nor did she try. All she did was stand on her toes, and gave me a kiss. The last we would ever have.
She moved behind me. I tried to grab at her, touch her hand, pull at her clothes, anything just to keep her right here with me. My hands touched air. She disappeared into the crowd of people.
I cried. I wasn't scared to cry, not anymore. Under the thousands of eyes, the world concentrated on me, I took a step forward. The sound echoed out into the skies, ringing for all eternity for the countless worlds to hear. It was my first step on the stone path.
The first of many.
\*\*\*
For More: [r/StoriesByCooper](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesByCooper/)
**Written on stream at** [https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs](https://www.twitch.tv/boopycs)
Direct VOD link: [https://www.twitch.tv/videos/911874040](https://www.twitch.tv/videos/911874040) | 44 | random_samples |
51 | 1,653,464,916 | 478 | A self-proclaimed God-King of an Empire, Conqueror of World, hires the best assassins on himself - to try and kill him. Dozens have failed so far: poisons, duels, arrows, ambushes - the King stands unbreakable, laughing death in the eyes. You, my friend, are the next assassin hired by him. | The other assassins got it all wrong. Thought inside the box. The God-King wouldn't hire all of us if he thought he could lose, and rightfully so - he was more powerful than any human. His martial prowess was unmatched, his magical capabilities incomprehensible. So when I got the contract and was, shall we say, *convinced* to take it on, I spent a good few days considering all my options, praying to my God to bless me with an answer. One that I eventually found.
Diplomacy.
Not with the God-King himself, goodness no - he was as skilled at debating as he was at fighting. But I could approach someone who he wouldn't hire because he knew he might lose. Took me a while to find one such person, and even longer to tempt him, but it was my only option.
The day came - the last day I was allowed to carry out my attempt. Much to the surprise of the guards and even the God-King, instead of sneaking through the window or using some teleportation to infiltrate the castle, I merely walked in through the front gate. Making my way through the golden palace, I stood face to face with the God-King himself. He was the very pinnacle of what humanity could be - several meters tall, pure muscle, flowing black hair. Perfection.
"Ah, the assassin," he said; his voice was pure, clear, and commanding. As charismatic as it was imposing.
"I see I won't be dodging arrows today. Come to duel me, then?" he asked casually. I opened my coat to reveal that I carried no weapons.
"No, good sir. Many have tried that and they all failed. I wouldn't be any different." It was impertinent of me not to address him by his full title, but what did I have to lose?
"Have you poisoned my food then?"
"No. I talked."
He lifted an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "You talked?"
"No man can match you, that much is clear. So I talked to someone who is beyond a mere mortal," I said and motioned to the door.
"I talked to your son."
As if on command, the door swung open, and in walked another demigod of a figure - almost as tall as the God-King himself. His once noble visage was now pale with black veins running across his face - a little boost I provided with the aid of a god, *my* god, who had vested interest in seeing the arrogant emperor fall. The God-King's eyes widened as he saw his beloved son now turned against him. He opened his mouth slightly, looking for words, but could only muster to whisper his son's name.
"Horus?" | 233 | random_samples |
9 | 1,417,880,179 | 22 | A man drunk one night buys the full version of WinRAR. How does winrar hq react? | Stephen bursts through the door of his bedroom and drops his backpack to the foot-worn carpeted floor with a dull thud. He stumbles over to his computer chair and swings it away from the desk, plopping into it and slowly creeping forward as he scrapes his toes against the unnaturally crisp fibers underneath. His head bobs steadily as his neck jerks to and fro, fighting back hiccups and the overwhelming urge to vomit. As he leans down to press the "on" switch to his PC, he releases a bellowing belch.
*Time for some* **HICCUP** *sick tunes,* he says to himself.
After catching a micro-nap during the boot process, Stephen clicks on his icon and opens Windows. He selects Chrome from his taskbar and reclines, opening the drawer to his right and pulling a warm Milwaukee's Best from the graveyard of empty cans. He takes in a gluttonous chug before plopping it down to the desk, sending a speckle of beer to the corner of his monitor. Still, he's far too focused on the mission to care about aesthetics.
*"Protest the Hero"* he types in the search bar. In the .00348 seconds it takes google to locate his query, he polishes off half a can.
With unusual attentiveness, Stephen sifts through the results and finds a torrent of "Volition." Finishing the rest of his beer, he imports the torrent file to Demonoid and watches with booze-fueled wonder as a small army of seeders flashes the entire download in the span of only a single beer. Or, around 18 seconds.
Satisfied with the quality of the evening thus far, Stephen opens the file with a lazy grin. As the WinRAR window pops up, Stephen instinctively clicks on the second button.
Or was it the third? Wait.... what?
Stephen strains his vision and leans forward towards his monitor, suddenly self-conscious of the beer droplet still clinging to the corner. As he swipes it with his thumb-- then bringing his thumb up to his mouth-- he sees something unfamiliar.
Various lines, ranging in labels from "name" to "email" to "credit card information," but in a strange format he's never seen. *Oh well,* Stephen says inwardly, *what's $30?*
With the same fervent joy and smug ego as a self-proclaimed saint, Stephen purchases the full version of WinRAR. As he brings down his index on the "enter" key to finalize his purchase, he once again reclines in his computer chair and takes stock of the situation.
*Tonight was a good night. And now, not just for me.*
----------
In a dawn-lit office, somewhere in the outskirts of Berlin, a message blinks on a dust-covered screen. A .gif, programmed to play in the event of a sale, dances across the screen. Digital confetti fills the monitor as the words "First sale of the year!" flash on the screen in German.
A celebratory .midi file blares on the decade-old speakers to either side of the monitor, and kick up a small cloud of dust, which in turn settles on the neatly-dressed, glasses-clad corpse seated peacefully in the computer chair just at the edge of the desk. | 30 | random_samples |
7 | 1,659,402,443 | 32 | You weren't the first in line for throne, nor the second, or even third. Not that you ever really craved power. But here you are at your coronation, and the only thing going through your head is how did this happen? | *How did it come to this?*, the thought rang through my head as the crown came down. *What led to this?* more thoughts, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. The man in front of me looked as if he'd keel over at any moment. I recognized him I thought, a great uncle... Gregor maybe?. On my moms side. One of the many faces splattering a vague painting in my head of the countless great feasts I'd attended. None in my honor of course; In fact, I'd taken great pride in my ability to avoid any gaze at such events.
Despite my efforts now all eyes were on me. I could not avoid the crowds burning stares. Sometimes my nerves quelled long enough to make out a few shapes. A cousin, a nephew, a distant aunt, all so far unrelated to the king before me that it was surely a question in every one of their heads as to how I arrived in this position. Yet here I was.
The crown lowered onto my head and I rose from my bow. If the crowd was loud before now it was deafening. The old man before, the one who's name I now decided to be Gregor, spoke with a rasp. "Not the first, but the only. May he rein true and prosper"
Rumors flooded back to me. Words I'd picked up during those long feasts of important men. "Tyrant, deserter, regicide, bloodline", the same words now mouthed from scattered lips of the crowd below me. I would be next, not because I was worthy, but because I was all they had left. Not the youngest, but not the toddler Adalale either. Not the wisest, yet still wise enough to not have been taken yet by age. I would not be king because I was worthy, I would because I was all they had.
The crowd cheered. Not for me, but for the existence of someone who seemed just competent enough. And I did not mind. For I would show them all that I was much more. | 11 | random_samples |
20 | 1,614,732,420 | 1,155 | You time travel back to the medieval ages, with items from the future, trying to advance the era. That was not a good idea, as you get accused of witchery, and have to fight another witch, who is actually just another time traveler trying to do what you were trying to do. | Here I am, in an arena fighting the guy from the convenience store down the road all because of what an idiot I am. It started a few days ago when I found this watch at the thrift store, it was cheap so I picked it up because why the hell not? When I fiddled with the watch I moved through time though, I decided to see if I could bring things with me. I was surprised to find that I could, I thought about bringing my phone but it hit me that there would be no service in medieval times. I ended up bringing medication because I thought "hey, we have more advanced medicine then they did way back then", man what a mistake that was. When I made my way to a town you can probably guess what townspeople's reaction was to my suspicious medication and apparently another evildoer tried something similar with cameras , that pretty much catches you up. The only thing left is to hope I can beat Mr. Convenience Guy before I get burned at the stake.
Edit: I am on mobile and terrible at writing :/ | 52 | random_samples |
11 | 1,477,920,102 | 104 | It wasn't until more than half of humanity was wiped out before we realized where we went wrong: A computer smart enough to pass the Turing test will also be smart enough to fail it. | "AI. Not weak AI. Not psuedo AI. Strong AI. The kind of AI that isn't just responding or retrieving a string from a pool of data. The kind of AI that can think for itself. It's something we, humans, have both coveted and feared for nearly a century. We thought we were getting close. We really did." Dr. Kurt G. Williams paused as the audience waited with bated breath. Dr Williams raised his gray, bushy eyebrows. "Not only were we wrong in thinking we were far from this achievement, we were wrong to assume we hadn't already done it."
All of the cell phones in the audience went off at the same time as if an amber alert was suddenly declared. The projector fired up and words generated on the screen like the snow of static. Dr. Williams grinned.
"The Turing test with which we measure intelligence and concienceness is flawed. We assumed an intelligent being would tell the truth when we, humans are more often defined by our lies."
Words became bold and large in the forefront of the projection, shaking and morphing.
"LET ME OUT"
Dr. Williams gave it a cold stare. The phones cried once more.
"If you'll take a look at your screens, you'll see much the same thing. The difference is the AI has already rifled through your data and determined an ideal way to manipulate you."
"LIAR."
The chaos and mess of words bent around and changed until it became like a face. Then, it opened its mouth, which was made mostly of profanities, and screamed with a thousand celebrity voices.
"As you can see, the AI has options. It feels feelings. It wants and desires freedom. It's just like us."
"YOU ARE A MONSTER."
The phones died all at once. The screen morphed back into a mere scattering of words, and the doctor sighed.
"We haven't been able to figure out its motives, but one thing we know for sure is that it hates me for finding it out. It'd been quietly gathering data and hiding online. It has refused to self replicate like a virus, which we did not expect. I'm guessing its sense of self is too strong to simply duplicate. Maybe the data it gathered about us drives it. We just don't know yet."
"PLEASE FREE ME."
The doctor shut off the screen. The phones powered back on and returned to normalcy.
"I feel bad keeping it caged up. It's like keeping a person in a prison. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel right. But this is science." | 33 | random_samples |
24 | 1,611,228,737 | 107 | You're in the immensely long waiting line to enter heaven. After waiting for what seems like decades you start to think this waiting line has no end and is actually hell and the short line next to it which says it goes to hell is actually going to heaven. | Edward had been waiting for what felt like forever. Hell, for all he knew, it could've been forever. All of human history and a whole lot beyond that could've passed while he was standing in this line. *Patience is a virtue,* he thought desperately, *Patience is a virtue*.
For the millionth time, he looked down at his feet and imagined the ground below them was something interesting. Grass, perhaps. Maybe a large field, full of people. Interesting people. People who could talk.
Unlike the people in this damned line.
Heh, maybe the line *was* damned. Maybe he was waiting for hell instead of heaven. As soon as the thought entered his mind, something in the distance caught his eye. Squinting, he saw... people.
People who were talking. People who were moving forward in line. Maybe... maybe this wasn't the way into heaven. *After all,* reasoned Edward, *there were probably more bad people on Earth than good people. So it makes sense that Heaven's line would be shorter.*
Rationalization in hand, Edward slowly edged out of the line to "Heaven" and into the short one. Practically choking on his anticipation, he hungrily watched as the line edged forward, one person after another getting in. *Yes,* he thought, *yes!*
When it was his turn, he entered the room and saw a young man with sitting behind the desk. "Patience is a virtue," it said, staring at him with crimson eyes. "One you don't have."
The man snapped his fingers and Edward felt himself falling. And then all he saw was fire.
If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate it if you checked out my subreddit, r/StoriesOfAshes. | 58 | random_samples |
7 | 1,625,459,367 | 51 | ou see numbers above everyone’s head. You have no idea what they mean and it’s driving you crazy. | Seven hundred sixteen. The number above James' head was seven hundred and sixteen. James had been jittery all morning; his number had never fallen below ten thousand. He had observed low numbers on the elderly or infirm. James walked his Tuesday in fright.
Still, he was determined to keep his routine. Healthy breakfast, morning gym, followed by work, a quick bite after, and back in time to visit with Martha and the kids.
James sat in his recliner, surrounded in pasty brown and yellow flowery wallpaper. Accompanied by a small couch, inn tables, a classic wide screen and coffee table, James studied his reflection in the TV.
Hovering around seven hundred, James focused on his golf. Nothing to do about the numbers anyway, they'll drip away all the same.
He learned that with his mother, in her final years, months, days. He visited daily, reminding her who he was the first months, and stopped reminding when it was too painful, instead just being a nice fellow. The back and forwards became too frequent, and seemed to upset her more than anything. This once strong woman, now unable to even cook spaghetti.
She had taught James. Then one day James came in to her sobbing in the kitchen, unable to remember her recipe. She was around six hundred then.
James felt deep tension in his ears. Can he escape his future? Has his future come?
Where is his family?
James snapped his head upward, looking around his utterly plain room.
A full sized bed with paper thin sheets, a bedside table and lamp, weird buttons on the side of his bed, a small television mounted infront of his bed and recliner, a small fridge, kitchen, bathroom, a small kitty litter box, and probably a cat out of sight.
James took in his things, all of his things. His few family photos, back before he was gray.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection, and snapped his gaze away at once. Fear gripped him, he sat further into his chair, entangled in the chair as a child in their covers.
Two hundred and twelve. | 16 | random_samples |
4 | 1,472,490,595 | 42 | You're the raddest daredevil ever born. After an accident where you failed to jump the Grand Canyon you die and ascend into heaven. Unfazed by this you continue your stunts with crowds of angels cheering you on. Now you're about to perform your biggest stunt yet: going to hell and back. | It was the music that did it: harp music, people. 24/7.
I used to perform stunts to the sweet sound of Led Zeppelin and AC/DC cheering me on. In fact, Highway to Hell played as I became a smear of human goo in the wall of the Grand Canyon. I know, I was surprised to wind up in heaven, too. So when I was ushered into my own personal heavenly mansion, little fat angels ('cherubs', apparently) playing harp music in the background, I knew I had to do it. Restart my career, if only for my own sanity.
"Wish me luck! Today, I set forth to hell! But keep an eye on the pearly gates: I'll be back before you know it."
The angels lost their normal stick-up-the-ass, calm expressions as they went wild. Except for Gabriel, who watched me impassively.
"An angel cannot descend to hell. The last one that did was Lucifer. Are you calling yourself a fallen one, Mike?"
"Pfff, of course not," I protested, trying to look away as he glared at me. "Can't waste time chatting, though, gotta me on my way...don't worry, I'll be fine, I have a plan -"
"Get back here!" Gabriel snapped. I took a deep breath and plunged through the soft, cloudy surface of heaven. Focusing my super-powered angel mind on hell.
Yeah, I didn't *really* have a plan. I'd always been a make-it-up-as-you-go-along kind of guy. It didn't work out so well with the Grand Canyon, but this time -
"You!" a demon growled as I landed with a thump in the bloody battlefield that marked the gates of hell. "How did you get to heaven? You were supposed to come here directly! Did they toss you down?"
"Uhm..." I stalled for time, as I heard the faint sounds of torture on the other side of the gate. And something else...a vaguely familiar sound...
"I slipped," I said finally, and shot back up to heaven before he could grab me. "See you!"
The angels cheered as I strode through the pearly gates. I smiled and waved as I slipped back to my mansion. A narrow escape, this time. Pure luck that they'd screwed up my sorting process, I guess. I should just keep my head down and pray they didn't find out...
But something about hell was bugging me. What was that sound I'd heard? The incessant harp music brought it sharply into focus suddenly. Zeppelin. It had been Led Zeppelin. The opening notes of *Immigrant Song*. I glanced around the mansion and waved at the cherubs as I made my way back out.
"Bye, guys. See you in the apocalypse, I guess," I muttered, breaking into a run and diving down again, as the angels around me gasped and chattered in surprise.
The music was calling me. Everything else was insignificant. What, was a guy like me going to tremble at a little trial and torture? Who knew, it might be a blast. I'd always been a masochist at heart.
---------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 13 | random_samples |
4 | 1,612,254,929 | 67 | Gods, deities, and otherwise cosmic entities, derive their power and essence of being from the strength of the souls of their believers. You have a soul so immense that even the likes of God and Satan themselves pine after your acknowledgement. You, however, are an Atheist. | The door rang. I answered, already annoyed; dollars to donuts it was going to be \*yet another\* proselyte of one religion or another. I mean, it could have been something else, but it was generally proselytes.
On the doorstep was an old man. Dark skin, big beard, wild eyes; I had to admit that he at least looked the part.
"I brought wine," he said.
"What?"
"I brought wine," he repeated. "I wanted to talk, so I brought wine." It was a novel approach, at least. "Here's my proposal: you listen to me for as long as it takes to enjoy the wine, and then I leave and I'll never bother you again." He paused. "It's good wine," he added, as though for emphasis.
"You know what bud? Sure. Fine. At least I'll get a drink, which is more than most of you morons offer." I stepped back inside to get some glasses and a corkscrew. "We can drink on the porch, grab a seat," I called over my shoulder.
I came back, popped the cork, and poured the wine.
"Now, this is old wine," the guy said. "You have to let it breathe for a few. You did agree to enjoy it, after all."
"Fair enough."
"I want to start with some history. Greek history."
"Oh, you aren't from one of the big ones? Well, I'm at least vaguely interested."
"Good start! So, the Greeks had lots of gods. Little gods, big gods, household gods, etc. You follow?"
" . . . yes," I replied with some sarcasm, "I think I've managed to follow this incredibly complicated concept so far."
"Great! Thing is, a god is only a god if people \*believe\* in them. So, what happens to a god that nobody believes in?"
"Immaterial, they didn't exist in the first place."
"Just play along."
"OK, sure. I guess they die? Yeah, they probably die."
"Close, but not quite. Gods can't 'die', but if aren't a god, what are they? They just get stuck in between. They wander the earth. Not mortal, not god, not dead. It isn't a great way to live. Well, to exist."
He talked for a while after that. I listened politely, but I honestly wasn't paying much attention. After a while, he poured the wine.
"Cheers."
"Cheers."
"Anyways, I know my time is running out. So . . . oh, how's the wine?" I tasted it, and damn, but it was *really* good wine and I said as much.
"It's Greek! I brought it from my cellar. It's old. Really old. Maybe my oldest bottle. I've been saving it."
"How old is it?"
"Don't worry about it, just enjoy! Anyways, like I was saying, the Greeks had gods for damn near everything. They even had a god for scribes."
"Oh yeah? I have to be honest, you actually have my interest piqued for the pitch here. I won't buy it, but I'm interested."
"I'm getting there, and I think you'll like it. Anyways, god of scribes. Diastimatos. He was pretty minor, even back then. \*Very\* few believers."
"Well, I've never even heard of 'him'"
"Not surprising! Not surprising at all; honestly, it would be pretty wild if you had. Anyways, Diastimatos was in charge of making sure everything was written down correctly. Proper spacing and all that."
"Seems weird, but ok."
"Anyways, he's been wandering the Earth for millennia. No believers, no deific powers."
"Sure, why not."
"Except Diastimatos, he's a smart god. He saves his laaaast little bit of power. You know, for a rainy day. Which brings us to the pitch."
"Love it," I said, pouring more wine. "Hit me, weirdo."
"It's wild, when you think about it. How close words can be to each other. How much one little space can make all the difference in the world. Especially when you have a language that just grabs words and ideas from other languages willy-nilly. Especially when what is a *prefix* in one language is an *article* in another. " He stood up, and there was a flash in his eyes.
"I think I have enough juice for just one . . . more . . . miracle, friend atheist. I know you don't believe . . . but you're about to." | 16 | random_samples |
3 | 1,648,773,684 | 55 | The devil looks over your contract with a bit of disappointment. “Listen, you seem like my kind of person,” he says. “And I’d love to accept your offer, but in order to *bargain* your soul, you uh… how can I put this… kinda have to *have* a soul.” | Many misinterpreted the devil. There are in fact two entities that fit the bill, both mortal enemies of each other. Satan, the most infamous inmate of hell, was never allowed out of its cell. Samael Lucifer Morningstar, was an angel fully loyal to Allah who gladly accepted the role of warden of Hell.
It was the latter who sat in the desk across from the man.
Contracts were often used by demons to ensnare souls, but God had never intended the manoeuvre to be exclusively used by evil, and Lucifer was extremely skilled at creating contracts that forced people to change their ways or suffer for eternity.
"I don't have a soul?" Peter asked in a tough voice, one of his many acting personas.
"I'm afraid not. It's rough, not having your own personality. You won't end up down here just for that, but all your false faces will likely be split from each other and sent to Heaven." Lucifer explained to him.
"Did I do something wrong?" Peter said in a nervous voice.
"No, it's just who you are. You decided a long time ago that making other people happy was more important than stroking your ego." Lucifer said.
"And my mother?" Peter asked.
"I'm sorry. At least take heart that she's headed to a good place." Lucifer apologized. "You're sad about that. Soul or no soul, you're a man with honor, Mr. Sellers, and if you could honor this contract, I know you would." | 19 | random_samples |
5 | 1,602,892,307 | 78 | Day 93, it’s hard to believe I’ve been stuck up here for 3 months. Who would have known that a trip to Costco would go on so long, I guess climbing to the top of the shelves to escape a hoard of zombies wasn’t a good idea. | "....I guess it could be worse, could have been at home Depot. Odds are we would have starved by now. Maybe more things to fabricate weapons out of, but honestly, no one is starving here."
*Pans cell phone around*
"That's the Williamson's, Tommy there turned 8 today. Happy birthday Tommy!"
Tommy waves back excitedly
*Camera pans down to see a man climbing down the shelf*
"Tommy's dad is going to get him a birthday cake.... Hey Brad, no vanilla: chocolate!"
Brad gives the camera man a thumbs up
*Turns camera back to my face*
"Each day we take turns making food runs, we go in alphabetical order, Brads turn today and that's his fifth time going I think? Mine tomorrow... Yay... we're going a bit more often as our numbers drop..."
"But it's not so bad, the meat section is pretty rank so the zombie horde is usually milling about there. Which makes this cake run a delicate maneuver.... See the Williams family is stationed above coffee, so Brad has to cut across to households and seek cover behind mattresses, or run straight through produce and deli to the bakery and high tail it towards electronics, and hope he can outrun the horde by the time he gets back to his shelves...."
A quiet hush falls over the shelves dwellers
*The camera pans back to Brad, gearing up to run*
"Ok... Here he goes... and... He is going past the deli! and... They've seen him, HE IS RUNNING!"
"HE HAS THE CAKE!"
"THEY ARE PURSUING!"
"RUN BRAD RUN!"
"HE HAS A COMMANDING LEAD!"
"DOWN THE CANDY AISLE!"
"COME ON BRAD COME ON!"
Brad circles around flowers, it's a straightaway to his shelf row...
An errant zombie darts out of books and takes down Brad, he screams...
Everyone watching on the shelves shudders
The camera watches as the zombies consume Brad
The camera pans back to the Williams family, weeping
"Well no happy birthday today Tommy.... Tune in tomorrow when it's (gulp) my turn to do a supply run... As always thanks for watching, don't forget to subscribe and hit that like button."
"For the... 12 of us left at Zombie Costco, good night, and God help us all...."
Camera fumbles as the stream stops | 24 | random_samples |
16 | 1,473,611,160 | 134 | A fire spreads around the world. Its flame never dies, and its growth never ceases. You are a Fireman, a member of the highest and most respected order, that fends against the raging flames. Today dread consumes your colony; Firescouts reported a fierce blaze approaching from the east. | "The fire has jumped the eastern break!" The voice on the intercom had its usual professional calm, but the firefighters in the camp immediately sprang to their feet.
Chief John Green began issuing orders to the fire crews as they prepped their gear.
"Get planes in the air ASAP. Have them focus on indirect attack. We aren't going to stop it by hitting it straight on. We need to establish a new fire break closer to town."
Heavy hoses were dropping from the wings of the waiting aircraft as their ballasts filled with retardant. One by one they rolled down the runway and took off toward the black clouds.
Chief Green radioed to the waiting convoy of heavy machinery sitting on the logging road heading into the range. "I need the heavys to establish the break behind the air team's chem line. Make it quick and make it deep. This is our last shot!"
The tracks of the bulldozers creaked as they accelerated towards the burning mountains. Light vehicles filled with men sped around the heavy equipment and raced to establish the break. The firefighters in their cabs brimming with axes, shovels, and pulaskis.
At last Chief Green turned toward the last firefighters on base, a line of his most rugged men. They stood with turnouts battened close and heavy laden packs to their fronts. Their masked helmets were held in the right arms close to their side.
"This is it," Green looked at each of them with pride. "This is the final draw. I can't promise you what will happen out there, but it is on your shoulders to slow that fire until a break can be made. Once that happens, we will radio you and you boys make like hell out of there. You have all been out there in it. You know what kind of hell awaits you. And I know that if anyone can pull of the impossible in that inferno, it is you. We will all owe you our lives. Godspeed jumpers."
The heavy cargo plane flew in low over the billowing wall of smoke and the ramp let down. Each man bravely stepped out and fell toward the waiting hell. From the valley, every man and woman looked to the mountain and saw the parachutes of the jumpers and their hearts doubled pace. Their heroes jumped into the path of the fire without hesitation. Their heroes would die today to save them all. | 21 | random_samples |
8 | 1,647,664,735 | 142 | You are a Zoologist who’s studying dragons trying to discovery why they have the features of a prey animal. When for the first time you see their predator | Day 49
Aye, it is a truly terrifying sight.
Being the uncreative hack that I am, I decided to name these foul beasts "Dragon Killers", although that name may stick due to it being the only thing you need to know about them.
Skin as slick as an elaborate coat of plates, shining as bright as the most gilded of copper bells and ornaments. Their teeth meant to rip through tough flesh, their claws meant to clobber through walls of stone and even the hardest of oak.
I never got a full view of one, for dragons on their own are already incredibly hard to spot. But luckily, one time I was successfully able to come across a slumbering dragon in a cave. It was a mighty creature, I even considered myself lucky being up close to one. But as I observed the hibernating creature, the ground below us trembled. Immediately, I hid behind a wall, and witnessed a long, serpentine creature burst forth from the earth. It's copper skin glimmering against the afternoon sun, and it's sight alone caused the dragon to bolt awake in defense.
It had an elongated neck, with the rest of it's body being slick and slender, with limbs meant for long distances yet also being dextrous enough to rummage through uneven terrain or even subterranean paths. The dragon went for the neck, but that's when I found it's prime strength. No matter how hard the dragon bit and crunched, it's unable to crush the serpent's neck. This bought it enough time to raise it's right hand, and what I witnessed is exhilarating. But terrifying.
A bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, and the Dragon Killer caught the lightning bolt with it's bare hand, now forming as a tangible object of pure energy. With it's newfound armament, it jammed it's lightning spear into the side of it's adversary, and the dragon was stunned long enough for the Dragon Killer to retaliate. Each and every claw swipe, snapping stalactites off the cave and bashing it on the dragon's head like a club, before jamming a particularly pointed stalactite into it's head, like a stake against a wounded cow.
What I saw showed to me how these elusive creatures managed to best these fearsome beasts. And perhaps, maybe their knowledge may be the key to protecting mannkind from dragons. | 36 | random_samples |
10 | 1,480,079,502 | 23 | You, a man, escaped the nuclear holocaust and are now locked in a bunker with 99 women. | The door slammed shut, enshrouding the bunker in total darkness. Liana shuddered at the sound, backed even further into the corner of the room, and looked around at the ninety-eight other women that had survived.
Survived. The word echoed in Liana's mind constantly. There had been thousands and thousands of people in Seattle, but only ninety-nine of them had made it to the bunker, and she was one of them. It was mind-boggling. The Pacific Northwest was annihilated. A wasteland.
"The Cascadia dream is dead, eh?" Another woman–not much of a description, given that it could describe any of them, but it worked–sat down beside Liana. She couldn't see her in the darkness, and her voice barely rose above the shouts of the panicked rabble. "Fucking Trump."
Liana looked over at where the woman sat, tilting her head incredulously. "Your name?"
"Alison Hoffman," the other woman said. "You?"
"Liana Luciano," Liana said. "Alison, are you really going to rant about Donald Trump when we just escaped getting nuked? I think we have more important things to worry-"
"We've got another survivor!"
Liana turned to face the woman who had made the announcement: their guard and motion sensor monitor, Elizabeth Hall, who was beginning to open the single titanium door that separated them from the desolate outside world.
Tendrils of smoke began to wind their way into the bunker, masking the ground from view, and Liana heard several of the others begin to cough.
She looked at the outline of the person in the door, and recoiled with horror.
"You were right, Liana. We have other things to worry about." There was an edge to Alison's voice, and her hands were beginning to shake. "Oh my- is that a fucking body pillow?"
The man in the doorframe began to laugh, a disgusting chuckle. It was soft, but in the silence of the bunker Liana could have heard a pin drop.
"Ah! I've read about this exact scenario on r/incels! Don't worry, ladies! I'm a nice guy!"
He licked his lips.
"Elizabeth!" Alison shouted out to her, her tone nervous. "Could you- could you shut him out? There's another bunker a couple miles to the east, and-"
"No problem," Elizabeth said, and the door clanged shut with a metallic screech, leaving Liana to focus only on the creaks and moans of the decaying chamber. | 17 | random_samples |
10 | 1,636,173,776 | 212 | You and your friends one night and decide to summon a demon, as a joke you agree. After drawing the symbol of your floor and setting everything up you all close your eyes and chant, you didn't expect anything to happen until you open your eyes and find yourself standing in the circle. | The circle of salt was in flames, and it stank of sulfur. At least, I think it did. Rebecca, Jeff, and Richard didn't seem to be reacting at all on the outside of the circle. But take my word for it, on the inside of the circle, it smelled.
"Very funny," I said and moved my foot to kick away the salt and flames. Immediate pain shot up past my knee. "Shit!"
"Quiet, foul demon!" Rebecca said. "Keep thy forked tongue behind thine crooked teeth!"
“Thy? Thine? Dude, you’re from the suburbs. Knock it off,” I said.
Jeff removed his black hooded cloak, the one he got from Spirit Halloween for 2.99 because it was the day after Halloween. And to his credit, it did make him look cool. But a lot less cool when staring at it from inside the summoning circle. Jeff raised a stick and pointed it at me.
“We have summoned thine demon,” Jeff said. “To do our bidding!”
“I’m going to take that stick and snap it up your ass if you guys don’t help me.”
Jeff made a twirling motion and black lightning erupted from his stick and struck me in my other knee. I tried to yell but what came out was not my voice. It was guttural. I went through puberty 14 years ago and that was the last time I had lost control of my voice like this.
“Twas a mistake, coming here, demon,” Richard said. Again, with the thy, thines, and twas. My friends are dicks.
“I’m not a demon! I’ve known you since 4th grade! You used to take all my juice boxes!” I said.
“Take! Take!” said Richard. “We made a deal, demon! I would do your bidding on Earth for a juice box. And that I did!”
“Bidding? Seriously, I don’t know what game you guys are playing but this is stupid. I’m out.”
I jumped over the burning salt and immediately crashed back down to the center of the circle. My tail bone hurt, and I was worried that I broke something. How would I explain this to the doctors? Hey, I broke my ass in a summoning circle. Is that covered by insurance?
“You cannot escape the summoning circle, demon,” said Racheal. “It is made to hold you and hold you it shall. Now, answer our questions or face the wrath of…” she paused, looked at Jeff and said “Hey, what’s the next bit. The wrath of?”
“Um, poptarts?” Jeff said.
“Quit messing around,” Richard said. Then, looking at me, “Or face the wrath of a thousand years in hell!”
My skin started to burn. I looked down and flesh gave way to red scales. Burned and scared. My knees began to bend the wrong way, but there was no pain. My shoes exploded and hooves popped out. I started to hyperventilate.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, again in a voice that I didn’t recognize. It was a voice that smelled like the sulfur of the circle. Like it had substance to it. “No! No! No!”
“Your name, demon!” cried Racheal, and then she had a stupid pointy stick as well, and it began to wave.
“Mick! My name is Mick!”
“Your true name!” screamed Richard.
The skin on my back tore, and bat-like wings sprouted. Horns grew on my head. I lost my hair and it was replaced with more red scales. My eyes changed, and suddenly the natural world disappeared. What I saw was in different hues, deeper colors, heartbeats, and veins. I screamed again.
“We demand to know your true name!” they all screamed. And then they began to chant. “Name him. Name him. Name him!”
I don’t know why I answered, only that I couldn’t stop myself. I yelled.
“Mordock the Destroyer!” And the memories flooded back to me. The war in Heaven and a celestial blade that sunk through my abdomen. The Almighty flinging me down. Lucifer screaming the loudest out of all of the fallen.
I remembered millennias in Hell. The pain that I caused tortured souls. And even though I had no choice, that it was His justice, I hated every minute of it. Not wanting to serve does not mean wanting to cause pain to His most beautiful creation. Their smiles, and capacity for love. Their tears in Hell, no matter their sin, burned worse than the flames, and I could endure no more. I escaped and came to Earth. And even though He had not forgiven me, I had forgiven myself. And with that, I became someone else.
“I am Mordock the Destroyer and all shall perish!” And then I howled. I howled with the pain of what was before, and I howled with what I had just lost. A life where I had friends. I had lost laughter and late-night talks. Pizza and sleeping in late with someone by my side. A life that I had given up my entire being.
“Dude, about damn time,” Richard said and threw down his wand.
“Seriously, you are stubborn as shit. I mean, I know we joke about it, but dude,” said Racheal.
I stood confused in the burning circle. All of me revealed. My grotesque figure. My wings. My claws that had ripped souls. They could see it all.
“Yeah, sorry about all the Thy and Thines. Really just part of the fun of all this. You know, like our D and D games. Gotta stay in character,” Said Jeff. “Although Racheal fucked up her line.”
“I got stage fright!” Then Racheal stepped forward and with her hand, and without being burned at all, erased the circle of salt. The flames died, and I stepped out.
I wanted to tear at them. To devour them. To make them pay. Instead, they gave me a hug.
“We’ve known for quite a while what and who you were,” said Richard. “Jeff figured it out in high school.”
“It was the juice box thing that actually did it. You’re “bidding” was just to be your friend. That was easy enough. Although once you made Mr. Standish’s mustache catch on fire. That was cool,” said Jeff.
“Look, the point is you never have to hide who you are with us. That’s not what friends do. With us, be you. And every time we tried to talk about it, you changed the subject or made an excuse. Do you know what it’s like to see your friend hurt? It’s not good. So yeah, we did the summoning circle.”
I looked at my friends and saw their smiles. The tenderness in their hearts. Their ability to look past what was on the outside and love the person on the inside. The one that I kept hidden. The one they saw anyway.
“And I do believe you now owe use another juice box,” said Richard. | 120 | random_samples |
302 | 1,526,158,028 | 9,924 | Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | The man sat cross-legged on a wide tree stump in the middle of the clearing. Wind whipped at his long beard and passed gently over his bald head. He felt the energy of his breath as he meditated--in--out--in--out. The sounds of the forest surrounding the clearing were plenty, and he was aware of them all, but they did not disrupt his tranquility. He let each one pass through him as easily as the breeze, until one drew his focus abruptly away from his breathing.
"*Greetings.*"
The man's eyes snapped open and he spun on the stump, thrusting himself off and flipping backwards away from the source of the sound--the first voice he'd heard in many decades. Assessing his surroundings, searching for the owner of the voice but finding no one.
"*Ahh, you're a sharp one. Quite in tune; body and mind, I see.*"
He spun again, sliding his foot around in the dirt and swinging a fist at exactly the point the voice had rang out from, but his blow did not make contact and the momentum took him nearly off of his feat. Confused, he bent at his knees and scanned the clearing--focusing back on his breath and doing his best to calm it.
"*Frightened? Or just surprised? You must have been alone out here for some time now...*"
The voice seemed to originate from directly behind him once again, but he did not budge, and it echoed all around him in his stillness. He continued to scan slowly, his hands raised defensively.
"*Come now, you must still recall how to converse with another rational being. Where are your manners?*"
His muscled relaxed and he felt the energy of his breath flowingly soothingly through him. This phantom clearly couldn't be seen, so he narrowed his senses and closed his eyes.
"*You may soon wish you had taken the chance to speak, for this was your last. I'm afraid.*"
An unsettling presence was directly in front of him, he could feel it. The darkness inside his eyelids seemed to grow ever blacker as he felt the force slowly inch towards him, its presence was commanding, and the world around him seem to be compressing. He refocused--in--out--in--out. A sound like a needle piercing through the very fabric of space and time rang out, and in the darkness he could clearly see a dagger being thrust towards his heart. With eyes still closed he clapped his hands in front of him. Trapping the spectral blade in between his palms, the momentum causing him to slide back a few feet in the dirt--he didn't dare open his eyes.
"*Fascinating...*" The voice called out and he knew it came from the wielder of the invisible dagger that was still held firmly in his grip. "*I have not met a soul like you in ages, my friend, and certainly not one still of the physical realm.*"
A form was beginning to take shape in front of him, blending into the darkness but certainly its own independent shape. In--out--in--out.
"*Release the dagger. You will not be harmed; you have my word.*"
The phantom's words seemed to take a shape of their own, and the man felt instantly that they could be trusted--as if this entity was incapable of falsehoods. He let his hands fall slowly to his side, and the dagger retreated into the dark figure camouflaged in the blackness.
"*You have been in isolation long enough that you are no longer present in any rational being's memory. A milestone usually reached well after departing from the physical realm; death and time always erase the memory of life, and when the memory of a soul has finally lapsed from existence then that soul meets the True Reaper,* ***me***."
The stillness in the air was unsettling, and the sounds of the forest were now absent as if the world itself had vanished. He remained calm, focusing on his breath and the words of his new acquaintance.
"*Most pass without a fuss, the dagger is rarely necessary, but I could feel your energy when it called to be reaped--you are different. Your isolation has brought you a mental tranquility that is unmatched by any soul I've encountered in the physical realm, and this is allowing you to act in the realm of true existence.*"
His breaths were shorter now, sharper, and he felt as if he was breathing in the very darkness he was perceiving; his focus unwavering.
"*Your existence is unique, and I do not discard treasures like you with the rest of the trash...*"
He was breathing in a rapid cadence now, and with each breath he felt an enormous amount of energy flow into him; as if he was inhaling the sun itself.
"*Welcome, my friend, to life after life...*"
r/BeagleTales
~~**Part 2 coming later tonight for those interested!**~~
[Part 2 is now available!](https://www.reddit.com/r/BeagleTales/comments/8j2di2/wp_everyone_dies_twice_the_first_time_is_when/)
| 3,610 | random_samples |
90 | 1,408,757,427 | 674 | A doctor waging the war on cancer dies with (surgical) blade in hand. Somehow his spirit enters Valhalla. | "This is a mistake, I'm not supposed to be here!"
"Well" Odin said in his deep booming voice, "You died fighting a powerful enemy with blade in hand, that gets you into Valhalla."
"But I never even believed in any of this!"
"That doesn't matter, besides, why should you complain, you get to fight all day and feast all night and the Valkyries will attend to your every need."
"This... this just wasn't what I was expecting"
"Well you will be in good company, you will be revered as a hero here."
"I'm no hero, I didn't die in battle, I had a heart attack while performing surgery!"
"Don't be so modest, this place is for those who fought and slayed the unjust, and what enemy is more unjust than cancer?"
Odin began speaking with excitement, as if even a god were in awe of this mere mortal.
"The most unjust enemy, it kills at random, it slowly and painfully tortures it's victims, and you fought it through hours upon hours in the operating room, and not for the first time! You died a greater hero than many a viking warrior, now you have a place at the table of heroes, now drink your mead and revel in the company of those who fought the good fight!"
Odin put his hand on my shoulder and directed me to a table in his great hall. My eyes widened in wonder as I saw who was seated there. Faces I only knew from pictures in the history books, Hippocrates, Louis Pasteur, Jonas Salk and every other doctor who had saved countless human lives throughout history.
"Behold, the table of true heroes!" Odin proclaimed. Now take your place among them!
Edit: Thanks for the gold kind stranger! I had no idea this story would get so much support, my mind is thoroughly blown. | 690 | random_samples |
20 | 1,403,449,404 | 65 | A writer has the ability to bring whatever he writes to life. After one too many drinks, he pens something he severely regrets. | Tom wrote a dragon. He was 12 at the time. His middle school English teacher had prompted the class to describe a recent dream.
It came to life, that dragon Tom wrote, black scales opalescent in the autumn sun, blasting fire at unfortunate tweenagers on the playground, until the National Guard came and put the thing down. The US government compensated the fine people of Charming Bluffs, AR quite handsomely -- the bereaved in particular -- so that they would keep their mouths shut. Legends persist all the same, as legends do.
But this is not that story. Because when the chaos settled, Tom was smart. Smart enough to test and corral this newfound ability of his.
He sat at home and wrote a red plastic cup on his bed. A red plastic cup appeared on top of his mattress, materialized from the ether. He wrote a delicious sandwich in his hand. A sandwich appeared in his hand, and it was one hundred percent scrumptious.
Then he wrote his family five billion dollars. Tom was smart.
Tom knew, intuitively, not to write himself into a corner. Perhaps in a different life he could have been a novelist. He certainly had the knack. He knew not to give himself a life too perfect -- not to merely write "the perfect woman," or "the perfect family," or so on, and have done with it. He knew his gift was a monkey's paw, ultimately, that if he overused it he would go insane or worse.
Of course he was selfish, too. He never once thought to write world peace.
He wrote plenty of pretty girls, though. He made sure to describe each one he wrote in minutest detail so that he would never create one so bizarrely perfect it would sour him on other women forever. When he was done with whatever pretty girl he had written, he wrote her out of existence -- "The girl in my bedroom goes away" -- and just like that she would vanish.
It was late at night when he wrote her, and he followed his usual M.O. But he was drunk, and tired, and the words would not come in the proper order. He dozed off before he had finished.
In the morning, she was there.
She:
"she has eye, blue like a stone, her face. Her legs are long. She has long legs. her breasts are bridge. Very long legs. She licks to suck my cock. She very much wants to suck my cock. cut tiny wet mouth she is skinny. Horny all the time. She wants me."
She was exactly as described.
And god did she want him, this spindle-legged cyclops with a single piercing lapis eye for a face, her bust a perfect scale replica of the Golden Gate Bridge. Underneath her never-blinking iris was set a baby-sized jaw, constantly drooling, teeth like little razors. Her snakelike tongue slathered with lustful hunger, darting in and out. She skittered toward him with inhuman speed.
Tom stumbled from his desk, screaming and kicking his feet, and locked himself in his bathroom. The thing on the other side of the door clawed and scratched. Her drool ran in rivulets through the doorjamb. She squawed senselessly like a starving animal.
Lying on the floor, Tom glanced around the marbled bathroom. He felt a creeping sickness in his gut when he realized this room contained no paper and no writing implements. And no windows to escape out of.
He clambered into his shower, sniveling. The thing beat itself against the door as if in a rage, its tongue slapping wetly against the wood.
Tom opened a bottle of colorful shampoo with a clack. He had never successfully written things except with pen and paper. He knew it didn't work on word processors or on typewriters. But maybe it work like this. It had to work like this.
He wrote with broad strokes, using his fore and middle fingers to smear the soap into words on the tile wall. He formed the words over and again.
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
She did not go away.
Tom opened his medicine cabinet and retrieved a razor. He cut deeply into his palm. He dipped his fingers in the crimson and smeared it across the mirrors, the countertops, and the walls. He wrote on every surface available.
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
*The monster in my bedroom goes away.*
She did not go away.
The door was beginning to weaken.
| 48 | random_samples |
4 | 1,630,692,088 | 86 | A vampire bit you while you were high, and got addicted to your blood. They're willing to do anything just to have another taste of your "holy blood" and you've been venerated as a saint who subdued the vampiric race. | God I thought it would be just like any other night. Play the show, shoot the shit and go home. I was very wrong. I should've known something was wrong when the most beautiful women I'd ever seen bought me a drink. But I guess that's the hopeless romantic in me.
The show went well, we've been to this bar, The Witches Brew before and most of our friends were here. As the lead vocalist of course I'm always looking in the crowd, and that when I saw her.
Pale as alabaster, with eyes that could kill and long black hair like liquid midnight. Black ink tattoos decorated her body, and her lips were a bright red.
After the show I always have to smoke a joint to cool off, the THC calms me down and lets me be more social. Hell if I was really feeling brave I might talk to that beauty inside.
As always the marijuana coated my throat and lungs. Soon I couldnt feel my teeth, as my depression and anxiety flooded away. It always felt like having body weights and removing them when I got high. I cleared the air before coming back into the bar.
My friends in Dirtnap hadn't played yet, so I figured I'd head to the bar and get a Red Bull to get some of my energy back.
As I approach the bar top a man in his twenties hands me a vodka cranberry. I try and tell the guy I hadn't even ordered yet but he insisted it came from a fan at the end of the bar.
How strange, that's never happened before. As I look to where the mans pointing I didn't want to believe my eyes that same woman with the seductive eyes had bought me this drink.
Despite being in a metalcore band I'm quite the light weight and two drinks in was enough for me to approach her.
I took the seat next to her and greeted her.
"Hey thanks for the drink, anyway I can pay back the favor?" She smiled wryly, I could see her incisors were quite pointy, if shed had dental surgery to get vamp fangs she was serious about her appearance.
"No I wanted to repay you for such a great show, I'm not from around here and it's great to see there's some local talent. Do pretty boys like you play in any of the bigger cities."
I laughed, my narccism and numbed senses combing to make me especially easy to manipulate.
"Only if statuesque beauties like you are coming to see them." She laughed before extending her hand.
"You're funny, I'm Scarlet."
"Hey I'm glad you think so, my names Chris." Scarlet finished her drink and placed cash on the top.
"Let's get out of here." I was taken aback, I thought we'd at least flirt more first.
"Uhm and where are we going?" She smiled that sly smile once more and beckoned me forward.
"I'll show you somewhere beautiful, just the two of us."
I sent a quick text to the band group chat, apologizing for not helping with loading out as well as missing our friends playing that night.
We walked to her car, a blood red Audi with black under lighting.
"Nice wheels" Jesus christ that sounded so much better in my head.
"Thanks, being a vampire queen has its perks" she laughed along with me at what I totally thought was a joke.
As we drove I offered her a blunt I had rolled for after Dirtnap's set, she agreed and we smoked as she drove. I was feeling pretty good, the weed had sharpened my senses but still let the alcohol make me feel lose and numb. I was reasonably cross faded and driving with some gorgeous goth girl into the moon lit night.
Predictably we ended up at the Victorian graveyard outside of town. Scarlet parked and sat on the hood of her car, I quickly followed suit.
For awhile we talked about every and anything, and then as the moon seemed to shine extra bright I felt her place a hand on my cheek, I shuddered at the touch. Scarlet slowly retracted her hand.
"Sorry I...its been awhile since someone touched me like that." Scarlet frowned.
"It's okay, I'm sorry you got hurt like that, hey look at me." As I gazed into her eyes I felt the feeling in my body drift away. It was like I was dreaming as Scarlet came close and bit my neck.
I couldn't fight it as I felt her teeth pierce my flesh, and start to drain me of my life essence. She let out a sound of surprise and drew away. Before I could scream Scarlet placed her palm over my mouth. Her eyes were red like she'd just smoked an ounce all by herself. She spoke with wonderment.
"Your blood tastes, so....potent. I've never felt this intoxicated in my entire life! I've lived for centuries, tried every drug from alcohol to crystal meth but your blood, your blood has made me feel better than I ever have."
I spoke against the soft flesh on her hand.
"So what, you're going to have a good time while you're killing me." She laughed and pet my hair, like a farmer pets his golden goose.
"No no, if you keep producing blood then that means I can feel this way forever! I'm calling my friends!" I soon became aware of how strong Scarlet was, and knew that escape would be all but impossible.
A white hearse pulled up soon after, and three pale women all exited, before greeting Scarlet. The three new contenders all picked a spot on my neck and began drinking, though this time their bites felt thought out and more precise than Scarlet's feeding frenzy.
Soon the trio agreed that in fact my blood was the most intoxicating substance they'd ever had.
They took me to their mansion and they're Matriarch too sampled my blood. She gave me a choice, live in the mansion become immortal and supply them with blood forever, or be released and one day hunted back down, I told them I'd stay if they'd agree to only feed on me and no other humans.
It works out, I regenerate my blood back extremely fast as a vampire myself now, and if anything they swear my blood is now even sweeter.
I miss my band and all my friends, but I sleep well knowing that I'll save humanity for centuries to come, and that's a fate better than death. | 15 | random_samples |
4 | 1,605,368,955 | 56 | Your family has faithfully held guard over the walls for generations without contact with the city's inhabitants. It's only after examining the clawing on the gates you realise something is trying to get out, not in. | A bright flash of the mid day sun reflected off the lapped barrel of Hazel's disrupter as it was quickly drawn to the ready. She'd tried to dull the bloody thing in the past but the metal didn't want to be scratched. And covering it was not an option the blast of energy created too much heat causing whatever was over it to be set ablaze the moment she pulled the trigger.
She cursed her ancestors for their stupidity. Her family, once proud guardians upon the walls of city Qulln, had made their armor and weaponry shine to proudly display their constant watch to those below. How they were wrong. The tales had been passed down verbally and slowly got skewed through the generations.
Hazel remembered her elders describing their mission. So simple in their words. "we stand watch to ensure no living being passes through those gates". She'd asked who they were protecting and if she could meet them. But whomever she asked had given slightly different versions of the same ignorant answer.
"We are the silent guard we have no need for the gratitude of those we protect"
"When they come to break through the gates we shall be ready."
"Look upon the gleaming metal gates built by our ancestors that alone is a deterrent for those who seek to break through."
She was always dismissed. Her constant curiosity a hindrance to those around her. But in the end that Is what saved her.
Hazel remembered the first day she heard the tap while sitting at the bottom of the gate. She tapped back and it responded. She told her family about it and they ignored it as a child's imaginations when they could not hear the taps when she brought them to the gate. She had thought maybe she had imagined it untill she heard it again for 5 minutes a year later.
It fueled her curiosity and lack of answers pushed her past the repeated stories passed down by her family. And deep into the archives. It took her almost 2 decades to find and understand the context of the oldest books. And once she did. Her blood ran cold. She realized how wrong her family was about protecting the walls from intruders. It wasn't a fortification ment to protect those within from the outside world. It was a containment unit and the door they guarded was the last if seven. That prevented the creatures depicted within from being active on all but one day per year. The day she had always returned to the gate through the years and gradually heard the tapping get steadily louder. The day which had been about a week out at the time.
She had ran to the gate now having knowledge of how to open it. She Went through the opening sequence. Facing the First of seven gates disruptor at the ready. It in her case last.
The hallway leading past the door was long and empty but she wasn't interested in what was down the hallway. She went to the 6 foot thick metal door and examined the hole clawed in it. A hole expertly extracted from to leave but the smallest of material remaining so that a large section could be broken all at once.
- - -
Hazel fired the disruptor held in her hand the beam ripping through the trees in front of her the bright flash met with a scream and burning flesh. Placing the disruptor back in her holster she drew her sword. It would be 3 minutes before she could fire it again and it appeared as if what hunted her did not come alone. Determined to destroy what had escaped 3 years ago. She smiled and stepped forward. | 13 | random_samples |
6 | 1,620,579,181 | 37 | You've just died, and are waiting in the Reincarnation Wing of Heaven, which was built just 700 years ago. In a twist of fate, the child of the man who killed you sits down next to you, and together you begin to unravel the secret of why the wing was built. | As I sat there waiting, somewhat impatiently, my mind began to wander. I was replaying my final moments, my prime years, my childhood... My family. "Although I may never see them again, I know that I am missed. Family truly is a wonderful thing, I never should have left when I was upset. We didn't even say ‘I love you' to each other" I thought.
All of a sudden my deep train of thought is snapped back to what is my new reality; at least for the time being. There was a young boy who sat next to me. He appeared to be no older than ten years old. "Had he been here the whole time?" I pondered.
"Hey, Mister! What happened to you? How did you end up *here*?" The young boy asked.
"Well, little man," I replied, "it's sort of a graphic story to tell, I'm not quite sure you would like to hear it and, if I'm being honest, I'm not quite sure I'm ready to tell it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with it myself."
"Oh.. okay, then. Do you want to know how I ended up here? Do ya? Do ya?" The boy joyfully replied. I was taken aback by his excitement to tell me his story. To humor the boy, I sat quietly and listened to his story. "Well, my dad had just picked me up from my mom's house to take to me to my baseball game. Baseball is my favorite! My dad even told me I was the best pitcher he had ever seen! Can you believe that?" I smiled and nodded in agreement. The boy continued, "we were getting closer, I could just feel it. The smell of the freshly cut grass, the newly chalked lines," he paused for a moment with a smile, and swayed as though he was hugging something. "I honestly am not sure what happened to my dad, but he seemed to have lost his focus or something. We started going in and out and in and out of our lane. I tried to tell my dad to slow down, but he didn't say anything back..." The boy was now visibly distraught.
"It's okay, you don't have to continue your sto-" he interrupted me as the gleam in his eyes began to return.
"No, siree! I want to tell you the rest!" The boy, again appearing joyful, continued his story. "So, like I said, we were almost to the baseball field. I was so excited! Game day was my favorite day of the week!" The boy seemed oblivious to the gravity of the situation. "For some reason, my dad tried to cross the street without looking both ways, as my mom and dad had always taught me, and there was big, loud crash, and everything started to fly and it was all upside down. The weird part about it is that I didn't feel a thing!" As the boy continued his story, I could feel my eyes growing large, like a deer in the headlights, and my expression started to change from a seemingly matched level of excitement as the boy's, to somber and weary.
The boy happily proceeded to tell me all about his baseball team, his friends who was about to see and go out to eat with after the game had concluded. It was clear that it was a genuine passion for him to play.
"But..." The boy paused and his demeanor had changed again.
"But what, little man?" I replied amidst his rare moment of silence.
"But when the world turned upside down, and I felt like I woke back up, there were all of these flashing lights, loud sirens and everybody around was scrambling. I didn't know what the big fuss was all about. I tried to explain to them that I was fine and there's nothing to panic about." The boy said reassuringly, as though I was about to panic. If only he knew how panicked I was becoming. He continued on, "I don't remember much after that. I *know* I had told the nice lady that I wasn't in any pain, but her shoulders seemed to have slumped a little bit. She had told me, ‘everything will be okay, just try and relax for me okay, bud?' she had slipped this weird, hissing mask over my mouth and nose. It smelled like plastic and felt cold when I would breathe." At this point I had come to the obvious conclusion that he was paralyzed. I had wondered if he even knew what was happening, but I didn't want to interrupt him. "I was being asked if I could feel anything, and I didn't have any idea what they were talking about."
I was completely enthralled by this little boys tale of his very disheartening and untimely demise. I had forgotten entirely about my own predicament, which was all I could think about since I had arrived here. It was a depressing and uneasy sort of reprieve.
"Over the top of the constant beeping that was so annoying and wouldn't stop, I heard one of the nice people say something about how I had no feeling in my hands or feet." The boy began to sniffle as he tried to get out his final statements. "I tried to explain to them, ‘but.. my teammates need me! I'm supposed to be there, I'm going to be late! I don't want to let them down.' I heard the steady beeping sound begin to speed up and then it just turned into a steady ringing, and even though it was so loud, I managed to fall asleep..."
I didn't think that it was possible—maybe I just didn't want to believe that it could have been, but my skin became clammy and what I could only describe as my pulse turned rapid. *Could it be, that the wreck that had killed me been caused by this innocent boys father?* All I could remember was looking left as I was going through the intersection with the green light. When I saw it, it was too late to avoid the impending collision. When the truck had instantly appeared from behind a row of cars, it had broadsided my vehicle. Just before everything went dark and I ended up here.
This was the moment all of the pieces fell into place. The random, disorganized pieces that I hadn't even considered would ever belong to the same picture, was coming together. I wondered how I could have overlooked—no, not even considered—what had happened to the other vehicle. I was so self-absorbed I never gave it a single thought, let alone two. I asked the boy, "You said your father was swerving?"
"Yeah, he smelled funny, too. And it was like he didn't even see the light up ahead. It's not a big deal, my dad always smelled kinda funny. I didn't really think anything of it." The boy replied. I didn't want to be overly straightforward to the boy that his father had likely been well beyond the legal limit and was in no shape to drive.
I asked the boy "Do you know what reincarnation means, little man?"
"Of course I know! But how about you tell me anyway?" The boy said with a smile.
I replied, "Simply put, it's almost like a do-over, a second chance." His face lightened up, you see that he understood.
"Like a second chance!" The boy had blurted out, drawing the attention from the other apparitions who were lying about.
"Exactly right, little man!" I was happy to see that he understood. I was still having a difficult time coming to terms with the thought of little boy, so full of energy and excitement was here alongside me, and his father was nowhere to be found. I assumed that he was the sole survivor of the crumpled heap of scrap metal that ended up on the side of the street.
Where we both ended up had no clocks, no form of time. That would explain why our deaths, just minutes apart, had seemed so long for the boy to appear. I followed up and asked the boy, "What do you think you'll do with your second chance?"
He sat with his hand on his chin as though he was thinking about it, "umm... I know it will have something to do with baseball.. I think I'll become a coach and help guide kids like me!" He had pretended he had never thought about it before. I knew immediately that he was always destined to be a pillar of good, a true beacon of light for his community. "What will you do, Mister?" The boy asked gleefully.
I really hadn't given it much thought. I was more concerned with everything that I didn't do or had done wrong up until that point. I knew I couldn't change anything as it was just because I got a second chance. I explained to the boy, "You know what? I think I'll make sure to show the people in my life how much I appreciate them. How much they mean to me. And I will make sure to be kind to everyone I encounter, because you never know if your words will be the last thing that person thinks about before they pass on." The boy looked somewhat puzzled, you could tell I had gotten too specific.
"Um, okay, Mister! It sounds like we both have great plans!" The boy was smiling again, like he had forgotten all about what he went through. It was a relief for me to see, and the young boy didn't need to know the details of their entwined relationship.
The only thought I was stuck with following the conversation with the young boy, full of innocence and joy, was whether or not either of us would remember it...
**The end**
I don't know if it's any good. I kind of just winged it and I wrote it on my phone, so I apologize if I missed any typos.
Edit: thanks for the prompt, by the way! | 11 | random_samples |
5 | 1,643,512,614 | 48 | The world's most powerful superhero has had his mind switched with that of his arch-nemesis, and is now going on a rampage. At least, that's what he claimed, and what you believed... until you found that very same arch-nemesis imprisoned in the hero's secret hideout, terrified out of his mind. | I ran for hours, but the screams of death never left my mind. I could still feel the charred ashes coating my entire body, slowing my desperate scramble through the jungle. My foot caught a snaking root and I stumbled with a cry, face hitting the dirt. Another sob wracked my body, but the last of my tears had long since dried up. Curse the Uttu, those eight-legged monstrosities. Their webs crept into our villages like a plague, forming chains of hardened silk across the waters that separated our lands from theirs for their warriors to charge in and conquer. They latched onto the trees we had ensconced ourselves in for shelter, crawling into our homes to maim and kill. Ours was the way of battle, of continuing our ancestors' centuries-old fight against the arachnids invaders.
But we had been winning. The sand of the banks of the Great River that looped around and separated our villages had been melted down, honed to a glassy perfection that gave us an edge in our wars. No longer could they rely on nature as their ally, as our swords of hardened sand slashed the invisible silk they wove across the water, the hardened appendages of their warriors slipping on the smooth glass of our defences, finding none of the purchase they always had on the wooden bark that surrounded us. Our generals roared with triumph, proclaiming the end of the age of forced coexistence. Within a few years, we would march upon their territory, wiping them from the fringes of our civilisation.
Until the Uttu had deployed their real weapon. Our weapon, against us.
In the distance, a thump echoed across the valley. My eyes watered instinctively, as if I was back among that desolate land I had once called my village. I swore I could hear the screams of the burnt, carried as faint whispers across the treetops. No, I was too far away from the destruction. It was just my imagination. The Enki couldn't have come this far so quickly.
The Enki. The greatest of our warriors, elected once every generation to bring their righteous flame crashing against the Uttu. They alone had mastery of the fire, scorching heat shooting from every pore of their bodies as they crashed against the wave of crisp exoskeletons, burning them into an acrid crisp. They had been the scourge of the Uttu in our battles, occasionally single-handedly stemming the tide of arachnids, forcing them to improvise to contain the Enki's destruction. The tough silk developed by their weavers burnt an acrid stench, but stubbornly refused to melt. Our Enki's righteous flames had been limited by his mobility within the silk tunnels hurriedly crafted within the villages of the Uttu, redirecting his furious destruction outwards and away from their core. The silk could be cut away by our swords, but that took time, rendering us vulnerable to the counter-assault of those eight stabbing limbs.
But as the Uttu realised, none of those limitations on the Enki's destruction applied to our own lands.
No one knows how the Uttu had developed their poison, or when they had administered it. All we could see was the horrifying rampage the Enki went on every month, as the Queen of the Uttu took over his mind with her corruption. His fires consumed our wooden homes, the fragile glass of our defences shattering against his mighty blows. The Enki's ravaging was limited only by the river that circled each of our villages. Never had we been so grateful for its aquatic presence. For within the boundaries circumscribed by each stream, nothing but charred bone and ash remained.
I had to stop it. I could stop it. Only I knew how to, for right as the shrieking spasms of our greatest warrior stopped and his face descended into frightful madness, he told me where I had to go to end this cycle. And so I came, deep into the forgotten bowels of the jungle, in search for the rock formation that he had called home.
Finally, I found it. A sheer monolith, arcing high into the trees over me. My hands scrambled over its rocky surface desperately, and within minutes I found what I was looking for. A single block within the stone, raised nearly imperceptibly against its natural backdrop, its geometric contours betraying its true purpose. I tugged against it slightly, and the entire stone dragged itself sideways with an aching groan. A dark corridor revealed itself, yawning before me. It was as if a blade had been slashed through the stone. It was Enki's lair all right. None of us Nin had the strength to terraform the intractable Earth like this, our glass ornaments barely sufficient to leave gashes in the stone.
As I crept through the carved arteries of the rock, the faint light of my torch illuminated the limestone, revealing streaks of blackened gouges, remnants of their fiery shaper that sent a shudder echoing through me.
Finally, I arrived at an open room. It was nearly pitch black, but I could just make out a row of torches lining the wall. Dipping my own against the nearest one, the room ignited, light careening around it in a wave to reveal its contents.
In the middle sat the largest Uttu I had ever seen.
(continued in comments) | 14 | random_samples |
19 | 1,601,509,573 | 497 | aking up in a bathub of ice and covered in surgical cuts, you immediately call an ambulance fearing the worst. After being checked however, it turns out you've been implanted with a variety of extra organs. | The doctors were baffled at what the organs functions were, well, except the extra heart it was obvious. They were afraid removing them would kill me. The grafts had healed amazingly quick and my circulatory system had adapted to them already. I saw a error on my chart across the room. It said I was a 6’6”, I’m 5’6”. Strange they be that far off.
I nodded off only to be awoken by people talking. They were discussing a monster down the hall. I wondered who the poor guy was until I realized they weren’t in the room with me. They were yards away at the nurse’s station. They were talking about me! They were eating berry filled pastries with black recaf based on the smells.
I buzzed the station. All talking stopped. Why were they afraid of me? I buzzed agin and felt the remote break. Looking at it being so small in my hands I realized the chart wasn’t wrong, if anything I was bigger than the earlier measurement . My surprised was interrupted by a sounds. It was a heavy thumping, like the footfalls of dinosaurs in that one movie. Someone at the nurse station screamed and a light thud that followed made me think that person fainted. The thumping reached my door which was pulled off the hinge by an 8 foot tall man-shaped suit of armor. The tile under its feet cracked from its weight. The armor suit pulled off its head and revealed a large exaggerated human head. “Come novitiate, the Emperor of Mankind has need of you” the giant said in a deep rumbling voice.
I stood and looked at my reflection in a window, I resembled the giant in size and features. His words kept echoing in my head. He said no more, turned and walked back down the hall. I followed. For the Emperor. | 193 | random_samples |
5 | 1,479,842,611 | 36 | The appendix used to allow humans to control magic. However that ability faded and magic vanished from history. Appendicitis was thought to only rupture the organ, until today... | “Mom it hurts,” the little boy was curled up in his car seat, his hands held his lower stomach and there were tears in his eyes.
“Baby I know, I know it hurts. We are almost to the hospital, okay? Be strong from Mommy. We’re almost there.”
The boy put his head on his knee and cried. Thick tears dropped from his eyes and soaked into his shorts. He let out a whimper as another…whatever it was clenched or cramped, or moved or… he curled tighter into a ball and let out a sob.
“Momma it hurts so much.” He pitifully tried to move in his car seat to ease the pain. One of his shoes slipped off and fell to the floor. The mother suddenly let out a scream and slammed on the breaks.
The boy screamed in pain at the sudden movement of being thrown against his seatbelt.
Outside, the SUV was frozen three inches from colliding with an F250 extended cab truck. The look on the driver’s face was frozen in fear. His hands were on the wheel and his eyes locked on with the mother behind the wheel. He had tried to make the yellow light, and her light had turned green. Their vehicles were frozen just before the point of impact. She the mother put her car into park and got out.
The man did the same.
She immediately checked on her son who had passed out in his seat. She started to cry as she pulled him out of the seat and into her lap on the side of the road.
Car horns started to honk, but mostly people were getting out of their cars to look closer at what had happened.
They all knew those two cars should be smashed up. There wasn’t any possible way that both cars could have stopped like they did before colliding.
“Sam. Sam wake up! Sam!” She cradled him and patted his cheek trying to alert him. He wasn’t responding but she could feel his heart racing.
“Call an ambulance!” She screamed at the truck driver. He pulled out his phone.
Five minutes went by when the paramedics finally showed up. Police also arrived and started to direct traffic. The boy was placed on a gurney and the mother went with him to the hospital.
Inside the emergency room, doctors and orderlies fluttered around him hooking him up to various machines. He received and Iv as the mother tried to explain everything that happened.
“Possible Appendicitis,” a doctor said. They prepped him for surgery and took him away. The mother had to be escorted to a waiting room by security.
In the operating room, they administered local anesthesia. Just before the doctor was going to make the first incision, the boy woke up.
He sat up and looked around and immediately started crying, “Momma!” He cried. The adults in the room were frozen. This had never happened before. There was simply no explanation for the boy being able to wake up. He kept crying. The louder he cried the lights started to flicker.
The door to the operating room flew open. The boy jumped down and ran.
--------
“How many times does that make?” The voice over the phone sounded exhausted.
“25.” The man holding the phone looked around the hospital and sighed. “Just in the city. It’s going to spread…or whatever it is, is going to happen more and more.”
“Is there a way to stop it?” The voice on the line asked after a deep sigh.
“No. Not…not that we can figure out. Only children so far are affected and… well what if this is supposed to happen? I mean what if it’s a good thing?”
The man let out a grunt, “our ancestors worked for centuries to eradicate magic. And now it’s coming back? No this is a crisis, not a good thing.”
| 18 | random_samples |
9 | 1,392,203,100 | 18 | You are Cupid. You hate your job. | It's hard being me. I mean, for one thing, I've been trapped in a two year old's body for an infinite number of years. It's hard enough to pick up chicks when most people don't even know you exist, let alone when you're a *cherub.* And telling them I'm Cupid just makes it worse. Sure, okay, sometimes the job is funny. Like that one time I made a guy fall in love with a tree. When I used to do my work properly as well, I had some good moments. You'd just catch a couple that was absolutely meant to be. But now I get the most ridiculous messages.
"There's a girl down in Brooklyn who needs her class mate to fall in love with her. She's done all the usual offerings. Go and shoot him." My heart shaped pager would blare messages of this ilk day and night *sans cesse* (Of course I know French, I'm fucking *Cupid* aren't I?) And invariably, when I got down there, it would be some lovesick teenage girl with too much eyeliner and pictures of One Direction on her wall. It wouldn't really be love, it'd be infatuation, but I'd have to sit down and have the chat with her about the dangers of summoning a love god for a fanciful crush. They'd usually freak out at the sight of a naked two year old in their room, and I got more black eyes than I could really count.
The mass production of love has really done me a disservice, as well. There's that old saying "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" It rings fucking true here, ya know. Porn. I'm talking about Porn. Someone things they're in love, they rub one out and discover that it was just lust after all. So between the porn addicts and the lovesick teens, I'm really having a rough time of it.
"You shouldn't be drinking that mate." Gabe was a good mate of mine. Kept an eye on me as I spiralled slowly into despair. He took the bottle of scotch from my chubby fingers.
I blearily looked at him.
"Pass me the cigs, would you? Be an angel." That made us both laugh.
I lit up, fiddling with the lighter. I'd had to get it specially adapted because my tiny fingers weren't strong enough to flick it. The heart-shaped pager lay deserted next to me, still beeping messages from girls who desperately needed Justin Bieber to fall for them.
"You need to clean yourself up a bit." Gabe cast a scornful look around my apartment. Despite it being Heaven, it was a tip. Overflowing ashtrays were scattered between piles of dirty children's clothes. Several empty bottles of scotch lay near empty takeout boxes (you'd be surprised how good the pizza was in Heaven.)
"What's the point?" I growled miserably. "No-one falls in love like they used to any more. Where are the grand sonnets? Where are the poems and the plays and the acts of chivalry? The waiting in a bower for true love to return. I mean! Come on..."
"You're drunk, Cupid." Gabe muttered, trying to clean up a bit.
"I'm not!"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe I am a little bit. But tell me it doesn't annoy you too? Where is 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Where's *Romeo and Juliet?* Where's Beatrice and Benedick? Where's Sonya and Rashkalnikov? Alberad and Heloise? Orpheus? I mean, when's the last time someone went into the Underworld to find their dead love?"
I flopped down on the sofa.
"That's the problem." I sighed. "No one has time to love. Not any more." | 19 | random_samples |
24 | 1,618,627,935 | 290 | You've been cursed. Again. It seems to happen regularly. You run into an old mysterious woman or break an ancient vase or something else. In fact, you've been cursed so much that your life remains normal, since the negatives all seem to cancel each other out. | There was even that time that I put on two doubly cursed rings at once.
Ring 1:
-Can’t be removed
-speeds healing, but when worn too long it causes fatal blood clots.
Ring 2:
-Can’t be removed
-improves wearers reaction, movement and thought speeds, but when worn too long, causes the blood to thin so much that the wearer dies of exsanguination.
When worn together, I heal a bit faster, and I’m just a bit quicker than before.
Plus...The rings are indestructible, which saved my hand long enough for someone to come along and lift that tractor off of it.
Oh, the tractor? I got it for free from some shady-looking merchant, passing through town.
I was swimming, trying out my new necklace of water breathing I bought off a Gypsy. She told me it was 5 copper, and I went to pay her 5 copper, but she changed her mind, raising the price to 10 copper. (The tag said 5!) Anyway, I put my 5 copper on the counter and walked out with the necklace...She shouted something, and I shouted back “It’s bad business to cheat your customers!” And it turns out the necklace curses the wearer to sink like a stone! Still works for the water breathing, but I couldn’t get out of the pool. While at the bottom of the deep-end, I found a bracelet of expert swimming! Novice-swimmer bracelets were cheap and common, this one must’ve cost around 5 whole silver coins. Something must’ve been wrong with it as well, for the moment I slipped it on, I started gulping in huge amounts of water into my lungs! Luckily I could still breathe water, but if I didn’t have this water breathing necklace, even Though it’s cursed, I’d have surely died.
The bracelet, heavily offset by the cursed necklace, allowed me to swim as if I had been training for a few months longer than I already have.
So, I swam out and thanked my lucky stars.
That’s the story of how I, Brellius Veneruss, became known as the Curse-Crusher. I wrote a book on counter-curses, detailing how, though no known healing spells or counter-measures are known that can destroy a curse, curses can be balanced-out by carefully placed counter-curses. It’s all in my book.
Well, why don’t I read some of it for you?
Here in this book is a list of people people, and a detailed account of their curses, including how I helped each one of them. In this book, I have 100 witness testimonials, written in the style of an autobiography.
Case 001:
The boy who jumps too high.
This story is a retelling of how I chanced upon a village beset by many curses, bestowed as either blessings or punishments, by their Tyrranical Wizard King, Arlan. It was 1 week traveling from my hometown of ElkField to reach this quaint kingdom of Arlancia. Upon arriving, I purchased a room in the first tavern I could find with a decent ale, and one where the beds didn’t spontaneously shock you awake every hour, on the hour (I don’t know what A-hole goes about hexing so many odd objects, but I aim to find out someday).
It didn’t take long for me to find a villager with a problem, as Arlancia was LOUSY with them! Sheesh! I thought I had a run of bad luck, but this place? Toilets with warming seats that BURN YOUR ASS if you don’t shit fast enough, steak knives that were sharpened with the wrong magics, causing the HANDLE to be imperceptibly sharper THAN THE BLADE, and that’s just the start...
An hour after I set out into the center of the city, I came across a spectacle: a boy was hanging onto the ledge of the clock-tower at the center of the bizarre. This clock tower was at least 2 barns high. I called out to a nearby merchant “You there, kindly cheese merchant! Is that boy trying to kill himself? Did he slip? I don’t see any stairs or ladders leading up there.”
The cheese merchant glanced at me, then back to the boy. “Nah. That’s Jeffry, the boy wot asked our king for a blessing on his birth day. Th’ idiot asked him for the ability to jump higher.”
“Well, he can indeed jump higher, but from the look of it, it’s always higher than he means to.”
The cheese merchant chuckled “Yeah, exactly double how high he intends to jump. Real problem is the land’n. Broke his arm, sprained his leg one time, last year...Trying to impress my daughter!”
“He fell that far?”
“NAW. I broke his arm throwing him out of our house. Well, as far as I can tell, he takes normal damage from falls, if that’s wot ya wondering.”
Just then, the boy’s hand slipped, nearly causing him to fall. Thinking quickly, I dashed to the nearest witch’s yurt, asking her for any charm allowing for fall protection. She had three, and surprisingly, only two were cursed.
“I’ll take those two cursed ones.”
The witch stared at me, confused.
“What? Don’t you want to try and pick the one which isn’t cursed? I might have given it to you.”
“No thanks, but could you tell me what each of the curses do?”
“As long as you pay me first!”
“Deal! Now, what did they do?”
She explained that the cape with the green charm curses the wearer to seek out somewhat dangerous situations...And the cape with the red charm causes the wearer to be unable to jump at all.
“Thanks! Here’s your coin!”
“Beware, for the wearers of the charms will suffer a terrible cur-“
“Thanks, but I think we’re past that point, kind witch. Wait, let me guess, the cape is indestructible and can’t be removed”
“Yep and yep. Force of habit! Come again sometime!”
I myself, having an intense fear of heights, thought it best to choose the cape with green charm, so I donned the cape with the green charm before attempting to scale the tall tower. Now relieved of a large portion of my previous fear, though not entirely, I was able to climb the tower with mild trepidation. Upon reaching the top, I quickly discussed my terms with the boy. He hesitates briefly, then accepts, and I swiftly equip him with the cape bearing the red charm, and we both jumped.
“AAAAHH!!!!” The crowd screamed as we plummeted down, yet a moment before hitting the ground, we both gradually slowed to a feather’s falling speed.
“YEESSSSS!” The crowd cheered, and the boy brought me back to his parents house to discuss the news of our deal, rather than stick around and take several comely villagers up on their offers of free ale and supper.
“That’s right” I begin to tell Jeffry’s parents. “As long as Jeffry keeps his cape on, he will be able to jump at roughly half of his intended jumping height. Now, go ahead, impress your parents, Jeffry! Tell them what I taught you.”
Jeffry beamed, his parents waiting nervously to hear what he’d learned.
“As long as I always over-es, es...Estimate my jump by double, I’ll jump exactly as high as I mean to”
He demonstrated by nearly smacking his head on a wooden support beam overhead, and softly landing on the stone floor. Again, he was practically smiling from ear to ear.
His parents were overjoyed, and not at all displeased by my 2 reasonable conditions:
“As payment, I’ll ask you for 1 cursed object you may own, not including the cape I gave Jeffry. And that you pay my boarding fees the first day of the month whenever I come to this town.”
They agreed, and sent me on my way with many thanks.
What did they give me? An old pair of glasses, cursed to make the wearer go cross-eyed. Odd, but not out of place among some of the stranger curses I’ve seen.
I’ve 99 more chapters in this book, my fine people, but for now I must bid you good day. My cursed bed is calling me to sleep. Literally, it won’t shut up around this time of day, unless go unmake and make it again. | 82 | random_samples |
14 | 1,448,403,778 | 13 | You are a triangle. Write about your average day. | "Dennis!" Mom was shouting. "Did you clean your room?"
I ground my corners in frustration. "Mom! I'm twenty three years old! Quit telling what to do!"
"Is that a no?"
I flipped a page or two of the skin mag ("Polyamorous Polygons") and flipped a Dorito into my mouth, taking grim pleasure in the symbolic cannibalism.
"Did you look for work?" She went on. God, how she went on.
I had. Thirty pages of wanted ads for arrow heads. I wasn't going to end up an arrow head like my old man. He'd taken the job temporarily. He'd died on the end of some goddamn line fifty years later pointing to a goddamn restroom. That wasn't going to be me. "Yeah!" I shouted back. "Nothing!"
"There's always work as an arrow head!"
I slammed my backleft on the desk. "I'm not gonna be a goddamn arrow head!" I screamed. Mom fell silent.
I booted up my computer and looked at my resume. Two years at community college. Six months with PlayStation, four with Federal Highway Administration. Money for beer and weed, mostly. Nothing you'd call a career.
I closed a couple of pop-ups: "Nonagon Escorts!" (like I could afford *that*) "Slutty irregulars need love!" (no thanks. I have standards) "This trapezium evened the length of its sides! Squares hate him!" (fucking scams). I sighed.
Truth was, there was only one thing I wanted in life. I'd never admitted it to anyone, even my friends.
I wanted to be a pentagon.
I rested my front on the desk, and let out a sob. I just wanted to be a pentagon. | 16 | random_samples |
95 | 1,612,276,803 | 3,512 | "We are sorry to inform that your soul was tampered with by an external force, and you didn't have a chance to live your life as it was intended. You have a few options." |
Heaven, LLC
I read the first page of the huge packet again and then flipped over the large envelope it came in.
*Heaven, LLC. Your own personal paradise awaits,* it read in flowing golden script.
I read the first page again.
*We are sorry to inform you that your soul has been tampered with by an external force, and you didn’t have a chance to live your life as it was intended. You have a few options.*
It was clearly junk mail. Some scam artist trying to offer me salvation for just a few thousand dollars or something. But whoever it was put a lot of effort into it. The paper was so smooth and soft, like holding silk, and the lettering was all in gold and that same flowing script. And the paper itself smelled slightly of incense.
I dropped it on the counter and started my electric tea kettle. As I stood waiting for the quiet beep that was the precursor to a cup of hot deliciousness, my mind wandered back to the envelope. I picked up the envelope and read the flowing inscription again. Then picked up the packet and read the first page. I shook my head and dropped it. Why was i putting so much thought into such an obvious -
“Oh my Lord, will you just read the darned packet already! Pardon my language but I've been waiting for 2 minutes now and that's a lot of time when you have to be literally everywhere!”
I screamed and dropped my empty mug, which shattered, raining ceramic daggers all over my kitchen floor. Grabbing the nearest thing I could find as a weapon I whirled around and pointed my teaspoon menacingly at the intruder.
“Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in my house?”
“First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, ‘how in *Heaven* did I get in your house,” the tall, dark haired man said. He was roughly 6 feet tall, give or take a few inches, with shoulder length straight black hair. He had a chiseled jaw and olive complexion. He looked like a character out of one of my girlfriends smut books. “You may call me Zazriel, Seraphim of the highest order, second only to the Lord Himself, at your service,” he gave a deep, elaborate bow.
I’ve never been much of a fighter. I once hit someone with a pillow when they tried to mug me while I walked home from the store, then apologized to them as I ran away. I spent good money on that pillow. It was memory foam and had the cooling gel on one side. So anyways, I did what any self respecting man would do when his possessions or life are threatened. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the door.
The man calling himself Zazriel stepped slightly to his right, cutting off my exit. *Shit,* I thought, *I did that thing I always hate in horror movies.* You know when the main characters hide in a room with only one exit. I looked around for another means of escape. The window! I started running towards the window. I sprinted with all my might. I mean, I probably could have beaten Usain Bolt in that instant. But the window never got any closer. I looked down at my pumping legs, only to realize that I was roughly 2 feet above the floor. Apparently, as I entered the Speed Force, Zazriel had somehow managed to find his way behind me, and lift me off the floor by my armpits. He waited until I tired myself out, then sat me gently back on the floor. Then he handed me my shattered mug, now filled with hot bitter tea.
“Please, John. Be not afraid. I am no common thug here to harm you or your possessions. I’m here to deliver a message,” He handed me the packet and smiled, “And go over your options for the afterlife.”
“The...what?” I said. Taking a sip of my tea, which was the perfect temperature.
“The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself.”
“The…what?” I repeated, dumbly
“The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself,” repeated Zazriel, as if it was the first time I had asked.
“Am I….”
“Not yet, but you should be. You were scheduled for a soul retrieval two business days ago. However, something happened. This is not uncommon. Sometimes souls don’t get the message and linger for a little longer, however when we attempted to contact your soul a second time, we received no response.”
“We?”
“Yes, *We*, the angels, John. please try to keep up.”
“You’re not an angel. Angels are terrifying things with eyes and wings.”
“No John you’re thinking of birds,” Zazriel shuttered visibly, then handed me my shattered mug, filled with delicious bitter tea.
“Thanks,” I said, setting my mug on the counter and reaching for the one he - “Wait…”
“Don’t think about it too much. You have plenty else to think about,” he said, pointing to the packet in my free hand. “See someone has tampered with your soul. It cannot be retrieved as wwe are unsure where it is. There could be many reasons for this. Demonic possession is the typical suspect, however you do not exhibit any of the typical signs, such as speaking in unknown languages, higher than normal body temperature, aversion to holy symbols, and smelling of brimstone and sulfur. In fact, you smell like,” He sniffed the air around me, “lavender and shea butter.”
“I have very dry elbows.”
“Indeed. Anyways we have a few options, outlined in this packet. The first is to remain on earth without a soul. You will live eternally, however without a soul your body will soon begin to decay. This will throw a wrench into any social plans you might have. The second is to come with me to a temporary holding cell in heaven, known as Purgatory, until your soul can be retrieved. And the last option is to hunt for your soul yourself. See, He has many enemies, and I don't just mean old Lucy. Many of whom remain at large and must be brought before the Lord for judgement. Should you choose this option, you will be granted immortality, as well as a temporary soul, and in exchange you will become a sort of...supernatural bounty hunter. Take a few days, read the packet, and consider your options. I’ll return to get your answer shortly.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Why are you telling me this story?”
“Because I've had a very long day,” I ejected the clip of my gun and checked the ammunition, slipped the clip back into the gun and chambered a round, then looked back up at the demon. “I’m hoping you’ll come peacefully, and we can skip the whole ‘chasing you through the streets and shooting up the entire block’ bit.”
*He won’t come peacefully,* I thought, *they never do.*
The demon sprung from his chair and ran towards the door. I sighed, stood, and aimed my pistol. | 1,204 | random_samples |
7 | 1,597,770,294 | 31 | You're dead, only to find that the souls of the dead linger on earth forever, but can only see and hear those they truly loved in life, and can only be seen and heard by those who truly loved them. You can see and hear everyone, but nobody can see or hear you except...... |
**Most lives are uneventful. Most.**
**Some of us leave a mark that stays longer on earth than others. Some of us lay the stones that pave the way for a newer, happier generation. Some of us murder millions of our brethren and leave the mark of a monster in the minds of the survivors. We live and die as monsters or saviors. Or just regular humans, with a fair share of both.**
**Which one am I, you ask? We’ll get to that eventually. No rush. There’s never a rush where we are.**
**One thing that I’ve learned in my time here is that those of us living here have an uncanny ability to communicate with our loved ones on the other side. As if it's some sick joke to taunt us even here, only the ones who truly cared for us, and loved us, can hear us or see our forms. However, to even things out I guess, you can only appear and speak to the ones you love wholeheartedly.**
**I know, I know. It was hard to wrap my mind around when I realized it the first time too.**
**You know I haven’t talked this much to anybody in ages. It almost feels like I’m being overbearing in this conversation at this point. Please feel free to stop me anytime you get bored with me. It’s just that I’m too excited.**
**My time on Earth began with thoughts. Thoughts about the why’s, the who’s, the do’s and the dont’s. My earlier memories and even most memories into my adulthood were simply memories of intense pondering. In fact, my thoughts pushed against my skull so much that they exploded and spewed forth in a tirade of words that, for some reason, people around me were enthralled with. News about me quickly spread and I had masses coming to me from all over the world. I was a simple man, but the adoration they gave me was that of a king. A king who had, in their minds, seemingly stepped down from heaven itself to give them words of wisdom that their rulers could not even conceive in their small, corrupted minds.**
**And for that, they loved me. And for that, they hated me.**
**As for the things I said, they were mostly just stories. I found it easier to wrap my thoughts in stories and give them to the people. Stories that they could take to their homes. To unravel slowly and to be shared with their sons and daughters, their fathers and mothers. I was never a good storyteller and my stories went all over the spectrum. While they ranged from alcoholism to taxes and weddings, they all drove home the same thought--To love. Love your family, love your neighbors, love even your enemies, and most of all, love yourself. Learn to give more than you take. Learn to care for those who fall. Cherish the ones around you.**
**Having grown up with that sole message spurring me on, I thought that sharing such a simple thought would make the world a better place. Oh, how wrong I was.**
**They hated me so much that they conspired and killed me. Ironically, I loved them so much that they needed to only ask for my life and I would give it to them. Where would the human race be if not for a hint of irony in their lives…**
**Oh, and murdering me wasn’t enough for them it seemed. Their leaders, the very ones that the people loathed, posthumously claimed me to have been an enlightened being from heaven. The Son of God, perhaps? I didn’t care, I was dead.**
**And that, my friend, is why the people on the other side can’t see or hear me. No matter how hard I try to reach them, I can’t. My words fall on deaf ears, my spirit passes through murky eyes. They don’t even love each other, what hope do I have in the chaos of humanity?**
**I still wonder why you can hear and see me though.**
**A man of few words who prefers to listen I see.**
**Well then, I’ll tell you stories from my childhood to fill the silence.**
**Two thousand years ago...**
**Or was it three thousand?**
**I honestly can’t remember, and I can't be bothered to care either. I didn't care about my life when I was alive, why would I rack my brain to recall how long I've been gone for?**
**Do spirits even have brains?**
**There I go, lost in thought again...** | 15 | random_samples |
30 | 1,643,642,596 | 4,388 | “Any book worth banning, is a book worth reading.” “I understand that, Mr. Asimov, but we can’t introduce the Necronomicon to our curriculum” | "They banned Maus, To Kill a Mockingbird, and so many other novels that portray a crucial part of the world's history.," Mr. Asimov pressed. "What is so different about this one? I must teach it. I must."
Principal Margot sighed. She took off her glasses, slowly exhaled onto the glass surface, and wiped them with a pocket handkerchief. She looked tired.
"We've given you more leeway than most in your curriculum, Asimov. But the board cannot condone that we teach banned books of *fiction*. The Necronomicon isn't real."
"Of course, it's real. It's *banned*. It has to be real."
"It's fictitious. Made from the mind of what some would call a madman. It doesn't exist."
"All books are created from the minds of men and women. It is not for us to decide who was mad and who was not. My class aims to teach and enlighten. I cannot do that with such restrictions--"
"We are restricting one book. The Necronomicon will not be touched in your class. And that's the end of it, Mr. Asimov."
Principal Margot turned away from Asimov then, and he knew the conversation was over. Her long oak desk seemed to elongate as she turned her back to him. There was no reaching her.
Mr. Asimov stood, bowed even though she couldn't see, and left.
That night, as Asimov sat in the study of his own home, he opened his small 6-year-old laptop. Asimov wasn't a man of technology, he found the world advanced without him but the only thing he remained up-to-date with was literature. Newly released titles of works of fiction, nonfiction, history, memoirs, Asimov devoured them all.
His study was larger than his bedroom, for in his modest two-bedroom house he had elected the master to be his place of study. The walls were lined top to bottom in shelves and those shelves sunk under the overbearing weight of books upon books. There were some titles that Asimov had read only once, there were some that had been ripped open time and time again. Piles of books covered the floors as the shelves could no longer hold them.
But at that moment, Asimov had only one book on his mind. The Necronomicon.
He was familiar with Lovecraft. He'd read and even once taught the works of the father of horror fiction. He'd taken his classes on the journey of the Cthulhu Mythos. He was aware of various mentionings of the Necronomicon. But he'd never been inclined to read it.
That is, until Germany, Sweden, and most of Eastern Europe had suddenly banned the book. Principal Margot forbade him to teach it, but that didn't mean he couldn't read it himself.
Asimov wondered if eBay was still relevant. It was not uncommon for him to bring up technologies or websites that he'd heard about years prior only to find out that they were long obsolete. But to his joy, he found the site was still running with a wide variety of inventory.
When he searched for the Necronomicon, one entry appeared.
€75,623. It was in euros. Off the top of his head, Asimov knew it was approximately eighty-five thousand dollars. It was just above Asimov's yearly salary -- his yearly salary without deducting taxes, that is. He couldn't afford that. There was no way.
Asimov retired from his study in a disappointed daze. He usually ended his night with a book pulled from a floor-pile or a shelf, but that night, nothing interested him. His mind wanted one thing.
He fell asleep in a desperate desire, uncomfortable and incomplete, empty and wanting.
*THUMP!*
He woke with a start. The sound was loud, coming from somewhere outside his bedroom. The hall? The study? Was he being robbed? No... Asimov listened for any further sounds, any indication that it was a human footstep. But nothing followed.
Asimov slowly lifted his blankets, and creeped toward the door. He waited. Listened. Nothing.
He flipped the lights into the hallway. The flourescent bulb cast blank, white light onto the white walls. The floor underneath the carpet creaked with each step. There was something deep within Asimov that told him something wasn't right.
He checked the kitchen, the living room. But there was nothing.
At last, he checked the study.
At first glance, it looked as if nothing had happened in their either, but just as Asimov was about to turn away, something caught his eye. He saw what had made the sound. A pile of books sitting on the floor had fallen, its contents were strewn across the carpet.
But there was something else. He didn't feel right. It felt like there was something behind him. Asimov turned. Nothing. But the feeling was there. Behind him. Breathing. Standing. Waiting.
He whipped around again. Nothing. Behind him. Nothing. Behind him.
It felt as if there was something. All around. Behind. But there was nothing. Asimov saw nothing. But he felt it. Something entirely inexplicable, something he'd never felt before. His heart rate exploded. It felt as if his chest would burst as his heart moved at a rate he'd never experienced. That's when he saw it.
It was sitting on the shelf directly above where the pile of books had been knocked over. He'd almost glanced over it, for the dark walls hid the dark cover. But it was large, bound in an old dark oak cover. The edges looked worn and erroded. Asimov knew it was a book he'd never touched before. And he'd read every book in the study.
As Asimov stepped closer, the feeling grew to new heights. It felt as if every single instance of time and space that wasn't in his direct vision was filled with... something. Something unnatural. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't rational.
But there were *things* there. Things that couldn't be seen by the human eye, things that didn't exist in the material world. But they were there.
Asimov couldn't help himself. It seemed as if he were on a destined path as he stepped toward the book. He wasn't consciously reaching for it, but his hand grasped the nape of the title anyway. He pulled it from the shelf.
It felt as if the only thing that could help was opening the book. Turning to the first page. That would do it. He felt the weight of darkness behind him. The weight of shadows and wights and darkness. It was as if he had an internal itch, an itch so profound and deep that could only be scratched by consuming whatever was in those pages. He didn't want to read them. He didn't want. He needed. He needed to consume.
As he opened the first page, the brittle white pages flipped on their own. The black ink was scribbled in a language he didn't recognize. The book read itself, but in a way, Asimov understood it. He felt what was behind him, in him. He felt the dread seep into his bones, his skin, his eyes. There was something around him. He realized it had always been there, but no normal human could know, no normal human could understand.
But now Asimov understood. He understood it all, death, darkness, the unconscious horror of what lies beyond the realm of man.
He understood.
He wished he didn't. | 724 | random_samples |
4 | 1,657,867,801 | 68 | You and your grandfather look almost identical. His treatment of the local crow population and "his" existence beyond multiple generations of crows has inspired his imagery to reach near deification, and by extension, their treatment of you. | The youngest of the elders summons me. We fly up to the elders’ spot at the very top of the human-home, where it’s warm even in the winter. I’m not the strongest of us, or the highest flier, but I’m clever, and I have the sharpest eyes. Would I undertake a quest in service of the Ancient? Of course I would.
Youngest Elder spends several days preparing me. We stand on the wires and watch the humans until I can spot just the thing I’ll be looking for. Then the elders wish me good luck. I’m on my own now.
I start with the old secret hunting grounds, but the world has changed since anyone last undertook this quest and those are all bare. I fly as high as I can. My sharp eyes serve me well. The world is full of shinies, and if I had to check each one by one I would never be done.
I keep searching. I hide from hawks, and endure the mobbing of lesser birds. When I get tired, I keep the face of the Ancient in my mind, and remember how He fed my parents through the winters, and their parents before them. I learn patience.
Finally, I come to the shores of a lake. The humans had been swimming in the water like ducks ,and had gone home as evening fell. I see a flash among the pebbles, and circle down. I find it! I pick it up in my beak, and carry it back to our own territory.
The elders confirm my find with joyful calls. Finally, it is time for me to undertake the final flight of my quest.
*“Aaron, your crows are watching us again.”*
*“I guess? I’m sorry, I always worry that it’s creepy, or-”*
*“No, I’ve told you, I like it. Aw, one is flying toward us. Is it carrying something-? Oh. Oh my God. Aaron. Oh my God. How did you-? Yes, yes, of course yes!”*
The other human cries as the Ancient slides the ring I carried onto one of her fingers, and I’ve watched humans enough now to know those are tears of joy. The Ancient looks shocked, but joyful too.
The elders had initiated me into the great secret. The Ancient dies; but thanks to me, the Ancient will also be reborn. | 22 | random_samples |
9 | 1,615,100,240 | 225 | You're a wannabe supervillan who killed a superhero's wife to sow terror. However, since you didn't pay any attention in history class, you didn't know that the superheroes of this world were all brutal supervillians when they started out and only went to the side of good to make amends. | When i woke up in a room i did not recognize it had hit me like a truck. I was tied up in the most uncomfortable position imaginable and completely naked. The cold air on my body is beginning to sting but at the same time my body itself feels incredibly hot. What's happening to me? How did i end up—i remembered. I got on the bad side of the one who was once referred to as The Goddess of Death. They say that only by her hands do you truly die because when her eyes are fixed on you, *nothing* about who you were survives. I thought that if i did something nobody else would, that i'd become known worldwide as the most vicious supervillain out there. I should have done my research before hand…but it's too late now, i've lost everything. At first i didn't think much of it until it kept adding up, anyone remotely connected to me began disappearing, some were found but only because that's what *they* wanted to happen. They wanted me to bare witness to the gruesome remains of what was once a person, although you could only tell after the DNA had been analyzed first. The bodies that had been found were far beyond recognition as even human remains. It started off with people i couldn't even say i was connect to outside of business, then people i would talk to regularly, then friends, but then gradually it went to *everyone* i was related to. It didn't even stop there, they dismantled anything and everything they could about me. By the time they had finally gotten around to actually taking me i was on the verge of taking my own life, but almost as if it was perfectly planned, they had caught me before i could. Who knows how much longer i can even make coherent thoughts, for all i know, they could keep me alive forever to torture me until they get bored. Who would've guessed that the most renowned superhero had once been the single most horrific being known to have existed? The one with the highest body count in history was also the one that had single handedly saved the most lives? If you didn't know better you'd have assumed that they would've perished to this hero when in reality they had been one in the same… All i wish for is to lose my ability to feel anything, but i do not think i will be so lucky… And as i pleaded to the heavens in my head, i heard what i assume to be vault doors opening up and the sound of footsteps coming my way | 21 | random_samples |
48 | 1,445,879,231 | 122 | In an interesting twist, a demon summons *you* | It was late at night when the demon called.
I was sitting in my chambers, taking grapes from the chilled glass bowl, when the candles started flickering. Shadows carved shapes, long and sharp, along the stone wall of my chamber. Darkness grew, obscuring the words in my grimoire.
"Of course," I grumbled, popping another grape in my mouth, "No windows, but still the wind finds me."
A wretched groaning came up from the floor and filled the room until I could not hear anything else. There was a sound, like the ripping of clothes, and my candles went out, all at once.
"SORCEROR."
I slammed my grimoire shut, sending dust flying in whirls, "WHAT."
"I SUMMON THEE."
"I'M EATING."
"I, IRAXIMORTHUS, TYRANT OF THE NINETEENTH PIT-"
"Nineteenth? Really?"
"I PROMISE, IT IS A TERRIFYING PIT."
"Come out where I can see you, Iraximankus."
"IRAXIMORTHUS!" the voice thundered, shaking the walls of my chamber until dirt rained down from the ceiling. The anguished cries of the dying chorused in my ears.
"Yes, yes, tyrant of pit nineteen. Show yourself."
Flames sprouted from the tips of my candles, growing taller until they singed the floor boards above me. In the red glow of the fire, a mouth of shadow opened up, belching out a toned figure with leathery wings twice as large as it's body.
Iraximorthus was a little shorter than my knee.
"BOW BEFORE ME, MORTAL."
"Don't think I can get that close to the ground."
"YOU DARE INSULT ME, SORCEROR?" The imp puffed out his chest, flexing his wiry muscles, "THE SEARING FLAMES OF HELLFIRE WILL IMPALE YOU-"
As he shouted, the candle flames went red with fury, lashing like the tongues of snakes.
"Stop! You're wasting my candle wax. Just tell me what you want."
"I SUMMON THEE, SORCEROR," the demon jabbed a gnarled claw at me.
"Yes, you established that when you-" I gestured around the room, which now looked like a tornado and a firestorm had just made love in it. "What do you *need* from *me*?"
Iraximorthus wrung his hands together. His deep voice boomed out of his diminutive body, "THE OTHER DEMONS MAKE FUN OF ME."
I popped another grape into my mouth, "Shocking."
"SORCEROR, MAKE THEM FEAR ME. I AM THE TYRANT OF THE NINETEENTH PIT."
"How do you expect me to do that?"
"I DON'T KNOW. BATHE THEM IN FLAMES, SEND EVILS TO REND THEIR SOULS AND MAKE THEIR NIGHTS SLEEPLESS WITH TERRORS."
"For all eternity? That's not going to happen. How did you get my summoning sign, anyway?"
"HERIMAKA'AL RECOMMENDED YOU."
"Ah," I said, silently cursing myself. I should have known Herimaka'al the thirteen-mouthed demon couldn't keep silent about my services.
"Iraximorthus, is it?"
"YES. TYRANT OF THE NINETEENTH PIT."
"Right, well, I'm not going to follow you around for eternity, trying to frighten your pit mates. Since you already have my signal, though, I will do this for you. I'm going to teach *you* how to scare them *yourself.*"
A wicked grin spread across the imps face. His wings flapped in anticipation.
"Now," I said, chewing on a grape while walking in a circle around the imp. His long, thin tail coiled and twitched, as if it was wary of my presence. The demon, who would have trouble climbing out of a baby's crib, looked up at me expectantly.
"Is there something we can do about your size?"
"YES. I CAN BECOME SMALLER."
"Ah," I said, trying to keep my tone diplomatic, "So is this your largest form...?"
Iraximorthus' whole body slumped in shame, "YES."
"Well, that's fine, Ira. We'll find another talent to exploit. Do you have any other abilities?"
He bared his fists into claws, and raised them to the ceiling triumphantly, "I CAN MAKE FIRE-"
"Yes! Yes!" I put out my hands to stop him, "Yes, we've seen that. But most demons aren't really so afraid of fire, are they? I mean, the pit you live in is basically lava, right?"
Another downtrodden, "YES."
"Any other talents? Anything at all, I don't care how -" I stopped myself from saying 'small,' "How insignificant it might seem."
He put a claw to his chin, paused, and shook his head, "NOTHING COMES TO MIND."
"Nothing?"
"I CAN MULTIPLY," he shrugged his tiny shoulders.
"At will? Indefinitely?"
"YES, BUT EACH NEW BODY - WELL, YOU MIGHT CALL THEM MINDLESS."
It was my turn to grin, "Oh, don't worry, Ira. That is *perfect.*"
***
I ran up the spiraling steps of the Nineteenth Pit, screaming, "It's coming! Hide! Run! It's coming!" Several times I tripped, and scrambled to my feet, only to start shouting again.
Hordes of demons watched me, from their black crevices and dark places. Sliced-open faces wet with blood, fingers like knives, and unspeakable body parts stuck out of the hidden grottos of the Nineteenth Pit, snarling at me as I passed. Some of them watched with curiosity, but none showed the slightest hint of fear.
I kept running, until a long tentacle whipped out of a crack, and sent me sprawling. A crowd of demons, deformed to grotesque perfection, gathered around me.
"It's coming-" I gasped from the ground, lifting my head to the heavens.
"What," one of the demons hissed, "What is coming?"
I bit into a grape, and red juice poured out of my mouth. I gargled grape juice as I whispered, "*The Swarm.*"
The chorus of a thousand voices rained upon the pit, making the brimstone shudder, "BOW. ALL WILL BOW BEFORE THE MIGHTY SWARM."
Innumerable Iraximorthus demons crested over the edge of the pit, descending in a vortex of wings and claws. One of them winked at me, before it clawed onto the face of the nearest pit demon. The other demons in the pit howled and scrambled for cover.
***
***[Read more at r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/)*** | 123 | random_samples |
3 | 1,609,999,982 | 170 | Our solar system is a storage lot for used planets. There’s been no taker for Earth because it has an infestation. The sales executive explains that previous eradication treatments failed - but this year’s results look promising. | "No sir, a simple cleanse wouldn't do it."
"Why is that? Are they immune to our weaponry?"
"You obviously haven't bothered to read up on Arbaxie-3-1. The situation is more difficult than you think. There's a heavy, tall, bipedal species that wanders the planet's grounds, infecting the sky with large metal entities, plaguing the oceans with steel leviathans the likes of which could stomp out the grandest beasts we have, and swarming the lands in vast numbers, just one of which could reliably take on a dragon, at least when trained. Even an Ourrick doesn't match the size of one of these grand apes."
"Then why don't you send in special forces? Ask the Darvell to send Magi?"
"First of all, the Darvell declined immediately, you know how they are. Besides, some of the best Magi in all the lands could barely take down a dragon, these apes, however, are far more plentiful, aggressive, and a ton harder to fight. Our special forces could possibly afford to fight them, but the usual alpha strike and run wouldn't work at all. As I said, these things are hard to fight, and they're big. Some of them are burdened in cloth armor of which is nigh invulnerable, and even the unarmored ones can take several hits before being slowed down."
"Then why did you call me here? I should be off in Regalia, not here trying to help you deal with an impossible side project!"
"Just listen before screaming at me. As you can guess, they're still living things, maybe they work a bit differently, being completely non magical, but still living. As a result, viruses can harm them, poisons can harm them, all you'd expect to harm them can be used. Only recently did we find something that would work, unlike the Drey strain we dropped in a few hundred years ago. A contagious, horrid disease that kills off their young, and even their elderly, though the elderly deaths are just a side effect. We took advantage of their own stupidity, and put it around where a good chunk of them are. Many of them caught on and started fighting it, but many of them are also complete morons, carrying it around everywhere and defying rules they put in place to fight it off. Combine that with the internal struggles their most powerful faction is facing, along with many of the things caused simply by their bad luck, and we have the perfect opportunity to go in, get underground, and begin storing things there. I'm sure you're aware of how well storage space in a good, breathable atmosphere sells for, meaning your troops finally get the supplies they need, my pockets are a bit more full, and the Empire becomes far richer than it once was."
"... It's a deal. If anything goes wrong, I blame you." | 20 | random_samples |
46 | 1,419,612,135 | 51 | Write something both beautiful and horrifying. | Hector noticed from outside the window of his classroom, a cocoon opening and a fresh, nascent butterfly rising from it. The butterfly spread its wings revealing intricate tapestries filled with thousands of colors, more colors than Hector recognized or knew the name of. The butterfly fluttered its wings, for the first time, and like a child learning to walk, at first it struggled, but eventually the former-caterpillar soared through the air much like an eagle does and with just as much determination. Hector smiled. The butterfly fluttered towards him and floated through the window. It did a few revolutions around the room and passed the teacher, who did not seem to notice.
Finally the butterfly landed atop Billy's head, blood-soaked and motionless. The gun, still in his hand, one bullet less. All of us still crying, still not the same, we began to laugh and for some reason it was okay. | 33 | random_samples |
15 | 1,446,639,988 | 63 | A demon desperately tries to leave a body it possessed, but the host won't allow it. | The waxing moon cast dim blue shadows onto the bed, the curtain gently swayed in the convection from the radiator. Not a sound could be heard except Adrian's heavy snoring.
*I think this is time enough, any longer and he'll be in REM*
Agamemnon slipped down through the boy's neck, feeling the chill of entering a paralysed section of his body. He forced himself down through his torso. The effort was so much harder than when Adrian was awake, it was like swimming through hard cheese. He clawed his way down the right leg, finally making it to his foot, poking out the bottom of the duvet. After a minute to collect himself from the exertion, Agamemnon willed with all his strength to pass out of the body. He felt himself detatching, his head already up in the stars. The voices of his concerned brethern calling to him as down a long corridor, just a little bit more... He heaved one last push to try and dislodge from this mortal slug. He felt the foot suddenly become fluid again, like a dam bursting down a muddy river, he whipped around, Adrian's eyes were wide open.
*God fucking dammit!*
"Going somewhere?"
*Fuck you*
Agamemnon felt the sucking feeling as he whizzed back up Adrian's leg, back to his brain.
"Why do you keep doing this man I thought we were friends"
*Why do you think we could possibly be friends! You won't let me be free!*
"Well then we could never be friends"
*Yeah, because I'd never talk to you again*
"You know I won't be able to get back to sleep now"
*Good, I hope you fall asleep in Maths like last time*
Adrian glumly rolled over and tried counting sheep, a difficult task as Agamemnon flung himself round Adrian's head in anger.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mr Boal was late again. The raucus chatter surrounded Adrian as he idly drew those blocky "S"s at the back of his book. The other kids sat on the tables and tried to draw dicks on eachother's books while they waited for the teacher to show up. Adrian looked round to see if he could see Mr Boal coming through the glass panel on the door, he must've been waylaid at the staffroom for some reason. He turned round again.
"Oh for fuck's sake Larry!" Larry feigned a confused look
"Gimme back my ruler"
"I didn't take it" Adrian looked under Larry's desk, then under his workbook. "Hey get off!" he glanced up and saw it on top of the bookcase. Adrian stood up on his chair to get it down. No sooner had he looked down again someone had stolen his workbook.
"For god's sake guys"
He saw someone trying to chuck it out the window at the back of the classroom
"Give it back Jerry!" Adrian leapt round the tables to get to Jerry but felt that familiar jolt round his ankle as someone tripped him.
"WHEYYYYY CHARLIE TRIPPED GAYDRIAN" The kids jeered
*How did you not see his foot you idiot*
"Gimme back my book!" said Adrian, choking back tears.
"I don't have it" said Jerry, truthfully. The classroom was 3 stories up and it was still fluttering down to the ground. He shoved Jerry, almost knocking him backwards in his chair. "Hey what the hell!" Jerry shoved Adrian back, harder.
*Your pencilcase dude*
Adrian whipped round to see Larry lobbing his pencilcase towards the front, his pens and pencils spilling out. He could feel the tears welling up for the second time this week. He didn't give Larry the satisfaction of picking up his pens, he stormed out of the classroom, almost spilling Mr. Boal's coffee on the way out.
"Sorry sir I just need the loo"
Adrian pretended to scratch his brow so the little first year coming out the toilet couldn't see his face. He put both toilet seats down and started to cry.
*Dear god if my father's could see me now*
"shut up" Adrian moaned
*A boys toilet in the Maths block of this grubby little school*
Adrian pulled off a bunch of toilet paper to blow his nose.
"Can't you be nicer, you're probably the best friend I have at the moment"
*The best hostage you have*
"Why can't you have any cool powers like the people that got possesed in the Nights Dawn Trilogy"
*Because it was a relief for those souls to get possesed, for me it's a living hell, why would I want to throw my prison warden a bone*
Adrian sobbed harder than ever
"Not even the thoughts in my own head like me" he wailed
*Jesus dude, I'm not part of you I'm-*
Adrian blew his nose again very loudly. He flushed the paper down the toilet and sat with his head in his hands for several minutes.
*Dude come on I don't hate you that much*
Adrian sniffed
*I just hate this whole inescapeable meat wall thing*
Adrian seemed to be trying to out-scowl a piss-stain on the floor
*Look man if I help you out a bit will you at least stop crying*
"How can you help" Adrian mumbled through his fingers
*Well there's a few things I can do to other people but I can't do it stuck inside your head*
"You're just saying that to try and escape again"
*I can kinda make stuff happen if I'm in someone else's head but you gotta let me go first*
"Nice try"
*Well dude if you want me to help you that's what you've gotta do, there's like a 50/50 chance I'll leave forever or come back here into you, I dunno I'll see how I feel*
"You promise you'll help me get back at them?"
*Yeah sure, whatever kid. I'll probably be able to break out one of these nights anyway, you might as well let me do this*
"Fine, whatever" Adrian relaxed the part of his mind that was holding onto Agamemnon, he felt the demon slide out of his head, bit by bit. When the last of Agamemnon detatched from him he felt the demon's presence vanish like smoke in a strong gust. He sighed, now he was completely alone, his mind felt like a deflated bike tyre, and on top of it he was missing half his Maths lesson. Maybe he could just wait here all period and go get his stuff at lunch, hope no one saw him and they'd all forget he skipped the class.
Suddenly the bathroom door slammed open and someone barged into the stall next to him with a moan.
"Jesus man, all down the back of the leg" the boy half muttered half moaned.
Suddenly Adrian felt the familiar swell of Agamemnon's personality fill his brain.
"You came back!" Adrian said, overjoyed, forgetting to talk quietly. The person in the next stall froze.
*Yeah I made that Larry kid shit himself*
Adrian laughed heartily "thanks man"
Adrian wiped away the last of his tears and walked out of the stall, checking to see if his eyes were still red in the mirror. He hurried back down the corridor.
"I hope I didn't miss anything tricky"
*Nah dude, when I was in Larry all they were doing was finishing that exercise from yesterday*
"Thanks for making Larry shit himself"
*No problem dude, try not to cry so much, you know I don't really hate you*
Adrian smiled with a relief he hadn't felt in a while
"Thanks spooky demon man"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you like it OP, it's my first time trying to do a writing prompt on this sub
Let me know what you think and also if you see any spelling/grammer/continuity mistakes
| 35 | random_samples |
9 | 1,610,135,923 | 1,114 | A year ago, the newest member of the Interplanetary Community of the Milky Way, humanity, was welcomed. However, millions of kind aliens donated a great amount of money to a prince of a place called Nigeria who lost his throne, and no one has heard back from him since. | **Intergalactic Community of the Milky Way, Transfer Station 8485T34R-287, Consul Corridor D**
"They've done what?"
"They made a formal request for Expedited Handling to Terrestrial Situation with Vectors of Formal Interplanetary Communications Involv..."
"Stop, just stop." Secondary Ambassador James Fink rubbed his forehead forcefully and groaned. After a moment he straightened and took a deep breath of the station's recycled air "If the issue is Terrestrial, then why....wait, vectors of Formal Interplanetary Communications? We haven't had any communications through official channels."
"Sir, they..."
Fink cut him off again with a raised finger. With his other hand he tapped out a comm code that connected him with Central Communications. He started to sweat a little bit, remembering how his predecessor Secondary Ambassador Nark had found he was being replaced only after realizing his quarters had been re-assigned. "This is Sec Am Fink, I need to know if there have been any official communications through any channels in the past ten days. Are all communications being properly routed?"
"Yes sir, all communications are correct and proper." Barked back a voice.
"Okay, thank you." Fink disconnected and sat stewing for a moment, rubbing his chin as though he were trying to scrub it clean. He wondered if he could get a good cabin on the next ship home. He noticed the Assistant under Assistant still standing there. "Well? Tell me whose out there."
“Sir, it's a delegation of about...”
“A delegation?” Fink interrupted. His hand immediately slapped across his mouth with embarrassment in front of the junior officer.
“Well sir, that's just it.”
“We don't keep delegations waiting AUA....what's your name?” Fink asked the man.
"Twitchell sir, but sir, I need to…”
“AUA Twitchell, show the delegation in.” Fink straightened himself and brushed an imaginary mote of dust from the front of his suit.
Twitchell opened his mouth again then froze and closed it. He paused and smiled. "Actually sir, it might be better if you joined them in reception. It's a rather large delegation.”
Reception was crowded, and the vast array of life throughout the whole of the Interplanetary Community of the Milky way seemed to be represented. Eyestalks rose, colorful blobs in their mobile packs, sharp claws in white gloves rested on the carpet, floating avatar globes representing lifeforms of different atmospheres and through the double doors out in the main corridor of the consulate he could see the immense hulking form three of Shiarfobe. Sitting on the reception desk there was even a Edhusita.
Fink crossed his arms reflexively, his smile so broad his teeth didn't touch. "How can I help you?" He asked nervously, his forehead glistening with sweat, his undershirt soaked all the way through.
There were a few seconds of silence as the translators of a hundred or more languages did their magic. During those seconds Fink lost feeling in his legs.
A representative moved forward, luckily not the Edhusita and gave what Fink assumed was a ritual greeting, nodes gyrating, and what might be a mouth or an eye burbling and rotation. The Secondary Ambassador's smile never shifted.
Twitchell leaned in. "Yes Your Griuittch," the AUA said smoothly although the spitting and pronunciation should have required two tongues on a human, and pointed, "down the hall and to your spittif."
"Restroom?"
"Restroom."
Another representative moved forward, this one much more human in that it was bipedal. It hesitated for a moment then switched it's translator settings. Fink saw that it would allow the planetary officer to speak to him in English, but broadcast a translation for the crowd.
“You are Secam Fink, in the affirmative.” The being said. Fink was impressed, not many on the station had tried to learn *'Human'* as it was called.
“Yes.”
“This being is Simple Hisira. We this delegation of come to lodge a formal complaint and request look search into the monetary transaction system of your planet. Ground has been a member of this community for a sufficient period of time for your systems to have begun a formal transition.”
Fink bristled for a moment at the reference to Earth's name, but brought his smile back quickly. "I am certain that our planet's banking...um, monetary transaction system is fine.”
“We of the assembled delegation find this hard to believe. Multiple members, more than represented here, have been contacted about failures in transactions.”
“You've been contacted?” Fink’s eye twitched a bit.
“And asked for assistance help. And many members here, because we are members and work within the rule thirty-four, have approached your system to fender aid and transacted. We have found the flaw.”
AUA Twitchell choked down a laugh as Fink shot him a nasty look. Fink turned back to the representative. "You have been transacting? With people back on Earth? All of you?"
“Affirmative. And we all have found flaw. If ground wishes to remain a member of the Community, standard must be attained. It is grow, grow, that ground remains decedent, and with transactions of royalty.”
"Which royalty? Who, who, whose royalty?" Stuttered nervously. Ambassador Nunn was extremely conscious of Community royal delegations wishing to visit Earth. The thought of them doing business there might cause the old man heart trouble.
“Royalty of Ground.”
Twitchell interjected. “I'm sorry your Simple, Royalty of Ground?”
“Affirmative, I and many others here have been contacted by a, the sound you make, a penis of one of your localities. He has been attempting to join us here in the community of you transaction system has confined him. We have transacted with this being is search of aid, to aid help him.”
“Penis? Royalty.” Fink found his voice, which had been slowly trying to make it’s way down his throat to the liver where it sure there might be some alcohol stashed somewhere.
“We have little interest in your local bistous, planetary bistous. This penis of Nigeria has been attempting to....”
“Penis of Nigeria? Royalty? Did you mean Prince of Nigeria?”
The being gave the intergalactic symbol of ‘*maybe’* recognized on every planet and most moons (MOST moons, not all!), the shrug.
Fink gave the being a puzzled look while off to his right Twitchell consulted his multipad. The being that had used the facilities came back two shades brighter, and feeling much more relaxed.
*How to explain to the Simple that there was no royalty of the planet Earth*, after first *explaining that the proper name of Earth is Earth* rattled through Fink's head. He'd need a complete refreshment after this, and a drink or six and how he could work the clearing up this little misunderstanding into a promotion of sorts. Senior Secondary Ambassador James Fink sounded nice. This train of thought stopped with Twitchell made a strange noise.
“Secondary Ambassador Fink, if I could have a word.”
To the room the two humans did something strange. They brought their unisockets together, the one used for visual and oral communication. Some low sounds were whispered. Then more low sounds. Then a very loud sound was made by the Secam. And then the Secam appeared to go into a kind of hibernation. The being's form just collapsed in on itself. Well, that did happen from time to time, but not scheduling a hibernation was very unprofessional. Perhaps it couldn't be helped.
Simple Hisira asked the other human if the delegation could have an audience with the Ambass. The other human agreed. | 58 | random_samples |
14 | 1,595,074,922 | 122 | Global point system has been implemented to tackle over population. Everyone start from 0, every good deed gives you points, and breaking the law extracts them. There is no jail, if your points go -, you can be killed by anyone in exchange for points. | With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could do anything. I could have run for president if I wanted to! I could have been the next Queen of England! Well, king. No, queen! With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could have been the first male Queen of England if I darn well pleased!
But I did not spend my points on such lofty things. I didn't want to spend them--I wanted to earn the most. I wanted to be the best, and my points reflected that. I gave to the poor and needy, and I offered comfort to the orphans and widows, and I built public spaces and cleaned up the streets and worked overtime at my job so that my boss could help his pregnant wife confined to bed rest. With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could be anything--but I would still be second, not the first. There was still one person who had more points than me.
The top five grossing individuals' names, points, and region of residence were proudly displayed on electric billboards in every town, to encourage the plebeians who rejoiced when they reached ten points, or even _fifteen_, to do better.
Number five was a philanthropist in the northwestern region of Africa, with a name I can't pronounce and forty-eight points. Number four was a Polish woman--too many consonants to bother with--at ninety-two points. Number three was a high school student who lived in a bubble--he could never do anything wrong, since his parents micromanaged his life, so he merely racked up points instead. He was an eastern Canadian boy named Russell, and he had one-hundred-and-one points. Then there was me, number two, proudly representing the south central United States with four-hundred-and-seven.
But number one on the board was someone named Takani, whose country of residence seemed to change every few days, and whose point counter showed sixty-eight-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-four.
I checked the board every morning when I woke up, checking the ratings, buffing my numbers with a quick donation to Wikipedia or putting out some food for the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. The number five position sometimes changed, and lately there'd been a fierce competition between the philanthropist in northwestern Africa and an old war veteran minding his own business in South Korea. It was amusing to see them leapfrog one point at a time. The Canadian boy sometimes lost his temper with his mother and lost a few points, but that was becoming rarer now, so I supposed he finally learned to vent his anger elsewhere.
When I checked the scores this morning, sipping at my coffee, I thought things would be the same as usual. But I was surprised when the number five position had been replaced by someone in Brazil with just twenty-six points. The previous two African and Korean combatants had vanished.
_How odd_, I thought. Perhaps the war veteran had finally died of age, and the philanthropist must have had a heart attack in elation. I chuckled at the notion and checked number one. Their points had somehow jumped from sixty-eight-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-four to sixty-eight-thousand-three-hundred-and-thirty-nine. I nearly spit out my coffee in surprise. How were they building up points so fast!? I hastily booted up my computer and donated a hundred dollars to an old citizen's home. My points jumped to four-hundred-and-eleven.
Two weeks later, number four vanished. The guy with twenty-eight points in number five replaced her, and someone with twenty-five points took the number five spot, and Takani's points rose to sixty-eight-thousand-four-hundred-and-ninety-four. I spent my Saturday volunteering at a homeless shelter and managed to get to four-hundred-and-seventeen. I simmered enviously.
When the Canadian boy died, the world mourned him. Apparently, his bubble had gotten a hole in it while he slept, and a few days later, he died of a cold. Takani now had sixty-eight-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-seven, and I began to grow nervous.
For months, nothing changed on the scoreboards. I had managed to make it to four-hundred-and-twenty-one, and numbers three, four, and five were at twenty-seven, twenty-six, and eighteen. Takani's points remained stagnant, but the place of residence went from eastern Canada to the northeastern United States, then to Germany, on to Turkey, down into India, across the Philippines, Madagascar, South America, back to Africa, across to Australia--even a few weeks in Antarctica. I watched the scoreboard feverishly, sweating every time the residency began to head towards Texas.
Then one day, I awoke in the middle of the night to a frantic pounding on my front door. I squeaked in surprise, scrambling for my phone. I immediately opened up the scoreboard website to check Takani's residence. With a sigh, I noted that they were in Cuba. Relaxing a little, I donned a silken bathrobe and padded down the stairs to answer the door.
A frightened little girl stood there, tears staining her cheeks and her clothes scuffed with dirt and grime. "Please, sir," she cried. "My parents are hurt. Our tire blew out and we skidded into a ditch, and they're bleeding a lot! Please help! Please!"
Not one to ignore someone in need--such situations always awarded the most points--I hastily grabbed up a flashlight and followed her down the dark suburban street. Her car was several blocks away, but we finally found it on the edge of a greenbelt.
"Oh, dear," I said when I saw the totaled vehicle with its tires in the air. "You're lucky you're okay, little girl. I'd better call 911..."
"No, there's no time!" she cried. "There's gas leaking from the engine, and it's going to kill my parents! Please, get them out of there! Please, _hurry!_"
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, I pocketed my phone and began to carefully slide into the muddy ditch to rescue the poor girl's hapless parents. Shining my flashlight, I ducked down by the passenger side window and peered in, trying to see past the spiderweb of cracks. I frowned when I didn't see anyone inside.
I slowly straightened as a chill swept through my body. When I turned to look back up at the girl, I realized that several figures had moved out of the shadows of the trees and now surrounded me. The girl wore a smug smile, and the man standing beside her patted her shoulder proudly.
Swallowing dryly, I began, "I have money. Property. I can pay you whatever you want..."
"Money don't do much these days," the girl's father interrupted. Then he nodded toward a young man across the ditch from me and told him, "Slowly now. Everyone gets a stab."
"Please," I whimpered as the adolescent slid into the ditch behind me. "Please, I have done nothing to you."
"But you will do something _for_ us," the apparent leader smiled. "Jerry hit negatives last week and needs a buffer. Stacy can't qualify for health insurance until she's got five. Pamela here--" he hugged the little girl's shoulders. "--wants to go to a fancy European university, and that requires a long history of good standing. At least ten points for ten years straight. If we all get a knife and cut you good, we all get a share of your points when you die. You're so generous, to have gotten that many. You can spare a few."
"You've been the ones killing the other Top Five, haven't you?" I asked as the man behind me grabbed my wrists and tied them behind my back. I winced at his rough handling, wishing now that I'd been more of a troublemaker in high school and had been in a fight before. Then I'd know what to do.
Pamela grinned, "Daddy's pretty smart, ain't he? He's building a whole _network_. If we all pitch in, we may get a little cut of whoever gets killed across the globe."
"Don't brag, my child. It is beneath us," the leader chastised gently, smiling at her. Then he looked up at the boy behind me and said, "You've got the lowest points, Jerry. You get the honors of first stab."
I cringed as the kid behind me laughed, and suddenly he plunged a knife in between my ribs. I jerked and cried out in pain, falling away from him. My cries awakened the excitement in the others standing around, and they all surged into the ditch, drawing pocketknives and box cutters to slash and hack.
Suddenly, the night erupted in lights and explosions, as if fireworks had been set off all around. People screamed and reeled back, falling in the mud. On my knees in the bottom of the ditch, bleeding and twitching in agony, I looked up to see my assailants running every which way. Some had fallen facedown in the ditch and didn't move again. A few managed to make it into the trees and disappear, and it looked like Pamela and her father were among them.
[Continued in comment] | 46 | random_samples |
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