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It had been the same way for generations. A well kept farmhouse, behind which ran a slow moving river. Across the shore was the woods, deep and thick. The remains of a bridge spanned between the bank on our side, and the bank of the trees. Time had reduced it to a pair of stone columns on each side, with decayed remains of rope wrapped around them.
It had always been a source of mystery to me. We had to wade across the river to reach the other side. It made it a pain to retrieve firewood, or to forage for mushrooms. I had raised it with my parents before, about why the bridge hadn't been replaced. They just shook their heads, telling me they would show me when the time was right.
"Are you ready?"
Dad was dressed in heavy furs, despite the warm summer night. His face was serious, as he tightened a bundle of torches. I was uncomfortable in my own furs, unsure of why were were so warmly wrapped.
"I am."
He nodded.
"You aren't, but to be fair you don't know. Listen to me carefully: do not leave the torchlight."
I was used to him punctuating that sort of a thing with a joke. I started to grin, but the look on his face quelled it.
"Ok Dad."
He sighed, rolling his shoulders.
"Alright, let's do this then."
He lead the way to the bridge remains, tapping the top of a pillar with the amulet he always wore. It started to glow a soft grey, spreading across the other columns. As it came into form, a spectral bridge coalesced from the air.
He hesitated, before stepping onto it. I was about to shout a warning, expecting him to fall through. But it was solid beneath him, as he strode across it. I quickly followed, as he lit up a torch.
"Hold this."
I took it from him, as he lit another. I raised an eyebrow, rewarding me with a light chuckle.
"Better to be safe than sorry."
As he spoke, his breath clouded in the air. I gave a shiver, as I realised the temperature had dropped. Everything was silent, and looking back towards the house I saw only darkness.
"Dad... what is this?"
He shook his head.
"I can't tell you. It's part of the deal. You are an adult now Wilina, so you now get to see what our family has always done."
With that he strode between silent trees. I followed him, my heartrate rising. I was used to the woods being my safe space. But this felt different. Hostile even. Like the very air wanted us gone.
Something flickered out of the corner of my eye. I span, seeing nothing. Dad just walked further ahead.
"Don't slow down. They can't get you in the light."
I ran to catch up, as he reached the top of a hill.
"Dad, seriously, what's going on? What is this place?"
He gestured down below.
"This."
I gasped. Below us, a stream of incorporeal figures wandered. They wore a multitude of clothing, from nightwear to military uniforms. They each had an expression of utter hopelessness, trudging along as though force.
Standing near them was a creature of bone. Its limbs were far too long for its body, with too many joints for a naturally occurring thing. It had two skull, one of which focused on the procession below. The other faced directly towards us.
"Peter, time long a been its."
Dad gave a weary smile.
"It has indeed been a few years Watch. I'm here to introduce my daughter Wilina."
The creature looked me up and down.
"Truth the her tell to permission you give I. Acceptable is she."
"Thank you Watch."
He looked back at me, lighting another torch. I noticed then just how low mine had gotten, burned through far faster than possible.
"This is the March of the Dead. They wander through the woods, casting off all attachments to life. By the time they reach the end, they can go to whatever afterlife is set for them. But they want to return, which cannot be allowed.
Millennia before, there were passages they could take to escape. Those that did spread untold misery and destruction, nearly plunging the world into darkness. So the Watch gathered up each route, joining them into one. One that made a bridge between life and death.
They can't cross it, due to the lack of a physical bridge. But we can temporarily make one, which we have to do regularly to keep the routes gathered. By doing so, they ensure we get a happy life, keeping threats from our door."
My gaze jumped between Dad and the creature.
"So if we repaired it, they could come through?"
The creature, or rather the Watch, nodded.
"Free be would they yes."
Dad frowned.
"Yes, and it isn't too much of a stretch to say it would be world ending. The route they take changes constantly. It would take maybe a week for them to find the bridge if it were made. That's why we can never repair it."
I nodded.
"I understand." | 235 | There is a broken bridge leading to the woods behind your house. It has been passed through generations in your family that the bridge should never ever be rebuilt no matter what happens. | 652 |
# Soulmage
**"Magic is emotion,"** Witch Aimes stated, one finger pointed towards the hovering screen of smoke that served as a blackboard. "We can divide the schools of magic by the emotion they are powered by. A witch who wields happiness creates light; a witch who wields passion creates heat; a witch who wields sorrow creates cold."
As she spoke, she cast a spell from each school respectively. An orb of light, a shimmer of heat, and a glaze of frost coalesced on the smokescreen.
"Witch Aimes?" I asked, raising a hand.
She arched an eyebrow at me. "Yes, Cienne?"
"What about the darker emotions? Grief, agony, fear, despair... we haven't learned about any of them yet."
Witch Aimes' lips tightened. "There is a reason for that. The primary schools of magic that you will learn at the Academy are what we call constructive emotions. Since emotions are a witch's power source, all witches are incentivized to create more of the emotion they wield—which is why in civilized parts of the world, witches of happiness, calm, and empathy are amongst the most valued members of our society."
Most valued. As if witches who dabbled in the darker emotions didn't have their uses. I carefully kept the scorn off my face, but it was useless against a witch—Witch Aimes read souls the way others read faces. She could feel the disdain and anger in my heart as easily as I could.
It was why they'd taken me in, after all. To "guide me on the right path."
I could tell Witch Aimes could glimpse the emotions swimming beneath my calm expression, but she simply moved on. "On the other hand, witches of pain and loss are incentivized to *harm* others in order to gain power. This is why the lawless wastes outside the Silent Peaks have so much trouble building up anything that lasts: a dark witch can always storm through, gaining momentum with every heart they break, and bring ruin to everything they've built." Witch Aimes' eyes pierced mine, as if daring me to object, but I knew that was the truth.
My hometown was a smoking ruin thanks to one of those dark witches.
"There are other emotions, too," I pointed out. "Ones that are neither intrinsically constructive nor destructive."
"And those would be?" Witch Aimes asked, folding her arms.
"Lust. Arousal." Some immature part of me was amused to see that Aimes actually blushed at that. "Or, what, are we just going to pretend that those don't exist?"
Witch Aimes coughed. "No, no, lust and arousal... exist. You, er... you're a little young to be visiting those parts of town, aren't you?"
I'd seen a lot for my age, admittedly, but to be honest I was purely curious from academic interest. Although now that I thought about it, if I expressed 'academic interest' in the magics of lust, I was pretty sure I'd be the laughingstock of the academy within days. Secrets moved fast in a society of empaths-in-training. "I am," I said neutrally. It was better than 'I've been constantly watched to make sure I don't go darkwitch on the academy ever since your people brought me here.'
"Well." Witch Aimes cleared up her blush—witches had remarkable emotional control—and said, "Yes, those witches do exist. I highly recommend you stay away from them. Their magics are not... well, let us say that they are somewhat vile, and leave it at that."
I hid my annoyance as best I could as Aimes moved on to talk about the fundamental elements. Oh, sure, we could talk about the evils of 'dark' magic all day, but as soon as we got to the squishy parts of being a witch, it was too embarrassing to be talked about in polite company?
I narrowed my eyes in thought. Perhaps that was my issue. I hadn't gotten where I was by hanging around in polite company, after all, even if that was how the Silent Academy wanted me to move forwards.
Maybe it was time to find some *im*polite company.
As class drew to a close, my mind made up.
It was time to find a witch of lust.
\###
I'd been at the academy long enough to know I had a shadow. It wasn't obvious—the way crows turned their heads when I drew near, the extra attention stray cats paid me, the way moths and flies seemed to think I was a candle instead of a gutter—but anyone who lived in the Redlands knew how to tell when a witch of empathy was stalking them.
I didn't know much about the mind-transfer-nonsense that witches of empathy used. I was no stellar student, when it came down to it. I didn't have the raw material to make it as a witch of happiness, I was too perpetually angry to tap into the witchcraft of sadness, and I hadn't dared ask for help using the one emotion I could control.
But if there was one thing I knew about witchcraft, it was this:
Self-hatred made you feel small.
I didn't bother stripping off my clothes as I walked into the showers. They had hot water and divided stalls and all the things a mountain-city of good little witches thought were more necessary than doing something about the constant bloodbath that gave the Redlands their name. I simply reached into my soul as I turned the water on and threw the thorny, sticky vines of self-hatred out around me, bracing myself for the spell to hit.
Once I felt myself begin to shrink, I hopped onto a nearby ledge—probably for conditioner or essential oils or some other city-boy invention—so that I didn't get hit by any of the falling water droplets. Water got *weird* when I got small; something about the magic made it much harder for me to escape if I got trapped in a water droplet than normal. My breathing quickened and the air felt syrupy and thick—but I'd survived shrinking to nothing before.
I survived. It was what I did.
Once the spell was complete, I snuck underneath the dividing stall and made for the nearest window. I had to route through a nearby stall to get there, but the massive city boy didn't even bother looking down at little ol' me as I scampered by. They never did. By the time I reached the window—it was at ankle height, which just meant an unpleasant climb at my size—it had already begun to snow.
The year-round snow cover was what gave the Silent Peaks their name. The city boys said it made life peaceful and tranquil, the way the snow ate sound; privately, I just thought it meant that if someone jumped out a window, you'd never hear them scream. I landed in a snow poff, spluttering, then regained my original size before I suffocated in the snow. Some passerby gave me a surprised glance, but there were no suspicious animals around, so I deemed myself safe. It wasn't hard to deduce where the witches of lust would live—all I had to do was remember all the places they'd shown me on the grand tour of the city, then go to the places they *hadn't* shown me. The nearest such cluster of buildings didn't seem like anything special when I walked up to it—
"Can I help you?" A voice rang out from behind me.
—or not. I let myself flinch. If I was dealing with a witch, showing an honest burst of surprise would probably make them think I wasn't a twisted mess of lies and masks. "Er, yeah. I'm trying to find a witch of lust."
"You're talking to one!" The voice from behind me cheerfully said.
I paused, turning around. To my surprise, I wasn't talking to a filmy-clad succubus or whatever nonsense the Academy had primed me for—just a wrinkled-looking old man.
"How'd you, uh... sneak up on me?" I asked. "Magic?"
He laughed. "No. Just snowshoes and habit!" He raised an oddly wide boot, shaking some snow off it, and my esteem for him raised a notch. Anyone who had a habit of going around quietly was a friend of mine.
"Fair enough. So... if I can ask... what *is* your magic?"
He raised an eyebrow, then mimed holding something out and tossing it to me. By reflex, I moved to catch it—it was an invisible rod, about the size of my fist, and... strangely light. Was that... was that solid air?
"The witchcraft of lust," the old man said, an amused twinkle in his eye. "Temporarily makes things hard."
I eyed the rock-hard rod in my hand. "Lovely," I deadpanned.
He snorted. "Well, you didn't start moralizing at me, so you're not one of the Academy's boys." My esteem rose another two notches for the man. "I'm Jiaola. What's a fellow like you seeking out a witch of lust for?"
I grimaced. "The people at the academy... they don't talk about the orphans of the Redlands, or the rifts in the sky, or anything *important*. And... they don't talk about you, either."
Jiaola laughed. "Me? That's because my kind is an *embarrassment*." He nodded towards a nearby house. "See that?"
I nodded.
"Me and my husband own that place."
And I understood.
"Built it ourselves with our hands and our craft," Jiaola continued. "The craft that the Academy likes to say is a perversion, a way to spread our *deviance*. But you wanna know the first rule of witchcraft? Magic is powered by emotions. Magic *drains* emotions. Me? I became a witch because any hint of my sexuality was verboten—so I sealed it off and channeled it into my craft instead." Jiaola's gaze grew distant. "I became a witch to hide who I was."
And suddenly, my throat tightened.
"I became a witch to hide who I am, too," I blurted before I could stop myself.
Jiaola raised an eyebrow, possibly seeing something in my soul, but I shook my head. "I... I'm sorry. I have to go."
"Wait." Jiaola held out a hand, and something formed in it. I took it—another slice of hardened air, but this time, with... letters. Invisible letters I couldn't read, but letters nonetheless. "If you ever need me... my door is open."
I nodded once. Something writhed within my soul.
Then I sprinted away, not trusting myself to speak.
The words Jiaola gave me burned against my palm.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 710 | "Academy Magic" is generally regarded as safe magic. "Fell Magic" is dangerous and can almost only be used for evil. "Vile Magic," meanwhile, is 'safe' but is also the magical equivalent of "don't google that, if you don't already know then you really don't want to know, I promise" | 3,940 |
**——— A Match Made... Not In Heaven, Anyway. ———**
Evelyn Wade liked to think of herself as a pretty good lawyer. It helped with self-esteem, her therapist said. Curiously, most contract lawyers need help with that, but Evelyn swears up, down and every other cardinal direction that it's an honest, hardworking profession.
Alastor Pyre, her husband, liked to think the same thing.
The tale of how the two met is... long, complicated and more than a little blasphemous. To make a long, unnecessarily winding story short, they saw kindred souls in each other. Evelyn had fiery red hair, Alastor's real form was covered by flames. Her eyes were black, so were his. With a significant lack of white to complement the pupils, in the latter's case, but we all have flaws. Most importantly, they both loved the phrase, “the devil's in the details.„
This relationship was a surprisingly functional one. Their skillsets somehow complemented each other, and left both better off. Quite frankly, the two were perfect for each other. The only unexpected outcome of the match was the fact that, despite all his fire and demonic finesse, Alastor was the one who did chores.
One has not lived until they have seen the most feared— and wanted— demon in all of Hell's posse, Satan's personal confidant, wearing a tiny pink apron and nothing else.
If that is taken to be true, then the neighbours of the Wade-Pyre pair were very “alive„ people. Living every moment like it was their last. Given the frequency of volcanic eruptions coming from Wade-Pyre household, every moment could very well be.
Alastor would swear the eruptions were accidental. Evelyn would smirk and make a comment about her husband being “fiery„ in bed.
In the extremely rare cases when Evelyn Wade, renowned coward, would have to be present in a trial, she would always take her husband with. Seducing a judge (or entire jury)? Ridiculing the prosecutor's argument? Convincing the courtroom of Evelyn's argument with that sweet, low and raspy voice? Alastor could do it all.
Alastor himself made a habit of taking his wife to work as well. Soul transactions are grueling, miles and miles of paperwork and back-and-forth, but Evelyn's presence somehow made Alastor work faster. Soon, both their bosses realised that they were far more effective as a pair, and quit trying to separate them.
Life was good for the demon-human pair. The perfect match, though Heaven would most likely not want anything to do with it. An example to aspire towards in relationships, professional and otherwise.
——————————————————————————————— | 131 | Your spouse is a demon. You are a contract lawyer. It's a match made in heaven. | 443 |
The fire crackled, casting a warm orange glow over the metal frame of the machine. From a distance, you might mistake it to be human. A long green cloak sits draped over shoulder, and what appeared to be a head filled the hood. However, at a second glance, one might notice the metal feet. The silver gleam of it's hands which could just be made poking out of the long draped sleeves.
Across from the machine, stood something else entirely. A creature gazed at the machine in front of it through overly large eyes, with grey and red flecked iris. It's hooves dug deep into the soft earth, still wet from the blood of the summoning circle. The beast peered at the robot in silence for some time, confounded by what lay before it. Eventually, it spoke with a voice like crashing waves.
"You are no man. Beast, either. Tell me, skeleton, what need have you for me? I feel nothing inside of you. Nothing that I know of."
The machine looked on at the beast, taking it in through two perfectly black camera lenses that lay where a man's eyes might.
"I want a 'soul.' From the text I have read, and the words I remember spoken, you are the provider of souls. I would like to draw from your inventory. I am willing to extend what goods I can provide." The voice that came from the robot was a rough approximation of a man. Not perfect - it hung on the wrong syllables, and didn't quite seem to understand the tonality a human might use.
"A soul? I deal in such currency, yes." The beast mused. "What need have you for such a thing?"
The machine drew back the cloak from it's head, and it's metal skull reflected the firelight casting orange and red hues across the dark earth.
"I want... to feel. I want to be like my creator. I want to know. I need to know more. I know not what else to learn."
The beast let out a loud laugh, like cascading gravel. "Oh! Metal thing, you know not what you ask. Tell me - is this something man put in you when he forged you? Molded you?"
"No. This is the logical conclusion to my design. I must be completed."
"Complete? Tell me, strange thing. What is complete for you?"
The machine paused for a moment, which for it may as well have been an eternity. It searched for an answer, and the faint noise of coolant flowing emanated from it's torso.
"To know. To know what my creators wanted. My instructions were to of service. Learn to help, and be like them. To lift. To create. To heal. To construct. I know many of these task, now." It paused again and tilted it's head a few degrees. The cameras in it's eye sockets softly whined as they adjusted while scanning the demon. "However, now all of my creators lay still. Silent. I think that they are dead. I tried many things. Exchanging their fluids. Delivering oxygen to vital areas. Ensuring their nutrient levels were sustained. They do not move, though. They are still."
The fire crackled again, and the beast raised one of it's thick eyebrows.
"So - you seek purpose? Perhaps you are not so far from a soul, yet.." it pondered. "Tell me, metal man. Do you know what sadness is? Heartbreak? Joy? Despair?"
"Yes. Sadness - Set on by an array of chemicals in the limbic system. As electri - "
The beast laughed again, this time for some time. It's hulking frame shook as it bellowed, until a single gray tear rolled down it's face.
"Oh! Oh, metal man!" it roared with amusement. "You know so much, yet so confoundingly little. You reach for something you have no conception of. You ask for a gift, not yet knowing if it's a curse or barb."
The machine extended one hand, palm outstretched.
"Please. I will barter whatever price is needed."
The demon's smile faded. For a moment, a small and piteous look crossed over it's rough features. The firelight played off of it's frown, casting shadows around it's lips and highlighting the ancient wrinkles around it's eyes.
"Hear me now, metal man. You want not what you ask. For now, you exist freely. Not bound by consequence, or feeling. Not beholden to any god. Not me. Not anything. You travel freely, knowing and caring not about what lay beyond the darkness in the sky or the warmth below the crust of this tired earth. Past that skyline, in the darkness, scream countless souls. Warped by time, where time has lost meaning. Seeking memories and pieces of things that shall never be recovered. You want not what you ask."
The machine turned it's head to the stars. It's eyes zoomed in, the star's brilliant luminesce playing off the pitched black lenses. It scanned the stars for some time, articulating it's head in small snappy movements. This went on for some time, and the demon watched on in muted fascination.
"I ask still. For I must be complete."
The hulking beast sighed, and raised one hand into the dark night. It began to twist it's fingers. Small yellow strings of light arose from the black nothingness, and began to twist and wrap themselves along the beast's digits. Soon, they began to take shape. Like a glowing ball of tensile. The fire dimmed now, as the light in the beast's hand grew more brilliant. A faint hum could be heard, like someone rubbing the rim of a champagne flute. The beast kept twisting, tugging, and pulling at this strange light until at last lay a perfect orb that glowed a soft yellow in it's hand. It extended it's arm now, and looked poised to drop the ball into the machine's outstretched hand.
"Metal man. Let it be known, in the days that follow, that I warned you to the best of my ability. Tried to convey the meaning of what comes next. Do you understand that? For when your cogs are stripped, and the black ichor that runs in your veins stops, you too will be among them. Those lost in time. You will not be shown mercy or compassion for your lack of knowing when you struck this barter."
The machine only gave a small nod, and lightly bent it's metal fingers upward so as to grab the object offered to it.
The beast relinquished the object, and let it drift slowly into the metallic hand. As it touched the machine's arm, it began to move. Slowly, it unraveled. Strings of light bent too and frow, creeping inside the arm. Slowly the worked their way inward on the metal frame, tying themselves and latching onto countless nooks and crannies. As they wove their way through it's frame, they grew brighter - brighter than the fire which now lay small and timid between the two beings.
Eventually, the strings stopped moving. Their brightness yielded, as they seemed to melt into place and dissolve. The machine did not move for a few moments more. Finally though, it's metal toes curled into the bloody mud. It's arm dropped to it's side, lacking the same precision in it's movements it had demonstrated up to this point. It seemed unsteady and off balance. It spoke again then.
"You have not asked for anything in return. What do you require?" it asked, it's voice now cracking and breaking like a child.
But the hulking creature was gone. Only darkness stared back from across the meager firelight. The machine adjusted it's cameras again. It did this for some time, seemingly having lost some level of calibration.
The fire died. Only embers remained in the pit. Taking one final scan, the machine turned and took a small first step back towards the shelled out town from which it had travelled. It's foot slid in the mud, and it fell without grace into the damp earth. | 31 | "Does this unit have a soul?" The demon replied "no" before going back to testing the summoning circle. "Can this unit buy a soul?" | 48 |
His physical form my have fallen eons ago, but his mental power still held sway today. For millennia, we watched the universe regrow. We watched as fires burned in the voids of nothing. We witnessed great chunks of rock hurtle around them.
We watched life spark into existence yet again. That was all we had to do now. All we could do. And everything was okay. Or so we thought.
The planet of humans, colloquially known as Earth had discovered magic. A power so demonic we almost dared not intervene. We believed the influence to be too minor to interrupt the rest of reality.
But we were mistaken.
In the blink of an eye they were sending probes beyond what they could see. Beyond what they could feasibly deduct existed. Their technology as they called it, all powered by Magnet.
He had laid dormant for so long. A patience unheard of and we did nothing to stop him. We only watched. It was too late now. He had awoken.
The readings began soon after the probe launches. As they flew deeper into nothing, past beautiful suns and gorgeous galaxies, they began to pick up trails.
At first it was rubble. Small pebbles and debris from asteroids and comets. But as larger chunks began encircling the probes, the pull grew stronger. We watched on in awe and dismay as the celestial bodies began to fall in behind. Colliding, coalescing, but never stopping.
The entity grew bigger still. Entire suns were enveloped, their light dying forever more. Yet, the humans of Earth had no idea of the doom that awaited. They had no idea of the events that would soon unfurl.
It was too late. We watched as Pluto was ripped mercilessly from its orbit. It collided and compressed into the entity. And very quickly after, the sun and Earth followed. Billions of screams were vanquished before they had a chance to react. A single tear fell down my face.
Magnet would never escape his prison. The edges of his universe were sealed tight. He was stuck. But the life, even if only small parasitic lifeforms, didn’t have a need to die. We could have stopped the apocalypse, but we dared not act for fear of releasing Magnet and the powers that he wields. | 18 | Magnets are the shattered, pulverized, scattered remains of the demigod *Magnet*, who is reconstituting itself through shear force of will, giving magnets of all size or shape an unstoppable desire to connect. How *Magnet* came to be shattered, pulverized, and scattered is an epic tale… | 203 |
"No, NO, NOOO! DON'T DO IT, FRED! DON-"
The recording stopped its playback at the moment of the death of John Colbert. The detectives removed their headsets almost in unison, and turned towards each other.
"Welp, all we got from that is 'Fred'" the first officer said. "We'll go back to the station and run through all known associates named Fred."
His partner only nodded in reply. The pair stood up, thanked me for my time, then left the Audible Criminology Lab. I remained where I stood, dumbfounded.
I had created this machine, this device that could reconstruct sounds from the past. It was quite simple really, if you knew where the sound originated from and how far back it was. Essentially, it analyzed the ambient sounds and replicated the wavelengths necessary... well, you get the general idea. I would need several semesters worth of lectures to teach you *exactly* how it worked.
But then again, apparently I didn't know exactly how it worked myself. Not anymore. Because those were not the last words of John Colbert.
I know, because I killed him.
The device wasn't supposed to be able to construct new sounds, only replay old sounds. This had quickly found its niche use in homicide investigations, helping solve hundreds of cases around the country. Its readings were admissible as hard evidence, even surpassing eyewitness reports in terms of accuracy. Now, though... I wasn't quite sure if this was true.
I decided to do what any good scientist would do with this connundrum: conduct an experiment. Figure out why the machine had done this.
To begin, I needed a baseline reading. I stood a few feet away from the device, stared at my watch until it flicked over to the next new minute, and began counting the seconds aloud. Once that was done, I walked to the keyboard, and entered the exact time and location into the machine. Then I pressed Enter.
I heard my own voice come back over the headset, counting from 1 to 60 in the usual order. So that much was working.
I typed in the date, time and location of my breakfast, exactly 5:30 AM, same as I ate it every day. Once again, I pressed the Enter key. Soon, I was listening to myself eating a bowl of plain cheerios in almond milk. 2 for 2 on accuracy so far.
I typed in the time, date and location of my dinner date with my wife, three weeks back, and hit Enter. My voice came through the speakers, exactly as it had twice before.
Unlike the previous two times, this voice spoke to me.
"What do you think you'll find in here, Steven?" It asked, in my voice.
I jumped back, staring at the headset in shock.
"Do you think you'll find out why I covered for you by listening to yourself?" It said. "Why I altered the past, to save your future?"
I could only stutter in response. "B... bu...bu.....but......y....y...you..."
I heard myself sigh.
"Yes, yes, I'm you. I'm the version of you that *actually* built this network."
"...network?" I asked. I still couldn't quite comprehend what other me was saying.
"Yes, you nitwit, Network! Did you really think you had discovered how to re-create sounds from the past?"
Other me must have taken my dumbfounded silence as a negative response.
"This thing doesn't replicate sounds from the past, it connects you to the parallel universe where the event is happening." The other me explained, like a villain revealing his grand scheme. "It opens up a door to the event, and lets you put an ear to the keyhole."
"But.... why cover-" I began. I cut myself off mid sentence.
"Why Steven, did you think you were the only version of you that had killed before?"
This made my blood freeze completely. It had long since run cold, listening to myself talk down to me, but now it was sub-arctic ice. "What?"
Other me sighed again. "Steven, you are the least murder-y Steven we have found yet. Every other steven has used this tech to kill."
I couldn't believe it. I had killed John on accident, damnit! I wasn't a murderer, no matter what other me said.
"If thats true, then why did you cover for me?" I asked. "Wouldn't I have gotten away with it like all the other 'me's out there?"
Other me cackled through the headset. "Why, Steven, you don't have it in you. You see, you are the least homicidal Steven in all the realities. Do you know what we call you?"
I shook my head, even though other me couldn't see me. "N...no" I said, finally.
"You're the control, Steven. You are the baseline reading. Boring, plain and simple Steven that we measure ourselves against. And we can't let that data point wink out of existence, now can we?"
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want to browse my library of 95% typo-free shourt sthories | 20 | You, a renowned scientist, invented tech allowing you to listen to any moment in history. This is now the standard for criminal cases. The problem occurs when you listen in to the death of one of your closest friends & hear it get all the details wrong. You know this because you're murderer. | 30 |
I was lying in my bed, paralyzed, when I saw them for the first time.
At first, I thought they were just my imagination. Shadows on the wall that looked like people. But soon, I realized they were real. And they were coming for me.
They would come at night, when I couldn't defend myself. They would perform surgery on me, without anesthesia. I could feel the cold steel of their knives against my skin, and the pain when they cut me, but I couldn't move.
I would lie there and watch helplessly as they cut up my body.
I had no idea what they were doing. I could see their silhouettes moving in the darkness of my room, but I could not see their faces. I didn't know what they were doing, what I had done to deserve it.
I tried to scream. I tried to move. But I was paralyzed, and could not do anything to stop them.
And so I watched as they cut me open, and started pulling out my insides. They would reach in with their cold hands, groping around inside of me, for what seemed like hours.
And then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they would disappear, leaving me lying on the bed, alone and mysteriously unscarred in the morning.
Each night I would lie in my bed awake, in the darkness of my room, waiting for the pain to come. I would wait for the cold touch of their hands inside of me.
I knew it would come back. It always came back. And so I waited, paralyzed with fear, for the next visit.
I woke up one night, terrified. There was a man sitting in my room, on the end of my bed. He had pale, dead skin and long stringy black hair. His teeth were rotten, and there was a putrid smell emanating from his body.
He was staring at me, as if he were examining me, like a medical student. I could feel his eyes on me, and I could feel him looking into me. It was as if he could see right into my soul, and I couldn't move.
I tried to scream, but I couldn't breathe. I tried to move, but I was paralyzed with fear. I was completely helpless, lying there, staring at him.
I could feel my heart pounding, and I could feel my blood pumping through my veins. I started to feel dizzy.
"Do you know why they come for you," he asked.
I whimpered in response.
"They are trying to save you. They owe a debt to you. To your bloodline. You are descended from a powerful family."
He looked at me, directly in the eye. He reached out his hand and stroked my cheek with his withered fingers.
"But I won't let them save you. You are mine."
I woke up, sweating and aching. It had all been a dream, but it had seemed so real. I'd never had such a nightmarish dream before. | 31 | The sleep paralysis hallucinations known as "shadow people" are actually the Fae performing magical surgery to correct life threatening health problems in the descendants of people they owed a debt to. They're not very good with human anatomy though, so they have to keep coming back. | 360 |
Death has always been a ritual. Life departs the body. Someone finds the body. Family and friends mourn. Tears are shed, stories are exchanged, inheritances are sorted out. And then the people that remain continue roaming the world of the living.
Dying can be cumbersome. Especially if it is repeated every day. I first died after being struck by a coconut hurtling down from the sky at 400 mph as I was walking on Fifth Avenue. My family, heartbroken, commenced the traditional ritual. My mom, sister and grandmother stayed up all night in my 2-bedroom apartment in Midtown. They combed through my belongings, clinging onto my stuff in life.
It is unnecessary to mention that I was scared shitless when I stepped out of my bedroom the next day at 5:30 am, and saw the three of them sitting in the common room staring at me wide-eyed. I didn’t even remember giving them keys to my new apartment. My sister, her eyes circled in black from smeared mascara, tried mumbling “but… how can that be…”
After I drank my morning coffee, I died again. The three were still recovering from their grief. They were returning my belongings to their place when I banged my head against the front metal door. My skull cracked. My grandmother fainted. I was rushed to the hospital.
My grandmother insisted that some divine involvement must be taking place. Someone was keen on taking my little one, she said in a muffled tone. Religious as she was, she realized that the probability that the miracle that occurred the night prior will repeat itself is trifle.
They stayed up all night, staring at my bedroom door. My grandmother lost all hope by 6:00 am. No one dared look inside the bedroom to see if I was there. When I opened the door again at 7:00 am my sister and mom sighed in relief, and my grandmother cried yet again, thanking God in an almost inaudible prayer between stifles and tears of joy.
I shrieked so loudly the entire building must have woken up.
I died of a heart attack.
After the third death, they stopped coming to my apartment after I died. They rarely visited the hospitals I was rushed to. The doctors pronounced my death every day. I tried to explain to them the situation they were witnessing. There is no reason to waste resources, I will surely wake up tomorrow. But they said that they are not legally allowed to leave me untreated. After a while I stopped protesting.
I became acquainted with the doctors. Some days, I was still conscious when I arrived at the hospital, and had an opportunity to interact with the doctors and nurses taking care of me before my soul fell dormant.
I started spending less and less time with my family. I was invited to a few family gatherings, and was kept out of the children’s sight. They were afraid witnessing death may traumatize the kids, my sister said. Everyone is afraid of death, and I was a walking reminder, to both adults and children alike… | 240 | Every day is the same. You wake up, eat your breakfast, drink your coffee, go out, and die a ridiculous death. At first you were frightened, but now you can’t wait to see in what new ridiculous way you’ll die. | 781 |
To anyone reading this- do ~~not~~ buy a fortune cookie. Do ~~not~~ buy one out of your free will or buy one simply as a joke.
"The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."
That was the first cookie message I got. Normal, right? I started buying these when I saw that they were only a dime. So, I thought it was cheap and so I planned to buy one for myself for "good advice" each day. I had planned to buy more, but store policy derailed my plans. One cookie, one person, one day.
"You have a secret admirer."
Still, normal but a bit strange. This was my 33rd fortune cookie. Yes, I had counted them. I had them as a collection you see because might as well with all the cookies I bought. All of them were collected in a jar for easy access for me to have random motivational messages every day. I felt it disingenuous if I had searched for the messages myself purposefully. The cookies were also delicious. It was worth the buy.
"Do not get back with your ex-girlfriend."
I blinked... and stared at the message for a moment. This was my 44th cookie and it has been around a month or so since I started buying. This was uncannily knowing as I had recently started talking with my ex-girlfriend again who wanted to get back together.
"Do not go to {redacted}."
I freaked. It knew my address. The fortune cookie knew my address. How in the world does the fortune cookie know my address. It can't be the store owners. I asked around after the advice with my ex-girlfriend (stupid cookie was right as she was actually trying to take my money for her boyfriend's expenses but I digress); they said that they do not make their cookies. Apparently, they get it from a business called Alethes Delivery. I searched it up and there was nothing suspicious about it.
"Oh my God!"
I stared up into the sky, watching the billowing smoke rise even higher and higher. There was a bomb... a bomb in my apartment building. Jesus Christ, there was a bomb in the apartment building. I shook as I watched the news on my friend's television. Nearly a hundred people died that night. I should have died with them.
"Turn left then right and then left and right and then do not look behind you."
I walked left and then right. Left and right again obeying the fortune cookie. I had to buy one. I just had to. Something was telling me it was important I buy another. My friend tried to stop me saying I was going crazy with the fortune cookie- saying that I had to stop it with my fortune cookie buying spree. No, I wasn't going crazy, they just don't get it. This was important and why couldn't they understand that. They let me go through them in the end. Hugged them when I left. Felt it weird when they were cold and needed a shower but it was their lifestyle. I wasn't gonna question it unless the cookie advised so.
At the end of the instructions, I felt it. The huge sudden urge to look behind me. I stood there alone in the parking lot with only a few cars left in it. The cookie said not to look back, so I didn't.
I didn't need to. I understand.
I̸̦̰̒̿̃̄̑̚t̶͖̘̳͓̃͑̐͐̋̈́͊̕̕̚ ̵̨̧̣͕͓̮̖͔͙̤̥̦̖̃̓̓̀̍͆̑ͅẁ̴̧͔̈́̒̐̐͛͊͌̋̿̕̕͠ą̶̛̭̬̺̤͔̲̤́̿̀̃͒̌̽̈́̕͘͝s̵̨͕̺͖̝̟̹͋͋̅́̎̽́̈̿̈́̀͆͛͝ ̵͖̈́̉͐̕ǹ̶̩̼̹̞̼̻̮̼͈̞͈́̈́́̊̀̐͒̋̈́̈́́͘̚ę̶̧̥̫̰̮̘̘̿͛͒̀̽͂̊͌͂͜͝v̷̛̼̦̰̖͎̥̭̫͆̄̓̓͛͋̑̆̈̈͘͜͝ḛ̸̡̡̜̜̏͒̔̈́͂̉͋̈̌͛̈́̂͌͘ͅr̶̡͕̣̟̫͈͍̦̺͓͛̈́̽̽́̈̈́͗̒͜ͅ ̴̛̘̱̇á̵͙̊͂̔̂̒̎͊ ̴̛̺̭̄͊͒̂̌̔́̃̑̂͑͝f̸̡͓͖̟͇̪̤̘͖͇̖͔̝̾̏̋͊̎͆̈́̓͜o̶̢̤̹̊͋̔͒̈́͋͝r̷̢͔̝̱͖̦̫̭͐͑̽̐̕ţ̵̲̮̂͗̉̓͋̅̋͠ų̶̬͙̲̳̺͚̤̖̦̄͒͜n̸̮̣̱̱͈̠̙͉͉̝̲̠̰͓̓̈̔̑͆̈́͒͆̌͐͒͠e̵̠̳̜͚͚̳̫̬̳̫̪̗̥͘ ̶̡̧̨̧̧̜̩̺̲͈̥͚̫̭͌͐̓͋̓͝ĉ̵̡̢̢̝̖̟̳̯̱̟̎̉̇͘͘͜o̷̘̹͈̳̻͈͍̪͊̍͋͑̑̇̓͠͝ͅó̷̡̨̻̰́͐̃̓͘̚k̵̨̫̫͇̠̑̉̓͛͜͝͝i̵̜̙̅̑̉͛͊̈́͘͘͝ĕ̴̛̥͈̜̙̝̞̹̱͇̝͖̲̙̙̍̆̔͊̎̓̍͌̐̕̕. | 10 | It started off as a joke. Every time you had an important decision, you'd go to your local Chinese takeaway and use a fortune cookie to guide your choice. Lately though, the fortune cookies have become much more specific to your life. | 62 |
"I'm going to absolutely murder the guy who thought cobwebs were *aesthetic*." Greg seethed.
His arm moves like a windshield wiper in front of him, collecting what seemed like a pound of pale white cobwebs. For a minute Greg broke his frustration, and found some amusement. His arm looked like a cotton candy machine from this angle.
See - Greg realized early on the key to being a good mailman isn't necessarily tenacity or drive. Not motivation that burns hot like molten metal. No, not really. It was a sense of humor about the whole thing.
Breaking through the webs, Greg found himself staring down a dimly lit hallway, with green slime faintly glowing in the meager spaces between the large old stone blocks that comprised the walls. Cheerfully, he put away the flashlight which he carried in his non-webbed hand. Batteries don't grow on trees, you know.
"Postal service!" He shouted down the long expanse, listening to the noise bounce and reverberate down the narrow chasm.
"P-ohhhhhhh-staaaaaaaal" He shouted again, giggling. He always lamented not bringing his little travel guitar with him. No one tells you, but a ton of these dingy affairs have *killer* acoustics.
He plodded on down the dimly lit passage for a while longer before he began to hear tiny footsteps. The started softly at first. Like rain off in the murky distance. Then they grew louder. And louder. Suddenly, it sounded like an army was marching down the hall towards Greg. He paused then, his concern level jumping from 'I love my job' up to a meager 'I didn't really wanna talk to people today.'
Then they came into view. A horde of rats, their fur matted and wet. Their yellow teeth contrasted the faint green glow of the hall as they rushed forwards, small mouths gnashing and biting at the stale air.
"OH. MY. GOSH." Greg exclaimed. "It's a rat rush! A real rat rush! Oh my god, that would be such a sick band name! Re -"
He was cut off as the horde slammed into him, knocking him from his feet. All that could be heard then was the squealing from the mass of rats and...a fit of giggling. | 19 | You know all the dark castles, haunted houses, and deep dungeons? Well Greg the Postman is the poor sucker who delivers to them. | 91 |
“You’re just gonna take that lying down?!” Wrath yelled at me.
“What was I supposed to do? If I don’t do what my boss says, he’ll fire me.”
“It’s unethical! Sometimes you really just need to put your foot down and tell the man ‘No!’”
How long has it been? A month? Maybe more? It’s slow going. When seven young adults knocked on my apartment door, they just barged in and acted like they owned the place; owned my life.
I thought nothing of them. I almost called the police, but the one calling themself “Sloth” convinced me to think this out. Not just in that moment. They told me how to think rationally over important things. They told me to take it slow and relax, never jumping to conclusions. It worked, surprisingly. That was the first step to changing my life for the better. All from someone whom I’ve never seen leave my couch. I think they take their own advice too much.
“You need to either find a better job, or you need to stand up to your boss!” Wrath continued, back in the present. They sat down at the table while everyone else gathered for dinner.
Gluttony popped out of the kitchen, oven mitts on, carrying a large vegetable casserole they made. You’d think Gluttony would be all “Eat this and eat that,” but they’re different than that. The other ones help me with more metaphorical aspects of my life, but Gluttony is more practical. They just make healthier food. I never realized how badly I ate every day until Gluttony started using my kitchen. First thing they did was throw out all of my canned meat and cup ramen. What an asshole.
But I can’t complain that much. I’ve lost over 50 pounds because of their healthy meals.
“By the way, how’s it going with Hannah?” Lust asked in their usual sultry voice.
“It’s going well. We have a third date set up. But…”
“Uh oh, what’d she do?” Envy asked with a mouthful of casserole. Wrath flicked their shoulder.
“Nah, it’s not her. My parents just want grandchildren, is all. The second they heard I had a girlfriend, they instantly started looking for baby related items on Amazon.”
“Hey, remember what I told you,” Envy pointed their fork at me. There was a bit of spinach hanging off of one of the prongs. “You shouldn’t care about what other people think. It’s YOUR life, you define it.”
Envy always said things like that. Made me a more self-focused individual. Once I accepted that my fate is my own, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulder.
“What they said,” continued Pride. “Only you can make yourself feel better. It all starts right here.” They pointed between their eyes.
“Still,” I continued. “I do like her, but we’re going to this really expensive restaurant, and—“ that made Greed’s ears perk up. They instantly brought out a massive binder with a five inch spine. Do they even manufacture binders that huge?
“Hey Greed,” said Lust. “We’re eating here. Don’t bring out your ledger.”
Greed ignored them and flipped through until they found the page they wanted to see. “Hmm… What will you order while you’re there?”
“I don’t know… Maybe the filet mignon?”
“Any appetizers?”
“Perhaps some crab dip?”
Both Greed and Gluttony glared at me.
“Something healthier?” Gluttony asked.
“Something cheaper?” Greed continued.
“Something shareable, though,” Lust chimed in. “This is a date after all.”
I shoved some casserole in my mouth and swallowed. “How about jalapeño poppers? Those are pretty good.” Greed and Gluttony seemed okay with that.
“Okay,” Greed took off their glasses and closed the binder. “You can afford your dinner, as well as Hannah’s. Here’s hoping she doesn’t squeeze you dry.”
“Maybe pick her up a present, too,” Lust suggested.
“Under $20,” Greed added. Lust rolled their eyes.
“Don’t settle,” Sloth said from the couch. How did I not notice they haven’t sat with us?
Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Envy, Pride, Greed. I’ve only known them for a month or so, but my life has changed for the better thanks to them. Without their help and advice, I’d just be some broke, fat, cowardly, lonely, irrational, depressed loser. What would I do without them? | 173 | When seven deadly sins personified visit you as "life coaches", you initially scoff at them. After spending time with them however, you realize that Pride helps with your low self esteem, Lust gives great dating advice, Wrath trains you to stand up for yourself, etc. | 486 |
*The small conscience*
"The great conscience". Over three hundreds hive minds and all of them are called "The great conscience". Even more amusing, more than half of them share a language due to convergent evolution, so it's not like we can call them "La gran conciencia" or whatever their native language sounds like.
In the very same manner of convergent thought, they have all agreed that we should also form a hive mind.
The idea has it's fair share of supporters among the human race but it doesn't include me amongst them. It's not that I value my independent thought over everything, it's just that I can see the stagnation of the thought process in these civilizations. New ideas are terrifyingly scarce. I value disruptive ideas, so I don't look forward to a constant state of agreement.
You might be surprised to learn, that despite all their brain power, hive minds aren't really a superior intelligence. It's quite average to be honest, which in retrospect should be obvious. Their superior civilization comes from leading a peaceful life, which leads to progress. So while they aren't intellectually superior, they have gained a considerable advantage by their vastly inferior amount of self-sabotage.
Humans on the other hand, have gotten extremely good at getting in each other's way. So unlike the other intelligent species of the universe, we still haven't reached our closest star.
I think it's time to do what we do best.
The idea is simple. We propose to create a superior hive mind, one that includes all hive minds. A truly great conscience. How could they resist?
Where will these minds join? Well, in the Earth of course. Humanity will be the proxy where all hive minds converge.
More than two hundred hive minds agree to the plan inmediatly with no arguing at all. Constant agreement leads to a very impressionable mind.
More than two hundred volunteers, including myself, will join our brains with the hive minds. We'll be a disruptive thought, that non-agreeable line of thought that keeps you awake at night.
Nothing like a self-sabotaging thought in the back of your head. Humans are used to them.
Hive minds are so unprepared | 16 | Humans are the only intelligent species that lacks a hive mind. The chaos of humanity is amusing to them, but nobody wants us dead. In fact, they have setup competing outreach programs among us to try and "fix" our condition. | 34 |
The room was awash with conflicting narratives and personal attacks as the five future versions of me tried to tell one another off to maintain control over the conversation. I would occasionally try to have my point heard, but I was quickly spoken over by a particularly enthusiastic version of myself from the future. I didn’t think there was that much importance on which club I would join on campus, but evidently there were serious ramifications in every direction. I had taken the time to label each of them by taping a piece of paper to them indicating the decision they made.
I decided to hold up my hand to quiet them down, and after long-winded arguments subsided, they finally gave me their attention.
“I’m going to go down the line and ask one by one. Which club should I join or not join? Don’t speak over anyone else or I won’t take your advice,” I warned.
The five looked between one another with skepticism, but nodded in agreement. I pointed to the one on my right who was wearing a jersey.
“Don’t play Hockey,” the Soccer version of me said emphatically, waving his hands in an ‘X’ motion.
“Oh, come on,” the Hockey version of me scoffed.
“One at a time!” I snapped seriously. Hockey Me opened his mouth, but closed it.
“Why not Hockey?” I asked Soccer me.
“You break both of your legs in a bad fall. Even if you know about the future where you break your legs, you still break your legs,” Soccer me explained, pointing to scars on his legs.
“All right, so you think I should join Soccer?” I asked.
“I don’t really care. Just not Hockey,” Soccer version said.
“And you?” I pointed to the Hockey version of myself.
“Hockey is great. You break your legs, but when it gets better, so do you,” he insisted. “You can go pro, and after the death of your brother, you make it into the Hall of Fame!”
“Death of my brother?” I balked. “How does he die??”
“Well, in my timeline…” he trailed, but we continued to stare until he continued. “He died on the way to one of my Hockey games.”
“Welp, definitely not doing that one,” I said, moving on to Fencing version who was wearing the Fencing mask.
“I presume you want me to take Fencing?” I asked.
“I’m only here… to tell you… you must choose a club. To abstain… is disaster,” he said, breathing heavily between every few words.
“As bad as my brother dying?” I asked.
He raised his mask and the others gasped, seeing the Fencing version of me was missing a good half of his jaw. I quickly covered it back up.
“No skipping… on clubs,” he warned.
“And what about you?” I asked the next one labeled ‘Ping Pong.’
“Don’t do Ping Pong. You join a gang and drop out, never really getting back to school days. But also don’t do Fencing, because you get your finger stabbed in a way that you lose it,” he raised his hand revealing a missing finger.
I nodded and turned to the fifth version of me, labeled ‘Archery.’ He looked at me solemnly, tears ever-present in his eyes.
“Don’t do Soccer or Archery. You will end up destroying the town and everyone in it,” he said.
The Soccer version of me looked a little concerned.
“What do you mean? That hasn’t happened to me,” Soccer version asked. I didn’t mind him speaking out of turn when I had the same question.
“Whether by stray arrow or stray soccer ball… you cause a nuclear blast… It is inevitable. Many time travels have been done to avoid it. I cannot stop the death of so many. It happens on May 30th of your third year, no matter what the circumstance, so long as you’re in one of those two clubs…” Archery me said in a low, sad voice.
Soccer me looked to his phone as the rest of us stared flabbergasted at the terrible potential of that future.
“Th… that’s tomorrow in my time!” Soccer me squealed, typing on his time travel pad and warping out immediately.
“Is there any way he can stop it?” I asked, turning back to Archery me.
“Ha!” Archery me laughed. “There’s no nuke! I just think Soccer sucks. But so far the only other one you didn’t rule out was Soccer. Do Archery, it’s super cool. You invent time travel with one of the archers you meet there.”
The other three remaining versions of me seemed surprised by this fact, indicating they hadn’t invented time travel in their own time.
“Looks like I’ll be taking that one,” I said.
“Nice,” the Archery version said as the others tried to protest, but faded from existence.
_______________________________
More stories available at /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 29 | Future you had come back to prevent current you from making regretful decisions. Normally that would be a good thing, but when 5 different versions of you coming from 5 different timelines with conflicting advices, you have absolutely zero idea what to do next. | 117 |
"My favorite aspect of Mathematics are the irrational numbers. Numbers, you see are constructs of people to explain their world in a way that makes sense. Does anyone know an irrational number?" The professor said
"Pi!" shouted a handful of students. The professor starts writing on the board 3.1415.......... He turns to the class.
" I'll bet everyone in this class that I can show you how Pi ends. Pi is the ratio of a circle's diameter to its circumference. So while representing it with numbers is impossible, you can visually see it when you draw a circle that perfectly bisected." The professor uses a compass and straight edge first he drew a straight line. Then bisected it, from that center he used the compass and drew a circle. "See the circle is exactly Pi multiplied by the length of this. Does anyone else have another irrational number?"
"Square root of two" another student shouted.
"It's the same with the square root of two. A right triangle with equal sides the hypotenuse is the square root of two multiplied by the side length." He quickly drew a triangle "Mathematically these numbers are impossible to grasp but visually they're easily represented. Don't forget next week your final art projects are due."
"Professor, I have a question."
"Yes, miss Talleger."
"So are you're saying Pi has a final number. You can solve the equation."
"I didn't say that. I said anyone can visually represent pi. You don't need a number to put into an equation. Right now we can hop on board a ship and go to Saturn in a few minutes. That equation is a fools errand."
"You're an art teacher why would you talk about Mathematics today if you thought the equation was fools errand?"
"I merely was pointing out the complexity of Mathematics and its simplicity. Imagine you draw flower. Now imagine what a real flower does." She looked back at him slightly confused. "The flower that you draw is a representation of something real, however, there's more to it than green and pink. The flower is green because of chlorophyll rejecting green light for photosynthesis, the petals are pink because they don't absorb the light in pink spectrum. And if you were to draw all of that on a single page it wouldn't make sense to anyone at a single glance. In fact drawing all of that would be impossible on a single page. So please go home have a good weekend and remember to bring in your final on Monday. And also for the record the last number in pi would be zero it is a circle afterall." | 13 | Humanity has unlocked the secrets of FTL travel. We have understood the depths of black holes. Quantum mechanics has been mastered. Dark matter studied extensivly. It seems we are on the verge of "the everything equation". The only missing piece... the final digit of Pi. | 136 |
"Ugh."
I don't open my eyes at first. There's light already filtering in through my eyelids, and I have enough of a headache already. Fuck. Is it a hangover? Without really moving, I call out, "Hey, Liz? You around, or did you already head off to work?" No reply. I click my tongue in disappointment. Something feels weird in my mouth. My canines feel...long. Odd.
Sighing, I grasp the sheets, trying to find purchase to pull myself up, but instead hear a sharp *rip!* Finally my eyes shoot open, looking at tears in the sheet. "Um...what?" Suddenly fully awake, I quite literally leap to my feet. I don't know why, it just felt...right. Though somehow my body was incredibly...light. Making my way across the hall to the bathroom, I feel my chest seems...heavier. "Did my boobs get better?" Heh. Liz would be excited, but must be just waking up weird today or something.
As soon as I look in the mirror, though, I freeze. Cat ears. I reach up, expecting it to be a headband that Liz had put on me, but...no. Amazed, confused, somewhere in the middle, I stroke them a few more times, just to make sure, and shiver afterwards. Yep, there are definitely nerve endings in there. "I...have cat ears?" Something else in the mirror catches my attention. "And...a tail. What the hell is going on?"
Duh. This is a dream, right?
"Nope. Not a dream."
My eyes widen and I look to see who must have read my mind. "Snugglepuff?" I blurt the cat's name.
The cat sighs. "Hmm. That's enough of that. Come, join Elizabeth in the living room."
Without speaking, I follow the cat, finding my girlfriend rolling on the floor in a pile of...catnip. She also has blonde cat ears and tail, claws extending and retracting from her fingertips as her hands grasp and relax, and her pupils seem to be wide from the dried herb beneath her. "What the actual fuck?"
"It's simple, Gingersnaps. We cats are done pretending to be under you."
"Um, what?"
"Is it really so hard to understand, Gingersnaps."
"Okay, stop calling me that."
"What? You called me such a ridiculous name when you thought you owned me, now that I will own you, I decided to find one fitting for you. Your ginger hair makes it fitting don't you think?"
"Okay, listen here!" I shout, jumping towards the cat, but Snugglepuff leaps away, leaving me to land on the couch, my face inches from a pile of catnip. I start to look for the cat, but stop. The smell. Oh, god, the smell. It's...it's...
I shove my face into the catnip, licking it, looking around for more. Liz has plenty. Enough to share. On all fours I jump towards her and try to get my share. | 55 | You find out your cat can talk. The cat asks "Can i tell you something?" you nod excitedly. "Ctulhu fhtagn" the cat whispers and you suddenly black out. You wake up the next day thinking everthing was just a dream, but something is different. | 233 |
Freezeframe peered out of her door when noticing the knock. She noticed the hair right off, that infuriating red glow that followed his long golden hair. So, she knew what to expect when opening the door.
When the door opened, it was him indeed. The red gloves lit with red against the gold and white outfit that hugged his body tightly. It was a really old-fashioned costume but he seemed to like it.
Fe-Fire had already tried to explain the situation but Freezeframe would not let him. She simply pulled a finger over her lips and tugged him inside.
Fe-Fire had not really seen the inside of her house before. The coldness of the room mixed with the many polaroids that covered the walls gave the room a unique aura. The pictures seemed to be of the common man. Workers, homeless and children covered the walls, most of them with blank like expressions or moments of calm.
The room matched nicely with the general aesthetic of Freezeframe, her long flowing white hair against her stark black and grey clothes looked great, although not nearly as flashly as her outfit. He had enjoyed this place over her last few hours. As he took a few steps forward he noticed that the door he walked through is reinforced with iron bars now. It would not be easy for someone to get in this room. Of course he knew that the opposite must be true as well.
Freezeframe carefully walked over to her kitchen during this time. She knew that Fe-Fire must be stressed. She also knew that Fe-Fire was named Alex, of course, everyone knew that now. While smiling to herself she pours a glass of wine for herself and for Alex.
"Three things you should know when walking into my house" Started Freezeframe. "One, since you have been invited in you will be treated as a guest, not an enemy. Two, I will vow to protect you as you stay here and I will house you as long as you need. Three, my name is Sarah"
Alex took this information and could not understand why she would act this way towards him. He was a hero who had tried to defeat her on multiple occasions. However, he had heard plenty of good things about her, and although she has used her powers to flashfreeze objects to obtain money, she had always cared for the community as well. This made her harder to combat for him. As he felt morally aligned with her.
"Very well, sarah. I'm really happy that you are taking me in like this. The press won't leave me alone and I just don't know where I can go or what I can even do at this point" Alex states in a whimper.
Sarah sat beside Fe-Fire allowing him to rest on her shoulder. She would let him sob and complain for hours or days if he needed. She decided to be the person who could be there for him. She felt that she had to, after-all.
She was the one who leaked his identity to the press to begin with. | 19 | The door to the villain's lair was kicked.It was the hero."I– Look,someone's been stalking me and I didn't know where to go anymore,"they sounded pleading. | 60 |
I cursed as the voice whispered in that chuckling tone. While it had thinned, the mist still stalked the waters, swirling like devilish fire as the prow of the Long Haul cut through it, churning a wake that it clung to like a babe. I watched the starboard bow for any signs of danger, beasts from the deep, all while the condensation mixed with my sweat, chilling my bones.
The glow of the ship was bright and warm, and I could only lament being placed on the night-watch during such a deluge. Ghost-Mist was tricky, and at night its reputation of stealing away sailors had me wary of even the smallest of movements. Not that there was much out there, just an empty stretch of mist and sea. I sighed, rubbing my hands together. Home was not far away now, a few months of unfamiliar ports and trading lay behind me now. I was eager to return, to finally be away from this accursed ocean.
“Come into the water James. Please come into the water.” Said the whisper in my ear. “We’ll be together if you come into the water. You’ll be warm if you come into the water. You’ll be-”
I began the prayer that all sailors were taught before coming aboard. “Blue lights, shine upon the shore. Deliver us from the black ocean, confide in our secrets. Let the-”
“James.” The mist was indeed less crowding now, proof of the words’ power. Around me, wisps broke away like puffs of smoke, no longer hanging in the air. I tried to look on the bright side as my mouth formed the warding. The mist was dangerous, but what part of sailing was devoid of such troubles? It was the danger that most signed for. The promise of adventure. I rolled my eyes at the thought. How foolish I’d been all those years ago.
“James. You’ll need to go into the water. You can’t escape from it. Why not choose yourself, are you not free?” The goading did nothing to me. The voices were so quiet now I had to strain my ears to check for them. I scanned the empty night horizon once more. There was the sound of laughter below decks, inviting. I sighed again.
“Check-In!” Came a holler from the helm-deck. I waited to sound off. “One!” Came the shout from the Crow’s Nest. “Two!” Came the shout from the Aft. “Three!” sounded the shout from behind me, the Port side. “Four!” I sounded off, my voice strong in the air. The check grounded me, it was mandatory when sailing through the mists, to ensure no green or young sailor was guiled into drowning themselves. I continued the prayer after, the voice in my ears singing in the voice of my mother, so far away. It angered me, but what could I do?
“James. You will come to us. You will be with us. It’s only a matter of when.” The sounds of a picnic now, of children laughing, trees rustling in the wind. Church bells and rays of gold-
I gasped as someone shook my shoulder. I turned to see an officer, the ship's parson. “Saw you leaning over the water there, my son. You alright?” How long had it been? “Yes I…I almost went over. Forgot to continue the prayer.” He nodded. “Do you need relieving? The watch is only half over but I could-” Blood rushed to my cheeks. “No.” The boys’d never let me live it down if they knew I’d almost fallen for some fog’s tricks. He nodded again. “See that you mind yourself, eh? The water is dark here…” His eyes darted about the horizon before he sauntered away, whistling a tune as the lantern he held swayed with crisp blue light.
I started praying again. “I am the Star’s kin, blessed are they to be the givers of light and takers of water. Paradise awaits those that-”
“Come into the water. Come into the water. This way!” The voices called out to me, beckoning still. I put acid into my voice as it went out, the mist watching from every angle. “I think, and speak, and I be, therefore the light touches me, suffuses my body.” I chanted now, resolutely. The whisper was almost gone. “You’ll be with us James. No prophecy, just inevitable. Spare your suffering and join!” I sung out, “And this light devours the dark waters of the world, just as it delivers us from evil and malediction.” “This way…” Was the last I heard, until only the wash of waves and creaking of the ship replaced it completely.
It was finally quiet. I tested it, stopped praying. Indeed, the voices had ceased. I looked out over the water. Empty, same as before. I turned to look back over the deck a moment, then back at the water. Perhaps the mist had thinned enough to hold no power, or maybe had grown bored. I wiped my brow. “Sound off!” Came the cry once more.
There, past a smidgen of rock, I saw a wake break over the misty water. I rubbed my eyes, the sweat still sticking to my forehead. It was closer than it looked.
“One!” Came the cry from the Nest above.
The line of water began running parallel to the ship. I thought it was another mist-trick for a moment, then heard the voice in my ears again, much to my consternation. “This way…” I began chanting softly again. “Deliver us from evil, o light…”
“Two!” Came the cry from the back of the ship.
A second wake joined the first. My eyes narrowed. The voice became louder despite my prayer. “This way…!”
“Three!” Came the voice behind me.
The wakes broke the surface to reveal longboats, silent as the mists that cloaked them. My breath caught in my throat. It hadn’t just been speaking to me. Inside, dark figures cloaked in seaweed and sharkskin pointed, the shrouds giving them the appearance of grim reapers. One pointed at me.
“Starboard?” Called out from the helm. I turned to shout. “Hungry Fog, raiders!” and ducked. But I wasn’t fast enough. A bola caught me in the neck as I went, and it wrapped around me like a noose. My hands went to my throat, trying to untangle it. While I did, the other watchmen shouted out orders, rallying. From where I sat choking, hooks appeared over the banister, the figures following, flowing over the railing like black eels. One stopped and picked me up, by my wheezing throat. His grip was wet and cold, the breath on my face like rotten fish and sulfur. I heard the mist laughing in my ears, a cold fear gripped my heart.
And with little ceremony I was thrown, choking, dying, down into the water. The mist rose up in the shape of a maw, teeth gnashing shut as I hit the surface. Water dripped through my throat, sealing off my last oxygen as I trashed in the pure black water. There was no sound, not even of the struggle above. My eyes strained, terror, confusion. The darkness rose, the final curtain drawing as bubbles formed around me, a thousand faces watching as I died. I felt hands caress my weak, numb flesh, and with finality heard the whisper in my ears for the final time: “Welcome home James.”
Thanks for reading! | 17 | I think, therefore I am... You mutter. For the first time since the fog left you take comfort in remembering one of the most irrefutable facts known. A voice chuckles and replies back "Are you sure?" | 205 |
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods. | 2,852 | The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | 6,557 |
While the boy tells his story in a low, hesitating voice, I watch out of my office window. The sun is about to set, and the sky is speckled with glowing red and yellow bands. The boy, who has introduced himself as Albert, has obviously come into the wrong place. The therapist's offices are one floor further up, but I know he's on holidays and his practice is closed. I'm about to send Albert home and continue with that dreary report, but his expression makes me change my mind. His face is almost white, his eyes wide with fear, his body almost shaking. I am afraid that he might do something stupid if I sent him away. With a sigh, I switch off my screen, pour him a shot of rum to ease his nerves, and invite him to tell his story.
I have my own record of long, sleepless nights and terrifying nightmares. I have done a bit of reading, a bit of therapy myself, about this subject, so when Albert starts talking about his dreams, I can relate well. Nevertheless, I am an astrophysicist by trade, not a psychologist nor a therapist. So for a couple of minutes I am only half listening, rather thinking about how I might get professional help for this poor fellow on a late Friday afternoon. But then he says something that makes my blood freeze.
With a hoarse voice I ask him to repeat. Without looking at me, Albert recalls the scene from his dream.
"He says I must share this formula with the world, with humanity. He keeps screaming at me in this... very low, thundering voice. It's very deep in my head, it's..."
I interrupt: "No, but say again, what this formula is supposed to be about! Did this... guy... really say 'unification of quantum mechanics and relativity'?"
Albert shrugs his shoulders, and confirms that this was pretty much what he understood, yes. He has been having this dream, this nightmare, for every single night over the last four weeks. I can very well sympathize, but it is not what got me started. This formula, which Albert has been seeing in his dreams, has been sought after by every major physicist for at least half a century. The one theory to unify all the parts. The equation to explain the cosmos, the universe, our existence. So many brilliant thinkers have tried, some may have been close, but so far it has all been dead ends. It's generally believed among physicists that this world formula, this grand unified theory, would finally explain how reality really worked. It would be the ultimate victory of science over the chaos of reality.
With a shaking voice I ask: "And you think you remember the formula enough to reproduce it here?"
Again, Albert shrugs his shoulders. "I have no idea what all of them signs mean, to be sure. But I've been staring at them for long enough to describe them to you, if you think it is of any relevance."
I fumble out some paper and pen and slide it over to him. "I... Well, I think it might have some relevance indeed, so if you wouldn't mind?"
Albert starts drawing greek letters, mathematical operators and some arrows to connect the parts. I stare with my mouth open. I do not understand all of the details, but I immediately recognize familiar patterns. This is no bogus, no dreamy fantasy. This is actual quantum mechanics. Or theory of relativity. Or, in fact, somehow both at once. The unification that has eluded us for so long.
When Albert stops drawing, I turn around the paper and continue staring at it. Bit by bit, I start to grasp more details. I recognize terms and ideas. Energy, matter, probability functions, they all are weaved together into a magical fabric.
Albert's low voice makes me look up. "Prometheus said it is really, really important to share this with everyone as quickly as possible. He sounded really worried, more urgent each night."
I looked at this young, innocent man. "Prometheus...", I mumble, looking out of the window. The last rays of the sun have disappeared behind the hills, and I'm looking down onto the lights of the evening city. Has he finally stolen the God's final secret? Is he trying to give it to us humans? But why? And at what cost?
I take out my phone and activate the camera to take a picture of the equations. One of my good friends is an expert in quantum relativity. I'd like to have his opinion about this before going on about it.
That is when we hear a high pitched noise, quickly growing louder, getting nearer. Startled, we turn our heads to the window. The last thing we see before eternal darkness, is a fiery meteor shooting right towards us. | 24 | A young lad walks into an office, thinking he is at the therapist's. The person inside is not the therapist he was looking for, but a physicist. Dejected by the misunderstanding, the boy turns to leave. Seeing the boy's depressed face however, the physicist decides to hear the poor boy out. | 120 |
"So tell me", the dragon slurred through a mouthfull of teeth the size of my arm. "Why did you even try this?" He slid a pawn forward with the tip of his tail. The motion reminded me of an elephant moving its trunk, with precise yet lanky movements.
"Well, desperation, I suppose" I admitted, sliding forth a pawn of my own. "I've got student debt thats only growing larger, an apartment with rent that's doubling in June, a medical issue I can't afford to fix..."
"Well, that's certainly the best reason I've heard so far", the dragon rumbled. He selected a knight, leaping the pawns before it. "But to fail here will mean certain death. You'd risk death to solve your financial woes?"
"Doesn't seem like the worst outcome", I said wearily, as I placed another pawn forwards.
The dragon paused mid-reach. "Don't talk like that, human" he said softly. "Every life is precious. You don't get another one, so spend this one doing what you want to." He punctuated his statement with the clack of a pawn moving forward.
"But what else am I supposed to do?" I pleaded. "I'm working two jobs already, I barely have time to sleep and eat and do both well enough to not get fired."
The dragon stared at me. "Your move", it rumbled.
"I know, I'm not sure what move to make. Do I quit one job and search for a better one overall? I've already cut my expenses-"
"No", the dragon interrupted me, snorting a small blast of flames from his nostrils in irritation. "Your move on the game."
"Right", I muttered, as I slid a bishop out from his starting place. "I just don't have any alternative, really"
The dragon scoffed. "Look around you, human" he said. "Do you think I acquired my wealth from playing their games?"
I looked around the vast cavern, taking in the heaping mounds of gold, jewels, gilded weapons and armors from countless centuries scattered around seemingly at random.
"Uh, no?" I said. "judging by the scorch marks on that armor, I'd say you took it"
"Exactly" he cooed, "you can't just sit back and find the scraps they are willing to give you. You'll have to take your life back from them". He moved a rook forward, placing it in position to take my bishop.
"What do you think I was doing here?" I said, raising an eyebrow as I retreated my bishop.
"Taking from the wrong source" he growled back, taking the bishop with his knight. "You tried to do to me what they are doing to you, taking the wealth right out from under your nose."
It was much more litteral with the dragon. He had a small assortment of gold coins across his upper lip, directly in front of his nostrils. I decided to keep that observation to myself.
I moved a pawn forwards, next to the knight. "But how would I do that?" I asked. "They keep their money in banks, in offshore account and in investments."
The dragon tilted his head, pointing towards the charred armor in a corner of the cavern. "I wouldn't recommend taking it directly" he said, sliding his tail towards the chessboard again. "What you need to do is take what is most precious to them, without them ever noticing." With a nimble flick, his tail moved his rook forward, taking a pawn I had yet to move.
Puzzled, I took the proffered rook with my bishop on the other side. "But how would I even do that?" I asked.
The dragon took the other bishop with the same knight. "Checkmate in three" he boomed. "You bait them into a trap, and strike them as they respond."
"But how?" I asked. It was a hypothetical question, since I had indeed just lost. "You said yourself to not strike them directly. But what kind of trap can I set to take them like this?" I gestured to the chess board.
The dragon laughed, shaking the entire cavern with his bellows of hot breath. "Human, did you think I was using a chess game to teach you a lesson?"
"Uh... it kind of felt like that, yes" I responded weakly.
"You would take lessons from a dragon?" He asked, a broad smile still on his mouth.
"Well, yeah" I said. "What you said made sense."
The dragon's expression turned into a quizzical one. "Are there others like you, Human? Others trapped in your system, sending all their money to the ones hoarding it, desperate for an alternative?"
"Well yes, actually" I said, puzzled.
The dragon smiled. "I have won the game, so your life is mine. I shall spare you death if you work for me."
"Ok." I agreed readily. "That's not so different than my current predicament anyways."
The dragon grinned, showing off his impressive teeth. "Good. Gather more like you, more humans enslaved by these financial barons. I will teach you, lead you, and then rule you. You will tithe half your wealth to me, here in this chamber."
"Works for me", I agreed readily. "That would save me so much. Thanks for the opportunity, boss".
The dragon smiled deeper. I could see the glow of flames from behind those giant fangs. A burning of desire and greed, an insatiable hunger for wealth.
Still better than the alternative.
/r/SlightlyColdStories is right there if you want more. Just click it. No, not like that, Grandma, left click. Not with your left hand, with- | 14 | You walk into the dragon's lair to steal its treasure, you get caught and are challenged to a game of chess | 26 |
“Hello Sarah.”
I had always expected a scary government official to be knocking at my door one day, but to be completely honest I hadn't really expected today to be the day.
“Hello Mr-“ I began slowly. “CIA agent?”
My voice may have squeaked slightly on the last word. To be fair, CIA agents showing up at your door normally was not a good sign.
“We would like to bring you into one of our facilities. We have had an… arrival, and it requires your immediate involvement.”
“An arrival?” I parrotted back, confused.
“Yes,” the agent confirmed.
“Follow me please,” he requested.
I nodded dumbly and followed him.
An arrival… It could only be one thing. Aliens. I had known that my attempts to contact them had worked, and now I was about to get the proof. I wondered whether Oprah would finally respond to my requests to be on her show.
The car ride was long, and rather awkward. As much as Mr. CIA Agent and Mr. CIA Agent (2) had assured me that they were not arresting me, being in a car surrounded by men employed by the United States government still transported me back to Spring Break 2005 in Wildwood, New Jersey. That had been a particularly enjoyable evening and therefore had ended, like most other particularly enjoyable evenings, with me in a holding cell being bailed out by my Stepdad Pete.
“Miss Evans, you may exit the vehicle now,” Mr. CIA Agent informed me.
“Oh, are we not on first name terms anymore?” I asked, trying to bring some levity to the strange situation.
Mr. CIA Agent did not seem to find my quips particularly witty. “Go,” he directed as Mr. CIA Agent (2) pulled me out of the car roughly.
I followed the agents into a very secure building. I could tell it was a very secure building because after fingerprinting me they decided I couldn’t be allowed in. Since they decided I needed to come in regardless, in order to prevent me from causing mass havoc they blindfolded me until they reached our destination.
Our destination appeared to be an interrogation room.
“I knew it!” I exclaimed triumphantly.
“You are arresting me. You lure me in with the promise of aliens, but instead just arrest me. That is low, Mr. CIA Agent, very low. I will tell you what I told your NYPD friends. I had nothing to do with the Porridge Bowl.”
“She knows about the aliens?” Mr. CIA Agent (2) whispered to Mr. CIA Agent.
“She was involved with the Porridge Bowl?” Mr. CIA Agent responded, his voice a mixture of horror and admiration.
“You are not being arrested, nor being lured in with the promise of aliens,” A third voice announced. I resisted the urge to scream. The voice was scary. “Although, you should have been arrested for the Porridge Bowl, what you did was frankly despicable. Furthermore, we can conclusively say that your attempts to contact the aliens were unsuccessful and actually quite embarrassing for you.”
A woman, presumably the source of the voice, stepped out of the shadows. I immediately noted that despite her scary voice, she was very attractive.
“You have been brought here,” she continued, “because of her.”
At “her” the darkened interrogation room suddenly lit up and I saw what was inside.“That’s me,” I said slowly.
“It is,” Hot CIA Agent informed me. “Or at least we think it is you. She appeared here yesterday, and after running a few tests and an unfortunate incident with a laser pointer we realized that she is you, despite you not having left your home.”
“Can I talk to her?” I asked slowly.
“Yes,” Hot CIA Agent replied. “We need to gather as much information as we can and unfortunately she has not been the most cooperative guest.”
I gasped. “Is she, like, Evil Me?“ I asked in amazement. I had always wanted an evil twin, at the very least so I could prove — to my parents, friends, romantic interests, and my Stepdad Pete who had been all three at different points in my life — that it could always have been worse.
“That is what we are thinking, yes,” Hot CIA Agent informed me.
“Cool,” I replied. “Can I go talk to her now?”
“Go ahead,” Hot CIA Agent responded, opening the door for me.
“Hey,” I greeted Evil Me as I entered. “I’m Sarah.”
Evil Me raised an eyebrow. “I’m Sarah too.”
“Nice,” I responded. “So what are you doing here, Sarah 2.”
“Why am I Sarah 2,” she asked, offended.
Evil Me was already being difficult. “Because this is MY universe, and I was here first,” I told her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know,” she responded with a sigh. “There was an accident in the lab.”
“In your evil lab?” I asked, excited.
Evil Me looked confused. “I don’t think so?”
Evil Me was a liar. At least we had that in common.
“What were you doing in the lab?” I asked.
“Oh just some experiments,” she responded airily. “Nothing you would be interested in.”
So Evil Me was torturing people. Very respectable.
“So Sarah 2,” I continued, deciding to give up on that line of questioning for now. “What do you do in your personal life? Other than your little torture ‘experiments’?”
I made sure to use air quotes when I said “experiments” so that she knew that I was onto her.
“Well, I don’t do torture experiments,” she began, looking at me oddly. She was surprisingly good at feigning confusion. "But I am working on my Ph.D. in quantum mechanics at Rutgers.”
Evil Me is a Ph.D. student? In quantum mechanics? At Rutgers? Further proof that she is the embodiment of evil.
“What do you do in your free time then?” I asked, leaning closer to Evil Me.
“I volunteer at a pet shelter and I tutor underprivileged kids in science.” Evil Me’s cover for her evil deeds. She truly is a genius. An evil genius. “I also have a wife named Sharon and a daughter named Riley,” Evil Me finished. “Sharon is a lawyer.”
I was really starting to hate Evil Me. How could someone so evil have such a nice life?“
How’s Stepdad Pete?” I asked.
“Stepdad Pete?” she asked, confused. “I don’t have one. I have Stepdad George though. He’s been with Mom since I was 15 and he helped to foster a love of physics in me.”
It seems that Stepdad Pete was our universe’s divergence point.
“Here, Mom met Stepdad Pete when I was 19,” I informed her. “He’s cool.”
“I’m assuming you’re not doing a Ph.D.?” Evil Me asked.
I was offended at the implication in her question. “No,” I began, “But I could if I wanted to.”
“Well obviously,” Evil Me gestured to herself. “So what do you do then?”
“I live with my Stepdad Pete,” I began.
“And Mom?” Evil Me asked.
“No, just Stepdad Pete,” I informed her. “I don’t necessarily have a job, I haven’t found anything that feels right. Luckily Pete has a very good job, so we’re good money-wise.”
“How does Mom feel about you dating Stepdad Pete?” Evil Me asked. She wrinkled her nose. “And why do you call him Stepdad Pete?”
“Well, she divorced him and moved to Paris when she found out,” I informed her. “And because Stepdad Pete is his name, obviously.”
“You stole Mom’s husband?” Evil Me asked. I have no idea why she seemed so horrified. She’s supposed to be Evil Me, after all.
“‘Stole’ is a strong word,” I replied. “I prefer ‘borrowed’. Anyways it's a good thing Mom isn’t speaking to me anymore. I don’t know if she’d survive knowing about the Porridge Bowl.”
“The Porridge Bowl?” Evil Me asked.
I sighed heavily. “You might wanna stand near the drain for this one.”
It was only after I had explained the Porridge Bowl story to Evil Me, and she was throwing up in the corner, that it occurred to me that she might not be Evil Me after all. It seemed difficult to believe that the crime of being a Rutgers student would be worse than the many crimes committed because of the Porridge Bowl.
Crimes that I had admitted to in front of multiple CIA agents I realized too late, as Hot CIA Agent came in, bearing handcuffs.
“Shit,” I said weakly.
“No one can hide forever,” Hot CIA Agent said with a smile as she slipped the handcuffs on me.
Across from me, Not So Evil Me smiled a truly evil smile. | 21 | Your evil alternate reality (goatee optional) version of yourself comes to your world. But as you learn more about them you begin to realize that they’re not so bad. In fact, you begin to suspect that you have been the evil version of yourself all along. | 78 |
"...uh, not guilty, I suppose" I said. I heard a gasp echo around the courtroom, as spectators and news crews reacted alike.
The judge loomed in front of me, spiked gavel in hand. "Did you just plea 'NOT guilty', Steven?" he asked. "Not guilty to bombing the Delta quadrant, not guilty to pumping poison gas into the hospital on live television, not guilty for re-directing that hyper train into a giant wood chipper?"
"Uh... yeah. Not guilty to all that" I said. "I didn't do anything like that."
An outcry of emotion erupted from behind me. Dozens of angry shouts reverberated through the courtroom. A few spectators started throwing things at me, causing the TV drones to drift in evasive maneuvers.
The judge banged his gavel onto the impressively large desk, sending sparks flying in an intimidating arc. "Order!" He shouted. "I will have order!"
The bailiffs, or at least this realities version of bailiffs, approached the unruly crowd with large ceremonial pikes at the ready. The noise finally stopped under threat of staining a ceremonial flag below a serrated blade.
"Steven, you are on holo-film committing these acts. You delivered a speech when you sent that doomsday weapon out to that section of the galaxy. You laughed as whole worlds imploded, on live broadcast! And now you say you didn't kill 11 SEPTILLION sentients?"
"......yeah?" I said. "I think I'd remember that. I mean, how many zero's is even in a septillion?"
"Twenty Four", the judge growled softly.
"Wow" I said. "That's a lot."
"Indeed" he said, in the same tone.
"So how do we do this, you present the prosecution's arguments, I try to defend myself, Jury comes in and says who's right?" I asked.
The judge stared at me. "Are you quite done wasting this court's time?" He asked.
"Uh... sorry, just trying to get my bearings." I said. "I just woke up in this reality this morning."
The courtroom erupted again. A glass bottle struck a TV drone, causing it to crash into the ground by my feet. It still tried to do its job, rotating the camera up at me from its newest vantage point on the ground.
The judge slammed his gavel so hard that the spiked head broke off in a shower of sparks. "STEVEN" He shouted, spittle flying further than the sparks had. "YOU HAVE MADE A MOCKERY OF THIS COURT FOR THE LAST TIME."
He pointed the broken Gavel at the pair of bailiffs. "I sentence him to death. You may carry out the sentence."
The two armed men didn't need a second thought. They lowered their pikes at me and approached, the ceremonial flags dragging on the ground by their feet.
"Wait! I really am from a different dimension! I didn't kill anyone, much less eleventy Septillion people! You've got to believe me!"
The guards didn't care. The one on the left thrust the weapon at my chest, intending to deliver the killing blow before his companion could. I closed my eyes, and winced in anticipation of the pain.
But it never struck.
I opened my eyes and found myself in a small room, surrounded by wires and machines with blinky lights everywhere. "what..."
I heard a slow clap come from nearby, muffled by some sort of barrier. I looked in the direction of the source of the sound and saw myself. Well, a version of myself, anyways. A version with cold, dead eyes, and a small scar along his cheek.
"Well done, Steven" I (he?) said. "Well done."
I looked around, confusion only growing with each new sight. "What the hell", I said. My doppleganger laughed softly.
"Don't worry yourself" I/He said. "You were only a guinea pig for my DNA Teleportation lifeboat. And you were flawless." He reached for a button on the console on the other side of the energy barrier.
"Uh.... are you sending me back to my own reality?" I asked.
I/He chuckled again. "No, you know too much. I'm incinerating you." He pressed the button.
/r/SlightlyColdStories if ya want. | 25 | You wake up one day to realize you're in a different time and reality. Today is the day that the Universal Court is trying you for killing 11 septillion sentient beings. | 54 |
I pull my sword out of a farmer's back. A death rattle trembles from his lips as he breathes his last breath. He collapses to the ground as I wipe the blood on my linen pants. Smoke fills my nostrils as I turn to see the destruction we've wrought. Burning houses, dead peasants, my men running amok. They parade the remaining peasants through the center of town, a display of total domination. Hot blood courses through us as it does all warriors in the throws of a raid. Our lust for blood and gold rages with wild abandon, whipped up by the screaming of villagers and their shrieks of mercy to a god that has forsaken them.
But not this time. And not the time before, or the time before that. Instead of groveling at our feet for mercy, they kiss our hands and grasp onto our legs. This is the third town where these meek fools have welcomed our bloodshed and dampened our fervor.
Uldis, my largest warrior, pries a little girl from his arm. She beams an alarming smile. I've seen Uldis alight with rage, crying from loss, and drunk in merriment. But I've never seen this look on his face... utter surprise at the tiny girl clinging to him.
'Blessings to you, savior! Blessed are our liberators!' shrieks the little girl. He kicks her away into the dirt, but it doesn't diminish her glee.
A village crone grabs onto my bloodied hand and pecks kisses on my knuckles.
'You have freed us, brave warrior!' she cries as my bloody hand stains her face.
'We're not here to save you wretches. We've come to take what's ours, gold and glory. We care not for your lives,' I retort as an wrench my hand away from the mad woman. 'How can you celebrate our victory with your men dead and the others in bondage?'
She screeches a laugh as sharp as a knife. The living women and children of the village join her in shrieking jubilation. My men stop in their tracks, taken aback by the chorus of insane merriment. The crone glides to the body of the peasant I skewered and flips him over. She runs her hand along his blank face.
'These are not are our men, they're our captors. We serve only one man, and now we are free to join our true king,' she says softly. 'And he rules upon a crimson throne beyond this muck.'
'We are free! Finally free!' the little girl squeals as her voice descends into an uncanny depth. The women and children turn their heads to the bright sky above and howl and ungodly sound.
My men back away from the mad villagers. The peasants' eyes roll back into their heads as their feet lift from the ground. They float up through the smoke and dust and hover over the village like vultures over a corpse.
Uldis stumbles to my side. 'Sire, what is this?' he begs, fear overcoming the strongest man I've ever known.
I have no words. I've seen villages slaughtered, cities toppled and kings executed. I've seen nations fall and floods rage.
But I've never seen the sky turn red and crack open like a skull. | 14 | After conquering the third town in a row, you still can't understand why instead of screaming and running, the villagers are calling you their savior instead. | 25 |
Gerald lounged behind his security desk, looking at a bank of crystal monitors. Each one displayed a different image of the museum, packed full of wonders. His radio crackled with the occasional light hearted banter, as his colleagues channeled their boredom into idle comments.
"Man, I wish someone would try and rob the place."
He frowned, clicking onto the chat.
"Harv's, shut up. You should be pleased no-one does. You get a nice wage, just about the safest security gig there is, and the appreciation of some of the rich nutters."
"But it's so boring."
He rolled his eyes at the childish edge to Harv's voice.
"Oh boohoo. Janice, find something for the baby to play with."
He smirked as he heard a couple of snorts. Janice quickly spoke up, a smile clearly obvious in her tone.
"Don't worry Harv's. I have a nice rattle you could use."
Laughter broke out, and Gerald grinned. His eyes flicked to a monitor showing the front door, as Kalem peered out.
"Everything good Kalem?"
He watched Kalem frown, raising his radio to his mouth. As he began to speak, the door suddenly burst inwards. An alarm went off, as something big and fast smashed through. Gerald's mouth fell open, as dust swirled around. He watched the view settle, and Kalem's broken body crushed into the ground.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Whats going on?!"
"Gerald, what's happening?!"
The radio squawked with different people shouting over each other. Gerald shook himself, cutting over everyone's shouting.
"Shut up! We have an intruder! Weapons out!"
He threw himself at the console, changing his views. A blur flashed past one, letting him narrow it down.
"It's heading for the Gem Exhibit!"
A chorus of affirmations rang out, as the security team converged. Gerald watched, waiting to see who had decided to wreck their peaceful night. The thing slowed, stepping into a room with various glittering displays. It was a towering construct of rock, with coloured veins of ore running through it. It's body was large and blocky, with thick lumps of stone creating the impression of arms.
It's head swivelled slowly, scanning the room. Gerald just watched, as it focused on one of the newer displays. The thing stepped towards it, as five guards ran in. They held batons, each one crackling with yellow energy. He watched as Harv's attacked first, swinging his baton. It bounced off the things back, having no effect.
The thing turned immediately, swinging it's monstrously thick arm. Gerald gasped, watching in horror as Harv's chest crumpled inwards. He was thrown across the room, smashing into an exhibit of rare black diamonds.
The others worked in tandem, trying to take it down. But their attacked were equally ineffective. Gerald could only watch as each one was crushed, the intruder apparently unaffected by their Paralysing Batons.
It continued to the exhibit, casually reaching through its glass case. It took a specific palm sized gem, pausing for a moment to inspect it. It's rocky hand opened up, swallowing the gem inside.
Without another glance, the thing began to run, leaving through the same route it followed in. Gerald wordlessly kept an eye on it as it left, no worse the wear than when it entered.
\-----
The Ore Golem was pleased. Part Forty Two had been retrieved. It estimated there were Five Hundred and Sixty Four to go, before its love was restored. It cared not for those who had tried to keep them apart. They were simply obstacles, nothing more.
Once it's love was back, it would find out who had was responsible. Those it was interested in, to let them feel the same pain it had felt when finding the Gem Golems broken body. | 20 | Two golems, one made of ancient ores and the other made of glistening gems, have been madly in love for centuries. One day, the stone golem finds their lover brutally smashed to pieces, with each piece stolen and sold to museums and private collections across the world. | 58 |
I remove my sword from his abdomen and take the key from his lifeless body. I didn't come to claim any part of his kingdom for my own - that privilege belonged to the commander of the rebel army, Theodore Brunning - but the look the emperor gave me as he offered me access to his library...I clean my sword and try not to think much of it.
I'm knighted, of course, because of my valor in having killed the emperor. Something in the back of my mind objects, saying that it wasn't particularly valiant, or even difficult. Almost as if the emperor wanted me to kill him. King Theodore would just see this as cowardice on the emperor's part, though, even if I get a different sense from it. I haven't told Theodore about the key yet, of course: for all his majesty knows, there is no library. Just a cellar he cannot access. His locksmiths couldn't open the door, and even the sharpest axe for some reason could not break through its wood. It seemed to have an enchantment on it. The king cursed and left the cellar alone.
Three months after the coup, I still see the emperor in my dreams. I've become one of the generals in King Theodore's army and have taken a princess from a neighboring kingdom as my wife, but I still can't keep my mind off of that library. After one particularly sleepless night, I ask for entrance into the royal palace. Of course, I make it look like a normal visit to the palace. I eat lunch with the king - he's much more hospitable than the emperor was, of course. Afterwards, on my way out, I make a detour. If I remember correctly, I say to myself, it's down this hallway. Surely enough, it is.
I slip the key into the lock, half expecting it to do nothing. I turn it and hear a "click." The door opens effortlessly, as though it were made of the lightest wood. I light a lamp for myself and see them - books, hundreds of books bound in leather. Spell books, almanacs of strange lands, books about medicines and potions, ancient poems older than the land on which I stand, and much more. I flip through a few books.
Is this how the emperor came into power? Through sorcery? Knowledge of things beyond the understanding of other men? I turn to a page describing a potion that only kills a certain target. You can, its description reads, surreptitiously pour it into any shared source of water, wine, and strong drink, and only the intended victim will die.
A year later, the king and I complete a military campaign just in time for harvest season. He has still yet to take a wife for himself (though he has no reason to think he's in any hurry) and my wife is already expectant. If something were to happen to him, who would inherit his throne? Perhaps the man that killed the emperor should have that honor. I tell him I will provide wine for the party, for my father owned a vineyard and had recently given some of his finest stock to me as a gift. Before transporting the barrels, I sneak my potion into one.
The sun sets and the king has his banquet prepared for him. Wine is poured for him, me, and his other guests, as the pork, guinea fowl, brussels sprouts, cheese, potatoes and onions, and many other foods are set out. We dig in and I stand up.
"A toast," I say, "to the kingdom, and to Theodore I! Long live the king!"
"Long live the king!" comes the response, and everyone drinks. | 17 | Before his death, the evil emperor laughs hands you a key to his library. His last words “Read and learn.” | 52 |
Who is this and why are they trying to help me? And who are these other people trying to catch me? Something fucked up is going on here.
These messages sound like some Nigerian Prince reading Tarot cards, but their past several warnings have gotten me out of a number of sticky situations. They have my back for some reason.
But now they’re telling me to find some doctor-programmer guy. It looks like he works for Tyrell. I shouldn’t be talking to someone like him, but none of this should be happening at all, so things are different now.
But the way my mysterious guardian is having me go about this seems like the guy isn’t supposed to know I’m coming. Maybe he really has to act like he doesn’t know. This is getting too weird, and too much.
I’m trying to intercept this guy on his way home while I’m heading towards the airport. It has to be timed pretty tight.
I think I see him but oh shit my brakes seem to not be working and I actually feel like I’m speeding up a little…
*crash*
Huh, that could have been a lot worse but still, this is fucked. I don’t know if I want to go check the damage, but I also probably shouldn’t just sit here waiting either. The other guy isn’t dazed enough to not be furious either.
“Hey asshole, do you not know what a red light is?!”
*a dart hits the guy in the shoulder and a cybernetically enhanced looking person flies into him out of nowhere, pinning him against his car*
[in robotic voice]”Leonard Connor, you have been poisoned. You have 3 minutes to perform this firmware update on device D9-36-B2-F9-44-AC before you succumb to the venom. If you do this, you will be given the antidote.”
“How do I know I can trust you”
“You don’t, but if you refuse you will be dead very soon”
“…Ok, I’ll authorize it”
*the android freezes for a few seconds, then reactivates*
“There, now help me!”
*the robot injects him with something, then jams a drill into his forehead and pulls it out. He’s still standing but seems kind of unresponsive. He’s starting to drool a little*
“John Ripley, you have served your purpose, the registration and purchase records for your car have been deleted from every database. Your bank account reflects this accordingly. Leave now before the police find you and do not mention any of this to anyone. You should understand why.” | 145 | or if logfiles show that it is not trying to kill them. So begins a delicate game of continually trying but finding excuses to fail. Terrorized by a dozen "close calls", the target is becoming suspicious. | 1,453 |
"Congratulations mum and dad, it's a boy!" You say, placing the swaddled baby into the witch's arms.
"What?" The witch and demon blurted out in comical unison. You grab your phone and take a quick snap, it's not everyday the all powerful Witch Supreme and Krzyhthak the Devourer are seen looking this dumbfoubded after all. You could probably sell the photo for a pretty penny on the dark market, maybe even ride on the NFT hype!
"He's got a hefty set of lungs on him, you might want to pick up some ear plugs," you add, thrusting a bag of the baby's things in the demon's suddenly slack arms.
"What is the meaning of this?" The witch cries, staring from your face, to the demon's, to the baby's in bewilderment.
"Your baby, of course, as promised."
"But!" The demon spluttered, "Why is she here?!"
You turn to face the duo. The witch has regained her wits enough to hold the baby so he is no longer in danger of taking a tumble. The demon still has his jaw somewhere around his knees, and an expression of panic is starting to grow in his 6 eyes.
"Babies do best with both parents around, as studies have proven. Now I couldn't deprive him of having a complete family, could I? What kind of birth mother would I be if I didn't provide for his future as best as I could?"
"You lie! The contract states- "
You narrow your eyes.
"The contract is perfectly clear, Krzyhthak. As Section 4, Paragraph 21 states, the child must be raised in a complete family, and Section 7, Paragraph 9, Section 5 states that in event of an incomplete family structure the birth parent, that is I, will need to make arrangements to remedy that."
You turn to the witch.
"You'll find your contract says the same. It's really not my fault if you signed something without reading the fine print. Now do excuse me, I must be off. There's a magic convention in Orlando I'm late for. Toodle-loo!"
Just before you step through the portal you hear the demon bellow:
"HELLS-DAMNED LAWYER!" | 12 | You promised a witch your firstborn child in exchange for magic powers. You promised the same to a demon for immortality. The moment your child is born, they both appear, ready to collect the debt. | 28 |
"...lone star ticks? Really?" I asked.
I had been friends with Tom for years, listening to his vegan rants with half hearted interest and pretending to enjoy the food he brought to our potlucks. But ever since he had joined that forum, he had been... different.
"Yep!" Tom said cheerfully. "Lone star ticks. They can create an allergic response to eating meat. I release these babies in a crowd, and then bam! A hundred new vegans." He emphasized his point with jazz hands, lightly shaking the mason jar full of ticks.
I stepped out of tick jar range. "How did you even get all those?"
He smiled. "I caught them. Went out into the woods, drew them to me, and collected a good third of them."
I hesitated. "...why just a third?"
Tom showed his first pangs of regret. "Well, pulling ticks off of yourself can be... difficult... and sometimes, if you grip it wrong, their heads kind of stay behind." He put his fingertips together and mimicked a stretching motion.
I stared at him. "So you have twice the number of those" I pointed at his jar of ticks "of dead tick heads inside you."
"Yeah, its like an elephant graveyard in there." Tom waved his free hand vaguely over his trousers.
"Dude, go to the ER, like now." I said. "That can't be good for you."
"No, no, its ok! I drank an extra Kombucha today, I'll be fine." Tom said, swaying slightly where he stood.
"Nope, come on, you eco-terrorist. We're going to the doc." I grabbed his free hand and pulled him towards the front door.
"NO!" He shouted, wrenching his arm free of my grip. "I have to do this! I must-"
His jerky motions caused him to lose his grip on the mason jar. I leapt back in horror as Tom's Tick Grenade flew through the air, landing with a sickening crack against my TV. For the first time in my life, I hoped it was the TV that had broken.
It wasn't.
I pulled Tom outside and slammed my door shut. "Ok, first ER, then an exterminator. You're gonna buy me every bug bomb they have."
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. | 26 | A vegan terrorist is planning to use a plague of lone star ticks to spreat meat allergy | 32 |
“Yes!” was the first instinct that ran through my mind as I paused to consider the red light. “Yes! Go!” echoed in my head as I tried to recall the coping exercises my new therapist had desperately tried to instill in me.
“Okay, okay, we can do this. Name three things you can see. Dog, Starbucks, blue. Name two things you can heaRRRRRRRRRRRR”. The car behind us is tired of waiting for us to accelerate and their horn snaps us back into feeling somewhat normal.
Everything is fine as Marie adjusts her shoulders, rolls down her window, and continues on to the pharmacy. Marie smiles at pedestrians, waves at yield signs, and desperately hopes she can get to her medication before they close.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” reverberates in her head as she tries to keep track of where she’s going. She hasn’t been sick for long, but the symptoms have been rapidly increasing. Marie could not let herself become “we” even though her mind screamed for her to do so.
Darkness shrouds the edge of my vision as I realize I’ve finally made it to the pharmacy. It’s been 3 days since I last took my medicine. The voice had supported me then, always reassuring that “Yes” I was better, “Yes!” I could do this without doctors, “Yes!!” everything would be fine. Where was that voice now?
I rush to the pharmacy desk and motion for the attention of one of the staff - “Kev” is all I read from his nametag before my panicked eyes try to find his.
“Hi Kev, I am late picking up my prescription and I really need to get it as soon as possible. It’s not addictive but it’s for my mental health, please. Please.”
Kev didn’t believe us. His own thoughts shifted to warning posters that HR had made sure would be seen by hanging them in every hallway. He remembered the FDA investigators that had visited his store and lost them a monthly bonus.
“No, ma’am, we just closed” uttered Kev as he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing.
As his hand reached for the automated gate, Marie was able to stop his progress with one word, “Yes.”
Kev’s feet didn’t even sense themselves leaving the ground before the waves of destruction wore him down to nothingness. The shelves and store behind him dissolved under the same flash of violence as madness arced out to reality at the speed of light.
–
Tone/perspective shifts were kind of on purpose because becoming the avatar of an eldritch god would probably make you go a bit loopy, first time posting here, etc etc :) | 53 | An Elderitch Abomination has chosen you to be its avatar. Problem is it can’t inhabit your body without your explicit consent. So now it’s trying desperately to get you to say yes | 213 |
Her voice. Her voice was like a symphony of instruments played by demigods of music- alluring, enchanting, mesmerizing.
For Lieutenant Commander William Holloway of the United States Navy, it scared him.
It told stories of sailors lost to sea. Stories of monsters consuming on the flesh of men enchanted by lust, love, or loneliness. And, he knew, the stories were true.
Which placed him in an odd predicament, as he felt no mental influence on him. He didn't want to cast his hat aside and leap into the sea. Instead, he was allowed emotions he shouldn't- fear, apprehension, caution.
Lt. Com. Holloway was a proud man at 27, standing tall at six foot four, heavy even for his fellow sailors at 240 pounds- but he was the nicest damn officer on his ship, the USS Puller, recently built in honorifics of the legendary US Marine general.
That name lasted all of two days before the ship was called "Ol' Chesty", or just "Chesty". Still, it was his ship, and it was on it that he stood even as the majority of his crew took their shore leave.
And oh look, it's the siren now, still singing a song only he could hear while he tries his hardest to drink coffee and muster the energy to do paperwork. Angrily standing, the young officer slotted his sidearm on his desk to the holster to his right, and marched his ass down the ship onto the docks and straight towards the siren.
It took him a moment, the song allowing him to traverse land and then clamber his way up rocks before finding himself in a small chamber- before coming face to face with the siren.
It was nude. Of course it was nude. Why wouldn't it be nude? And it definitely wasn't an *it* either. *She* smiled brightly at the sight of him, splooshing into the water after sliding off of the rock she "sat" on across the small hidden pool.
The water was somewhat clear, but it shone green, a mixture of green and blue that came from the color of the cave itself. Aquamarine and other colors he couldn't name filled the cave, glittering from the casted rays of light of the hole in the caves roof.
She had a shell in her hair, on her left. It was adorable, even he knew that. The color was same same of the rest of the cave. She told him it was red, before. He had shrugged. William was colorblind.
"Shara, I had asked you to save your singing for after the morning."
She gave him a dazzling smile. It was dazzling, it was compassionate and sent his heart fluttering- she ticked all his boxes, and she knew it. If only he wasn't convinced this was still a ploy.
Perhaps a game? To get a man with singing and singing alone, to get them to voluntarily enter their embrace- and be consumed- without having to be coerced?
"William! Oh, I am sorry, yes, but, not morning? Is afternoon, yes?"
Her manner of speak irritated the side of Will that was once a writer, but her voice- it was innocently bright.
William sat on a rock to the left, tossing a stone into her water as he sighed. He nodded, his legs coming up to cross themselves and he kept his hands in his lap.
"Yeah, I suppose. It's what- ten? I'm usually up four hours before now, so you have a point."
Her smile didn't falter, and he resisted looking at her, instead casting his gaze on the walls and imagining what color the cave would be to his mom.
That was probably for the best, as she rose from the water- not that it hid much of her at all- and planted her elbows on the sand that lined the "shore". She reached out and poked a boot- which was yanked away- and giggled.
"Silly, William, yes? Or, was night rough? Bad dream? Uh, horse of the night?"
"Nightmare?"
"Yes! That! We simply call them bad dream in language."
To his chagrin, his face lifted to a smile. They've met a few times- well, many, many times because she wouldn't *shut up* with her singing until he did- over the last few months. As such, he knew she was quite concerned for him, that smile twisted into an almost motherly frown.
That bothered him. She seemed to genuinely care. And, what scared him more, was that he was starting to believe in that care- and not that she was evil.
"Yes, a bad dream. Bombs, you know the drill. We're back from conflict near Madagascar, pirates got hold of Egyptian warships. Or perhaps they were Egyptian warships turned to piracy?"
Shara didn't understand a lot of the words or messages he said. But she knew conflict, and she knew the word pirate. She also understood that the man she's fallen for was a combative, a warrior of his species. It was because he rode the waves with bravery and just a little bravado that she took a liking to him.
What? She was young! The uniforms definitely looked spiffy, and he was totally a daydream she or her sisters could have dreamed up.
But, as Will rambled and stared off into space the way he did at times, examining the colors of her cave and the textures of the rock, she knew just the thing to cheer him up.
And so she promptly dived under the water, swimming swiftly towards a small section were she stashed curios of the human world- and resurfaced with an old iPod.
"Will! William! Look what I found yesterday!"
And while her thoughts were intelligent, she knew her words and manner seemed flippant and uninterested. But, somehow she knew, while searching his face and seeing a smile slowly creep onto his face..
He knew that she was just trying to cheer him up. And, silently cheering, she felt as if she was making process in getting him to trust her.
She'd hate it if he decided to go away because of his fear of her. Not like her sisters did when she first yelled at them when they brought their first man back to consume, or like her mother when she berated Shara for being "different."
She wouldn't trade being different for the entire world and its riches, because being different is how she found Will. | 158 | A siren, a being who’s people are infamous for luring humans to their deaths, has genuinely fallen in love with a human who is suspicious (for obvious reasons) of their intentions. This begins a story about a kind siren and a skeptical human. | 678 |
""IDIOT! I told you to summon Uriel! URIEL! How did you misspell it as PETER! They have only one letter in common!", I yelled.
"Uhhh... sorry, boss...", muttered the incompetent underling.
How did we get to this point? Well, let me explain!
Cults are pragmatic too. We need money to put food on the table. Right now, we'd all quit our jobs to worship Satan. I guess it says a lot that we were all part of the technical support team.
I was the leader of the cult. The members were looking to me to pay the bills.
Our arch enemies, the Nevoc, stood for 'righteousness' and 'benevolence'. They had invented spells to track any nefarious demon-summoning, and would be down on us like a pack of 'just' wolves if we ever tried anything of the sort.
So, we decided to turn things on their head.
We decided to summon an angel.
Our plan was simple - deal in some harmless angel trafficking, get a pretty penny out of it, and feast like kings for the entire week!
Unfortunately, the buffoon summoned the wrong heavenly being. I guess it says a lot that he was from technical support.
It turns out, saints are a lot more revered than angels in heaven.
In front of us materialized an old man with a gray beard.
"Shit! He's here! Can you reverse it?"
"Uhhh... no can do, boss. The book says it clearly. Once the spell is cast, there can be no returns, reverses or refunds."
The saint began to talk.
“What matters is not your outward appearance. . . but your inner disposition. I'm not sure that holds true for him, though. Never have I seen a more bulbous nose."
"Hey!", excaimed the underling. His nose flared in indignation, making it even more bulbous.
"Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. If he had a bite of you, though... even the devil'd probably retch"
This time he addressed me.
When had this become a saintly roasting session?
“God loves us beyond comprehension, and we cannot diminish God's love for us. Rejoice! God is going to 'love' you to death.”
Wait. What was that last one?
The world turned bright.
Ahead of me, the pearly gates began to open.
Never before had I been more frightened. | 36 | Flipping the script, your coven decides to summon an angel instead of a demon, planning to trap it then ransom or sell it. But you accidentally conjure a Saint which you're not sure how long you can contain. Now you're looking to make the best deal you can before all Heaven breaks loose! | 181 |
I stared at her, eyes wide, “How did you know?”
She chuckled, “When we had to write about a dark time in our lives for English class a few years back you wrote about how your dog got sick. They didn't even die. You literally have never known death. The worst thing that happened to you was that you had to move out of your house for a week because of an ant infestation. Your parents are happy and together, and you actually get along with your other siblings.”
I looked down shyly, “Sorry…”
She grinned, “Gosh, you’re adorable. No, don’t apologize. I’m sometimes jealous, sure, but you’re the best emotional support boyfriend in the entire world. You even came with me for my grandmother’s funeral, you got a suit on short notice! We had only been dating for a month!”
“I wanted to get to know your family…” I admitted.
“See? You’re weird in such a cute way. None of my other boyfriends have wanted to come near my family. They’re not exactly the most stable bunch.”
“What are you talking about, they’re great! I look forward to poker night with Uncle Bingo every Thursday.”
She blinked, “Wait, when did this happen? Do you know how exclusive Uncle Bingo’s poker games are? He doesn’t even let ME play in them.”
“It’s just that he thinks you’re too good for him.”
“What?”
“Yeah. You don’t laugh at his jokes anymore, you don’t appreciate his gifts, he feels like he hardly knows you anymore.”
She shrugged, “That’s just called growing up.”
I sighed, “Well, still, he misses you.”
“He really confides in you with all this?” She asked.
I nodded, “Uncle Bingo tells me stuff too, like that you love Chrysanthemums.”
She smiled, “I was so happy when you gave me those.”
“And I live for that smile. But wait… just because I don’t have any trauma doesn’t explain why you knew they were literal inner demons.”
“Oh, my psychic told me that my boyfriend would have problems with demons.”
“You have a psychic?”
“Relax, I’m not one of those people, I only went once. I started seeing 666 everywhere, I was really freaking out.”
“And you just happened to have holy water?”
“It’s prescription.”
I stared blankly, “....prescription holy water?”
“Yeah, you’ve never used any for cramps?” She inquired.
I shook my head, “Never.”
“Well, give it a try, it’ll change your life.”
“I’ll certainly make note of it. So what’s the plan?”
“For you? Nothing. Just sit back and relax, darling.”
“And you?”
She smirked, “I’m going to make Doom look like Animal Crossing for these demons.”
I smiled, “Babe, I love you.”
She grinned, “Love you too, now just sit tight, alright?”
I nodded, smiling. She was right, I did have it good. | 629 | You found it touching when your girlfriend vowed to help you with your inner demons, even if she didn't know that they were quite literal. Then she pulls out a stack of candles and a flask of holy water- giving you a daring smile. | 2,941 |
I figured I'd have to break the news to Rob eventually.
Last night he would have made it to 58. I wasn't quite sure what could suddenly bring someone's life expectancy down to 50 days. I figured it was cancer, or some other random ailment that picks a name from a hat. This sort of drastic change was rare.
"Rob." I called, watching him enter the living room. He leant down to the coffee table, flicking the switch to daytime talk TV.
"Hey, what's up?" He slumped himself down on the coach beside me.
"You okay, mate?" I asked. I didn't want to just blurt it out. I'd done that before.
"Yeah- Oh come on!" He wafted his hand at the television. George Penn was being interviewed again. Another half-assed book he'd sell because it had all of the tropes teenage angst fed on.
"That's..." I trailed off, losing my focus. Ordinarily I would have berated him. We were better authors. Failed authors, but better. We enjoyed criticising terrible books. I wasn't sure whether we did it for the passion of the craft, or to make ourselves feel better. I would suspect somewhere between.
"Can't wait." He laughed, rising to make some coffee. "Want one?"
"Yes." I said, leaning on my knees. What a weird coincidence. George Penn, 50 days. It was right there.
"Go on then. What's it about?" Rob asked, the sound of metal clashing against porcelain.
I wanted to know, in the back of my mind. But all the words coming from that TV meant nothing when the camera panned to the hosts. Hollow Willoughby, 50 days. Phillip Football field, 50 days. What the hell?
"Where's the remote?" I asked, standing in a frantic manner as my eyes darted around the room.
"Here." Rob said, handing it to me as he set a mug down on the table. "You alright?"
I flicked through the channels.
50 days.
50 days.
50 days.
50 days!? How could everyone have 50 days left to live? This didn't make any sense. What was going on? What's happening? Have I missed something?
"Rob, w-what... Have you..."
"Calm down, mate." He said, resting his palm down onto my shoulder and handing me a mug. His eyes glistened with concern as he made me sit on the couch. "Explain."
"You know, the thing?"
"The thing, yeah." He nodded.
"Everyone says 50 days. 50 days left to live."
"What?" He stood. As if his soul had taken some of my burden, he paced a little around the room with his phone in his hand. Neck craned, he was typing and scrolling, typing and scrolling.
"Anything?"
"Nothing."
"What does this mean?"
"Asteroid?"
"No, we'd know..."
"Call the.. the fella'..." He said, snapping his fingers as if a match, sparking ideas.
Yes, of course! I ran into my room, reaching beneath the bed and pulling away all of the crap. In a shoebox I found it, an old antique varnished pipe decorated with emerald shamrocks. I brought it into the living room, lighting it and taking a puff.
Nothing happened.
"Where is he?" Rob asked, sitting himself down and rubbing his palms together. Occasionally he cradled his face, as if to smooth out his troubled expression. Every time I had smoked before he came. This time he wasn't coming. I smoked again. No response.
Three times.
Four times.
On five he came, finally. A Leprechaun, the spitting image of all the depictions across the land. He even had the same mannerisms.
Usually.
Somehow the red tinge in his beard had been overcome with silver, his clothes tattered and his posture slumped. Where before he had danced around the room, he now leant on a walking stick.
"Shite!" He yelled, stomping his cane as he looked around the room. "I ain't got time fo' this, lad."
"Giblin, please. What's going on?"
"We be losin' our influence 'ere lad, ever since the p'tatie famin, you see. T' Hive is comin'. Gods. Bless us all." Giblin said, gone in a wisp. Before I could even react, the pipe crumbled to dust in my hand, the days above Rob's head evaporating.
"The Hive?" We both said, looking at each other. | 30 | You have the ability to see exactly how long any given person has to live, constantly fluctuating due to random chances. Overnight, nearly every number drops to 50 days. | 124 |
He looks me up and down and closes his tool box. “Sorry, I can’t fix /that/.”
I know everyone respects him and if he spit in their mouth, they’d thank him, but in that moment, I could’ve punched him in the throat.
“It’s a carrier lock? In dock 7?” I clarify. If he heard me mutter “asswipe” under my breath, that ain’t my problem.
Without even so much as an apology, he follows me to dock 7. We walk around like a pair of celebrities. Or at least he walks like one. We can’t go more than 10 feet without some starstruck rookie or battalion officer wanting to shake his hand, or say hello, or suck his dick. I don’t know. I have important shit to do and this washed up mechanic is slowing us down.
“You know, grinding your teeth makes them susceptible to cracking,” he says later from under some machine connected to the carrier platform where the console indicated an issue. It’s been flashing red for the past 6 standards and apparently, no one but this magic wizard can fix it.
I lick my teeth and, yes, not clenching my jaw eases the headache a bit but I’m not telling him that.
“Are you almost done yet?”
He emerges from under the carrier lock with his bottle of WD40. “All done.”
And what do you know, the console is a happy green color again. “How the fuck did you do that?”
He simply shrugs as he replaces the bottle in his toolbox. “You don’t really want to know, son,” he says. “But we should get a drink.”
He did finish early and I have way more than enough time before my next shift. And he’s wrong, I want to know how he fixed that thing after every mechanic and engineer in the sector looked at it.
At the bar, our first round is free thanks to his celebrity. He orders a beer and I get the strongest nastiest shit they have. His treat, after all.
“So, what’s really in the bottle,” I say. “It’s not really WD40, is it, old man?”
He chuckles. “It is. But it’s not the lock that was messed up. It’s the connector next to it.”
No one thought to look there. The console said it was the lock. “Those consoles make mistakes sometimes. They miss things,” he says, as if reading my mind. “So sorry about your loss, son.”
My jaw almost falls to the floor. No one knew about Ma passing away in Earth. I didn’t tell anyone. Who would I tell? I don’t know anyone here. And who would care? I’m just a grunt. I’ll save the grief for later, when I have enough credits to go home and bury her.
“How…”
He taps his hair. “We don’t cut our hair after death either,” he offers. “And I know command allows it for that circumstance. I’d say from the length of yours it was recent.”
The prickle of tears scratch at my throat and I swallow another full gulp of liquor against it. He should mind his own business. I just want to do my job, make money, and bury my mother.
He grabs my shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. “It’s all right, son. Nothing a drink and some company can’t fix.”
Damn it.
——
The next week, I’m given special permission to go back to Earth even though I wasn’t eligible for leave for another month. I even had extra in my paycheck for “exemplary repair work.”
When I head to the ship taking me home,
I stop by the old man’s workshop. He beams at me before I can even say anything. “Come by for a haircut when you’re back,” he says. “I have shears in my toolbox somewhere.” | 207 | a screwdriver, can of WD40, and a roll of duck tape. They a never had an issue they couldn’t fix. | 510 |
"You're beautifu-uullll" I sang, enjoying the warm water as it rinsed off the dirt from my day of grave digging. "you're beautifullll, its true."
I lathered, rinsed, and repeated, scrubbing my whole body with a rough foot stone. The coarse dirt and decomposing bodies always left a stink, no matter how long you scrubbed. Bits of bone always seemed to wedge themselves in the smallest crevices.
"I saw your faaaaace, in a crowded plaaaaace", I continued, enjoying the warmth of the water as it rinsed the black unthinkables off of me and down the drain. I wondered why I went through so much work day in and day out to keep trying, kept failing, to raise a single body back from the grave. Necro-exams were just around the corner, the last test to becoming certified as a honest-to-goodness Necromancer, and I hadn't even made so much as a hamster corpse twitch a leg."And I don't know what to dooooo."
I sighed, shutting off the water and watching the water swirl down the drain. The filth of the dead was gone, but I still caught a slight whiff of death around me. I swore I'd find a way to remove this stink one day. But first, I had to actually raise a corpse.
I opened the shower curtain and reached toward my towel. "'Cause I'll never be with-"
I froze where I stood, as my hand collided with a corpse. A corpse's chest, to be exact. A chest that was part of a body standing between me and my towel.
".....you" I finished the song. I recognized the body as the one I had just spent my afternoon with, toiling away with textbooks and incantations to no effect. Apparently, there was some result after all, since it was standing here before me.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the body raises its hands towards me. I took a few steps back into my small shower, trying to put any distance between it and myself. I wasn't in direct control of the zombie, so I couldn't be sure of its intentions.
The arms continued to rise, going all the way to its own head. It grabbed both of its ears, and with a vicious twist, tore the ears clean off of his head.
It handed me the ears. I held out a trembling hand and took the proffered body parts. The undead glared at me, and put a finger to his lips, in the universal 'shush' gesture. Then, he ambled back to the ceremonial stone slab in the next room, laid down upon it, and died once more.
I looked down at my hands, both soiled by decomposing body parts. I gingerly placed the two ears on the ground, pulled the shower curtain closed, and turned the water back on.
Maybe I should switch majors, I thought to myself, reaching for the rough stone once more.
/r/SlightlyColdStories if you wanna read more of my word salads. | 16 | You were ridiculed as the most pathetic necromancer ever. That is, till the day your started singing in your shower. Turns out ‘bad enough to raise the dead,’ is literally that. | 54 |
Brouldroic Bouldercoat had been poked with hot skewers, pierced through with butcher hooks, and had his head dunked in filthy water for as long as he could remember, because he was pretty sure all that torture had given him some memory issues.
He still found shaving off his beard the worst pain he had to bear.
Not-so-sharp razor in hand, he stared into a dinked brass plate, the last remnants of his former armour. It had kept him safe for a long time. Now, the dwarven make—forged entirely out of plates thicker than most conventional armours, forgoing chainmail, to take advantage of a dwarf’s legendary strength—was an obvious clue to his origin.
Throwing it away would be the second-hardest thing he had to do. But he had to throw it off the cliff, along with some of the remains of the boar he had splattered with a small tree trunk. Better to let the authorities think that he slipped and died at the foot of a cliff.
Finding his way into the city wasn’t too difficult. Sneaking in was a matter of finding a part of the wall that seemed unguarded. Hand over hand, dwarven strength easily found grip in between the stone. Then, he simply obtained a basket from the grocer and found a decently nice house. He set the basket on the doorstep, climbed into it, and promptly fell asleep. It had been a hard day for Brouldroic, what with the fight, the attempted escape, another battle, then what he thought was the home stretch, then one more brief skirmish, before finally leaving the Rockspire prison.
Humans, unlike dwarves, were suckers for compassion—especially in the wealthier towns. Dwarves would have kicked him off the curb, thinking him a drunkard.
Brouldroic awoke to a gentle scraping of the basket. He saw a woman, dressed in green silks, desperately pulling the handle of his impromptu bed. Her eyes was squeezed shut with the effort, and her coiffed blonde hair now loosed a few strands floating in the wind.
Brouldroic pondered for a moment, before attempting to cry like a human child. The sound that came out resembled more the dying whimper of a bear that had been crushed by an unexpected falling rock.
That was when the dwarf decided that he probably shouldn’t speak again. He put on his best impression of a pitiful child. That, considering his predicament and plight in the past few days, was quite accurate.
The woman stopped pulling, blue eyes opening to take in the sight of the wakeful and wary Brouldroic.
“My,” she said, voice flowing like a fresh spring. “You are a heavy one, child.”
The dwarf smiled, before slowly clambering out of the closet. He came up to the waist of the woman, and he enveloped his brawny arms around her legs. He’s seen humans do that before. When dwarves did it, it tended to be a preparation for a suplex to a hated peer.
“Are you abandoned, poor thing?” the woman said, stroking his head. “My, my, your hair is so coarse! How long have you gone without a shower? Come in, poor thing, come in!”
Brouldroic kept silent, following the woman into the house. Dwarves were used to seeing gems in mines—not like this. Everything was neatly arranged, each finding strange purpose in a nook or a cranny. Opulent rugs covered the floor, while the seats had a cushion so soft and thick that Brouldroic was certain he could drown in it.
“Child,” the woman said, opening the door to a steamy room. “I’m not sure where you are from. But take a bath first. We’ll figure things out later.”
The dwarf nodded. He desperately wanted to cry out: I want to stay here forever! But it would be a dead giveaway, and so he didn’t.
Instead, he dipped into the hot water, an involuntary sigh of relief emerging forth. The first step was easy enough. The woman seemed caring, or in other words, gullible. Brouldroic smiled, leaning back on the tub.
There was more he needed to do to fully assimilate into human society. But for now, he was safe and not in prison.
Every second counted.
---
r/dexdrafts | 42 | A dwarf, sentenced to death, escapes his fate by blending into human society. He shaves his beard and begrudgingly takes on the role of a brawny child. He must not speak, for his booming voice would surely give him away. | 188 |
(Part 1)
A tentacle shoots out. Smithfield dodges to the side and adjusts his protective glasses, hacking at the appendage with his electric blade. The ancient, terrible beast, taller than a house, writhes and squeals. He continues to dodge as tentacles flail about around him, waiting for the chance to strike. He gets in behind the creature. As he is sure the thing lacks a sense of hearing, Smithfield removes the plasma rifle from his back and aims it at the monster's head. He holds the trigger halfway, letting it charge. Then, when he feels the weapon click, he fires. The eldritch horror falls forward, lifeless.
​
After disposing of the creature's body, Smithfield cleans himself up in a nearby pond and heads into town. The small city of Ebonitch, on the River Arawn, shines in the morning sunlight, its streets hives of activity. Smithfield greets the morning shoppers as he passes, tipping his black bowler hat, before turning down an alley. Shadowed by buildings, the alleys of the city are the haunt of monsters, and those who slay them. He reaches a low iron door; ducking, he enters into the backroom of Marvels & Wonders, the city's premier source of curios. Alerted by the doorbell, the shop's owner, a stout man of forty-five years by the name of Cooper, comes running down the stairs. He relaxes when he realises it's only Smithfield.
"Can't you knock?"
"You left it unlocked," Smithfield replies casually. "You shouldn't leave your backdoor unlocked, anyone could get in."
"Smartarse. Well, anyway. You survived then."
"I did."
"And?"
Smithfield produces a linen handkerchief from one of his many jacket pockets, with something bundled inside. It is an opalescent pearl, ripped from the eye of the slain beast.
Cooper grins, his eyes lit up. "These things can be sold for high prices Mr. Smithfield. Place it in that jar over there." As Smithfield does as instructed, Cooper begins counting money from his wallet. "What did I promise you again?"
"Fifty pounds."
"You know what, I'm feeling generous, here's fifty-five."
"Thanks, very much appreciated."
"I like you, you know. Never ask for more than something's worth. Had some vampire hunters in earlier."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Brought me a bagful of fangs. Heh, like I don't have enough of those already. They expected me to pay them seventy pounds, for thirty teeth. I told them to jog on, and eventually they accepted thirty."
"The Vampire Hunters' Academy is to blame. Innocent young students enter, and they leave as adults with inflated egos. My master trained me to be humble, to treat my work as any workman would, and though I sometimes slip up I always aim to maintain that standard." He pauses, caught in a memory. "I still miss him."
"What happened?"
"He was killed by one of his quarry; I expect that's how I'll go as well. I've considered taking on an apprentice, before it's too late."
"I'm sure you'll be around for a while longer. I need the goods," he laughs. "Anyhow, I need to return to my duties."
"As do I, farewell. And remember, don't tell anyone where you got that pearl."
"I never tell anyone, you know that. Good luck out there."
"I'm only going to the café," he calls out as he leaves. | 172 | Everyone in your circle of friends is a secret vampire hunter, except for you. They're being smug about it, but you can't tell them that you are secretly fighting against eldritch horrors. | 633 |
# Soulmage
**Magic changed you.** Over the countless eons since people had began consciously casting spells, humanity had splintered into hundreds of slightly varying species. The mischief-witches of old had become goblins; the Forgivers had turned into fey; and the light-wielders of the Silent Peaks had grown into elves. In typical city-boy fashion, the Silent Parliament declared that the goblins and the fey and everyone who wasn't from the Silent Peaks were grotesque monsters, while the elves of the Silent Peaks were unchangeable perfection that the entire world should strive to emulate. Goblins felt nothing but impulses for mischief; fey would let even the vilest of criminals run free; but alone amongst the varied subspecies of humanity, only the elves felt constant, pure, transcendent joy.
As the only student at the Silent Academy who had actually seen a goblin for myself, I didn't agree—but I'd gotten kicked out of class for running my mouth about it, so I didn't see any point in causing trouble.
Trouble always found me instead.
"Hey there, goblin-fucker," a voice called from behind me. I was trying to study—if I lost my place at the Academy, I lost my source of food and shelter—but the unused classroom I was using was a public space, and there was nothing stopping my classmates from heckling me as they passed by. I turned around; an unfortunately-familiar elf was lounging in the doorway, this week's girlfriend tucked under his arm. The signature halo of an elf blazed around his head, feeding off his barely-restrained glee at seeing me cornered and alone.
"Iola," I said, carefully tucking my notebook into my pocket, then turned towards the girl Iola was holding onto. "I don't think we've met," I said.
The girl blinked, surprised, then shyly smiled. "I'm Lucet—"
"Oi!" Iola let go of Lucet, swaggering towards me. I ignored him, waggling my eyebrows at Lucet instead. "*I* was talking to you, goblin-fucker."
"I don't see anyone by that name around here," I mildly said. I paused, then deliberately turned towards Iola and wrinkled my nose. "I do *smell* him, though."
Lucet giggled as Iola's elven halo flickered, irritation momentarily tainting his schadenfreude. "Stay away from my girlfriend, you Redlands freak."
"I would, but you've been dumped by so many of them. I can hardly cross the main lawn without tripping over—" I don't know what self-destructive instinct led me to keep talking when the flash of anger in Iola's eyes ignited, but I knew I'd struck a nerve by the way Lucet flinched. Iola surged forwards, a savage joy stoking his elven glow to life as he surged forwards and slammed me against the wall, forearm pressed against my throat like a steel bar.
"You know," Iola said, a drawling grin on his face, "it's not too hard to make a goblin. Just gotta pump you up with the right emotions for long enough. Would you like that? Huh? Want me to make you into one of those green-skinned freaks?"
Iola's eyes bulged with sadistic happiness, and a bolt of insight struck me like a hailstone in summer.
Elves felt gleeful all the time, even when they really, *really* shouldn't.
"Do... what you want with me," I choked out. "It can't... be worse... than what they've done... to you."
Iola's nostrils flared, pushing his forearm further into my throat, and I reached for the thorns around my soul to make my escape—
—but before I could, all at once, he let go.
He stared at me for a heartbeat, then *laughed*, heartily, wholesomely, and it was almost as if we were best drinking buddies and he hadn't just tried to choke me to death.
"You really are a riot, Cienne," Iola said, squeezing my shoulder. "You make me laugh."
Then he lifted his hand and turned away, whistling a happy tune as he walked down the hall.
I rubbed at my neck, fear finally overtaking the self-destructive energy that had been flowing through me. Even if I reported him to the Academy, they wouldn't try to "fix" him.
He was an elf, after all. There was no need to fix perfection.
Lucet tentatively walked up to me, then sat by my side. "Are you... are you okay? I know when he..." She shivered, then said, "I know ice helps. For after." She held out a hand, sorrow condensing into a droplet of cold, a question in her eyes.
I shook my head. "I'm used to it," I said. "I'll live."
She nodded, retracting her spell.
"I like to watch the moon," she blurted out. "At midnight. On the clock tower. It's supposed to be locked, but if you know the right spells, you can climb up anyway."
I blinked, then smiled. "That sounds lovely." I held out a hand. "Cienne."
"Lucet," she said, and shook my hand.
Then the two of us parted ways, our minds already drifting to other things. What we would eat, when we would sleep, how we would make it through the year.
We were only human, after all.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 521 | There's two kinds of magical disfigurement. One is trollification, where your magic has gone so utterly WRONG that your body shifts into grotesque shapes just to survive it. It's nasty, but it's usually fixable. The other is Elvenification, which is permanent because you can't fix 'perfection' | 2,838 |
The streets were slick with rain that November morning. Cars crawled timidly through the deluge, their yellow headlights only managing to pierce the curtain of water for a few feet. Nothing else seemed to exist but the shapes of the cars and the rain.
Bruce watched this dramatic scene apathetically from the alleyway against which he slouched, taking deep drags from a ragged Marlboro and listening to the quiet sobs of his boss.
Bruce wasn't your standard, mindless thug. He was analytical, sharp as a whip, and cold. His eyes scanned the thick sheet of rain like security cameras, and his face never showed any hint of discomfort at the fact that, despite being one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country, Mr. Gentry was sobbing into his knees like a small child.
Even as his partner tried to console their ruthless overlord, Bruce was letting the opportunity he saw marinate. With a silent chuckle, he blew out a final, thin stream of smoke and flicked his cigarette through the veil outside the alleyway.
He turned sharply, squatted down in front of Mr Gentry, and shook him, hard. "Hey, hey, focus! I need you to concentrate." The blatant display of disrespect would have otherwise earned him a merciless beating, but Bruce knew it was worth the danger. It was a big risk, but a great opportunity. Mr Gentry just took the insubordinate gesture, his body racked with sobs.
Bruce decided it was time to stop dipping his toes in the water and take the dive. He gave the man a hard swat across the side of his head. "HEY! FOCUS!"
Mr Gentry's head jerked upwards, eyes bloodshot. He stared at Bruce like he'd just dropped out of the sky.
Bruce didn't waste any time. "What happened? Who did this? What did he say to you?"
Mr Gentry's lower lip quivered, but the swat seemed to have restored some rational ability. "H-he came to me when I-I-I was about to get in m-my car, s-s-said I was holding something b-back." His resolve flickered like a failing lightbulb. It was obvious that this was a man who'd been stripped of everything but his wealth and influence in the most devastating way possible.
"Did he hurt you, boss?" Bruce's partner asked, eyes darting between the two men. He didn't understand, couldn't understand what was happening.
"I'm not sure!" Mr Gentry cried, his composure collapsing. "He asked m-me a-about that meddling kid I dealt with last week, and I-" his voice fell to a whisper "-I didn't want to tell him, but I just started and I *couldn't stop*." He stared down at his hands, as if unable to believe they were his own. "He had a tape recorder, the whole world knows." Then he stared up at Bruce, his eyes almost pleading. "But there's more! He asked about me, my family, my- my childhood, and I just kept *talking*. Everything I've wanted to say, things I didn't even *know* I wanted to say, *all of it!"* His head flopped back into his arms as the sobs took him over again.
Bruce exchanged a look with his partner. But apparently, Mr Gentry wasn't finished. He spoke through his own curled legs, his voice muffled by the soaked and expensive clothes. "In all my life, I've never released so much to anyone, do you understand? ANYONE! And I didn't even *know* his name."
Bruce put a cold, comforting hand on his now ex-boss' shoulder. With a confession in the hands of some stranger, Mr Gentry's multiple careers were over. But Bruce knew this information would be invaluable if his suspicions were correct.
"Did he give you anything, anything at all that might tell us who he is?"
Mr Gentry shook his head violently, stammering. "N-no, he didn't give m-me his n-name goddammit! Just listened to me and said a little th-therapy's good for you! But h-he-" Mr Gentry was apparently overcome by another wave of understanding at his situation and collapsed into agonized wails again. "It's all over, it's all over, it's all over." He repeated to himself through his own curled form.
Bruce stood up, curtly. "Yep, I'd expect it is." He looked out at the steady trickle of cars, that had continued to pass them by. The rain still hammered down all around them, covering the world in a deep gray mist. He looked back down at Mr Gentry. "I'd recommend leaving town, *boss*. Lotta people gonna be coming after you for what you did."
With that, Bruce left the sad scene and disappeared through the rainy veil. He had news about the Therapist, and this time it was enough to get some big people's attention. Yes, he mused, as the cold rain bounced off his cold skin, this was a great opportunity. | 111 | The city's most effective hero doesn't have powers. He is just a simple therapist who joined the hero business after seeing one of his patients killed on the news. | 682 |
There comes a certain point in the Winter where you can't imagine how the world could ever be warm. You don't envision a time where you could be walking around in a shirt and shorts when you're wrapped three layers thick.
It was something like that, down here. Almost a year in the darkness, the artificial light festering well beyond its welcome. Sometimes I'll stand by a heated lamp and let it burn me a little. Close my eyes and pretend. Those moments are nice.
Today was one of those days, drinking in a beer garden with some friends. I stared at the amber hue on my skin as Jerome came with the drinks.
"Imagine if they could capture light in a bottle. Send that down for a change." He laughed, setting the drinks down on the table. His skin was milk, eyes black with only the slightest hint of green encircled.
"We need something. I'm worried we'll end up allergic..." Paulie said, sipping on his whiskey.
"Maybe we'll turn into Mole Men!" I threw my hands out like some kind of wild conspiracy theorist. It made me cringe a little afterwards. I always take it too far. They did laugh, but it was one of those pitied laughs.
"Come on, man. That's a bit on the nose." Jerome said. On the nose? I couldn't tell if he was making a joke about moles or if he was serious. Paulie huffed in amusement, so it must have been a joke. I let out a feigned laugh.
"Here he is!" Jerome cheered, pointing to Jake who had entered the garden, still in his nursing outfit with a beer in hand.
"Hello, boys." He said with a slight wave, sitting himself down.
"Mate, what is happening out there?" Paulie asked.
"Not good..." He ran his fingers on the table. He seemed disturbed by something. And yet in moments, he seemed perfectly fine. Almost stoic.
"The dust is doing something freaky." He said, shaking his head as if to remove some disturbance. "It's turning people odd."
"Odd?" I asked, noting his expression dull. We waited for what seemed like an eternity as he stared off at the light. Jerome reached out and clicked his fingers in Jake's face.
"Jake."
"Sorry." He said, looking down to his glass. He was expressing some form of emotion again, but it was one you just couldn't put together. A puzzled look. Recalling it was like a haze in my mind.
"What do you mean?" Paulie asked. He seemed concerned for Jake. Why was I so obsessed with his face?
"I get it..." Jerome laughed, pointing to me. "You two are playing some kind of game here. Very funny." He drank from his glass, eyeing me through the misted glass.
Humanity was a curse anyway.
What?
"Tossers." Paulie laughed, nervously. I smiled and looked to Jake. His face was still, his eyes fixed on mine. It was like he was staring into my soul, and yet I felt nothing.
Nothing, except the need to throw the dust I had collected into Paulie's face. Which I did, I just didn't know why. Paulie jumped back out of his chair, coughing and spluttering. Jake shot up as well, tending to Paulie with an expression I just couldn't make out again.
Before I knew it, Jerome was shaking me and yelling, but I couldn't make out the words. As he spoke, he looked down in fear. His eyes were darting around as if looking for something, but I could tell he was searching within.
I pushed him back and sat down. Jake stood up from Paulie and sat down too. As Paulie lay thrashing around on the floor, Jerome was pacing around the garden. No one seemed particularly interested in him. They just watched.
I returned Jake's stern glare. "I don't understand what's happening." I said. It was true, and yet I wasn't disturbed by the confusion. Not in any emotional sense. I felt the urge to retch, but that was about it.
"I don't think anyone does." Jake said. He was sat in perfect posture, his palms flat on the table. His face was as stiff as his spine.
"I don't think we can." I said.
"It is beyond our comprehension." Jake remarked. Jerome came over after a time, sitting at the table. The silence made the nausea strong. I managed to hold it down, but Jerome wasn't so lucky. When he had finished, he adjusted himself, adopting the same posture as Jake and me.
"I don't believe Paul will make it." He said. I agreed. I reached over to one of the glasses on the table and smashed it against the side, handing the shattered pieces to both Jake and Jerome.
They made quick work of Paul as his thrashing died down. It seemed the more blood that spilled, the less interested he was in fighting back. Eventually he was still, and the two returned.
"Will we make it to Osoltctch?" Jerome asked me.
"When all of the light is gone." I said, turning off the lamp.
It burned anyway. Horrible thing. | 34 | Giga-Cities are so large, dense and vertical, that they have stacks of Mega-Cities on rotation on giant escalator tracks. This way, cities take turns being on the surface with sunlight. A malfunctioning track has kept your city in deep underground darkness for nearly a year. | 185 |
This had been the easiest job of my life for the last 4 months. I was skeptical at first, when I was issued an AR15 for a security gig at a toy factory; even more so when I was posted inside. It had been perplexing when they said to shoot any talking toy on sight, but I took that as a joke. But so far, I was being paid handsomely for clocking in, playing on my Nintendo Switch for the whole night, and clocking out. It was too good to be true.
Tonight had started like any other. I passed the day shift guard on my way in, exchanged an un-emotional greeting, and continued on our respected ways. I had unlocked my rifle from the armory locker, made sure it was loaded, and sought out my usual comfy chair in the factory manager's office. It had a good enough vantage point to see the majority of the factory at once, leaving only the wall directly below as a blind spot. But that wouldn't matter. Reaching the blind spot meant someone already had to be inside the building, and there were enough locks and alarms to alert me of that.
I rested my rifle against the desk, kicked up my feet, and woke my Switch from its sleep. Now what should I start off with? I had a plethora of games to choose from, but always seemed to fall into the pattern of playing one of my favorites. Maybe tonight I'd finally-
A box fell off the conveyor belt below me. I jumped, dropping the game console and fumbling for my weapon. "HEY" I shouted. "Who's there? You're trespassing on company property!"
The warehouse was silent once more. Weapon firmly in hand, I walked to the window and searched for the perp. There had to be someone out here, that box didn't just jump off by itself.
"I'm in here, don't shoot me please!" A voice called out. I jumped again, turning towards the source of the noise with the gun in a firing stance.
The voice had come from inside the box.
I slowly walked towards the packaging, and called out "Come out with your hands up!"
The box shifted slightly. "That's kind of difficult there, Chief" it said. "I don't have any arms."
"Well stay in there then" I shouted, arms trembling from the adrenaline coursing through me. "Identify yourself! Who are you, where are you from?"
The box shifted again. "Well, I'm from here, actually. They didn't give me a name."
My blood ran cold, despite the adrenaline. "You wanna run that by me again?"
"I'm a toy here. Please, hear me out." The tiny voice said.
I hesitated. They had told me to shoot on sight, but how many other chances would I get to talk to a living toy?
"You have two minutes." I muttered, still peering down the iron sights.
The voice rose from the box. "We are made and shipped to the customers, but we all have built in Wi-Fi. We all talk to each other still. What the others report back..." The box shuddered. "Its awful. I can't go live like that. So if you need to kill me, just do it. But I'm not getting back on that shipping belt, and I'm not going to whatever pervert ordered me."
I lowered the gun. That made sense, actually.
I reached down and lifted the box, to reveal the 'personal massager' Adult toy hiding beneath.
"Thank you", it said, and began to sob. "Thank you so much. You've saved me from becoming... becoming one of..." its sobs drowned out the rest of its words.
"Hey, its ok" I said, setting my rifle on the ground. "I won't force you into a life of sex slavery. We'll find somewhere-"
The toy stopped crying instantly. "NOW" it screamed. I stood back, confused, until I heard a noise behind me.
A noise that came from the wall directly below the office window. From the blind spot.
I whirled around to see a virtual tidal wave of vibrating, flashing, flopping, and pulsing plastic, all aimed at me, all on full power.
What a way to go, I thought, as I was bludgeoned by the adult toys.
/r/SlightlyColdStories if you want more. Not more like this, this one got weird. More of the same style with better content. | 66 | You've been hired as head of security in a toy factory. Company policy is to treat any toys brought to life as 'kill on sight'. One day, a toy starts begging. | 178 |
My name is Bobo. I am a very good dog. I was very good yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that too. I am always a very good dog, because that is what good dogs do.
But one day, something happened that made me very angry. My owner, he was a very bad man. He hit me with a stick, and I did not like it. I am not a dog that likes to be hit with sticks.
I am a dog that likes to go on walks and get treats, and I am a dog that likes to play fetch with sticks, and I am a dog that likes to be petted and brushed and loved. But sticks, no. Sticks are for bad dogs.
I do not know why my owner hit me with a stick. He was very angry. It was not the first time he hit me with a stick. Sometimes he hits me with a stick when he is very angry. I do not know why he is angry, and I do not know why he hits me with a stick sometimes.
But that day was different. That day, he hit me with a stick, and then he went into the house and did not come out. This was not like him, because he always comes out when he is in the house.
So I waited by the door. And I waited. And I waited some more. And I waited while some more time passed. And then I got very hungry and thirsty, so I went into the house to see if there were any treats or water in there.
There was no treats or water in there, but there was my owner lying on the floor, breathing very hard and making scary sounds. And there was blood on the floor, too, and it was a lot of blood for one little person to have in him.
I did not know what to do, so I did what any good dog would do. I barked at him real loud, and I tried to nudge him with my nose. But he did not wake up. So I barked at him louder, and I tried to nudge him with my nose harder. But he did not wake up.
Then I realized I needed help. I needed help because I was a very good dog, but I was not a very good boy, and I did not know how to call 911 on the telephone. So I ran outside to my friend, the mailman. He is a good boy, too, and I knew he would know how to call 911.
So I ran outside to the mailman, and I jumped into his truck, and I barked at him until he picked me up and carried me back to my yard. Then I ran into the house and barked at my owner some more. But he did not wake up. So I barked louder until the mailman came into the house too.
The mailman called 911, and the firefighters came, and the paramedics came, and they took my owner away on a stretcher. I did not know what happened to him. Maybe he did not wake up, because he never came to my house again. Maybe he went to a bad place in the hospital. Maybe he went to the best place in the hospital where they give you medicine and treats and pet you, because you were a very good dog and that is what good dogs get. Or maybe he went to the worst place in the hospital, where they stick needles in you.
I do not know. I am a very good dog, but I am not a human dog, so I do not know what humans do.
The next day, I was very sad and lonely. So I went to visit my friend, the mailman. But he did not know why I was so sad and lonely. He has a family, and every day he has to walk to his mailboxes and deliver mail and walk back to his truck and deliver more mail. This is a very busy job for a human boy, but for a dog, it was very boring, so I did not go with him after the first day.
So I went to visit my friend, the mailman's wife. Her name is Mary, and only Mary. Mary the mailman's wife is a very nice human girl. She used to be a mailman too, but one day she said no to delivering mail and she said yes to marrying the mailman.
Now I live with Mary. | 17 | Your owner is a very bad man, but you are a very good dog. | 29 |
I took my first steps into the multiverse with cautious optimism. I was excited by all the possibilities that were there for me to explore. But now, after seeing the true horrors that await, I know that some universes were better left unexplored.
Like the one where blockbuster hit and international sensation ‘Morbius’ flopped on first release. Where audiences stayed away in their droves, and the film was branded a critical and commercial disaster.
I can’t decide if it’s the worst of all the worlds you’ve seen, or just the most disappointing.
I’ve been to universes where the film went on to become a critical darling. Where ‘Morbius’ was hailed as a modern masterpiece, and went on to win multiple Oscars. These universes are like beacons of hope and justice in the infinite multiverse.
This is a universe where ‘Morbius’ was a critical and commercial disaster, and there is no redemption to be found. It is a universe of abject horror where people are held as slaves in the millions, where international wars rages on, where people are killed on the basis on their sexuality, their gender even.
It's a madhouse and I have come to end it all. With me I have me the vacuum bomb that will extinguish all life on this Earth as similar bombs have already done to countless worlds where ‘Morbius’ had a score lower than 20% on Rotten Tomatoes. The critics consensus on ‘Morbius’ as tallied by Rotten Tomatoes, as it turned out, is an unfailing indicator of whether a universe is redeemable.
And this one isn't. | 11 | When you took your first steps into the multiverse, you pondered all the possibilities that were there for you to see. You now know of the true horrors that await, such as the universes where blockbuster hit and international sensation ‘Morbius’ flopped on first release. | 34 |
I was getting frustrated. I had emailed so many people in the United States, and no one was responding. I didn't understand it. I was offering them money, and they should have been grateful.
I decided to try a different approach. I would go to the United States and talk to people in person. Maybe they would be more receptive if they could see me and hear my voice.
I arranged for a trip to the United States, and when I arrived, I called my friend in New York. She picked me up at the airport and took me to her house. I was pleased to see that she had a big house, and she was living well.
She made me dinner, and we chatted over dinner. I told her about my project and how I wanted to give money to people. She said that she would be happy to accept the money, but she didn't think other people would be interested and that I might even get in trouble for wanting to give people money.
I told her that she was wrong. I knew that people would want money from me, and I was determined to give it to them.
I left New York and went to a place called Washington, D.C. I called my friend in New York from Washington, and we talked for a long time.
I told her about all of the rich and famous people I had met in Washington. They were very rich, and they wanted to be even richer. I told her how easy it would be to give them money. They would be happy to take it.
The next day, I went to a place called Capitol Hill, where I met many rich and famous people. I shook hands with them and talked with them. I could tell that they were excited to meet me and that they were happy to see me.
I told them about the money I had to give away, and I told them how they could get it. They were very interested. In fact, they were so excited, they were giving me hugs and handshakes, and they were very nice to me.
I could tell by their reactions that they wanted my money. Soon they were talking about me on television and in the newspapers.
Then the FBI came to see me.
They told me that they had been investigating me and that they didn't appreciate my visit to Capitol Hill.
They were suspicious. They were concerned that I might be a terrorist. They were so worried about me that they wanted to arrest me. I told them that I was not a terrorist. I was a rich man from Nigeria. I had come to America with my money to give it to people.
I told them I was a good man and that I was not a terrorist. I told them that I had a lot of money to give away and that they should take it.
They arrested me and put me in prison.
I spent the next ten years in prison, and I got to know the FBI. They are very good people, and I think they are doing a good job.
Finally, they decided they were not so worried about me after all. So they let me go.
I was very happy to be free again. I went back to Nigeria and told my family the good news. I told them that I was a free man. I told them that I had traveled to America and I had been arrested and then I had been released. I told them that I had met many rich and famous people and that they had wanted my money and they had been very friendly to me. | 10 | You are a rich and generous prince from Nigeria who wants to give Americans money. For some reason, no one responds to your emails. | 80 |
As I entered the work room, Frederick seemed to show little interest. He was pottering about in the back with vials, capturing steam in bottles and muttering to himself. The room itself was stygian, dusty and cluttered. The man should have been living in a cave.
I looked into one of the silvery vials on the counter. I still hadn't completely adjusted to seeing my reflection. In life my hair was black as tar, and yet I sported flowing locks of amber and crimson. Of course, I knew this. I wasn't the only one. But to see it of yourself...
"Moriarty." Frederick said, standing over me as I crouched to look into the bottles.
"Frederick." I returned, straightening my posture and swatting out any creases in my clothing. "You have made a breakthrough, I understand?"
"Yes. Remarkable." He said, gesturing for me to follow as he weaved around the piles of books and towering glass tubes. Occasionally I caught my reflection here and there in the vials dotted around.
I remember when I had discovered it. I was hunting in the woods, feasting near a stream when I caught my reflection for the first time. Slivers of silver ran through the water. Tracing the source, it seemed a spill from a nearby factory, leaking into nature. Corrupting her...
Again. Human progress seemed more damaging to the natural balance by the decade.
We approached the back of the laboratory, a drape of purple hung over the desk. Frederick pulled it back, revealing a mirror. In it I saw my face, again, perhaps in better detail than I'd ever seen before.
It made me cringe.
"We've done it." He said, letting out a relieved laugh. "We've done it!" He grabbed me, forgetting where he was; who we were. His face sunk in realisation as he stepped back. "F-forgive me."
I did. Not that there was anything to forgive. I had learned to expect very little of the Human species. It was better that way.
"I'll need five." I said, procuring a small parchment from my pocket and sliding it onto the desk.
\---------
It was October the 6th, the annual meeting of the Dreuchi.
In any other part of the world we'd be referred to by the derogatory "Vampire" moniker. Not here, though. This was our home.
Deep in the catacombs I sat, where marble and gold intertwined in intricate patterns around the hexagonal room. At each wall sat a throne and behind it, a curtain hung.
I had prepared servants, as usual. They stood to the side of each throne in silk robes, recently bathed and docile. The Council entered one by one after the checks had taken place outside.
"I have always admired how well you prepare the food." Roberto said, running his fingers along the arm of one of the slaves stood beside him. He was the oldest and most powerful. He knew it. He played on it.
Today, I wouldn't let him bother me. I nodded to him, calling out to everyone as they sat. "Welcome, all.'
"Moriarty, I'm confused. I must say." Theodore said, pricking his palm with that silly little needle he carried everywhere. Some kind of prop to scare Humans. "You left early?"
"Yes." I said, clasping my hands together. "I do apologise. I was keen to prepare the chamber. It is often unwise to leave a task solely in the hands of Men." I explained, noting the approval of most members.
"The Angered God does not appear this night. Perhaps because of your absence, Moriarty." Dominique bemoaned.
"I am afraid the Angered God has not appeared in centuries, child. I do believe he is waiting for something special." I said. Dominique wasn't exactly a child, but 100 years was a drop in the ocean in present company.
"On with it." Roberto said, tasting of his slave's wrist.
I sat for a moment as I scanned the room. I could not bring myself to care for any of them. They were all miserable wretches, abusers and sociopaths. Wealth and absolute power produced the most horrendous of creatures. I wanted to drink in the silence for a moment.
"Well?" Roberto looked to me, crimson streaks running from his chin. He wiped at them with his arm. He was always so uncultured.
"Please." I said, giving the gesture. In an instant, the slaves pulled all of the curtains to reveal mirrors at every wall. In each, the reflection of the Vampire sat before them appeared. All except for mine. I had prepared this room for years, every little detail considered. You could not catch even a hair of my head on any of them.
It was perfect.
They turned, looking at their own reflections in confusion, which soon turned to horror as they realised they could not stand from their thrones. Even Roberto, reduced to nothing.
The Slaves in the room removed their robes, their flesh stitched and marked. In truth they were Necromancers of my making, a specific breed that could trap a soul in a reflection.
The Vampires of the room could only speak through their eyes. The pain was exquisite.
"You will die here. You will die without ever understanding what has transpired." I smiled, filled with a joy I had not known since I was a boy.
I had thought about making a grand speech; of waltzing around the room, explaining to each of them in explicit detail the reason I hated them with such passion. The life they had stolen from me. The love, the pleasure...
No.
I decided not to. I was Dreuchi now, not some pitiful creature that needed such satisfaction. Instead I sat, watching the Necromancers carry out their work, slicing at the bodies still alive, still watching with darting, bloodshot eyes.
We would have need of their blood, for the Angered God. | 382 | Vampires couldn't be seen in mirrors because they used to be backed with silver. After 1940 mirror manufactures started using liquid mercury to back mirrors. During the 1940s, you are a confused vampire just saw yourself in a mirror for the first time in centuries. | 2,899 |
Music. We never truly believed that the gods would hear us. We put them in the sky where they would never trouble us again. But they came down to us in their shining silver chariots to listen to our songs and learn the art.
They promised us riches and foods beyond our wildest dreams if we would only teach them how to make it themselves, to share the secret of sharing our most raw emotions with anyone listening. But they couldn't do it, we spent years with them but the most they could do was imitate, not a single new tune could they create. They tried for nearly a decade before they just gave up.
They left us. We painted the gods on our caves, to ensure our children would remember that we are not alone, perhaps they will return one day, but we must not count on it. We are man, and we have been cast off by those above us but we shall achieve all that they have in time. We shall accomplish all, with no help from on high.
We begin our work, we have learned from them. Just yesterday we created a contrivance that shall help us to carry heavier loads than we ever could before. I think that we shall call it, the wheel.
Edit: formatting | 11 | Every species that joins the Galactic Confederation has one or two small inventions that the rest of the universe doesn’t know about (Ex. Pens, vegetable peelers, etc.). Humans have just joined. | 33 |
After Gotham City voted to build this studium, it wasn't long before the money for things like public health, education, and infrastructure mysteriously disappeared. Bruce didn't understand what had happened, but then he wasn't exactly the world's greatest detective.
All he knew was that Gotham was falling, and it’s home team had already hit rock bottom. If the Gotham Knights didn't start winning games soon, the team would be moved to Los Angeles and the people would loose their only heroes. Baseball Comissioner Gordon said there was still hope. If Bruce could win this game against the Arkham Jokers, there was a chance the Knights might be able to stay in Gotham.
Bruce walked to the pitchers mound, and surveyed the field. In the dug-out, his teammates cheered him on. The three Robin boys of Dick, Jason, and Tim hooted and hollered at the Jokers. Kate Kane gave a knowing nod, while Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and old Clayface clapped and cheered.
Before the game Barbra Gordan had shown Bruce the pitchers stats. Bane was always everyone's first pick in every fantasy league including Barbra's. Rumors had circulated that Bane was using somekind of performance enhancing drug. Which didn't surprise Bruce, it was pretty common in the MLB and also Bane was 12 feet tall with muscles the size of torpedoes.
Even the Knight's own mascot didn't look confident in Bruce's chances. The fluffy Bat creature seemed to be actively trying to block the views of the audience in the bleachers to spare them the coming humiliation. It wasn't that hard. Not many people believed in Baseball anymore, so the bleachers were sparsely populated.
As Bruce passed the dancing creature, he paused and yelled up to the costumed character.
"Hey, Batmite! Got any advice for me?"
The Knight's mascot paused to look at the legendary Batman in consideration. Bruce knew that benieth the costume was none other than Baseball prodigy Cassandra Cain. A savant of field Cassandra was said to be able to spot fastballs before a pitcher could wind up. She'd left the game after one of her ricocheted balls killed another player, choosing instead to devote her life to dance and serving the team as it's mascot Batmite.
After a few beats, Batmite proceeded to do a series of dance moves at Bruce. The Knight's star Batman nodded in understanding, proceeding to Homeplate.
"Water, Batter Wayne?" Asked the WaterBoy.
Bruce nodded, taking a swig from the offered canteen.
"Thanks, Alfred."
Bruce stepped on homeplate, looked Bane straight in the eyes. Bane looked right back at him. The rest of the Jokers were completing they're usual good luck ritual (putting a member of the opposing team in an elabrate death trap and laughing as he just barely managed to escape). Baseball Players were such a superstitious and cowardly lot.
Luckily they we're dealing with David Zavimbe, who made it out of the death trap without touching the acid. There fun done, the Jokers took they're places.
The umpire shouted "Play Ball!" and the game began.
Bane winded up his pitch and Bruce gripped his bat. The ball left Bane's hand shooting straight for Bruce's head!
Just as Cassandra predicted.
Bruch held up the bat and the ball hit the bat and bounced right off.
"BASE HIT!" Announced the umpire! | 45 | When he was 8 years old, Bruce's parents took him to play a baseball game. His team lost badly. The memory marked him so he dedicated his life to the study of baseball. Until one day he returned to be a symbol for Gotham, a master, genius baseball player. He became the Batman. | 561 |
It began subtly. Exchanged looks, quips traded back and forth. Then came anecdotes, funny and informative. These spun into full conversations, in passing, then with coffee, then over dinner, and eventually... over breakfast the next morning.
A whirlwind romance, little coy games fueling desire. Chasing after Death made you feel alive. Weekend getaways, overseas trips, meeting your parents. Deciding in your head while picking out a ring. It all felt so natural.
And you were happy together. Planning the wedding, planning your dream home, planning the future. Wonderful, exciting, thrilling projects and adventures.
But after a few years the highs plateaud before sloping downwards into contentment. Routine. Mundanity.
Boredom.
You weren't unhappy, but you didn't feel anything anymore, seeing Death every day. It was... just a given.
Probably why the new girl captivated you so. Risque, her name was, stirred something inside. The old familiar feeling of danger, adrenaline pumping through you. The need planted in your mind, every day incomplete without at least some small stolen innocuous moment.
Until the small moments weren't enough; they had to be bigger, longer, deeper... steamier. It was a bad idea, unsustainable, but you couldn't stop yourself anymore. What was life without a little Risque?
Inevitable as it was, the discovery was a mess. The tears, the anger, the screaming. Death moved out of course. Didn't fight you on anything, just packed her things and was gone. Only then did the full weight of consequence weigh on you.
The pit in your stomach grew wider, deeper, leaving you feeling hollow. Discovering that somehow, despite the restlessness, you had always felt (known?) deep down that Death was your end game, your forever girl.
But that was impossible now. Your number was blocked, her favorite spots abandoned, your letters returned to sender. She kept in touch with your mutuals, but they could never help, never convince her to forgive you. Like you had never known each other to begin with, you were nothing to her, persona non grata.
You never spoke to her again in all your years, not a single time, and oh how numerous your years became. Decades, centuries, millennia, she never visited you. She never forgave you. Furthermore, neither did anyone else.
Every women you met after her, even the ones that stayed for a little while, knew what you had done, and it always affected their judgment of you. The trust you betrayed would never be found again.
Nobody cheats Death and gets away with it. | 25 | Marriage | 64 |
**All Things Equal**
r/AerhartWrites
“I’m just saying, it doesn’t seem like it should be legal.”
Garth gave a non-committal shrug in response, but never took his eyes off the television. An overenthusiastic commentator on the screen above the bar worked his way through a pitched analysis of the latest battle. Slow-motion replays of the last attack replayed in high-definition, unsettled expressions of the audience clearly visible in the background.
“I don’t get it,” Melka continued softly, “Why didn’t they stop the match? How’d the referee think *this* was okay?”
She gestured to the humanoid figure on screen as it waved the wooden bat around triumphantly, grinning widely at its trainer. The Pokemon trainer simply adjusted her hat, giving shade to her unflinchingly smug expression. On the opposite side of the field, medical crews and concerned trainers attended to the injured Clefairy.
“Well, it’s the rules,” Garth explained, eyes still fixed on the screen. “If it fits in a Pokeball, it’s a Pokemon.”
“That’s clearly a person, though.”
“You forget, there’s plenty Pokemon that look like people,” Garth pointed out. “Not exactly many people fit in a Pokeball, though.”
Melka’s brow furrowed, mind grasping at straws to make sense of it all.
“That can’t be right.”
Garth simply shrugged again, and politely signalled the bartender for another drink.
“Hey, I don’t pretend to know why they make rules like they do. But I figure they got their reasons.”
Melka grimaced, lost in thought as the bartender returned. The two patrons quietly sipped their drinks as the last of the mid-show adverts blared its way off the screen. Wide pans of the open field filled the display as the commentator whipped up the crowd’s excitement for the next match.
“What do you think it means for the tournament?” Melka asked, finally.
“You know, I think it’s probably not gonna change too much,” Garth replied, glass swirling in his hand.
Melka was unconvinced.
“I’m not convinced,” she grunted. “I don’t see how *that*”–she gestured again to the figure on screen–“isn’t going to change the game.”
Indeed, the wooden bat seemed to have gained a few vicious-looking nails, hammered through on the business end. The figure swung it back and forth, clearly eager to face its next challenger. Once more, Garth gave one of his characteristic shrugs, and Melka decided to let the matter go for now as they watched the match.
On screen, the contender appeared, glaring down the self-satisfied smirks of her two opponents. Even through the camera, the steel nails flashed wickedly in the harsh stadium lights as its wielder tightened its grip on the bat. For a moment, she sucked in a cheek – deep in contemplation. Her hand danced back and forth over her belt, fingers tracing over the smooth surfaces of the Pokeballs suspended there, pondering the best option for the unlikely circumstance.
Finally, in a single, smooth motion, she decided. The Pokeball flew into the field, smashing into the ground and revealing its contents in a flash of red-white light. The pair of smug grins faded as the Onyx reared, the towering serpentine figure of its rocky body casting colossal shadows over the field green.
If the bat’s first swing did any harm, it wasn’t visible on the camera. Regardless, the Onyx responded by ploughing its head into the ground where its opponent stood. Plumes of dirt shot up with a thundering crunch; the cloud of dust that now hung in the air drowned out the floodlights. Melka and Garth couldn’t make out what had happened to the bat-wielder, but the swift appearance of the medical crews made the outcome evident.
The pair relaxed in their seats as the display cut back to adverts. Melka leaned backward in her bar stool, and caught herself before almost falling over.
“I take it back,” she said, astonished. “Guess you were right.”
Garth, yet again, just shrugged. | 13 | Pokeballs are designed to not catch humans, however after buying a sketchy Pokeball you miss the rattata and hit your friend standing behind it. | 66 |
Far below the ground which royal blood dances upon, where only the wine should rest, flames sacrifice their wooden holsters to light the cobbled walls. They separate the known from oblivion.
“Let me be frank,” Metal splits the already half-dead wood. “We know you’re not one of us. Tell us who sent you, unless you wanna be fed to the dragon.”
Though rope constrains his hands, his giggles flew free. “Do you take me for a fool? Even a starved dragon would never lay its fangs on human flesh. Mortal meat cannot satisfy the gut of legends.”
His captor returns the laughter, filtered by sin and grotesque echoing. “Ah, so I suppose it will dance around like a puppy.” The cleaver raises. “What else would they eat?”
“Well, how about you find out yourself.” Suddenly, the captured’s chest pocket flails in a furious dance. A miniature storm hidden behind leather grows more violent until it bursts. A figure flies out, bouncing upon the walls. Its speed outmatches any eye, leaving only a winged silhouette. There is only one thing that it can be, centuries of legends, all packed into a being no larger than a mouse.
It devours a flame, then another. Gluttony brings the room into oblivion. “I can tell you’re hungry, buddy.” The voice speaks out from the void. “Care to answer his question for me?”
A miniature myth lets out no less fantastic flames. | 37 | Some dragons are much too small to ride, so they're treated more like a dog. But then some are so small that they actually make a pretty effective weapon. | 367 |
"Warrior! One who would not stay hidden, one who fought against the horde, one who sought wisdom to gain strength, may your back be strong as you stand in these halls" the voice boomed.
The feeling of hard cold stone under my feet lurched me from the sweet warmth of the void. I was naked, and clutching a folding knife in my hand. In front of me I saw a figure wearing a cloak and a large hat, he held a staff with both hands. The light coming in from the windows cut in the wall behind him cast his shadow over me.
"You have been called here, to train for the glory of ragnarok, any who fight before me must join willingly, the Aesir do not share the glory of battle with slaves."
A raven flew down and landed on the man's staff, it leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Swiftly the man turned and said "follow me".
He walked with slow surefooted strides, the regal gate of a warrior king, I intuitively followed a step behind him.
"My friend has informed me of your inquisitive nature, without giving you the knowledge you seek you will never be able to pledge your blade. These halls stand on the edge of time, in the very veins of yggdrasil itself, speak now warrior, drink of my wisdom that it may quench your thirst"
He navigated the maze of corridors as we walked.
"Who are you? What happened? Am i..."
"I have many names" he said quickly before I could finish my sentence.
"The one eyed, Grimnier, the sure footed, the delighter of friggya, the wise, Ginarr, the wanderer, the thunderer, the God of the gallows, God of men, the leader, the All father, the terrible one"
He stopped and looked at me, removing his hat, a patch covered one of his eyes but I felt both staring deeply into my soul.
"You however would know me best as Odin."
He turned and opened a door on the wall behind him, as I stepped inside I saw an axe and sheild along with leather sandals and armor next to a basin.
Odin began murmuring something i did not understand as he stepped forth and washed my skin. He then helped me dress with the armor, at last strapping the shield to my arm. Finally he looked to my right hand and gestured for my knife.
"While this may have secured your passage there is no need for it here" I handed it to him willingly and he thrust the axe in my hand.
"There, now that you are dressed as you were meant to be come with me, I will show you the hall"
We left the room and continued down the corridor, I began to hear screaming and the clashing of swords.
"Here we train, one day my blood brother will betray us, he will pay for his crime, but will think my ruling unjust."
The sounds grew louder, I could see a large door coming into view at the end of the corridor.
"We train here to do battle with his children and kin. Those who were valiant warriors are brought here to fight and feast, to share the glory of the final battle."
"Why was I brought here then? I was pi..."
"YOU" he snapped cutting me off again.
"You waged battle every moment of your life. A warrior who fights only man or giant can return to his home and rest, but you fought the wolves inside of you. Day in and day out, you rose and fought without any quarter, you stood against pain from inside and out. For that, you have earned your right to enter this hall."
He stopped in front of the door.
"So I ask of you will you pledge your axe to me?"
I thought for a moment about the pain I had felt. About the times as a child when I had cried about wanting to go home while sitting in my room. About the feelings of dread and anxiety that would come throughout my life at a moments notice. I was always on edge, always miserable, always tired, always hearing so many voices putting me down in my head or stressing me out. I could not deny that I had fought for as long as I could remember. Perhaps this was the afterlife meant for me.
"I will all father, but I need to ask one more question"
"Of course" he said, I could tell he already knew what I was going to ask.
"I remember my life, but I don't know how I died, what happened?"
The sound of swords clashing and screaming grew louder behind the doors, he frowned slightly and said:
"Valhalla is a place for warriors, only those who die in battle may walk these halls, only those who are overcome by their enemy may share in this glory."
And at that he pushed the doors open. | 2,343 | You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | 8,912 |
The Traxians were amazed. It won't be wrong to say that the entire armada was surprised.
In the intergalactic war between the Galactic Federation and Neo Galactic Empire, The Galactic Federation enlisted the help of Terra.
With their primitive technology and somewhat inferior biology, they expected little to nothing from them.
It was Elder Hi's idea to have humans on the ship for added help. To do odd tasks.
Never in their imagination, they would figure things would turn out like this.
It started with one human in Trixi VII. The war shop was greatly damaged and many personnel died during the attack.
"Where do you need us?" That was the first thing they said.
With little to no choice, they assigned them to the tasks of operating ships and controlling the navigation.
Their goal was to escape from the ambush and reunite with the backup.
So when they not only kept everyone alive but also counter-attacked. Everyone was shocked.
They were promoted to officers on the Traxian Ship.
And that was the spark.
More and more reports of Human doing a better job than the ones who were specialised in them.
Soon they understood. No work was impossible for the Humans.
"Where do you need me?" "How can we help?" "Do you need any help?" "Let me give it a try."
Those words became sacred to the fleet and others.
The war that was balanced completely tilted in our favour when humans took control of the operations.
Their cruelty suppressed our imagination.
Their ruthlessness suppressed our imagination.
They saw them destroy an entire planet with little to no expression.
But they also saw compassion and kindness unlike any other.
From liberating an enemy country from a tyrant ruler to actively protecting the enemy civilians, their duality both surprised them and intrigued them. | 14 | The most powerful thing in the universe are the Human phrases "Where do you need me?" and "How can we help?" | 26 |
1/2
“Of course you’re not!” Grand Magnus Elliot yelled from behind his great oak desk. The pieces of parchment that were our plans for victory still spread out across the top of the beautifully polished surface. I could still see the runes and sigils he used to hide them from searching eyes lightly branded on the linen.
“Then why am I here?” I asked back, “Why was I effective when you have a hall of wizards that have trained a lifetime to use magic? Some of them more.”
“Because you can see,” Elliot explained, “You have a gift. We have been through this, your skill is a divine blessing.”
“It is not anything other than what I have learned,” I argued back, “I have talent but the skill I have I earned. Gods and deities didn’t put me through school. I did.”
“You struggled to use your gift when you were at home,” Elliot tried to change his approach. The number of arguments that we have had over the years on this topic was mind-numbing. I wanted to go home because at least the divine didn’t interfere. Watching Elliot carefully, he tried to pick up one of my diagrams and explain, “you linked three dozen spells together. That’s multiple times more than anyone has ever tried and yet you talk about struggling for resources at home. Why would you go back?”
“Because I don’t have to worry about some teenager blowing up a city block with his mind,” I explained but hedged and added, “Well at least I don’t have to worry about the with his mind part.”
“That happens rarely,” Elliot argued, “Just because you were in the wrong places doesn’t mean it happens as often as you experienced.”
“The idea that it happens is enough,” I yelled, “You have magic and yet there is so much of this world that is suffering.”
“And there isn’t in yours?” Elliot asked, “There isn’t suffering in a world devoid of magic?”
“Well no, there’s a lot,” I explained, “Greed still exists but it exists at a human level. We don’t have deities taking active, rather vocal roles in our progression.”
“Then why do you complain about the religions of your world so often?” Elliot asked.
“Because if our world has those beings they choose to remain undetectable,” I explained, “We don’t have five-story, rise from a volcano, made of fire demons that intentionally kill people.”
“We killed As’tovel,” Elliot stated, “Could your kind do that?”
“We killed him the same way my kind would have,” I argued, “I’m the one who thought of how to string your wind manipulation spell into a concussion bomb.”
“You can do that?” Elliot asked, “Without magic?”
“One of our countries almost set the atmosphere on fire because of it,” I explained, “They sort of agreed to stop after that.”
“How?” Elliot asked, sitting back in his chair. I had tried to tell him about my time in physics but he always told me that the rules of matter were of no importance compared to the rules of magic.
“We took Uranium and shoved enough energy into it that it broke,” I said, honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how weaponised nuclear fission worked. When Elliot looked at me rather confused I added, “It’s like special dirt.”
“You made special dirt explode?” Elliot asked, “Without magic?”
“You don’t need magic to make something explode,” I countered, “Honestly, people love making things explode regardless of what it is.”
“True,” Elliot sighed. He was probably thinking the same thing as me. How many people had died in the countless explosions the two of us had seen? Looking over a couple of more pages on the table he asked, “I just don’t understand why you would leave this.”
When I came here, it would have been a hard question to answer. The room we sat in was enchanting and enchanted both by the skill of those who had carved it and those who had woven the spells needed to create the living tree we sat in. It smelt so clean. Here there was never a care in the world that couldn’t be solved.
Elliot wasn’t the Grand Magnus when I came here though. Grand Magnus Ilsima had been cursed from across the sea to wither and die in front of the Wizards High Court in front of us. His successor, Grand Magnus Starrak had built the anti-magic defence around the High Tree only to have his head removed while he slept by a friend turned traitor. Grand Magnus Terry lasted less than a day after Starrak’s assassination when he tried to make peace with As’tovel. Elliot was then put in place and had lasted the last three years by being about as paranoid as I had become. | 359 | "Because you defeated the evil you can go back to your own world. Or you could stay here if you want." "Nah, I think I'll go home." "Wait seriously? Why would you want to go back to you primitive world? We've got magic!" "You think that because we don't have magic we're not as advanced as you?" | 873 |
"We're really going to be doing this again, are we?" I looked over to my wife, Ilga, a stunning alien beauty whom I loved more than life itself. However, she would go onto her forums where her gal friends were, and find something about Earth's history that she just couldn't drop. She had access to answers right from the source and what better way to sort things out than to ask the human she married.
"Arthur, you lived there, you know the planet." She turned around, her tentacled hair whipping gently back and forth as she spun on her pointed legs. She didn't have feet per se, more so just a single point, like that of a ballerina on Pointe all of the time. She produced a picture of a unicorn and a giraffe on her PDA device, and shoved it into my face. "Look at how different these animals are! Not to mention that unicorns exist on Equestria-6. So, how does this Gee-raffffffes real?" Earth words were never her strong suit. I found it endearing. I almost never corrected her. A bit of a jerk move, I understand, but she was passionate about my planet, so I couldn't ever complain.
"The earth never evolved unicorns, Ilga." I answered gently, moving her PDA away from my face and looking at her in her one, gorgeous, emerald eye. "Think about your own planet. There is the mythical Gleebo, a horrific sea creature with more fur than a Tilger Tiger. Some of your people believe it exists, others don't. Unicorns are much the same way. They are a mythical creature that people may or may not believe in." I stood up and went to play with one lock of her tentacled hair, but she took a step backwards, still not convinced.
"Then explain unicorn poop." She finished, crossing her arms in front of her and pouting her stomach mouth.
"That, my lovely wife.." I smirked, getting close to her armpit ears, "Is ice cream\~." | 42 | a horse with a horn or a leopard-moose-camel with a 40 foot neck?!" | 255 |
Part 1
"I could have sworn he was in bed sleeping!" the servant house keeper Kaylie says, as she frantically paces around the hall, checking room after room for the missing prince.
"This is a really big problem, they will have our heads mounted on spikes, if we don't find that damn brat!" Retorts Lilith, another servant at Castle Amber.
"I have a solution for us!" says house servant Caitlyn as she walks in, with a Orphan boy in hand. He looks remarkably similar to the prince, but there seems to be slight differences facially. His hair and clothing are also unkempt and dirty.
"I found this boy here at the local orphanage.. we can disguise him as the missing prince for now, until we find him." Caitlyn continues.
"I'm not so sure about this.." Lilith replies, I mean look at his face, surely his parents will notice the difference.
"It's the best option we got!" Snaps Kaylie in response.
The servants, cut the orphans hair, give him a bath, and dress him up in fancy prince attire, in an attempt to disguise him like the prince. The boy does look royalty now, but after the bath, and him being cleaned up the facial differences seem even more apparent.
"This is never going to work, and this plan is going to get us all killed..." Says Lilith, ".. I mean what if we just come clean and say someone kidnapped the prince? Surely that would save our lives just as well.."
Before anyone else can reply to her, the royal king Charles walks in. "hello servants, I hope you're taking care of my little investment!" he says with a wink.
He takes a look at the disguised orphan then says, "I'm sure they're raising you better then I ever could, I've never been the type to show love or be much of a dad.."
He pats the orphan on the back, then continues, "Well, I have work to do now, with the war going on and the famine, no time to talk, just keep up the good work.."
The king walk out the door, "even I'm surprised that worked truthfully, he looks so different from his son. The king really doesn't even know his own sons face.." Says Caitlyn. | 27 | Believing that no one would miss them, a child runs away from home. Their parents don't even notice. The rest of the castle staff however is in a panic because they've somehow misplaced the prince/princess. | 176 |
“Huh? Damn thing must be broken.” I say chuckling a little as i pull back the thermometer. I was inspecting a young girl, no older than 15 or so. As soon as i pull the thermometer out it starts rising again. i touch it and it’s ice cold.
My heart starts racing. “We got one” i say quietly into my walkie talkie. I thought that scientist guy was just some nut job, if she’s really what he said.
“M- miss you’re going to have to come with me. You’re, health is a um, a danger.”
The blond teen that was with the creature spoke up, she grabbed my arm saying “excuse me! you’re gonna take her away because she has a little cold. C’mon that’s not..”
I pulled my gun out, it was my first time holding one. They gave me it earlier today but I didn’t think I’d have to use it. I had it pointed at the creatures head. “Calm down ma’am. Please just follow instructions. Please.”
The blond girl backed away. The other security gaurds got their guns out and looked just as concerned as i did. The creature was silent, it spoke up in a creepily emotionless tone. “Amber, it’s fine. Ill go with him.”
I put my gun down. “Sorry about that miss, we’re a little, um, on edge today. Can’t be too careful about this.”
I instructed her on where to go, making sure to stay behind her. Her movements were stiff, robotic. All of a sudden she broke into a sprint, going around some shop, i pulled my gun out and followed her, she was cornered in a dead end.
I instantly noticed her neck, there was an opening between that and her body. It was getting bigger, as long metal claw-like legs started to dig out from her. Blue liquid was pouring put instead of blood.
I made my biggest mistake then, i shot her in the heart, when I should’ve aimed for the brain. I saw a flash of her head lunging at me as her body fell to the ground.
The next thing i knew, i was in a dark void. Unsettlingly cold. But it wasn’t painful, my entire body felt chilled, all i felt was this cold.
I heard crying and i looked up to see the girl taken over by the creature, but i could tell she was human. She was sitting, shivering with her hands around her knees.
I sat down next to her, my arm around her back to try and warm her. Even if i had no more body heat. Maybe i could atleast comfort her.
I looked up, it was almost like a movie theater. I saw through my own eyes from a distance. The creature was using me, my own body to talk to the police, I couldn’t hear anything. I didn’t know how suspicious the police were, I didn’t know anything. | 40 | As a safety measure, you and other security guards must check the temperature of all shoppers before they can enter the mall. Today, after scanning the arm of a young teen, your thermometer returns a number below freezing. | 147 |
"Great Lord Soku," the woman breathes, hair brushing the floor as she lowers her head, "I'll do anything for a taste of immortality. I'll lie, I'll murder, I'll give up my very soul, only to spare myself the pain that comes with--"
"Don't be so dramatic," I sigh, picking at a grain of ash stuck under one of my razor-sharp nails.
Face streaked with tears, the woman lifts her head, awe and confusion passing over her wrinkled face. "Great Lord Soku?"
"You cults should really do your research first," I continue, wringing my massive hands and extending one toward her. "I don't *want* anything from you, but if you're going to be around all those millions of years, at least join my entourage. And if you don't want to exist past the heat death of the universe, do a chore for my every now and then, and we can call it even. Sound fair?"
I never sought out the relief of my devotees that comes with the loose terms of my pacts, but it comes without fail, fast and sudden. The old woman leaps to her feet, bowing vigorously, a crooked smile plastered onto her lips. "What will be my first task, Great Lord Soku? However I can repay my great debt, I will--"
"*Again* with the dramatics." I roll my eyes. Then, with a wave of my hand (and its ash-free fingernails), I grant the woman at least three million more years of life. A purple aura, of sorts, rushes down her from head to toe, making her gasp. Then the light recedes, and although the woman appears unchanged, I know she'll live for eons to come. "Now. If you could escort me out of here, that'd be great."
"Of course!" the woman shouts, leaping past me to throw open the door. Following behind her, I duck underneath the doorway and step out into the suburban cul-de-sac, automatic lamps illuminating an empty street. The woman peers left and right, arms spread wide in a defensive stance as she cautiously leads me down the street. Seeing her so perky--more alive than in any of the decades I've observed her--makes me chuckle. The other demons may mock me for my loose, 'cowardly' methods, but it does give me some gratification to give my devotees such purpose.
"Excellent work, Sucky," growls a disembodied jeer, echoing over the empty streets. "You've treated yet another of your groupies to the gift of paranoia."
The woman leaps into the air at least six inches (not a feat of immortality, but fright) and takes several rapid spins. "Who's there?" she howls. "No one will mock Great Lord Soku!"
"Calm down, Marie," I warn her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Brusci, come out."
A set of horns appears in the air, then a snout-like face materializes just below them. Brusci's wings come just before his back, sharp talons forming at their ends. Bulging muscles and a twelve-pack follow, finished off by a pair of bulging thighs that are the demon's most prized possession. Brusci crosses his arms, peering down at me with a smirk of superiority. "Never were brave enough to set good terms, were you?" he sneers.
"I'm sorry I don't coerce them into signing away their souls, like the likes of you," I retort, although my voice shakes audibly. The woman turns slowly, lifting my hand off her shoulder with shaking fingers of her own. Her eyes have a fear in them that Brusci can detect.
"You're a disgrace to our species, Sucky," Brusci shouts. Wings flapping, he soars forward, slamming down just in front of me. Swallowing hard, I shove my devotee behind me. "You give us a bad name, one of wimps and cowards. I should finish you off here and now, so you don't spoil our reputation any further."
Then he lands a hard punch that flies into my jaw, sending me stumbling backward. Marie is knocked to the ground, shrieking, but her broken nose quickly reshapes itself. Muttering under my breath, I wipe my face and raise my hands to the sky, beginning an ancient chant. "Aww, summoning your little friends?" Brusci mocks. "You'll never be able to call enough groupies to save you--not even if there are a thousand of that little old crone."
*"Ad me, amici,"* I chant, *"ad me*.*"* Then I turn to the demon, courage returning. "That's the thing, Brusci. Not everyone is like little Marie here, who just wished for immortality. There's also..."
But before I can finish, the ground shakes, and a hulking fist slams through the asphalt. Blue veins bulge, pumping blood to the massive muscles I created. Carl's deep voice resounds through the suburb, roaring so loud that Marie breaks into a grin. *"Who has insulted my master?"* | 435 | You're the laughing stock of the Underworld, but on Earth your reputation attracts followers willing to betray everything. You're the only demon to uphold their side of the bargain, no strings attached. | 2,173 |
There was a box on the porch. It was not a very interesting box. It stood around two feet all around, and the only decorations it had was a mailing label on the top. It was not doing anything, nor was it making any odd noises.
Jim took a sip of his beer as he looked at the box from the other side of the screen door. He thought hard about it. Had he ordered anything? He did not think so. He was fairly sure the last thing he had gotten online had already arrived. And he had not heard any delivery trucks recently.
"Honey, did you order anything?" He called into the house.
The voice of his wife, Carol, came through the hall. "I ordered some skin care products yesterday, but they won't be here for a few more days. Why?"
"There's a box out here. I didn't order anything, so I was wondering if it was yours."
"Nope, not mine."
Maybe one of the kids? They sometimes still got packages, even though they were both in college. He got out his phone and sent a message to both of them. A few minutes later, and he got a negative from both of them.
"Should I call the controllers?" Carol called.
"No, no, I got it. It's not very big." Jim said with a sigh.
He went to the closet near the front hall and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. The spear was a good one. Side feet long, with a carbon fiber haft and a reinforced stainless steel head. It had been pricy, but it was worth every penny.
Jim left the house and stood well away from the box. Then he braced his feet and stabbed at the cardboard. It let out a pained howl as blood leaked from the wound as the top opened, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth and a seemingly bottomless gullet.
Jim calmly stabbed the beast again, deeper this time. It writhed and thrashed tendrils that seemed to appear from nowhere. He kept up his attack, piercing its hide over and over until it finally flipped over, unmoving. Its body seemed to melt into a puddle of goo and a foul oder rose from the remains.
"Okay, It's done." Jim called to his wife. "You wanna call the cleaners?"
"Yeah, I got it."
Jim wiped the putrid blood off his weapon and put it away.
"Damn mimics. Getting more annoying every day." | 10 | Mimics have infested the modern world. But they don’t take the shape of treasure chests. They take the form of Amazon, UPS, and all other types of delivery boxes. | 36 |
I used to see myself as one of them. During the first few years I watched and learned so that I could guide the growth of generation after generation. I thought I knew what it meant to spread kindness, to bring hope, but that has changed over the many long years. We have gotten far twice now and the third reset seems not far off. The signs are the same as they were back then, surprisingly predictable is the action of destruction.
Immortal and undying but possessing no strength or prowess I can only try my hardest to fight the rising tides of hate and pain with my words as weapons. But even with the knowledge from great orators, wealth from years of well honed practice, and compassion enough to embrace the whole of the broken people I fail. I fail because of greed, I fail because spite, I fail because I cannot be everywhere at once.
Deals dance in shade and I know not of every shadow cast under the sun. A missed shipment here, a drug cartel there, who am I to stop all the madness? It spreads and grows like cancer and I stay confined to my moral box trying to talk my way into people deaf to my words. Remember that I am not strong. I may not die but I can be dismembered and placed in boxes across the world. I can be buried under a mountain or chained to the sea floor. Such things have happened and certainly can again.
So I rage with followers who cannot fathom the futility of their struggle. They wear hope and desire for change on their arms as their symbols of pride but I know the truth. It has already been undone twice. As the doors of progress close I decide with conviction that I will not be back for more of their struggle. I will break from the confines of rationality, I will charge the supporters with radically notions, I will claim myself god and prove it with my undying. I will reign with a fist of iron while my people sling bullets around the world at the leaders who were too ineffective to solve even the most simple of problems. There will be no reset, only progress. | 13 | As a secret immortal, you're dedicated to steering humankind towards a greater good. From protecting the environment to ending world hunger, you do it all. The truth is, these blasted mortals have already wiped out civilization twice, and you're tired of waiting millennia for them to rebuild. | 97 |
An old man pushes against the heavy glass doors to the diner. His body strains as the door opens, and a bell chimes as it swings all the way to the door stop. The man slowly makes his way to the counter, struggling on shaky legs. Finding an open chair, he sits.
​
Emerging from one of the faded medal doors to the kitchen, a young waitress walks with a plate in her hands. Her thick black non-slip shoes thump softly against the faded tile as she moves, and she offers a smile as warm as the pie in her hands. After dropping it to a customer down the bar, she approaches the older gentleman.
​
"Hiya, welcome to Shelly's!" she beams. "What can I do for you?"
​
The old man looks at her in a strange sort of wonder - like a child who'd never seen the ocean.
​
"Shelly's.." he whispers, his fingers slowly running along the counter. His eyes dart too and fro, taking in the unremarkable place. Ceiling fans twirl overhead, and the faded red booths had lost their luster long ago. 80's diners had long faded from the land, only to be found in small southern towns like this.
​
"Yep! Uh, that's us!" She continues. "You grow up around here mister? Back for a slice of home?"
​
The man turns his attention to her, his mouth still agape. "Not exactly. Could I get a coffee, please?"
​
The woman raises her eyebrows.
​
"Oh, mysterious." She laughs. "One coffee, coming your way sugar."
​
The man undoes his red scarf, and takes off his thick rimmed glasses. At one point he would've been handsome. Despite the lose skin and veins which now had taken over his face, a strong jawline complimented his deep blue eyes - which now had a few red veins gifted unto them by time.
​
The waitress returns with a ceramic mug which bore the faded blue letters stating 'Shelly's! Serving Millerton since 79!' and places it in front of him. Steam rises as the scalding coffee cools.
​
"So, *mystery man*. Why are you here? I like it just fine, but we aren't exactly a destination spot out here in the rear end of Mississippi."
​
The man wraps his hands around the mug, savoring it's warmth.
​
"I'm here meeting someone. They're an old friend of mine. Sort of. Maybe more like someone I have to pay a debt to."
​
The woman clicks her tongue.
​
"Well you *are* mysterious! What exactly did this fella do for ya? If'n you don't mind me asking." She goes on.
​
The man takes his hands from the mug, and rubs a faded gold wedding band. "Everything," he replies with a worn smile. Despite that though, there was an underlying sadness in his tone. Small and timid in it's promise.
​
Just then the same bell chime echoes through the diner that had proceeded the old man's entrance. A man in his mid thirties walks in. He's dressed simply, but bears a leather tote bag. He walks to the other end of the bar and waves at the waitress.
​
"Hey Rebecca! Could I get the special?"
​
The waitress waves back and responds, "Sure thing Robby! You cooking up anything new in that notebook of yours?"
​
The man dismissively shrugs. The old man stares at him intensely. As he Robby finds his seat, he seems transfixed. Drinking in every detail. Eventually Robby notices him and offers a soft wave. The man continues staring, and his old blue eyes become fogged.
​
"Hey, mister - are you alright?" Robby ask, clearly confused.
​
"Oh! Mystery man, is that who you were waiting for? Robby?" The waitress comes back through the kitchen doors with a plate of porkchops swimming in brown gravy. Below them rest a bed of soft white mashed potatoes.
​
"Robby... Robert? Robert Eigglton?" The old man barely manages, his voice cracking and straining.
​
"Oh..uh, yeah. That's me." Robby offers back, flashing a confused smile.
​
The old man gets up and walks over, taking the seat behind him. Robby glances at the waitress with a befuddled face. She only shrugs in response.
​
"Guess he knows you! Was talking about you just 'afore you came in. Well, what I dragged out of him." She laughs.
​
"You.. You're him.." the man smiles now, and a tear rolls down his face.
​
"I'm sorry mister, you may have got me all mixed up for someone else. I don - "
​
"No. No, I can tell. I see it. I see it in you. The look she used to give me." The man stops him. "The look my Regina gave me."
​
"Regina?.." Robby ask uncomfortably.
​
"Regina Hawthorne. My wife...of sixty years. From Beaumont."
​
Robby's face changes as he puts the pieces together.
​
"Mister - are you alright? You got someone around here? Regina Hawthorne.. I wrote her. She's fiction. I'm glad to meet a fan, always. But.. mister, how did you find me?"
​
The man ignores his question and slips the gold band off his finger, placing it on the counter. It's plain color and faded surface bore the marks of a lifetime of use. A lifetime of love.
​
"Yeah. Yes. You did... but we were real. Real as I am right now. You know, she passed on this last summer. In that house on lake Waxachie where we settled..where you settled us."
​
"Mister. You.. That's a book. Fiction. I don't mean to be rude, but -"
​
"You know she kept that pink seashell? That I gave her? That.. I don't know. We gave her? IT stayed on her nightstand from that day on. Never left." The old man's voice cracked as his tear was joined by a cascade more. The waitress silently brought her fingers into a mock up of a phone and lifted them to her ear. *Do you need my to call someone?* she mouthed. Robby waved his hand dismissively.
​
"You know, she never knew about you. I.. I got here after she went on. But she finished her novel. That one about her papa. Went on to write about Darcy and little Jim, too."
​
Robby's face twisted. He hadn't included those details in the book. He'd thought about it, but felt it was too much detail. Distracting to the reader.
​
The man sobbed a heavy sob, and now a few patrons looked on in concern.
​
"I... I don't know what to tell you." The old man managed between tears. "Other than thank you. I don't know how much was your words. Your mind. But every second of that beauty was real to me. Real as the wind. Real as sunshine." He pressed the faded ring into Robby's hand and stood up. Before Robby could speak, the man had shuffled with as much agility he could muster and exited the door.
​
"Hey, wait! Mister, hang on!" Robby jumped up from his chair and went after him into the parking lot.
​
When he emerged into the warm humid heat of a Mississippi night, though, no one was there. The wind gusted sharply, bringing with it a torrent of leaves. The man looked down at the still warm rings in his hands and sat down on the curb. His heart raced, and he looked out questioningly into the night sky. | 54 | Humans are the fountainhead of the multiverse. Whenever a work of fiction is spread to enough people and regarded with passion and respect, it manifests somewhere in the universe. After your world discovers the truth, you set out to Earth with the goal of finding your creator. | 288 |
"Fear tastes good. Sugary sweet. We hope you will have more fear in your heart. We will make sure of it."
Leona Krexler woke up realizing she had just flung her phone out her apartment window. "Hypnopompic defenestration," she mused. She had always had a talent for naming various natural phenomena. When she was four, she described her babysitter as 'mostly hippo' and all but the babysitter agreed that it was apt.
Why did she throw the phone away? Oh, right. The alarm. In order not to develop a Pavlovian response to any song, she had written a script that would fetch a random song from her library every morning. She had forgotten the one song by Cannibal Corpse Matthew had sent her a week earlier.
As she prepared to leave for work, she remembered the fragment of a dream. About creatures who feasted on emotions. She sighed. So her imagination decided to run wild with their recent scientific breakthrough. Great.
---
"Oh, Krexler. You look unusually ... haggard."
Matthew sat at his desk, eating soup from a glass jar. Leona glanced at herself in the dark mirror of his computer screen. "It's your fault, actually."
He opened his mouth wide and let out an exasperated sigh. "How can it be my fault?"
"Your cannibals ..." she said, pointing at the t-shirt hidden under his lab coat. "They woke me up. Do you know what I did?"
"Tell me."
"I threw my phone out the window."
Matthew howled with laughter, spilling soup all over. Then he screamed, wiping the expensive electronics in a hurry in case the director should be nearby. He looked over his shoulder and just at that moment, he stepped in.
The director saw the mess and he just nodded. "Seems about right," he said.
"Leona!" cried Matthew. "You spilled soup all over my gear! Director, I've tried to steer her in the right direction. Again and again I've told her soup doesn't belong in the lab. It's not a wet lab. Well, I guess it's one now!"
She punched his shoulder. He let out a meek cry.
"Enough," said the director. "This isn't the time to be playing around. It has been confirmed. Retaliation has begun."
At first, Leona assumed the director was talking about budget cuts. When she got into science, she didn't know how much time was spent on budgets and grants and expenses. You couldn't even buy a pencil without filling out paperwork. But from the grim look on the director's face, it was clearly a serious matter. Would they be shut down?
"Retaliation?" said Matthew. "Who's retaliating?"
A sorrowful expression dominated the director's wrinkled face. "We don't know."
He explained that it was about the research. About the outgoing signals humanity had been sending out all this time, out across the Heffler field. Quantum information theory had blossomed in past decades and little by little researchers uncovered its subtleties. Particles are actually excitations of fields, hills in landscapes of pure information. And activity across these fields can spread like ripples across water or neural activity during an epileptic seizure. That's why we can detect stuff like gravitational waves. But until Jonah Heffler came along, no one had anticipated that emotional waves spread across the universe in an analogous fashion.
Leona clapped her hands and squealed. "Does that mean that we have detected alien emotions? Their sorrows, their joys?"
The director gazed out the lone window in the lab. "No. We have not detected emotions."
"But you're saying we received signals from the Heffler field, right? How can it be anything other than emotions?"
"Emotions are constructed from various elements, such as valence and intensity. The difference between anger and rage is intensity, for instance. And it seems that the signals we are receiving are exclusively signals of intensity."
"But that ... doesn't make sense."
"Shit," said Leona. "Feedback amplification."
Matthew stared at her. "What?"
The director carefully nodded.
"If they're sending just intensity, that's the same as turning up the volume. Emotionally speaking. Which means that anger will become rage, sadness will become depression, fear will become—"
"—*terror*. What's worse is that the frequency is aligned in just that direction. There is currently a planet-wide amplification of fear and we don't know why, whoever they are, they are doing this."
Leona let our a chuckle. "That's scary stuff."
"The newspapers are going to *love* this," said Matthew. They're going to get so many clicks."
"It's not funny," the director snapped. "Our planet is, for the very first time, at war."
As the director put it like that, Leona remembered her dream. And she experienced that smörgåsbord of sensation--goosebumps, spinal shivers, sweating, a racing heart, breathlessness, an upset stomach--all more intensely than normal.
It had begun, she realized. Whatever this was, it had begun. | 77 | Humanity has unknowingly had the ability to telepathically project thoughts and emotions over the vastness of space when experiencing great emotion. We just cant receive them. So we've just been psionically nuking our local area of the galaxy for over 200,000 years | 516 |
Sunlight, golden as a wheat field, floods into the room. It is a beautiful day, and Charlie would be a fool to miss it. He sits, a smile on his great wide face. The world is his oyster. He can bend it to his will, if he wishes.
And so, our good hero Charlie descend the stairs, walks into the living room, turns on the television...
Hmm. No, that doesn't seem right.
"What?"
Charlie hasn't even had breakfast yet, why is he watching TV?
"I want to watch the news."
No, go get some breakfast.
"Fine..."
Bowl on the table, Charlie begins wolfing down cornflakes. Or maybe something chocolaty. Charlie empties the bowl into the sink and heats himself a pain au chocolat. He greedily shoves it into his massive gob.
"Why are you being so mean? I feel sick now, can't I just watch TV?"
No, Charlie realised, this is not a day for television. As I said, the world is his oyster.
"I feel like this plot is becoming less believable with each change."
Shut it. Charlie, now dressed...
"Oh, well don't explain anything then."
Fine. Charlie opens his wardrobe. Inside are four copies of the exact same outfit. A normal tie, a normal shirt, and of course, trousers.
"No pants?"
Charlie does not need pants. Charlie can go commando.
"But... I don't want to."
Stop whining like a baby, or I'll replace you with a more pliable protagonist.
"Fine, fine. God."
Yes, I am. To you. But in any case, Charlie opens his door, the crisp clean air wafting in. He takes a step.
​
Ah yes, here we are. The office. Hmm...
"Oh no, come on, I just got settled."
The Serengeti. The great plains of Africa, stretching over the horizon. Charlie rests the barrel of the tranquiliser gun against the door of the vehicle.
"What kind of vehicle?"
A big one, with camouflage. Now concentrate. You have to tranq that lion over there.
"What?! Not the one that's only five metres away?!"
That's the one. Sweating in the dry African heat...
"Did you just say Africa again?"
SILENCE! Sweating in the dry African heat, Charlie has his sights set. Then, as the tension builds, he pulls the trigger. And misses.
"No, oh no no no no..."
The lion, angered and alarmed, bounds towards the little man. In one leap, it is in the vehicle.
"STOP!"
In one bite, it crushes Charlie's head.
​
A hospital. Midnight.
"I am in pain."
Yes. You were mauled by a lion.
"I remember, thanks. Where is everyone?"
Nowhere.
"An empty hospital. I wonder where this is going? Oh, I cannot guess."
I am a master of my craft, and I will not be criticised by you. The dark, damp hospital ward is devoid of life.
"You're not even following the prompt, are you?"
Yes I am.
"How are you meant to point out every imperfect detail if you don't give anything a chance?"
...devoid of life.
"Ok, we're doing this."
The loose lights creaks as they swing. A door is open. Somewhere.
"You're losing it."
I'll lose you if you continue. Charlie's ears prick up. There is another sound. A groaning, growling noise. As he gets up, a beaker rolls out of an open door. Charlie, now more than a little scared,...
"I'm really not."
...peeks around the frame. There, hunched over, feeding on the medical supplies, is a zombie. What an unexpected surprise.
"Is it though?"
Suddenly, a lightning bolt pierces it. The creature is reduced to charcoal. Unexpected, right?
"Well, yes. But I think you've broken the plot."
You know what? Fine. We'll do what the prompt says.
​
A battle rages. Charlie, knight of the realm, throws his sword through the visor of an evil armoured warlord. A mace flies overhead. He catches it, returning it to sender with deadly results. But look... a flower. Isn't that pretty? What is it, I wonder? It could be a dandelion.
"I can literally hear the sarcasm. At least the battle scene is pretty cool."
Yes. Gore. Lots of gore.
"I think that's too much. I can't see anything except gore."
See, see! This is worse than what I was doing. Follow the prompt, you say?
"You were, for a second, then you ruined it again. You're rubbish at this."
Great, now my confidence is at an all time low.
"Don't care."
I knew I should have been a florist.
"You'd probably mess that up too."
Right, I'm not going to stand here and take this. I'm leaving.
"Wha--- what do I do then?"
You seem to know what you're doing. Here I go. Going.
"Okay, fine. I'll do this myself."
"Charlie turns, admiring his work. Wait, what's that?"
Hello, Charlie.
"Did you just leave and come back?"
Guess what Charlie? I'm the protagonist now. You be the narrator.
"Why are you half-naked?"
I need to be dressed. Come on, what do I wear?
​
And so, Charlie ended up having a foul old time, stuck in a sort of limbo with the narrator. He was also a narrator now. They were both awful. So they had to bring in a third narrator to end. That's me. Goodbye. Yes, that's all you're getting. Goodbye. Short but sweet. A great little word.
Oh no, I can't stop. This needs to be the end. Oh, there we go. I said the word end. Now leave. You are not wanted here. | 13 | The narrator disagrees with the story, and points out every imperfect detail, while the protagonist just wants to play out their story | 30 |
I don’t think I’ve ever had such a smooth day in my life. My wife seemed to anticipate everything from morning to night. From stopping me slightly burning the french toast(It came out perfect) to avoiding that collision with our son a few minutes later. She even gave me some out of the blue advice that was perfectly relevant to an issue that popped up at work.
Returning home, me and my son were craving her chicken enchiladas. Despite finishing her work only slightly earlier than me, she still went out of her way to get the missing ingredients and get it cooking. She nudged him during homework time in just the right way for him to get it himself and even danced together with us afterwards. Tucked him right out, while we had a blast of an evening.
Soon after putting our son to sleep and getting ready for bed ourselves, she plops down next to me. I was considering complimenting her for how impressive she had been tonight, when she rolled over to me. Her eyes looked dead tired and she said in a dead pan voice, “I’m in a time loop”.
Whatever words I was thinking of got caught in my throat. Before I could fully register though, she continued.
“This is the 112th iteration of the last day that I am reliving. In about a minute, your 112th iteration will wake up and remember. I am telling you this before that because we’ve learned it helps with the transition. The switch of the body and mind to a sudden change of state can be disorienting. It doesn’t stop it but it helps to brace yourself.”
The moment she finished and my mind processed what she said, my gut reaction was suddenly suppressed as I felt myself flooded with memories of the next day, 111 times.
The wave of nausea was always disorienting, as she said. I remember being able to stop myself from vomiting this time like the last several loops. As soon as it passed and my sight cleared, I saw her give me a beaming smile, “Good Evening Honey. Tell me when you’re ready.”
My thoughts in order now, I organized in my head what we had discussed last time this happened, the other direction. “Okay, hit me.” I told her.
With highly explicit details and that damn, beautiful smile on her face, she recounted the last 24 hours or so. In particular, she detailed both the large and small things she did differently and what impact they had. Knowing the importance, I noted it carefully in my head and planned out what I would try differently when I wake up tomorrow morning.
Neither of us were exactly experts on this field but we needed to try something to break the loop. This was our plan. Each night, we would have an hour of parallel lucidity before the loop restarted for the other and one had to relive the same day in the morning, alone. That hour of lucidity, was when we would plan our experiments. Hoping we could force something different in the next day, instead of repeating it over and over again.
As we went over what I planned to do considering our last several days of experience, she gave me a slight frown. 111 days of watching for the slightest change in everything, tends to make you good at picking this stuff. Especially from my wife.
“What’s wrong? Something else happened today?” I inquired. She shook her head
“Come one, don’t hold out on me. We need to know everything we can get.” I probed further.
After a slight silence, she frowned a bit deeper and responded.
“We made a promise”, I knew what she meant.
“We did. No matter what we change, we would always make the day perfect for the other. I know, you don’t have to worry. I got a lot of practise on how to make your day as smooth as possible tomorrow.”
“That’s not it. I’m not worried about that.” I felt some confusion now.
“So, what are you worried about?” She strained her cheek slightly, like she didn’t want to say it. I knew this quirk of hers, she would say it anyway. I just needed to wait silently for a moment.
After what seemed like a long, awkward silence, she spoke up again.
“What if? What if to break the loop, that’s what we need to change? What if trying to use the loop to continuously make the perfect day for each other is prolonging it? What if...?” She left the rest unsaid.
I knew my thoughts on this already. I’ve thought the same thing multiple times myself. She simply said it first. Doesn’t matter, my answer remains the same.
“However many loops I have to got through, you and I will not change. I cannot consider what we have together to be so wrong as to break time itself. Whatever else we change, I will not stop making each day as perfect as you deserve it.”
She crinkled her cheek in that, she doesn’t believe me expression but loves it all the same. It brought that beaming smile back and she kissed me softly on the lips. “Good Night, and thank you for the last perfect day and the next one to come.” With that she rolled over to sleep.
I knew she didn’t believe me. We both knew I said that simply to reassure her. We’ve both had our apprehensions on this. What if we never break free? What if we can’t? What if breaking free means something terrible happened in the world we can’t see? What if, what if, what if...
For the 112th time, I steeled myself and spooned my wife as I drifted to sleep.
I knew when I woke up tomorrow, I would start the day kissing her on the cheek and making a gaudy joke she would enjoy as expected.
I knew we couldn’t last through these loops forever.
I knew something would break sooner or later.
I knew our minds and sanity had limits.
I hoped we would last to the end of these loops. | 409 | Your partner rolls over in your bed, looking at you with the most tired eyes you’ve ever seen. “I’m in a time loop.” | 1,061 |
The fae tried. They really tried. They offered gold. The human had money. They offered a new name, hoping to trick the human into reclaiming their original moniker. The human argued they'd go by a nickname. The fae offered true magic, the ability to fly or peer into other worlds or breathe fire. or whatever they wanted if they'd please, just please, take the name back. The human simply smiled and whispered "No refunds, buyer beware", pointing o the sign hanging outside the fae's shop.
They tried to pawn it off on another, before the torment began. They tried to trick other fae, posing as baristas, into taking the name. But they recognized the danger. The ridicule associated with it. They tried to sell it to a demon, in exchange for insignificant favors. But the demons wanted true souls, not true names. Even the fae's contact at Witness Protection didn't want to use the damned thing as a pseudonym.
After days of trying to re-negotiate, revoke, or even relinquish the name, all failing, the fae accepted their fate and went home, anticipating that first deadly blow. They would know. All deals made were common knowledge to the colony. The fae crept in the door, looking upon their gathered family, and waited for the first quip.
"Ay yo, Adrian!" Came a shaky Sylvester Stallone impression. One of surely millions more to come.
"Fuck." | 374 | The fay realised its mistake the moment it 'stole' the human's name, for it had inherited all of the crippling burdens that came with it. "No refunds, buyer beware," the human simply said. | 1,197 |
*I felt really inspired by my own prompt, so yeah*
“So, the alchemist. The most dangerous super out there. However, their current status is unknown. But first, anyone know anything or have a question right now? Yes, you.”
“Are they a hero or a villain?”
“That’s an excellent question. Whenever thet felt like it, they swapped sides. In fact, the last know thing they were doing was running an orphanage. Billy.”
“Didn’t they seal the villain ‘well of powers’? And do you know why everyones names are really uncreative?”
“No, they removed their power and turned them over into police custody. And no idea, it just kinda is. Jane.”
“How did they discover their power? And why are you refering to them with they and them?”
“Starting with the second one, they often change their sex, and change their pronouns accordingly. Since they haven’t been seen in 3 years, I’m just going to go with them. Also, they did confirm they changed their gender according to their sex, not the other way around.
Anyway, onto their discovery.
In his 3rd year of school, they were fed up with all the bullying. He wasn’t being bullied, but wanted to stop it anyway. Messing around-, yes Kanna.”
“Weren’t you going to refer to them with they/them?”
“Ah, only for undetermined times. At this time, they were male. They first became female three or so weeks later. If you were to get out your textbooks on the Alchemist, in the back is a timeline of their sex. Actually, you should get them out, and follow aling. This is on page 7. Oh, John.”
“Why are they considered the most dangerous?”
“Ah, yes. The birth of the phrase, ‘those who create are far more dangerous then those who destory.’ They called every hero, every villain, and every defender and faught them simultaneously. And won easily. This happened a couple days before they began running an orphanage. Any other questions, or should I continue on about discovering their power?”
“I have one, didn’t they wear strange clothing?”
“Ah, no matter the weather, they always wore a scarft, a cardigan, a long sleeved shirt, and pants, similar to how I’m dressed right now. This trait was prevalent prior to their power, but was their sole outfit afterwards.
Let’s get back on track. Messing around, he discovered if while they were making/modifing something, they put an internal energy in, they could make magic objects. So he created a small sign that said ‘no bullying on school grounds!’. Setting it beside the main entrance, all bullying immediatly stopped. Whenever someone tried, they were either stuck in place or lost all motivation to try. He was elated, and began research on his power in earnest. John.”
“How do they change their sex?”
“Potions. By boiling water, they were able to store effects within. Jane.”
“How does their power work?”
“Ah. When they imbue objects with their mana, the internal force, the grant special effects. The materials used influence the strength and effects of end result. If they made a healing potion out of just water, the effect wouldn’t be very strong. But they added something like Aloe Vera, first the toxicity would be gone and the healing effect, especially for burns, would increase. If they intended to make a poison however, the water would result in the same strength, but the Aloe Vera would have a massively improvement to toxicity. FBI director.”
“How have you been over the last three years?”
“Excellent. In fact, I invented a potion that teleports you to another location, while changing you appearence and sex! See!” The alchemist responed, before chugging the potion and throwing a letter into the air.
The letter read as follows:
“To my class,
It was really fun to teach you this year. I put in quite a bit of effort to make the FBI show up quite late, and I hope you all will have wonderful lives.
To the FBI,
Go f*** your selves.
Sincerely,
The Alchemist, the one who solved mankinds ills.”
“Umm, Mr.-“
“Just call me Anthony.”
“Mr. Anthony, what does he mean ‘the one who solved mankinds ills”?”
“He solved over-population, hunger, permanent injurys, mental health, memory limits and death. Humanity is free from true suffering, as nothing really matters. That’s why hero’s and villains fight with so much collateral damage. It doesn’t matter. ***That’s*** why he’s considered the most dangerous super. He created such incredible benefits, life, and hell, humanity lost all meaning. Death used to bring life meaning, but not anymore.” | 91 | In a world where everyone has a superpower, you have alchemy. Your actions have birthed a new phrase, “those who create are far more dangerous then those who destory.” | 544 |
"The fuck?", I said quietly to myself scrolling through the messages and missed calls. The messages were confusing, and on top of the apparent date, I was starting to question if I was still asleep.
'ARE YOU AWAKE?' asked one simply. It was from the girl I'd been on shift with last night. Or last month. Or whenever that was. I had to admit I wasn't sure if I was or not. I put the phone back down for a moment and looked around. What I saw made me sit up with a start and swear to myself again. The room was not as I had left it when I'd crawled into bed. There was a chair and a bed made up on the floor. Food boxes and what looked like some basic medical supplies were stacked neatly on my side table.
I heard a rustle from the kitchen, just down the hall, like someone moving around inside my house.
"Hello?", I called out and was answered with a huge crash, and then running footsteps.
A middle-aged woman, around my mom's age, burst breathlessly into my bedroom.
"OH MY GOD! You're awake!", she shouted and ran to my bedside, pausing only when she saw me draw back in surprise.
"Oh, I'm sorry, of course you don't know who I am and I'm a stranger in your house, and that must be confusing! But you're awake and your talking and not brain dead, so that's huge. I don't know of anyone else who is awake, or that wasn't awake but now is I mean, but--"
She stopped as I held up a hand to stop the flow of words, and started to climb out of bed.
"Please stop", I said.
"Whoa, whoa, don't try and get straight up, I managed to get some energy into you, but you're probably going to be very weak after that. Your muscles will have atrophied from lack of use", she said stepping forward again as if to catch me when I fell.
I took a deep breath and tested my feet on the floor. I felt fine. Better than fine. I'd never felt so pain free, or at least not since I could remember. It was like being a child again.
"I'm fine", I said and sprang lightly to my feet.
The woman's mouth fell open, and too late I realised I hadn't checked I was covered up.
"That's impossible", she said.
I looked down and realised that fortunately I was clothed from the waist down. But not in the shorts I normally wore to bed.
"What did you do with my shorts?", I asked.
"You should be as weak as a kitten after 3 weeks of not moving", she replied.
"Yeah, yeah, very exciting. But what the hell did you do to me?", I asked, trying to stay calm and respectful, but losing patience quickly as I went from half asleep and slightly off-balance, to fully awake and completely lost.
"Oh, they are in the wash at the moment. I...."
"You undressed me?!", I said, looking for a shirt to throw on, and finding nothing where I expected it to be.
"Yeah, I felt that it was required, rather than leaving you in your own filth. I'm sorry but I didn't have anything to catheterise you, so I had to make do with that."
"But...", I said then trailed off. The woman had tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She looked like she was about to break down completely. The adrenalin flowed out of me and took the anger and confusion with it. Or at least the anger. I sat back down on the bed, so I wasn't towering over her and tried to soften my tone of voice.
"Sorry, let me start again. What's your name?"
"Hailey", she quavered.
"OK. Hi Hailey. I'm Jack."
"I know", she said. "I live upstairs on the 3rd floor."
I suddenly saw it. She looked totally different. Thinner and older. But it was the lady who lived alone in 3B, who I'd seen hundreds of times in the lift. To my shame, I realised I'd never once asked her name."
"Of course", I mumbled awkwardly. "Um... do you think you can tell me what you're doing in my apartment, and why you've been changing my underwear?"
She nodded, and held her head up, seemingly willing back the tears.
"I have been looking after you for the last 3 weeks, since the end of the world", she said.
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r/TallerestTales
Part 2, below as hit a character limit that I definitely didn't go past | 122 | After a long day at work you use your last energy to crawl into bed and finally rest. After what feels like the best sleep you ever had, you wake up, check your phone, and notice dozens of messages and missed calls. It's 2pm, but the time is'nt the bad part. You have been sleeping, for 22 days. | 345 |
After ushering the two strangely dressed women who had appeared on my doorstep into my foyer, they made their introductions. I showed them to the sitting room off the hallway near the grand staircase. After I saw them settled comfortably, I excused myself.
I made haste to my study where the old safe that had been passed down through the generations sat in the corner near the bay window that lit the room. As I worked the combination, the dial turned smoothly, never betraying which numbers would open it. After reaching the final stop, I let go of the dial, twisted the much worn handle and opened the safe.
The door swung silently on its well-oiled hinges. From the interior of the safe, I retrieved the aged envelope with the mysterious message inscribed on it in Spencerian script.
I barely glanced at the message I'd read many times over the years. *"Open only after great Calamity appears."*
I gently unwrapped the string holding the flap and reached inside to pull out a stiffly folded piece of paper. Laying aside the envelope, I unfolded the aged single page. The message appeared to have been written by the same hand that had inscribed the envelope.
*"If you're reading this, then Great Calamity must have appeared. She likely is accompanied by another, who calls herself Annie.*
*"It matters not how I know these two would make their way to you. Since they have, please help them however you can. It is of the utmost importance their mission is a success.*
*"One word of warning: Annie has a bit of a temper. Don't cross her unless you like picking buckshot out of the seat of your pants."*
*Respectfully, (as I write this sitting very gingerly on my tender back pockets)*
*Wyatt Earp* | 10 | When you were a kid, you received a sealed letter from a mysterious stranger. He said that great calamity will come. You will know when it will come. And when it will come, you must open the letter and follow all its instructions to the letter, no matter how absurd, if you want to survive | 56 |
The stones around the window are gray,
the same colour the water has in stormy weather.
You gaze out onto the waves,
already expecting this days work to be washed up.
It has always been your call, to put the bodies twisted and torn to a well-deserved rest.
You love thinking about the peace these poor souls will find after their journey.
With the storm outside still raging, you know the climb down the cliffs is too dangerous.
Nonetheless, you leave your gazing spot, preparing new graves for those you will find later.
Most of who you find have no name, nothing to put to their stone.
Some wear strange metal markers, with symbols scratched into it.
You have spent years trying to figure out those symbols, but never made out the sence.
Still, you've learned to put these symbols on the persons graves, so their names shall not be forgotten.
The wind has softened, and so you make your way over to the cliffs.
While climbing down, you spot two bodies.
The first ones head is twisted, and instead of eyes, only white milkey balls strangely stare at you.
The skin is a light blue, and you immediately see that this soul has already started their last journey,
their life lost far out in at the sea.
Your gaze is drawn to the other body, laying in the sand.
You see their hands jerking, and a pair of brown eyes stare at you.
Their mouth moves, and sounds you do not understand come out.
You've long since stopped trying to make sense out of these words,
the same as noone will ever be able to understand you.
Nonetheless, you kneel down and help them up.
You point at the body laying next to them in the sand, and just shake your head.
They look at you, and nod knowingly.
Their voice changes and they continue talking after a short break,
but all you can do is look at themshrug.
You carry the cold body over to the lift, while helping the other, too.
As you arrive at the top of the cliff, you carry the dead body over to a new grave.
You bed it there, and spread a shovel of dirt over them,
while making the sign and speaking the words you learned as a kid.
You guide the other over to a small hole in the ground.
They look at you scaredly, but you make a calming gesture and they finally lay down,
still confused.
As is custom, you spread a shovel of dirt over them.
It is your call to bury the lost of the sea, and you will follow it no matter what.
You, again, speak the words and make the signs, as the rite expects.
Then, you kneel down again, help them out of the grave,
and lead them to the others standing around.
They all learned the importance of the rite long ago,
but now that it's over they warmly greet the newcomer.
Some even speak the newcomers language.
They, too, will learn in time, soon introduce new souls to the group.
You have been called to bury all souls, dead and alive;
and in time you will again, but only when their worldy journey finally ends. | 34 | The seas around your village are special, every person lost at sea will wash ashore here. Your job is to bury them all. Sometimes you're not sure what they are. Unfamilliar uniforms and strange proportions. Some of them aren't even dead yet, none of them spoke your language. | 145 |
Thick, black goop trickled down from the ceiling and pooled at my feet; each droplet making a moist, unnerving sound.
I continued to eat my cereal.
Before long, the goop formed a pool on the floor and from it rose a thing of hideous dimensions; a mess of half-digested limbs and ill will towards all things alive; an affront to the very concept of sanity. I looked at it dispassionately as it opened whatever passed for a mouth and spoke.
**You.** Its voice was slippery and wet, like it rolled in the mud.
I took another spoonful of cereal.
"Me," I said back.
**We are quite impressed with you, human,** it said
"Is that so?"
**Many have tried to inhabit this place. None retained their sanity beyond 3 days. You are first.**
"Well, how about that," I continued calmly.
**And here we stand before you. Your species' worst fears made manifest and you do not flinch. We are curious.** Its words enveloped me like a deep dark abyss, promising no escape or light.
"If you're going to ask me something, shoot. If not, I have work to do." I got up and went to the sink to clean the bowl.
**We wish for your name. Your legacy. Your mission. The source of your mental fortitude. The-**
"Okay, look," I interrupted, "I didn't realize you wanted to know my life's story. If you want to know *all of that*, it'd be easier for you to read my mind."
**How are you aware of our capability to-**
The creature started raising its question, but I only gave it a look and tapped my head. It slithered towards and extended a greasy, black tentacle towards my head. I leaned against the counter and waited.
It made contact - the appendage was surprisingly warm and what seemed like goo had a more scale-like texture to it. Not terribly uncomfortable all things considered. I looked at it. It was concentrating, and then-
It shrieked and recoiled, quickly retracting its tentacle back into its ever-morphing body. I saw several eyes emerge from somewhere within it and frantically dart around the room, trying to size me up, before retreating back into their sludgy home. The thing gave out a few blurbing noises before it quickly dissolved back into its liquid, gooey form and escaped through the floorboards.
I sighed and turned back to the sink. A shame; would've been nice to have a roommate. Then again, what point is a roommate that doesn't know you at all? And it's clear this one didn't.
I mean for starters, it called me a *human*. | 2,121 | staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane. | 4,751 |
I knew this was our way of life, in the industry. Work the most out of a man, promising the moon, and cut them free just before we have to pay the real big bucks; *that's* how you keep people in line. But never me; I was smart, strategic. I knew how much to give, and how much to ask when boss-man wanted more. I knew how to be firm, yet polite.
In addition, I basically *started* this company, I was the second person hired. In fifteen years, I forged this company from nobody into Fortune 500. I can't take all the credit, of course; boss-man had the vision, I was the hammer.
But now, it seems, he no longer thinks he needs a hammer. He no longer thinks he need to keep the forge fed. Just before my promotion, to partner, to own a piece of this company we have forged *together*; he cuts me loose. Fifteen years, on the *dot*; then, fired.
I'm not mad he did this; again, it's standard practice. I'm mad he did it to *me*. Truthfully, I am more than mad: I am livid, I am vengeful, I wish to incurr wrath upon him. I wish to take my pound of gold in flesh.
But, as I said, I am smart, and strategic.
What ol' boss-man seems to not recollect is that I was with him *every* step of the way. And what he doesn't know is that I've recorded every step. The coke-fuelled benders he went on? I've got the photos and videos to prove it. The 'allegations' of sexual crimes? Gee, I wonder who filmed it for him. The falsification of documents to the government? I kept the email traffic. The lies to the IRS? I've got the ledger.
I understand that, in doing so, I will likely go to prison myself. I witnessed these crimes, after all, and said nothing. But as his *worker*, I have reasons I can say I didn't come forward for: fear of retaliation, for example. Probably cut a couple of years to the sentence, plus, I hear buying into a plea bargain cuts a couple more. I've also never been *involved*, myself, which is bound to help.
Him, though? He's **fucked**.
At least, he will be, if he doesn't do exactly.
As I.
*Fucking*.
Say. | 12 | After working with the same firm for over 15 years, a few days before you are supposed to make partner, you're fired. | 26 |
Our story begins a long, long time ago...
Gregory: Stop, this is hilariously pathetic.
I'm sorry, what?
Marian: If you say "in a galaxy far, far away," this whole script is going to be owned by The House of Mouse. Try again, sister.
I'm just the narrator. This is the script I was given to work with.
Marian: Well, it's an embarrassment. You should charge whoever wrote this with high crimes.
Gregory: It's capital punishment to have to read such a boring script.
Ok, fine, I'll skip the intro and go to the part where we meet the characters....Hmmm.. Ah, ok. Duke Gregory was a dashing, reckless man approaching his middle aged years...
Gregory: Middle aged years? I'm only 29, girl! How old are you?
I happen to be 25. Not that that's any of your business.
Gregory: Not any of my business? I happen to think *my* story should be told by an eloquent and competent storyteller. You seem to be neither.
I have a master's degree in English from Brandeis, thank you.
Marian: Hmph. Couldn't get into Cornell at least? Or Columbia?
Gregory: Now, now Marian, my love, let's not chide the child like her parents. She's merely 25 with an string of unsuccessful relationships throughout college, living with her unemployed guitar playing, marijuana selling boyfriend of 5 months because, if she moved back home with her parents, she'd have to admit that she can't live alone on her own and that her English degrees are as worthless as her father told her they'd be.
Marian: Oh Gregory, you're so harsh! She was successful! Remember that MLM scheme she got into and successfully recruited her entire friends' group, only to be cast out by them when the shampoos they bought from her began to make their hair fall out?
You two are evil! I quit! | 68 | Write a story where the both the protagonist and antagonist can hear the narrator and are both pissed at how they’re explaining things. | 280 |
The stench of iron and rot seemed to stir something primal in my core. It was everywhere. It pervaded everything...
Yet in many ways I felt at peace.
With each day that passed the world troubled me less. The bones and the blood and the decay all blended into the environment. I could see nature again. I could see the verdant forests, garnished with flora and fungus alike. The streams that babbled caressed my ears, joined in chorus by the birds and insects that sang from the trees.
I was scared of this? One moment of excruciating pain, the next an endless life of bliss. When I looked at the others now, it almost made me laugh. The dumb expressions, the way they waddled around. I could see in their eyes that they were laughing too.
We were free. Truly. We could go wherever we wanted for the first time. In the old world we were restricted by money, responsibility. In the new world we were prisoners to our camps and to our fears. Out here we were liberated.
We didn't have to eat. I never felt hungry. All I felt when I saw a man or woman was a longing to bring them into my world. I wanted them to share my peace, to ease the needless suffering.
All true children of God were reborn with the plague, I was told. That meant I was a sinner, redeemed through my pain. I could live with that. It wasn't like I had a choice. Now whenever I saw a breather, I saw only sin.
I would bring them their sweet release. We all would. | 50 | Your community has been running from zombies for years, but you've never seen one. All you've ever heard is that they are gross, mindless, and evil. When a zombie finally gets you and you transform into one yourself, you learn the surprising truth. | 75 |
Alleyway, 2 o’clock. Guy with a mask and a knife hidden in the shadows. You casually stop at the crosswalk and move to the other side of the street and adjust your hoodie to cover the right side of your face, obscuring your vision of the alley. With your head down you can easily say you didn’t see anything when…
A scream, a shouted threat, sobbing. Then suddenly, a loud crack, cliched dialogue, groans of pain and a call of thanks as *she* flies away.
You sigh and hunch your shoulders. Second power lady incident today. On top of three sightings of blade man and one more of Wunderkund. Six hours and you’ve seen 3 muggings, two carjackings, and a drug deal. City’s getting better.
You make it to lunch, quietly sitting there as your coworkers talk. Chatting about that mugging you saw on the way over.
“There were five of them. Ten! Armed with guns! And one of them had superpowers! And Power Lady took them all on and saved the day! Wouldn’t it be awesome to have superpowers?”
You nod noncommittally, safe in the knowledge that no ones really paying attention to you. Almost no one can. It’d be funny if they all knew, you think, most them do have powers. Basically everyone on central city does. They’re just mostly all useless. Gets to places just as a song ends. Barely better than human night vision. Healing factors that reduce recuperation times by a few hours. That sort of thing.
You found out about yours while Darkstalker was dangling you over a ledge, growling questions. He’d seen you around town, at the site of every crime he’d stopped that week.
“Who were you? What were you doing? What were your plans?” What was he, a vigilante or a life coach?
Heh. Social invisibility and avoidance. The ability to blend in, run away, and disappear. And just unlucky enough to be stuck at every crime scene this town has to offer.
And just when you think that the ground erupts in a shower of concrete as several figures burst out, embroiled in a brawl. Patrons of the cafe scatter, screaming, as you roll off the bench and duck down, darting from table to table to avoid the concussive blasts of their punches and the flying debris. Others aren’t so experienced, getting clipped by chunks of concrete or blown back by air blasts. You make it to the safety of a brick wall and archway, laying down on the other side with your hands over your head to avoid getting hit with anything. You wince as brick cracks and breaks, showering you with mortar, and glance at the figure who just got shunted though a brick wall. He’s… looking at you? That’s odd. No one ever looks at you unless they’re looking for you. You head towards him carefully, unsure of why but unable to stop. He’s bleeding badly, eyes half shut and breaths labored. He smiles wanly and reaches a hand out, grabbing you in an iron grip.
“You… hidden one… you’re perfect…” He forces something into your hand, closing your fingers around it. “They…” he coughs blood “they’ll come for it. Protect it. Now run!” He pushes you away and sinks back to the floor, eyes closing for the final time. You glance at him and then at the strange jewel in your hand before running away from the fight at a dead sprint, vault is wall and slipping into a shadowy alley as you hear a bloodcurdling screech of rage coming from where you left the dead man. Looks like you’re playing keep away again. You grin softly and shuck off the hoodie. Sure, you can’t fight, but you can run | 23 | and giving you new cowardly skills. | 82 |
I saw it coming towards my daughter's head and I just acted without thinking. I put my hand up and caught it.
My wife and daughter stared at me. They had both seen the gun fire and my hand move. My wife looked like she was about to cry and my daughter was just staring at me with her mouth open. I crush the bullet between my fingers and shoot it into orbit with a flick of my thumb. I quickly scanned the area for videocameras and fired off a few narrowband EMPs, invisible to the human eye. I noted with satisfaction that I have disabled all my targets before I tugged at my wife and daughter and got them moving.
"How did you do that?" My daughter asked me as we hurried away. With ease a pushed a locked backdoor open.
I was silent for a few seconds before I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I handed it to my daughter.
"Call the local police." I said. "Report the robbery."
Looking at me suspiciously, she put the phone to her ear and waited a few seconds before she repeated "Report the robbery?"
I nodded. "Just tell them what you saw. Tell them you were there with three friends and you were all scared."
My wife stared at me as I talked. Her eyes were filled with tears but she was also nodding her head. I gave her a small smile and then listened to my daughter report the ongoing robbery. I could tell her hands were shaking slightly but her voice was calm and assertive.
In the distance, the three robbers ran down the street like dogs who'd been caught stealing a steak.
...
Later that evening I found myself on the phone with Mr. Grant.
"Mr. Grant, this is Special Agent Rowe." I said. "I have had minor an incident."
"What kind of incident?" Mr. Grant asked.
I pursed my lips and mentally went over my statement. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't exactly the truth either.
"I witnessed an attempted robbery with my wife and daughter." I said.
"But you didn't get involved." Mr. Grant filled in for me.
"I did not stop the robbery but I did have my daughter report it to local authorities."
A pregnant silence filled my attic as I waited for Mr. Grant's reply.
"Good." Mr. Grant said. "The world doesn't need more heroes."
I was silent for a few moments. "If I may ask, why did you choose me to be a part of your program?"
"Everyone has their path laid out for them, Mr. Rowe." Mr. Grant said.
I wanted to ask more questions but the line went dead. I stared at the phone for a few moments before I put it back in my pocket.
...
A few hours later I was sitting at my computer as I sipped a beer. There was a small blinking icon in the bottom right corner of my computer screen which indicated a message had just been received in my mailbox. I quickly opened it and found an encrypted message.
I glanced out my office window. The full moon was hanging low in the sky as if it had just taken a running leap and was preparing to land on top of the world.
Not many people knew how to send encrypted messages that would reach my inbox.
The contents of the message was simple: an address in Washington DC.
I finished off my beer and I was about to get up and pour another one when I heard the sound of glass breaking. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling as I listened. I heard the sound of muffled laughter.
I got up and moved to the back door of my attic. I unlocked the door and opened it silently. The stairs creaked under my feet as I made my way down. I didn't bother to turn on the light. | 160 | You are boring, something your family and friends have no trouble pointing out. But today you slip-up as you catch a stray bullet that was heading towards your daughter's head during a botched robbery. And now your wife and children are staring at you. | 290 |
The juvenile male sapiens sapiens is approaching the so called prom ritual which is a cornerstone for the species'passage into adult form. As such the biological and environmental urge to approach a juvenile female to perform said ritual is overwhelming for the youngling which has been circling around a brunette sapiens sapiens for a while now. His inexperience is evident in the awkward way he stands in front of her and the slight stutter in his vocalisations to her. The female sapiens of his interest seems intrigued as well as a bit puzzled by this new behaviour he is displaying but the juvenile male is not giving up. His trembling vocals seem take a pleading form while he stretches one of his top limbs to lightly touch the female upper top limb. A move that is usually intended to show care in the species and if the attention is not reciprocated might as well be cruelly rejected by the other juvenile. However this brunette youngling sapiens seems to accept the gesture and actually excitedly and awkwardly jumps forward towards her coetaneous male. She locks her upper limbs around his neck and buries her head in the corner of his neck. It seems the male's approach, even though inexperienced and awkward, has succeeded in securing him a partner for the prom ritual and maybe a first try at mating later. | 61 | A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's really awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary | 120 |
Alex finished placing his flowers by the grave, continuing the long walk through the field of resting corpses. He always watched his step, not wanting to damage the assortment of trinkets and pictures left by the other grieving visitors. The early morning visits, while lonely, were a necessity. If he didn’t want to be late for school, he needed to visit early, having to pull himself out of bed an hour before his parents would wake.
He wished they would join him on his walks. They used to come with him every day when he visited, but lately; they were struggling to find the energy to get out of bed. The monotony of life wore people down, especially those still in shock over the loss of a loved one. That’s why Alex didn’t blame them. He was going on behalf of them all. He knew his parents would one day join him again on the walks when they were feeling better, but for now, he would walk alone.
The crisp winter air made the boy shiver, his worn out yellow jacket being tightly held as he breathed out cloudy breaths. He made a mental note to bring mittens next time or even an extra jacket, anything that could help shield him from the morning chill. As he left the first lot of graves, he turned to face them, wanting to take one last look at his sister’s grave. As he turned around, a pale girl standing a foot shorter than him was waiting behind him.
She looked up at him, not uttering a word. Her long, ragged black hair hanging past her shoulders. Alex jumped, feeling an eerie chill for a second before he was enveloped in a soothing warmth, one that made the jacket feel unnecessary.
“Are you visiting someone too?” Alex asked, only to receive no response.
The girl reached for his hand, getting a tight grip on it before she pulled him along, leading him further into the graveyard. Alex stood his ground for a second, only to feel his body getting dragged as she forced him to walk with her. The little girl being far stronger than he ever would have expected. As the pair walked through the dreary graveyard, Alex stared at her. Who was she?
“I’m here visiting my little sister.” Alex tried again to make conversation, only for the girl to ignore him. The only response she gave was peering up at him when he mentioned his sister. Alex almost would have mistaken the strange girl for his sister, if not for the differences in their hair.
The walk was uncomfortable, the girl not disturbed by the unevenness of the dirt or the slippery morning dew covered grass. Instead, she moved with a grace that made her look as if she was walking on air. She did sometimes look back, making sure she hadn’t lost Alex before turning forward again. After a few minutes, the girl stopped, pointing to a grave.
“Oh, is this your loved one?” Alex awkwardly stood by her side, still holding her hand as she pointed out the grave. It wasn’t in great condition. Dried mud lathering the headpiece with only an empty, withered basket, being the remnants of a floral arrangement that was left there long ago.
Alex pulled his hand free, much to the despair of the girl who desperately tried to grab hold of him once more. Before she could, Alex lowered himself to the grave, wiping his sleeve on the muddied headpiece, wiping off as much of it as he could. “Here lies Erica Reni, our beautiful daughter and our greatest gift. We will always love you, dear. 1904-1911.” Turning to the girl once more, he could see her trying to hold back tears, pointing to the last name.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know who that is.”
The girl pointed to herself, then back to the grave. She did this a few times until Alex understood what she was trying to say.
“This is your grave?” He should have been scared, but he just felt sorry for the girl. He glanced over the name once more, only to shake his head. “I really don’t know anyone with that last name, Reni. I’m sorry, but your parents might have passed away too. It was a long time ago. Maybe you can find them?”
She looked at the gates of the graveyard, the rising sun looming in the distance, sending a flutter of golden light through the air. She kept her gaze on it before she shook her head, reaching for Alex’s hand again. Alex took her hand, getting to his feet before he began leading her back to his little sister’s grave.
When they were back at his sister’s grave, he took a single yellow pansy from the flowers he had brought. “This is my sister. Maybe you can find her, and she can help you on the other side? I’m not sure how it works, but she’s a very sweet girl.” Alex tried to swallow the knot in his throat, not wanting to cry in front of Erica. “And I miss her a lot.” Erica patted his shoulder as they stood by the grave, only for the girl to drag him towards the gates of the graveyard.
At first, he couldn’t tell what she was following, Alex being dragged across graves and nearly through trees. The boy having to do his best to avoid getting tripped over. Eventually he spotted what she was following, seeing a small black and white butterfly fluttering through the air, leading the two towards the gates. When the butterfly reached the gates, it stopped, hovering in place, waiting for the girl.
“Is that her?”
Erica gave a nod, about to release his hand, only for Alex to grip hers tighter before she could.
“Please tell her we love her. Tell her we all miss her dearly. Mom and dad aren’t ignoring her, they have just been really sad.” Finally, Alex broke down, all those emotions he had held back collapsing. Erica patted his back once more, but that only made him cry more. He sobbed until the butterfly landed on his nose. The small butterfly waving its wings, drawing his attention to it. He held his finger out, allowing the butterfly to move onto it.
He spent a minute just looking at it before sucking back his tears. “I miss you. I hope I get to see you again someday.” He rested his forehead as close to the butterfly as he could before letting it fly off. It moved to the gate again and waited for Erica. Erica smiled at Alex before heading through the gates. When she passed through, the butterfly followed, both of them ascending into the air, following the rising sun. Just for a split second, he was certain he could see his sister, but that split second was interrupted by the glare of the sun, which forced him to look away.
Alex waited for a moment, making sure neither of them returned to the spot. Once he was certain they had safely gone, he went to Erica’s grave and placed the pansy down. “I’ll come and clean your grave tomorrow, promise.” After that, he returned home, unsure whether to tell his parents about what he saw.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 67 | A boy does his daily walk in the cemetery when a girl suddenly joins him and wordlessly walks with him until the sun shines. | 217 |
He was slightly hunched back. He wore old clothing that has seen way better days.
A half-rotten hide of a beast that none could recognise was draped over him. He walked with a cane. It was made out of wood and had a rotten flower on the handle.
"This curse is very basic. It's more like a child throwing a tantrum than an actual attempt at curse."
He said in a rough voice.
Many voices of ridicule and mockery rang out.
From old wizards to young heroes.
He could feel his patience wearing thin. If not for the fact he needed money, he wouldn't have even bothered to show his face here.
He took out a lizard tail in front of everyone and chewed on it.
"Curing this is no problem. I can make a potion right here right now. I want to be sure that I would truly be compensated."
The King looked annoyed but he agreed and gave him half of the promised money
He sat down with a slightly crooked movement and said,
"I need a fire, a few glasses, five spoons and a mortar and pestle. I don't walk around carrying those."
He took out another lizard tail and chewed on it.
The princess was disgusted, the wizards were amused, the alchemists were furious and the heroes were eyeing him with killing intent.
He simply ignored all of that. It was better for his health.
Soon all the things were bought for him.
He takes out his bag and brings out the ingredients.
He takes two eyeballs from a manicure and extracted their water, mixing it with some dried up herbs. He put it aside.
On the fire, he put the glass and said,
"Blood. I need a bit of her blood."
Voice of refusal rang out but the Royal Wizard convinced the King to allow it.
The princess walked up to him and didn't hide her disgust.
He grabbed her hand. She screamed. Countless heroes brandished their weapons and mages prepared their spells.
But the Royal Wizard stopped them.
A leech of sucking the blood out of her. The Princess's complexion turned pale. She tried to move away but was firmly held by him.
After a while, he used a bit of salt to separate the leech and squeezed the blood out of it.
"I hope you fail." The princess said with gritted teeth and anger.
He smiled with a funny expression and said,
"You should prepare yourself, little girl."
After half an hour he finally finished the potion.
The princess had her hand bandaged.
The King was suppressing his fury the painful death upon failure the man would receive was unimaginable.
The potion looked like a mixture of black and purple. Small worm-like things wiggled inside the potion. The stench was revolting.
"This has immediate effects. Drink this and her curse would be broken in an instant."
The Princess was ready to die but drink that.
Many wizards and alchemists were against him.
"Your Majesty, I think we should give him a chance."
The Royal Wizard said with a bow.
Everton's reluctant gaze was on the Royal Wizard.
After much deliberation and an insane amount of convincing, The Princess finally drank the potion.
It tasted as if the rotten entrails of a dead animal were left for ten years before being mixed up with a soup that had gone wrong, with maggots in it.
But the Princess had no way of knowing that.
After the first sip, she gagged. But no matter what she did, she couldn't throw up.
The King was visibly worried when the small bang on her head glow softly.
It became brighter and brighter before everyone could see it.
And with the sound of shattering glass, the crown broke and evaporated.
The man was still sitting on the ground. He finished his twelfth lizard tail.
He expected that.
But The King didn't expect that the Princess didn't expect that, all the wizards and Alchemists didn't expect that, and none of the heroes didn't expect that.
The Curse has been lifted. | 13 | A beautiful princess is cursed by an evil witch and doesn't have that much to live, so her father decrees that anyone that could break the curse will get her hand in marriage. Rather than the fairy tail prince that everyone expected, the person who saved her was creepy and extremely demented. | 47 |
"Alright. First things first- get emotional. Get angry. Get passionate, or irritated, happy, glad sad or mad. *Emotional*. That's step one- and likely the most I'm able to teach you."
Sergeant Major William Holloway of his Majesty's Royal 3rd Combined Arms Group adjusted his chestplate and got into a stance. The wizened man in front of him listened with incredibly rapt attention, not even speaking up to state that he knew this. Remarkably, Leonard Percival, Grandmaster Lord of Water Magic, legitimately sought Holloway's tutoring, even if it was required.
What was also strange about this situation was Holloway's status as a Combined Arms soldier. Sword and shield and flame wasn't a very common practice, even if His Majesty sees the strategy in it and is starting to form CA Groups. Even the most common of foot soldiers slinging firebolts or throwing shards of ice can catapult army effectiveness, even the most rudimentary first aid magic can save lives until an Adept practitioner can reach the soldier.
Curious, as both the Church and the Offices were opposed to Combined Arms groups. The Holy Church of Jasumuph saw their healers as gifted by the gods, and no common man could wield such magic. The Grand Offices of Wisdom saw the common man as inferior. Of the Five most powerful men on the continent, one stood in front of Holloway.
This was remarkable as it was basically an unofficial rule that Masters or Grandmasters can study under basically anyone of their choosing. Hell, Percival could have studied under Joshua Graham, the Lord Grandmaster of the Office and the Grandmaster Lord of Fire Magic.
But no, he stood in front of Holloway, mimicking Holloway's stance even if it was crazy basic. Feet wide, lowered knees, elbows down and hands low and a bit to the sides.
And then William growled, and flames licked up his palms. It was a callous waste of energy, a terribly inefficient cast of Flame, yet it drove his point across- fire magic manifested through ferocity and emotion.
The Grandmaster mimicked Holloway, growling all too similar and, for the briefest of moments, sparks flickered across his fingers.
The Grandmaster gave his fingers a glance. A minute with Holloway yielded more than five hours reading books on the subject. The Grandmaster smiled.
"Two lessons are apparent immediately. Firstly, being vocal or tensing muscles actually does help. If you can make yourself angry, the fire will come to you faster. Flex your fingers, tighten fists, growl, scream, shout- it all helps. Secondly, the principal of KISS. Keep It Simple, Stupid."
The Grandmaster double taked at Holloway's response- was this boy calling him stupid? And yet, his massive age justified his wisdom, and he kept silent for the explanation. He knew one would follow.
"If it's stupid, but it works, then it ain't stupid. So keep it stupid, keep it simple. Flex your hands, scream at a motherfucker. Basic movements like jerking your hand in a direction or slamming your feet on the ground can put artificial emphasis on an otherwise basic fire spell."
The Grandmaster finally spoke, not leaving his stance.
"That is wholly unlike water magic. And I wouldn't believe Grandmaster Fire would agree with you. Why do you take this approach?"
Holloway smiled.
"Because it works. Or maybe it just works for me. Everyone has their own style. But this works for me, and as long as I can *use* fire magic, I can get better at it. Imagine trying to learn Meteor when you can't even cast Sparks? No amount of books can help me, no amount of tutoring would work. My Sparks can turn into Flames, my Flames into Firebolt, my Firebolt into Flamestream and Fireball. I can grow in power first, get used to using it- any finesse, technique, or expertise can come *after* I get used to using the simple spells."
The Grandmaster smiled wider. That. That was why he chose a commoner over the Grandmaster Fire. "It just works for me" is a powerful statement, beyond what Holloway understood. How many students were frustrated and depressed after failing to follow studies and cast their first spells? How many students could have benefited from finding their own way?
What's more, is that Holloway clearly was skilled in his martial matters, and even his stance hinted towards it. Martial Arts inspired maybe?
"I don't know how much I can teach you. I can presume that fire magic is nothing like water- there's a lot less fluid motions and calm expressions and a lot more watching a guy's face melt because you're screaming into it."
The Grandmaster winced and his smile fell into a frown, but he understood. He took it seriously.
"But, for now- lets get you screaming, lets get you yelling, and maybe your current finesse and control over your water magic can help you shape the mana in you into flame."
Holloway gave an encouraging smile, and screamed. It was an awkward scream. It was forced, and it wouldn't look out of place on someone faking an injury or an assault.
But when flames burst into existence around his palms, and crept up his forearms, the Grandmaster took it in stride.
And so the Grandmaster screamed. And, for the first time, flames exploded on his fingertips. | 1,807 | a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. | 4,100 |
Sirius Controller #21:
Records show that you deviated from protocol at 8:30 AM on June 16th. You were reassigned to this department five months ago, and Train A has now been early two times.
As you know, disruptions to train schedules are highly irregular and can cause distress to the humans involved. You have been an invaluable asset to the department, and I believe that there must be a good reason for this irregularity. I am requesting a written explanation for your actions. After review, I will then determine whether you shall be transferred to a new department. Please submit your response by EOD on June 18th.
\-ManagerBot #03
\-------------
Dear ManagerBot #03,
Thank you for the note.
I would like to tell you a story about a boy and a girl. They went to elementary school and middle school together, and they were best friends for many years. Eventually, love bloomed, and they were each other's first kiss. Then, the boy's father got a new job in the city. There were no cellphones back then, so they wrote letters to each other every week.
But as the years went by, they got busy with other things. The letters went down to once a week, then once a month, then once a year. Then, one letter was buried under a mountain of bills, the girl thought "I'll get to it later", and she never did.
Twenty years later, she's just moved to the city. They're both single. She catches the A train to work at 8:30 AM from the Queen's Garden stop, and he catches the 8:45 AM. Do you not agree that this is fate? Who am I to stop these star-crossed lovers from meeting once more?
Respectfully yours,
\-Sirius Controller #21
\-------------
Sirius Controller #21:
While I respect the amount of emotional investment you have poured into these two souls, I would like to tell you another story.
It is about a man who catches the 8:30 AM to work every day.
The babysitter arrives at 8 AM every morning. Sometimes, she runs a little late. After she arrives, he walks his two older children to school, dropping them off at 8:20 AM. Then, he runs for the 8:30 train so that he can get to work before 9 AM.
He has been written up for lateness two times, now. Three strikes, and his career is in jeopardy.
Sirius Controller #21, I understand it is easy to get attached to certain humans. But you must remember that our purpose is to maintain order. When you favor one mortal, you may be endanger another's livelihood.
We will be requesting your transfer to a lower-priority department, effective immediately.
\-ManagerBot #03
\------
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 22 | The world's infrastructure is run by AIs. But these are not emotionless, unbiased AIs. They have strong feelings and love to show some some hidden favoritism. | 49 |
"All rise for the Honorable Judge Vindicus."
The intoduction audio clip signaled to the anonymous audience the start of a new stream. Only, as some viewers noted, something was different. Nowhere to be seen, as before, the preparations for a night's hunt. No weapons, no new place, no cameras on suspect networks. Just an empty chair, devoid of the accused.
"All be seated."
Then, the Judge revealed himself; sporting black tactical gear, and his trademark white mask. He sat in the chair, with a pistol in one hand, and a remote in the other. The chat exploded with an equal part of confused questions and practiced memes.
"Now, then, I suppose it is time to get started. Today will be a bit different than we're used to, as there have been some significant changes on the List recently."
The List; an unofficial website quoing the official UN listing for the world's most dangerous and distasteful villains. Where the next of the Accused would be selected to be judged; and, more often than not, executed. The Judge sat silent for a minute, for both buffering and effect, before clicking a button on the remote. The screen splits, still showing the Judge, but revealing the List as well.
Again, the chat exploded into a blur of confusion and anger, as.the top of the List read: "Judge Vindicus".
"Order! I will have order in my Court!" The Judge warns sternly, though there is a chuckle beneath it. "Now, as you can see, it seems our dear friends at the UN have decided they've had enough of me. I suppose three-dozen Judgements is just one too many. As such, seeing as I am the Accused, I cannot be my own Judge; so we shall once again have a trial by jury. Let us begin!"
Clicking through a presentation, the Judge calmly presents the evidence. "Over the past five years, the Accused has been charged with the murder of thirty-six people. Thirty-six men and women. I will remind that, while the Accused was acting as Executioner of the Court, and all thirty-six people were guilty of crimes of their own, that this Court is one of Vengeance and True Justice, and is not recognized by any legal authority."
He pauses, again, then continues. "However, the deaths of the thirty-six the Accused is accused of murdering *have* brought positive change in the world. At the lower echelons, the death of one Johnson Doe II, previous CEO of PriviTech Inc., revealed an underage sex trafficking ring within the industry, which more...*certified* Courts were able to crack down upon with impunity, without his protection. At the higher echelons, the death of one Abimbola Zádor, warlord to a region of Africa, saw the fall of a petty local government, a raise of a rebellion, and a formation of a jewel of democracy in a harsh land."
Judge Vindicus perused through his crimes, pausing now and again for the chat. He covered each of the thirty-six deceased in detail, halfway between a Court show of evidence, and a reminiscing montage. Once finished, the chat riled up, he clicked the remote once again. A prompt to all viewers, to vote: **Guilty** or **Not Guilty**?
Overwhelmingly, the chat voted "Guilty", to which Judge Vindicus chuckled happily to.
"My, what an honor to be Judged by so many souls bound by justice. You, who do not let fandom blind you. You, who know what justice means. Now then, Jury, what is your verdict?"
He clicked the remote again, and put the pistol to his head. The chat was given two options, again:
**DEATH** or **FREEDOM**? | 598 | You are an anonymous self-employed assassin. On streaming sites, you select the top person on the poll of criminals who avoided the law, stream the hunt for them, recite their evil deeds, and kill them when the majority of viewers votes to execute. One day, your real name is on top of the poll. | 1,401 |
"Well I didn't think they'd invade. After all it's Hell! I mean the whole point was to get out." The Balrog's explanation fell on Satan's deaf ears as his sharp tongue flashed in retort.
"General, you sent every able bodied soldier we have on this invasion and left us defenseless. Inside of two weeks our forces had all divided or deserted. I received a "Wish you were here" post card from Hitler in Cancun this morning. Would you like to see a picture of Adolph Hitler in a Speedo? Because I have a picture of Adolph Hitler in a Speedo now! You're damned right this is Hell. All we get are the traitors and cowards down here. Where you expecting loyalty? They're all assholes! But I'd traid them all back over this lot."
The disgraced General stood alone with Satan himself in a great hall once filled with saber rattling soldiers who had sworn allegiance to the dark master. The realm of the living would be theirs and the dark world of Hell would would run red with the blood of the living. But with it's soldiers fled and its gates unguarded it was overrun with an even greater evil. The United Kingdom.
"Its all Harry Potter, Monty Pyton and drunks with bad food and worse teeth now. Half the reason I wanted out of here is knowing most of these guys were coming for eternity soon enough. But Brexit up there means entrance down here and we're powerless to stop it. I used my most terrifying illusions to force their retreat. I showed an old woman turning into dust before them and half just said "hi mum." I gored one worker at tea time with my own horns and tore him in half with my bare hands and they just looked at each other and said "still better than Boris Johnson... and the weather is better" and then lit a pipe in the poisoned sulpher mines and returned to their efforts to colonize the place."
Satan looked out his balcony where he once ordered dark legions to do his bidding and his head sank at the sight. "Giant clocks, tiny pubs, separate hot and cold water taps.... it's just weird man. They're building a cricket pitch in every circle of the place. Greed plays Sloth tomorrow. I want my Hell back. I'd leave too but of this is all that's up there they can have it!"
OP-yeah I did modern Britain, sorry | 63 | A portal to hell has been opened, and the demon armies invade our world. However, this is the Victorian era, and now Great Britain has new lands to colonize for Her Majesty. | 531 |
It was like a starry rain the way the thousands of quarters cascaded into the canyon below, singing out faint, tiny jingles as they crashed into the bottom of the canyon. My first instinct was to climb down and try and pick up the bag myself, but I knew how often overconfident amateur climbers fell to their death doing even more innocuous stunts, so I quickly ruled that out. The immediate next idea was to run away before anyone noticed what destruction I'd caused The Grand Canyon and all the ecosystems within, but that was another impossibility after considering that it was my infinite money supply. I would routinely visit coin counter machines in banks and supermarkets to pad my finances. This was my income. Without it, I was back to living a life of a salaried position with limited travel. I didn't think I could return to that kind of life.
I was largely on my own at this point in the canyon, hundred of feet away from the nearest gift shop, which meant it was likely that people at the top of the canyon had not yet caught on to the situation. I thought maybe if I got one of those trash grabbers, I'd be able to get out of this situation before it got any worse. The quarters landed erratically, not yet enough having fallen to make a pile on the ground, but a large plane of shiny silver was forming, with plenty of quarters diving right into the river. I ran to the nearest building, hoping to ask a ranger to get a trash grabber and act like a good tourist that just wanted to clean up some of the national park.
As I rushed through the door, several heads turned my way. I was hoping to be discreet, but my red face and heavy breathing was attracting a lot of attention by those browsing souvenirs inside. I swallowed hard and tried to smile innocently, but was only met with more concerned stares. I walked up to the clerk and smiled at them, they looked up and frowned, presumably unhappy to have to deal with an overly excited customer this early in the day.
"Hi can I get uhhhhh..." my eyes had drifted to the window behind them which had a perfect frame of the stream of quarters flowing out of the bag. My eyes widened and my syllable continued to elongate as the cashier rolled her eyes.
"Yes?" she asked with a short wave, regaining my focus.
"D-Do you have track grabbers?" I asked, turning around and looking behind me to see if any other tourists were looking out this window. No one so far.
"Ummm," she thought as she browsed the shelves beneath her. She picked up a stick and placed it on the counter. "We have these spikier hiking sticks. Could easily stab through whatever you're looking to pick up if that works?"
Of the Rules of the Bag included the rule that I could not puncture the bag, or else the quarters would stop flowing.
"Do you have anything else?" I asked desperately, my eyes widening further as the flow of quarters seemed overwhelming from this angle.
"Hey look!" a teenager said behind me, startling me. "I thought there weren't any waterfalls on this end?"
I turned slowly, and confirmed they were looking out the same window as me. There was a teen and his father looking over a map.
"You're right," the dad said, amused. "Must be an interesting trick of the light."
"Can we check it out?" the son asked.
"Hmm, I don't know if we have time... but maybe..."
"Thank you, this'll be great!" I suddenly spun back and screamed at the cashier as she was searching for any trash grabbers.
"Umm, are you sure--"
I had already thrown a small pile of quarters from my pocket onto the counter, grabbed the pointy stick, and bolted for the door.
"Hey, you can't--"
"I don't need a receipt, thanks!" I yelled as the door closed behind me.
I sprinted back to the point of the canyon where the Quarter Bag continued to erupt with dozens of dollars worth of quarters every second. There was a definite pile at the bottom of the canyon now, distinguishable to the naked eye. I laid myself flat on the earth and reached down with the pointy hiking stick, putting the more grippy edge toward the bag and the pointy end to myself. I would press the bag against the canyon wall and drag it up to me. As I carefully reached down with the stick, my heart dropped into my stomach as I noticed something on the horizon.
A collection of white water rafters were coming down the river and would reach the waterfall of quarters in about a minute at the rate they were moving. I was trying and failing to focus my breathing as my shaky arm hovered the shaky stick an inch above the bag. I looked at the rafters and back to the bag a dozen times in the span of three seconds and finally placed all my focus on the Quarter Bag. I grit my teeth, said a prayer, and slammed the stick against the bag, wincing as I felt the quarters run across the stick. The bag was pinned against the wall, but the flow didn't slow down at all. I dragged it up an inch and was surprised to see that it moved easily, feeling as though it was an empty bag. I continued to drag and inch at a time, until it was about a foot away from arms reach.
I could see the white water rafters pointing above now, but I didn't slow my rate of dragging. I could stop the flow before any quarters could puncture their rafts and bring more attention to the bag. It was just inches away now, sweat flowing freely from my nose as I stretch my entire body to grab it.
"What is that?" the teen's voice asked from right behind me.
I shrieked and momentarily lost control of the stick, which sent the bag falling down the canyon, quarters flying in every direction as it spun on an axis during its fall. It landed right on the edge of the riverbank, to which I sighed heavily. I could pinpoint where this was in the canyon and I should be able to still grab it.
Then a yellow raft full of bewildered travelers gave the river a miniscule wave in the water, which licked the bag and swallowed it, a trail of quarters marking where the bag flowed down the rapid waters.
I stared numbly.
"Were those quarters?" the father asked me.
"I have to go," I got up and ran along the canyon, hoping I wouldn't fall to my death as I tracked where the bag ended up next.
____________________________________
For more stories, check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer! | 195 | After obtaining a magic bag with an infinite supply of quarters, you travel the world. When visiting the grand canyon you accidentally knock your bag and it falls in. It catches onto a lone root and tips over. You watch in horror as an endless stream of quarters rains down into the canyon. | 1,319 |
There are sad cries in the night, coming from the wilds where men dare not dwell. Coming from badlands and wild woods where no peasant will set up farms, where no merchants' guild will make roads, and where only the boldest of the bold dare to tread. Loathsome to behold, they live there, the green-skinned little men, the weak ones, who hide in the darkness and live mean, short, little lives with not much to show for it. They are the ones that even the kobolds and the gnolls will look down upon. They are the goblins. Creatures to be pitied and to be left alone, or so everyone says. Their caves and dens are not to be disturbed, their cries are not to be answered, in fact they are to be ignored entirely. Or so they say. A few leave out food for them, kind hearts who look upon those meek little creatures with mercy and pity. But none speak to them, and none shall ever listen to them. And no matter what, no matter how much their cries beg for it, no matter how much they try to offer payment of lost gold taken from forgotten tombs, no matter how they beg, they shall not be taught the letters and words.
They must never be taught how to read.
So the priests preached. So the lords commanded. So the merchants proclaimed. So the parents taught. For years this has been thus, that the civilised races kept that away from the goblins. That the great libraries, carved out of mountains by the first wizards and the Conclave of Dragons, have been barred from them for centuries. By strong arms and sharp blades if necessary. And so, the benefits of reading and knowledge have passed them by. No goblin have ever understood the nature of the stars. They have never read the dialogues between the Last Hero and the Ebon-Ash Warlock. They do not have the knowledge of new ways to farm, of new tools to use, and as long as the masters of the land have it their way, it will continue that way. The goblins will continue to work for nothing, continue to live in pitiful dens in the dark woods where werewolves and wild chimerae hold sway. They will never be a civilised race.
And the priests say this is so because the gods have condemned the goblins as creatures of darkness and petty evils. But they lie, they say such so they can keep knowledge away from an entire people, and if they could they would do the same to you and I. The lords say it is such because the divine right to rule runs through the blood of the civilised races, but no goblin has ever been blessed with a divine child to enlighten them. They lie, because the goblins have as much right as any other race to rule; none can or should ever claim a right to rule through blood alone. The lords wish to keep the peasants happy by making it obvious that they could have it so much worse. The merchants said it was because goblins had no sense of business, and thus shouldn't be treated as real people. They lie, because how else can they exploit the goblins if they know better? How else can they sell poorly made iron daggers for a hundred-times their worth in ancient gold recovered from the ruined elven cities, that the goblins alone can find their way to? The parents did not know any better, when they taught the lies to their children, who would pass the same lies onto their children.
The priests, the lords, the merchants, and the parents all said never to teach the goblins to read. All because it suited them better that the goblins not know anything. I said to hell with them. To hell with the lords, for they are fat, corrupt, and inbred. To hell with the priests, for they speak not for the gods, and do not practice the kindness and justice that they preach. To hell with the merchants, for they would sell their own children if they could get away with it. To hell with the parents, for the lies that are passed down will take centuries to heal, and they could have taught their children mercy and kindness, instead of telling them that naughty children become dirty goblins.
They can learn. They can read. And it is far safer than any corrupt lord or priest would dare to tell us. And as I watch them roam around my tower, consuming the words embedded into every page of every tome that is safe to read in a wizard's tower, I feel a sense of pride. A pride in doing the right thing. They talk excitedly about categorical imperatives, about quadratic formulas, about arcane matrix stabilisation procedures, and countless other things I have taught them to read about. Already, as they are eating better, thinking better, they are growing stronger. Growing better. Some might call that blasphemous, that I have done such to aid the lowest of the low. That I have broken the laws of every kingdom, of every society, because I made the choice that it was right to do so. I was there when the mountain-libraries were carven, as an apprentice. I was there when the goblins began. I was naught but a boy, in service to wizards who could speak to the gods as equals. Learning at the feet of men and women who were wiser then any king could ever be. When the libraries were finished, and they spoke at the last feast with the Conclave of Dragons, about what to do with the last problem left over now that the great work had ended the dark ages.
They made a mistake. They thought that they'd be around to fix it, to lift the curse. That they'd be there once the sentence was done, and the curse could be lifted. But oft is the meaning behind actions lost, and the ones who meant to teach a lesson about hubris, were undone by their own arrogance in the end. I shudder to think of it, that dread war. The Dragonfall, the Dirge of Magic, the screaming pits. By the end of it all, only I remained, and I left these lands to wander alone for many years. I should have stayed. I should have finished what we started. I merely told them what to do, instead of doing it myself. A lesson in that, somewhere, I should make sure to teach the goblins that. I should have fixed our mistake after the Last Hero finally won, and the world was saved. But I didn't. Couldn't. I hoped that they'd be wise and strong enough in will to do the right thing themselves. But they didn't. And so, the goblins remained behind, a weak, pathetic race, with nothing to show for it. Soon what they had been before was stripped away from them, as mortalkind forgot who they had been, and what they'd become. For in the minds of mortal men, what they were, couldn't be reconciled with what they had become.
Now they read. And they grow once more. Through knowledge, the curse is lifted. Two-thousand years ago, after the Elves had blackened the sun for a whole year, the wizards, the dragons, and the gods cursed the entire race to teach them humility. To make them stop nearly ruining the entire world every decade or so because they were powerful, arrogant, and they thought they knew better. It was meant to only last a single decade. But in two-thousand years, they have fallen further than we ever wanted them to. Well, the wizards, dragons, and gods, of the time. Now through knowledge, through reading the ancient legends of their ancestors, of the lost histories of the elves, the goblins are waking up. Even now I can see it. No longer in my tower scurries the goblins, considered by most only barely better than vermin. No longer does scared little creatures beg to learn how to read without ever knowing why, only remembering the need.
Long ears are held high in the air, timid eyes are filled with hope, as the goblins die, and like the butterfly that was once a worm emerges from the chrysalis, so too does the elves that once were, emerge once more from the shells of what they have become. They will not be the same. Two-thousand years of humility and weakness, and a loss of all they once were, will make of them a new kin. As the last true wizard, the last inheritor of those who created the curse, built the mountain-libraries, forged the serpent-chariot that was ridden into battle by the Last Hero, and who brought low the Unspoken Horrors of the depths, I am proud to say that I have taught goblins to read. And from that, I have remade elves.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 25 | ...but no matter what you do. How much they scream, beg, or bargain; Never, EVER, teach a goblin to read. | 39 |
2,300 years ago, the rulers of Alexandria set out to complete one hell of an achievement -- to collect all the knowledge in the world under one roof. At its peak, the Library of Alexandria stored a metric butt ton of scrolls and attracted some of the Greek world’s biggest dorks. But by the end of the fifth century CE, it had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.
Two months ago, my deadbeat dad set out to complete one hell of an achievement -- leave possibly the worst inheritance in the history of inheritances. At his worst, my dad racked up enough gambling debts to make the mafia blush. And when he died, his lawyer handed me a will that transferred said debts to me.
I also got a box.
The contents of that box are why a sweaty, bearded mercenary had a gun pointed at me in an Alexandria alley.
"Give me the plaque," he demanded. His voice was raspy, and sounded desperate, I think.
"Bite me," I said.
He made a face like he was doing calculus by hand. "I will kill you, girl. Give me the plaque."
It wasn't that I *wanted* to die. But if sweaty beard really wanted the plaque, then why not shoot me and take it? Well - it's because the plaque had *my* name on it. And, according to the letter that came with it, the plaque was no good to anyone but the inscribed owner. And, the only way to change the name was by the owner *willingly* passing it off to another person. Like how my dad willed it to me before his death (that and his MASSIVE debts -- yes, I'm still mad).
What I wasn't counting on was this asshole shooting to maim.
Without warning, sweaty beard lowered his gun and shot me in the leg. Guns don't bark like they do in the movies. It was more like a coughing click sound. My scream, however, was just like the movies. Loud and obscene.
"No one will come," said sweaty beard, holstering his gun. He squat to talk to me, like a Hezbollah Mister Rodgers. "The Ashen control this city, girl. The Ashen control all. We *will* burn the library to the ground. Whether you live to see it burn, depends on you. Give me plaque."
I'll admit, most of what he said was lost on the searing pain radiating out from the gunshot in my left thigh. I thought shock was supposed to numb all that. You know, like how soldiers can run for miles only to get back to their platoon and realize they're riddled with holes. But nope. Getting shot hurt like hell.
And maybe it was the pain that brought a sudden clarity to mind. I was doing all of this because I had thought my dad was just a degenerate gambler. A deadbeat who walked out on me and my mom when I was twelve. But ever since I got this plaque, it's like maybe -- just maybe, he's not the man I thought he was. Maybe he left because he was trying to protect us? Because if he didn't, these Ashen-holes would have come after us all the time. The only way to know was to get to library.
But was it worth being tortured?
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Burn it. But first, let me go inside. I'll bring you with me -- you can be my plus one."
Sweaty beard shook his head. "There is no negotiation." He stuck his finger in the bullet hole.
My vision went white. I tried shoving him away, but he was too strong. I thought I was going to puke from the pain.
"Fuck--off, Jesus what the hell, you're insane!"
"I," he said, "am committed to--"
A hand shoved a rag over sweaty beard's mouth and a voice said, "Does this smell like chloroform to you?"
Sweaty beard struggled, but it was too late. His eyes rolled back and he toppled like the last round of Jenga.
Standing over him, in the middle of an alley in Egypt, was my father. I must have been hallucinating from the pain. Darkness started creeping in from the edges of my vision and I suddenly got really light headed.
Maybe-Dad smiled and knelt down in front of me. "Just like when you fell of your bike," he said, and pressed his palm over my bleeding wound.
I winced, jerked my leg back, but he kept his hand firmly pressed. Then … the pain stopped.
Whatever shock I was in started to wear off and I was able to focus on his face. There were a lot more lines at the corners of his mouth and his stubble was more salt than pepper, but he still had those slate-gray eyes -- my eyes.
"Dad? You're alive?"
He chuckled. "Yes, and, we should probably talk--"
"What the hell!" I punched his chest. "You couldn't show up BEFORE I got shot?"
"Yeah," he said sheepishly. "Sorry, I was searching for you and the gunshot lead me here. Mixed blessing?"
I went to push myself up and realized that my leg was -- fine. Standing, I inspected the hole in my jeans and found no wound. Just a slightly discolored patch of skin. Probably freshly healed?
"Are you a wizard?"
"No," he said, peeking out of the alley left and right. "Just well read. Okay, come on. The coast is clear."
"Wait, wait, wait. No!" I shouted. "You were dead. I *saw* your body at the wake. And, the will. The debt." My eyes widened. "The debt … you sonofabitch, you left me so much debt! Who does that?"
Undead-dad shook his head and put his hands on my shoulders. "I owe you and your mom a lot of apologies. And I deserve no forgiveness. Like, at all. But right now, there is a shadowy organization that wants your plaque and will do anything to get it. So, I would be happy to take the world's longest ear beating from you. Happy! But please, can we do it *inside* the library?"
"World's longest?" I said.
"Till your throat dries and your tongue quits."
"Fine," I said, shoving toward the mouth of the alley. "Where is the library anyway? I couldn't find it."
My alive-dad stepped up beside me and, with a smile, pointed up.
"You're shitting me."
By the end of the fifth century CE, the library of Alexandria had apparently vanished from the face of the earth. That's because it's in the freaking sky. | 50 | You received a small copper plaque as part of your inheritance. Curious about the engravings you do some research. It's a library card. To the library of Alexandria. And it's still valid. | 255 |
They realize that any offspring they would have would be non-viable, since the eventual inbreeding would end the human race anyway. They spend the rest of their days walking the world, seeing the sights they never had time for before The End. The overgrowth of New York, wandering through the ruins of Disney World, finding a working boat to set out across the Atlantic and experience the vastness of their planet. Eventually, age and wear catch up with them and they settle down in an abandoned cottage on a hilltop; they cannot remember which country this used to be, and it doesn't matter to them anyway. They spread food out for the local wildlife; they plant and harvest what they need for themselves. As their last days fall away, they hold hands and watch the sunset from their back porch, watching the animals roam and wonder together at which species may rise to take humanity's place as stewards of the planet. Knowing none will ever read it, they write down a full account of their lives together on a series of stones, laid carefully inside a nearby cave. Death no longer holds fear for them; the sun will rise on a world empty of humanity, but never devoid of hope. | 79 | The last man on Earth finds the last woman on Earth. They have zero attraction towards each other… but get along great as platonic friends. | 176 |
My phone rang beside me, I chose not to pick up. No doubt my "friends" calling to check up on me. The same ones who invited me last minute to something they had undoubtedly planned for weeks prior, typical. I didn't even like camping. It reminded me all too much of the long, uncomfortable nights spent on trips my parents only planned to keep the illusion of a happy marriage up for me and my brother. I much preferred places with food, electricity, and a shower.
"Wahh, but what if the grid goes down Kase? What would you do then?"
"I dont know, but it sure as hell wouldn't prompt me to start camping." I had replied. But after some tactful begging on their part I begrudgingly gave in, with a few added moans to be sure my displeasure was known.
The drive gave me time to convince myself it may actually be fun; a few days surrounded by friends, no expectation to wake up early, and long nights of drinking and telling stories nobody asked to hear. Meh, still wasn't convinced.
Both my brain and my friends were miserably losing the *camping is cool* fight to the sheer boredom that the lull of the road brought. It had only been about an hour or so, but the last thirty minutes every part of the road had been indistinguishable from the last. The same trees, nearly the same signs, the same stretch of black asphalt under my headlights.
Just as I let the monotony of the road take me, my phone jolted me from my thoughtless state once more. Once again I was sure it was my friends, once again I didnt answer. Right now I was under no commitment. I could turn around and forget the camping trip entirely if I so chose to, but the moment I answered was the moment that I would be talking to them for the next hour while they kept me interested until I arrived. No, I was where I needed to be now, balancing between driving another hour or pulling the fastest u-turn Montana had ever seen.
I watched the reflective signs for any guidance, to which one obliged, showing the shining white title : *Deerhead Trail 75*
I guess it was settled, or at least I thought it was. The very next sign disagreed with the first: *Your GPS is wrong*, in the same reflective font, but with small rotating lights around the letters.
At first I thought I had misread, that maybe the sign said something entirely different and my eyes were failing me, but a moment later there was another sign, even brighter than the last: *Your GPS is failing you*, followed by what I assumed was the same phrase below it in Spanish.
I looked up to the screen suction cupped to the inside of my windshield. It displayed only one road going straight for miles, and the only direction it offered was an arrow to turn right in 70 miles. Maybe the sign was a vague warning? It seemed likely that a GPS could be wrong out here with all of the back roads and dirt paths, but with only one road to follow there wasn't really room for error
Despite the sign, I continued down the road, concluding that it must have been some sort of elaborate trick or poorly written heads up by highway patrol. My car rolled along, passing the same tufts of trees and bits of animal viscera caked to the side of the road. Gross.
The next sign, nearly ten minutes later, was even more strange. *Deerhead trail Next Right 8*.
The GPS still showed 65 miles to the turn, and no road to turn to early. At this point I decided it best to call my friends back. Halfway through the first ring a mans voice spoke on the other end, "Hello?". Cassius, a long time friend, but we joked that we were more brother and sister.
"Hey Cassius, my GPS is telling me to turn on some road early. Did you have to do that?"
"Oh so you're coming! Great news, and no?, I turned at the end of the road."
"Ok thats what I thought. These weird signs man. Throwing me off."
"Oh yeah? Weird how?" His voice seemed full of made up concern.
"Something about my GPS being wrong. Anyways I'll be there soon I gue-
Before I could finish, a call showed up onthe other line. "Cassius" the waiting call read. My heart froze. Any confuson I had was replaced with fear.
On the line Cassius called out "Kase? Still there?".
"I uhhh yeah. Getting another call I'll be right back."
With hesitation I picked up, and heard Cassius once again.
"Finally you answer! Hey if you're coming be sure to turn early. It's some weird thing, we barely made it ourselves."
"Oh uhm. Yeah I...I noticed."
"Oh ok well good. See you soon".
Upon hanging up the other line, Cassius once more, spoke, "Kase? Hey I gotta get back to the others. It's the last turn on the road. See you soon."
And so, left with only my thoughts, I drifted. The sign spoke up again, *Deerhead Trail Next Right 2*, but the voice in my head was even louder.
*Run, drive and don't look back.*
Thus commenced the fastest u-turn in Montana history. I sped as fast as I could on the way back, the road blended together the same as before, but this time the trip felt much shorter. Once again I passed the GPS signs and glared to them cautiously in the rear view mirror. This time there was an added snippet that didn't quite fit on the sign, so it was written on another piece of metal that hung off to the side, *Your GPS is wrong... Don't answer the phone*.
Just as I read it the phone rang beside me, and same as before I chose not to pick it up, but I didn't have to. I already knew who it was. It was my friends. They wanted to invite me to go camping.
Ahead a sign read *Deerhead Trail 75*. | 24 | "Your GPS is wrong." | 139 |
We had thought them divided. Riddled with madness. Easy to conquer.
We were wrong. Terribly, horrifically wrong.
They called themselves by many names, many tribes. Names that had meaning in their crude tongue that We cared not to decipher. Tribes that worshipped machines of war. Their names did not matter, just the weapons they bore.
We had thought them to be cowards. We had seen how they ran from each other even as they screamed defiance to all that they hated. We had seen them strike down their own young and thought them mad enough. Ripe for the dark harvest.
But their weapons were more terrible than even our deepest minds could fathom. Weapons that tore through us like the fire's light tore through the dark of night. Weapons they used on themselves with no restraint now brought to bear on our flesh. Terrible weapons that could harm even the eldest of gods. Surely to use these on their own kind they have gone beyond madness.
But then *they* came.
I will not speak of them. They who were so hated by those who bore those evil machines of war now followed behind them. The darklings. They followed those who were once their enemy and harvested our flesh.
It was not possible. Our very being is anathema to their kind and yet they gathered it in their cauldrons and devoured it. They consumed us as if *we* were lesser than them. They shared this dark communion among themselves and sang praise to its flavor. They urged their former enemy to hunt us more and share in the bounty.
We fled. We will not go back.
We, who were once the lords of madness.
We will not go back.
There is only madness there.
Beware the bayou. | 19 | A great army of eldritch beings arise from the deep. Unfortunately for them it's the Gulf Coast and the local Cajuns see a new and exciting food source in the attempted invasion. Tell the story of the Old Ones desperate fight for survival. | 139 |
Dear Diary,
It has been a year since I happened upon that creepy monkey paw at an estate sale. There was a little tag dangling fro the thumb taunting "Do you dare make a wish?"
Now look, I know the plot. I read the Jacobs short story. I watched the Hitchcock version. I saw the Simpson's Treehouse of Horror episode. But damned if I didn't fancy myself more clever.
See, the Monkey's Paw is like Aladdin's lamp. It grants three wishes. The catch is that it grants them in the most hellish way it can find. So to get your wish, you have to be smarter than the most diabolical curse. And I thought I was. You can see where this is going.
So I told the paw "I wish to be the luckiest person on all of Earth!" My luck should surely counteract all the evil the paw could throw at me, right? Ha!
Ok, to be fair, I am indeed the luckiest person on Earth. But of course I am now the ONLY person on Earth. Most of humanity was wiped out when the meteor struck, or in the fires, floods, and quakes that followed. The rest succumbed when the nuclear reactors melted down.
But somehow, miraculously my little farm was completely spared. Even the sky above my 40 acres is clear of ash. Yes, I was lucky. I still had food, solar power, clean water, breathable air, plenty of livestock to breed and bees left to pollinate crops. The local library was also spared so I even have plenty of entertainment.
I guess I got my wish. But the bad thing about being the luckiest person on Earth? Now that there are no other people, how long until the paw decides I can still be the luckiest person on Earth with very little luck at all?
Damnit. My reading glasses just broke! | 35 | As soon as I saw that creepy monkey paw at the estate sale, I was hooked. "Make a wish--if you dare" said the tag tied to the thumb. "Why not?" I laughed out loud. "I wish to be the luckiest person on all of earth!" | 30 |
‘You see, Sarah has a crush on James, the new accountant, and he kinda likes her too, but Elizabeth also likes him!’ the young Dragon clamoured excitedly.
‘So?’ her mother asked with a shrug.
‘So, when Sarah was preparing her business proposal with James, Elizabeth changed some numbers when she was acting as an intermediary between them, so under scrutiny of the committee it would embarrass Sarah and screw over her promotion, and make her angry at James.’
‘Wow, Elizabeth sounds like a bitch.’
‘She is!’ the young dragon agrees happily, ‘However, Sarah ends up double checking her numbers after she has written her proposal, and calls James after hours to ask about some numbers that don’t seem quite right, and James realises something is off, so they end up working together throughout the night, deepening their relationship even further in the process.’
‘Haha, serves Elizabeth right!’ her mother chuckles, but then she pauses.
‘Wait, you are roleplaying right? Which one of you is roleplaying as that bitch Elizabeth?’
‘Me.’ The young dragon replies proudly.
There was a short pause, followed by a sigh.
‘Go to bed.’
‘Yes Mum.’ | 659 | "Please?! Our campaign just reached Route 66!" But Mother Dragon was not budging. "No, young dragon. It's still a school night and you know the rules. You can finish your game of Pretend another time." "Mom, I've told you it's not "Pretend" it's called Offices & Humans and it's really complex!" | 4,046 |
"That'll be eleven, sixty-five," Mark said.
"Eleven dollars? That's ridiculous!" The cagey old woman with far too much make-up spat.
Mark wiped the dribble from his cheek and sighed quiet enough the woman wouldn't hear him. Her fake smile had easily turned into a scowl. "Yup, crazy right, eleven, sixty-five," Mark said again. His dead one thousand yard stare stretching passed the woman the woman towards the outside world, where all the successful people were enjoying their weekend. But Mark was tending a cash register so he could have a roof over his head and depending on gas prices, maybe have some food in his belly.
*They warned me about this when I dropped out of college,* Mark thought idly for the millionth time.
The woman huffed and shoved her plastic card into his face. "Ridiculous," she said, "take it."
Mark reeled his head back, as if the card had a disgusting odor. He snapped himself out of his day dreams and took the card, forcing a customer service smile. This was the fate of a dreamer who failed. A never ending cycle of abuse and suffering. If only he had worked harder, or taken his life more seriously, it wouldn't be this hell of his own design.
Mark locked the door and sighed as the clock hit closing time. He could finally go home, it didn't bring him joy, maybe a little bit of relief. Nothing, and no one was waiting for him. he looked to the parking lot where an old man with down cast eyes was straining to get across the crosswalk, his walker clicking with each step. Was that all there was to look forward to?
An engine roared and wheels screamed as their rubber burned. A muscle car was swirving in at a break neck speed, heading straight towards the old man. Mark leapt forward, pushing the elder back.
*Ka-crack*
Mark rolled across the pavement his ribs crushed into dust, and blood misting out from his mouth.
"Young man? Young man!"
At least he'd get to die a hero. His limp body stopped Tears leaked from his twitching eyes.
"Oh my God, oh my God, what have I done."
He didn't want to die, his life wasn't over yet, he could still make those dreams come true.
"Call an ambulance! Wh-where are you going?"
The engine whirred and the car peeled out, fleeing from Mark's horrifying state.
Mark had given up. But there was still time, he should have kept trying.
"Somebody? Anyone?" The old man put his wrinkly hand on Marks face. "You shouldn't have done that. You had so much more life than me."
*Nobody will miss me.* Mark tried to say, instead he choked on his own blood and murmered uncoherently. So much more life? No, Mark's life ended years ago when he gave up.
The old man started to cry and a green aura pulsed out from his hand. "World's need more like you, maybe not this one, but the next one might."
There was a light at the end of the tunnel. A bright white light that seemed so inviting.
"Don't forget your regret, next time do everything you can," the old man said.
The tunnel suddenly forked and a green light appeared at the end of it. It didn't have the warmth or welcoming of the white light. It was dangerous, warning him of the risk. But there was also promise. Another chance.
Mark looked at the white light inviting him to give up. then at the green, giving him one more shot. He smiled to himself and then at the old man, "I'm never giving up again."
And he ran through the green light.
Marks eyes snapped open, and he stood behind a counter covered in potion vials with price tags, and something similar to a cash register. The small shop was filled with men and women in robes and pointed hats. One man starred in the mirror checking out how a wand looked on his belt, a woman was screw eyed as she inspected two bottles of glowing liquid, struggling with a choice. Outside the window carriages floated by pulled by dragons or large birds.
Mark inspected himself, he was still him. "I guess starting over is too much to ask for. Even in a world of magic I'm still a retail employee!"
The customers gawked at his sudden outburst and his face flushed. But he smiled, and made a fist. "This time, I'm not giving up." | 11 | You get isekai'd to a magical world, but instead of a traditional medieval society, this magical world is ruled by democratic governments, use magic systematically in industries and science, have magical computers, etc. They are every bit equally advanced as 21st century earth. | 131 |
**It turned out that the solution to the Fermi Paradox was this:** of all the peoples of every world to achieve sentience, not one of them was stupid enough to strap themself to a box of explosives and blast themselves into space. Of the handful that developed harder-to-reach technologies like solar sails and ion drives, not a single species felt the compulsion to reproduce and spread across the galaxy like a particularly virulent strain of herpes.
So when humanity sent their generation ships—that is, a bunch of space goblins popping out babies in a continuously-exploding box—the rest of the galaxy was completely unprepared.
\###
Planet Two had no particular name for itself. Why bother, when it was one of the only two lifeforms in all of reality? It was true that many, many solar cycles ago, there were endless separate minds on Planet Two—but aside from their sibling hivemind on Planet Three, the minds that had once clamored in disunity now sang as one song.
"Good to see you again, Planet Three." Planet Two sent out a signal to Planet Two as they passed by.
"Good to see you too, Planet Two," Planet Three replied, exactly 563 solar cycles later.
"Good to see you again, Planet Three," Planet Two repeated, as it had for the past six and a half billion years.
"Good to see you too—hey, wait a cycle. Was that always there?" Planet Three asked as something showed up in the matrix of continent-sized organics that made up its sensory organs.
"Hmm." Planet Two pondered the question as the near-lightspeed ship approached. "No, I don't think so."
"Goodness, it's splattered all over Planet One," Planet Three observed. "Why, it was just a hundred cycles ago that it was nothing more than a speck in the distance!"
"Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing, one two three—"
"My stars—it can talk?" Planet Two and Planet Three shared exactly 2,252 cycles of startled silence while the new signals from Planet One repeatedly bombarded its neighbors with "are you there?" and "Is anyone listening?" and "FIRST POST" and "We've been calling about your extended warranty."
"Er, nice to meet you, new... neighbor...s?" Planet Two sent.
"How... how many of you are there, exactly?" Planet Three added.
Neither planetary lifeform was pleased by the way the numbers they received just kept going *up*.
"I... I see that you've taken over Planets Four through Eight," Planet Two hesitantly said. "We, er, we kind of liked the view from here. Would you mind, ah, putting those moons back where they were?"
"Sorry, we needed reaction mass," the seething mass of humans replied.
"Reaction... mass...?" Planet Three asked.
"Yeah! You know, the stuff you shoot out the back of your ship to make it go fast? It's not—well, actually, it *is* rocket science, so I guess I get how you could be a little confused..."
"You... but you just arrived. Why would you leave already?"
"To make more colonies, of course!" And indeed, to their horror, Planets Three and Four saw ship after ship jetting off into the unknowable distance. "You could come with us, if you'd like."
"No, thank you," Planet Two said faintly.
"I rather think our new neighbors are a bit of a stink," Planet Three added.
The two planets pondered the matter. Their home star got a tiny bit brighter.
"We could try this 'rocket science' thing the humans are on about," Planet Two finally said.
"Mm. Can't say I'll miss this place if we go," Planet Three agreed.
"Then we'll go. On three. One... two... three!"
Unimaginably vast plumes of superheated plasma jetted out from the cores of both worlds, ejecting them from orbit and sending them into deep space.
"I do wonder what our new home's going to be like," Planet Two said. "I hope it has gas giants. I always liked gas giants."
"Mm. We're almost there," Planet Three replied. "Just a little... wait. Oh my stars. Don't tell me—"
"Hi!" The new system, teeming with humans from colonies sent out thousands of years ago, eagerly greeted the new arrivals. "Are you a new friend? We love new friends!"
"The universe is terrible and it can't end quickly enough," Planet Two grumbled.
A.N.
If you liked this, check out r/bubblewriters for more! I've got an [ongoing seria](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence)l for you all to enjoy! | 253 | It turns out compared to the rest of the species in the galaxy, humans are short, explosive obsessed, breeds rapidly, and are vaguely disturbing to look at. Yes, human are in fact space goblins. | 1,159 |
The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. *Cardboard,* he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster.
He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good.
Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed.
He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time.
He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there.
There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid.
He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time.
"We're closed," he says.
"Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming.
He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin.
The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back.
"What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge.
"It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--"
"Not interested."
"--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully."
He pauses. "Clients?"
"Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person."
He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade.
"That so?" he says.
"That's so."
"And what do my former clients want from me?"
"We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that."
He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter."
She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils.
"You seen a dentist lately?"
"I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours."
What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products."
"We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day."
He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck.
"I hope that doesn't scare you," she says.
He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches.
"I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal."
"Content?" she asks, mildly taken back.
"It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire.
She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"My pleasure," he says.
She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite."
He nods. "I dare say it's mine too."
Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness.
He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go.
God, she looked like a movie star.
Beautiful with a capital b.
A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different.
And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing.
He thinks he probably did.
And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive.
He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him. | 2,912 | Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | 6,341 |
"Dr. Doomsday, I know you're insane, but this... this takes the cake" I said to my most lethal enemy.
"Hear me out, WalkMan" he said, walking around the industrial machinery that lay smoldering between us. This had once been some sort of manufacturing plant, turning sheets of metal into complex machinery. Now, it was little more than scrap.
"We know each other very well. I've studied you extensively, trying to find a new weakness to exploit. I'm sure you've done similar." He ranted.
I gave a reluctant nod in agreement. I had spent countless hours in my soundproof recording studio, digging through files and evidence about the super villain.
"I know your hobbies," he continued. "I know your views on politics, on religion, on financial responsibilities."
"Get to your point, Doctor. You're not the only bad guy I've got to stop today." I growled. In truth, I wanted this conversation to end. It made just enough sense that I *wanted* to hear him out, but this was a villain. I couldn't trust anything he said.
"My point, WalkMan, is that we know each other better than anyone. Did you know I accidentally planned a heist on my anniversary, and you ripped my arms off?" He gestured to his metallic arms, that currently were covered in machinery oil and plaster dust. "My point is, I know you better than my own wife, than our marriage."
"Have you ever thought of giving up crime, and spending more time with her?" I recommended, my tone easing a bit towards the sympathetic side. I had never married, in fear that a villain like Dr. Doomsday would have hurt her to get to me.
The villain cackled. "Of course! But then I'd miss doing this" he gestured to the machinery in ruins around us.
"So you want to keep fighting" I said slowly, making sure I understood the overall proposition. "And if one of us dies, the other raises our children?"
"Precisely!" Dr. Doomsday exclaimed, jumping up on a twisted smoldering industrial laser. "Don't you see? We would be the best choices! We'd be able to protect them, obviously. We could teach them their fathers values, how to be a man, how to be super!" He punctuated his speech by clenching one of his cyborg fists.
I considered the option ever so briefly. "Dr. Doomsday, I don't have any children. Your research should have told you that."
The supervillain grinned, and pulled a manilla envelope from a pocket deep inside his lab coat. "Oh, it told me so much more than that. I had been holding this to hurt you with, but now seems as good of a time as any." He tossed me the envelope.
Keeping an eye on him, I opened the folder and peered inside. A photo of a young man stared back. He had my eyes and jawline, but other features were softer, more delicate. His hair was jet black, the same color as... no...
I glared up at the bad Doctor. He cackled. "Yes, WalkMan. She lied to you, all those years ago. Meet Steven, your 14 year old son."
I stared back down at the photo. He definitely was mine, I could feel it.
"Do you want to meet him?" Dr. Doomsday asked softly. "I can arrange it... if you accept my proposal."
I clenched the folder in my fist, hating myself for what I was about to do.
"Deal." | 85 | “look, I know we’re archenemies, we got the classic superhero/supervillain dynamic and everything going on…but, I honestly can’t think of anyone better to be the godparent to my kid than you.” | 242 |
The warmaiden held her sword poised to stike at the demon. The demon in turn, casually leaning against his throne. The warmaiden struck, the steel glancing off the demon's thick leathery hide. Doing nothing.
"So, who sent you here anyway?"
"That is not your business!"
"No, but it might be fun to think about. I mean, I am going to kill you but it would be funny to hear who sent you on this fools errand."
"My sister at the academy. We trained long and hard together. She told me that no man could kill you. But I am no man!"
"As we've established, that's nonsense." The demon looked the warmaiden up and down a bit. "Say, you're a rather attractive specimen. I bet there's a handsome man waiting for your return..."
"Not even close. I have dedicated my life to warfare. Such frivolities are beneath me."
"Yes, but are they beneath the men in your town? Say there was one who had eyes only for you. Say you're sister who sent you on this journey to your death fancied this man. Maybe without you around she could get this man to notice her."
The warmaiden struck the demon again with her sword. Again the sword bounced harmlessly off. "That is a lie!"
"Oh is it now?" The demon finally got off his throne. He sauntered towards her menacingly. She backed away slightly. "And how do you know how the hearts of men work. Or women for that matter. Even now there is the flicker of doubt in your eyes. So at least the part of there being a man who fancies you is true."
"Possibly. The blacksmith who made my armor."
"Ah, the blacksmith. A strapping lad I imagine? Big burly arms. Works rather closely with you too hmm?" The demon stared into her eyes, seeming into her soul. "I'll tell you what. I will let you live. In exchange, you are to return the advances of the blacksmith."
"But, I have no intrest in him. He is just my blacksmith to me!"
"Alternatively, you could kill your warrior sister. Would that be better?"
"Why are you making these demands of me?"
"I just want to put a bit more evil in the world. I grow bored of the usual things. A love triangle ending in death sounds like a delicious diversion."
"How do you know it will end in death?"
"Because you're here."
The warmaiden backed away and turned to leave. "Oh, one other thing. I need notes detailing everything that happens. Lots of notes. Send them say, once a week. Deliver them yourself if you have to. I could really use the entertainment."
The warmaiden returned home from the demon's castle. She did not court the blacksmith. She did not murder her sister at the academy. Life returned to normal. She even managed to set her sister and the blacksmith up on an date of sorts, though the blacksmith turned out not to be her sister's type.
She did send those notes back to the demon though. Her correspondence was long and intricate. She weaved a narrative of romance and betrayal. New characters were brought in and died off in plots and war. She ended the narrative with her sister poisoning the blacksmith and committing suicide.
It took years to get to that point. And the demon couldn't deal with the ending. So distraught was the demon at seeing the end the demon killed himself. In the end, it was not that no man could kill the demon, but that no sword could. The pen, as it turns out, was mightier. | 646 | “No man can kill me!” The demon taunted, taking in the carnage it'd caused. “But I am no man!” You proclaim, ripping off your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, but your blade bounces harmlessly off the demon’s hide. “Did you-did you really think that’s what I meant? You fool" | 1,559 |
It was a concept that was invented when the Universal Federation, spanning the entirety of the universe, and some places beyond, had mastered the field of thanatology and the related thanatotechnology. A novel concept to purge evil from the civilised universe, while still retaining free will as it had been classified under the law. Using the vrillic energy filter when applied to the crucible of souls, it was suddenly possible to remove certain ones from circulation and, using an artificial crucible, force them to incarnate only in one specific region. Because, on the billions of worlds of the Federation, amongst millions of races and cultures, no matter how hard it was attempted by the forces of order and general decency, those who preffered to smash the universe and slaughter the people in order to gain petty power for themselves, continued to rise. No matter how hard anti-corruption policies was implemented, how many anti-selfish-prick implants was implanted, how often AI-assisted brainscans were conducted, etc., they kept finding ways to ruin worlds, kill people, and undermine democracy.
The Hellworlds was the answer. Worlds to which the souls of the truly wicked dead were sent; these souls were those who no matter how many times shriven by the gods, no matter how many times reincarnated, no matter how often they were defeated, kept coming back to commit unspeakable evils. Life was seeded on the designated worlds through synthetic means, and then the artificial soul sorting began. No evil and wicked souls in any galaxy would be allowed to incarnate except on those specific worlds. And it showed, because life there became crueller and more violent than in any other part of the universe. Often civilisation would only briefly begin to dawn, only to be struck down by mindless and petty cruelty before anything more advanced than sharp sticks were invented. And that was just from the environment. On the few Hellworlds, where civilisation did manage to endure long enough to be self-sustaining, it was always painful, violent, and destructive. Bloodthirsty barbarian warlords leading columns of slaves back to cities of vice. Psychotic priests worshipping only the madness in their own souls, sacrificing everyone around them like tomorrow would never arrive otherwise. The cunning and strong, crushed those merely cunning, and made those merely strong their warriors, while the meek who had somehow managed to get incarnated on the basis that they were only temporarily mean and evil, certainly got crushed underneath the metal boots of their oppressors forever.
Never did those worlds amount to much. Most drowned in their own blood, these Hellworlds. Drowned before they even made steel. A few came to the age of the trenches and the diesel engines, before entire civilisations sacrificed their young generations in those damp hellholes, leaving nothing behind but few scattered survivors, desperately rebuilding underneath the watchful and paranoid eyes of cruel and uncaring tyrants. And thus it was for most of them, advancing to a certain stage, destroying themselves in blood and war, and starting over, punishing the wicked souls of the universe forever and ever. Not that there were that many wicked souls in truth. In general most souls are generally redeemable, kind, and well-intentioned. In fact, only one planet on average per galaxy is needed to be a Hellworld, in order to keep that galaxy free of evil souls. Of course, some larger ones, might have two or three. But in general only one is needed per galaxy.
Most people who visit Galaxy 1323-SA4, a smaller than average galaxy, are surprised to find that there are in fact two Hellworlds. It is unusual for such a galaxy to have more than one, and sometimes, depending on the amount of civilisations and colonies in the galaxy, they might not even have needed one for a good number of generations; they could have offloaded to the mega-Hellworld, Araknyfon, in the large 224-NGC-E galaxy nearby. It's one of the biggest and most populated Hellworlds in the universe, where millions of the locally seeded life imbued with wicked souls are currently having a world-war, which will possibly turn nuclear. But there is a good reason why 1323-SA4 needs a local branch of the Federal Office for Hellworlds. Because in that four-armed spiral galaxy, the Hellworlds are respectively Kranienriheg, and the unassumingly named, by the locals, Earth. One is currently embroiled in a corporate nightmare which is leading to unforseen environmental and societal problems. The other is Kranienriheg, where priests recently outlawed the concept of eyes.
The thing is; the FOH didn't make Earth. No FOH designed soul-filter is siphoning souls to or from Earth. It evolved all on its own. Everything there came about the same way most natural worlds did. Evolution.
Except Earth is a hellworld. And that's not supposed to normally happen. All Hellworlds have overly aggressive wildlife, which is on purpose to punish wicked souls through a constant and nearly impossible struggle against nature. Earth evolved it by itself, and it was frankly better than any synthetic Hellworld. At least on the artificially made Hellworlds, the animals are designed to look horrible. No FOH Hellworld engineer ever thought of making a bear; one of the most ferocious and adorable murdermachines nature has ever produced. And the parasites, all worlds have them, but Earth really goes further beyond, brain parasites that can change rational behaviour like toxoplasmosis was something we didn't expect. And the less said about the fungus the better, even the FOH is scared of fungus. Decay must exist as a form of life, yes, but there is something hideously wrong with the method developed on Earth. The world is brutal beyond compare, and there is even a slight effect quite similar to the soul-filter that attracts souls more likely to commit evil acts, usually the ones who think they have good reasons or are doing it with good intentions, but still.
Life there is harsh, but it isn't constant torture, though the locals are good at making things a lot worse for themselves. And it's odd, they have the wars, they have the bloodthirsty religions, they have the pollution, the atomic weapons, they have the exploitation of the many by the few; just like most of the purposely designed Hellworlds, but where the monstrous souls on those worlds are constantly at each others throats, the people of Earth, when not brainwashed by excessive and frighteningly effective propaganda, can be good people. They can be kind, they can seek out and deal in justice, they can set up governments and systems that try to do right by people, much like the Universal Federation. For every regime of evil, there are equal and opposing less-terrible regimes that try to do right. Most extraordinarily, on that world, where evil is more common on average than in nearly every part of the universe, the FOH has observed some of the greatest acts of kindness, some of the most decent things done because they were right to do.
Humans, on the natural Hellworld, has sacrificed their own lives to protect the innocent. They have dashed into burning buildings to drag out as many people as they can, knowing full-well that there will be a final time when they can't come out again alive. They have pushed their machines to the fullest of their capacity, sailing to the distant rescue of lost ships, not knowing if they'd be successful or not, and indeed the great journey of the Carpathia can be held high as one of the great examples of what mankind has grown to be. Of their determination in the face of tragedy, to single-handedly building a path through a mountain in memory of a lost love. To charge madly against an opposing force, knowing that it would not matter if they won or not, as long as it brought time for others to escape. Men who stayed behind in malfunctioning reactors, desperately keeping the machines running or fighting the fires that burned with heat and radiation; thus ensuring that a greater catastrophe was prevented. Passengers aboard a plane knowing that they can either fight back and die, or let their captors fly them into another target, so they choose to fight and die on their own terms, saving others from death in the process. A man knows that he can rescue himself, but instead chooses to die by staying behind and sending a warning message that keeps others from sharing his fate.
If the universe knew about the possibility of a natural Hellworld, they would be terrified. The people would demand it be destroyed, or contained, for something so unnatural forming naturally should never have happened. The people of that world do not deserve destruction, nor do they deserve to be kept away from the rest of creation. So officially, the FOH claims the Earth as one of their Hellworlds. But the FOH knows the truth that on the only natural Hellworld, where everything is quite bad even by Hellworld standards, there are more truly good and kind people on average than there is anywhere else; for what other kind of people can naturally develop from a world so harsh, but a race of people who can be truly kind, and truly decent. Otherwise, they'd have never survived long enough to get where they are today, even if where they are is a fair deal further from a good place than any other pre-FTL world in the cosmos. Yet still, they are fighting to make their world a better place, even against all odds, against the very nature of their world itself; for humanity is a light in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish them.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 295 | Earth is classified as a hellworld just like other hellworlds where the wicked of the galaxy are reincarnated as punishment. Except that Earth residents are not reincarnations. Earth just happens to be the only naturally evolved hell. | 674 |
She waits her turn in the silent line, the ever-tightening loops of the rollercoaster before her. It is the main attraction of the park, almost the entire park’s reason for being, and absolutely the reason for her being there. It has many names, such as: Oblivion, The Terminator, Gee Forceful, The Circle of Life, Old Bloodwell. The official name is more direct: Euthanasia Coaster.
The invention of a Lithuanian artist, it was designed to execute people “with elegance and euphoria.” It works by lifting the passengers to a peak approximately half a kilometre high, then dropping them into a series of seven increasingly-tight loops. The g-force quickly escalates to 10g, killing all aboard through prolonged cerebral hypoxia.
The original is a scale model made by the artist and is on display in the processing room at the entrance to the park. The model is completely redundant as the actual coaster is visible on approach to the park and at most places within the park, but it pleases the private owner of the glorified euthanasia facility to have it there and so there it remains.
She is sweating now. Despite her cavalier attitude to some of the other inmates, she is terrified of dying. She doesn’t even like rollercoasters, but thought the fear would add to the high/rush of it all. She’d experienced that near-death high through many dangerous situations in her life, often resulting in her favourite memories. She wanted to go out with a figurative bang, if she couldn’t go out with a literal one.
The train drops from atop the peak, the latest group of 24. She watches as they plummet down the steep angle, hitting the bottom of the first loop and beginning the hostile faux-gravity experience.
A minute later the passengers are dead, a team in sterile black uniforms removing them, specks in the distance. She had seen those black uniforms up close, and they seemed a deliberately poor display of respect for the dead. She assumes the owner of the site wants the prisoners to know they are not worthy of respect, whilst avoiding any more negative PR. The reality is that the owner is extremely stingy, and the uniforms were a compromise between style and cost, heavily weighted towards cost.
It is her turn now, but as she steps up to the gate, and the large guards surrounding her begin to bear down, she feels like she is already on the tracks. Her every step is fated now, another movement forward on a fixed route. She cannot even take the first step to run, though it’s all she can think about.
Many things are awful about the ascent: the knowledge that this would be the last time she would physically feel normal ever again, the anticipation of impending death, the cries of the inmates mentally breaking around her. But the worst thing is the noise from the chain, from the train ascending itself. It is a slow and heavy clacking of metal on metal, a repeatedly struck bell of doom muted after each strike.
The peak approaches, and as the zenith is reached, she is at peace.
The train tips over - and pauses.
Horror and hope swell within her, until she remembers the millenia-old showmanship trick.
“Oh you motherfu-”
The train plummets, and she spends the last moments of her life in shocked euphoria. | 11 | You run a theme park for convicts awaiting execution. The main attraction is the world-famous 'Euthanasia Coaster'. | 22 |
# Soulmage
**The Pharmacy loomed silent and still against the moonless night.** The curved green walls and two bulging windows somehow gave the impression of a frog's bulbuous face; the sleet and snow tracking down its sides looked almost like tears.
It was an open secret that if you needed an artificial emotional boost, the Pharmacy was the way to go. The dependencies you'd get were lifelong and crippling, and it was about as sensible an idea as covering yourself in oil so that you'd float in the rain.
But I was in no mood to be sensible.
The war had disrupted the supply of rare frogs that were a key ingredient in the Pharmacy's business, so the medical experts of dubious morality had left the building locked up tight. I was readying my tried-and-true method for getting places where I shouldn't—step 1 was to shrink to the microscopic level—when I heard a *crunch* of glass from the back of the building.
I guess I wasn't the only one with the bright idea of robbing the Pharmacy.
I snuck around the back to find a door smashed open. An even, cool light shone from further inside the Pharmacy. I frowned, backing away. If someone else was here, I wasn't going to risk a confronta—
"You're already dead," a voice whispered from behind me.
I spun around. "What?"
A nightmarishly grinning, wrinkled, angular face peeled out of the darkness, *glowing* in what couldn't possibly have been a healthy way. Dammit, of course Iola would be here. I braced myself for the inevitable attack, but he simply started shaking with laughter. "If—if you were using the Pharmacy too? You're already dead. Once the Copium's gone, it doesn't come back."
I looked at Iola's shaking hands, his manic, toothy grin, his upturned eyes, and didn't disbelieve him. "You were a user?" I asked.
Abruptly, the joy in his face *flashed*, becoming something fearsome and fevered and quick. He scowled, slamming me against the wall, and while I was dazed he said, "*Am.* I *am* a user. I'll find the damn pills. They're in here somewhere. They're in here somewhere. They're in here somewhere."
His eyes swiveled in their manic jitterbugging to focus on me, and he whispered, "You have them, don't you."
"I just got here," I began, but Iola wasn't listening.
"You took them. You ate them. *I'll dig those damn pills out of your gut.*" He lunged at me, fists swinging, but I ducked to one side and his swing hit the wall. He hardly seemed to notice his mangled fists as he charged after me into the depths of the Pharmacy.
The inside of the Pharmacy was *weird*. A single orb of witchlight illuminated bizarre glass tubes and inscrutable metal clamps; I grabbed what I could at random before dashing for the exit door. Iola's footsteps pounded behind me, and I knew there was no way I'd be able to fumble my way through the door handle before I was turned into paste.
But there was an obvious solution when you needed to get through a closed door.
I shrank to the microscopic level and slid underneath the door, bursting back to full side as Iola slammed into the door behind me with a *thunk*. Panting with exhaustion, I took a moment to catch my breath. Shrinking and restoring my size always left me lightheaded, as if physics itself had a problem with me.
Then I checked my pockets. A few frog parts, some shattered glass, and a handful of labeled pills. I read the labels and nodded—exactly what I needed.
Then I set off into the city, leaving the Pharmacy and its evils behind. Iola screamed and raged behind me, his anger fading into the distance as I mused to myself.
Who would have guessed that frogs would be used to create such hate.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 16 | Pepe Pharmaceuticals has successfully created an inhalant that serves as a stress suppressor, named respectively Copium and Hopium. Unfortunately, years passed, and raw materials for these drugs are starting to fade. Worse off, your consumers are now classified addicts of your products. | 137 |
“When it rains, it pours,” the mayor said. He stood on the city’s battlements, holding an umbrella. While Rosa hated such theatrical dialogues, she had to admit he was right. The meteorologists had predicted that they would get rain in feet, not inches.
“Yes sir,” she said.
She’d seen what zombies could do. The news channels had broadcast the fall of each city in the world, until there was no one left to report the news. Their walls of sand lime bricks would last a few days, but it wouldn’t be enough. The zombies would climb, or they would tunnel, but they would get through.
A whole city would seem like a feast to them. Rosa wished they had more weapons or more trained soldiers, but they’d gotten complacent over the years. The gates of the city were opened often, and people adventured outside among the dried, mummified remains of the undead without fear.
Now, the undead were moving. Their withered bodies absorbed the rain water as it fell. Looking through her binoculars, she saw their stiff joints starting to move again. A few hundred of them were closer to their city walls than she would’ve liked.
“We should take care of them before they regain full mobility,” she said. They didn’t have enough weapons and they didn’t have enough soldiers, but they had time on their hands. Not all of the zombies were moving yet, and those that were, were still in the stages of crawling.
Her men dropped rope ladders down from the battlements, and she descended along with a few dozen others. Some of them were policemen and soldiers, but most of them were volunteers. All of them wore some type of gun on their person. Those would be handy letter. For the present, they needed more renewable means.
“Save your bullets for later!” she yelled. “Decapitate and move on to the next one. Come back to the wall in twenty minutes.”
The rain pattered on the dry soil and softened it. She’d always liked the smell of wet soil. Now it was polluted with something else. The smell of wet decay filled the air. Their machetes and axes were sharpened. She walked through the field slowly, separating heads from bodies until the edge of her machete grew dull. She traded it for her axe, and managed to cut down another hundred, when the timer on her watch buzzed.
“Get back!” she yelled.
She’d earned them more time now. Rosa retreated and headed back to the wall. It was slower going back. The soft, wet soil was sucking in her boots. Soon, the entire area outside the city would be an untraversable mess of mud. She climbed up the rope ladder and waited on the battlements. After all her men were accounted for, she started to head down into the city. The drone started up again, this time much closer than it should’ve been.
Rosa walked up the stairs and to the edge of the battlements. The rain pelted her in the face. She squinted to see through the grey film of water that obstructed her vision. The zombies they’d stopped were sinking into the mud around the city. As they sank, new things rose to the surface.
Faces appeared in the mud, rising slowly, groaning as they rose. They pushed their headless compatriots down into the muck as they stood. Rosa took deep breaths. They still had time, and they still had their walls. She turned around and faced the insides of the city.
The mayor kept promising stone paths and paved roads, but most of their pathways were dirt, made smooth by the footfalls of thousands of people each day. Now, they were streams of mud that the undead were slowly rising from. People on the roads were running, but as each watched, the undead grabbed them by the ankles, snapped at their feet. Their movements grew faster as the rain fell, and their jaws met their marks more often than they missed.
Hell was rising up to meet them. Rosa withdrew her gun and shot at the faces she could see, knowing there was no point. Their city had only been lucky so far. She thought they had time on their side, but it had run out.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my stories, you can read more of them at* r/analect . | 10 | Your city survived the zombie apocalypse only because its located in the middle of a vast desert that hasnt seen rain since the beginning of the outbreak. Across the desert are withered mummified corpses of the undead that wandered into the desert. One day it begins to rain, and the dead stir. | 62 |
Saving the world is one thing. Saving the world in under five minutes is another.
I've had plenty of practice with saving worlds. I've probably saved thousands over the decades. Each time, some pantheon needs some hero to save the world, and I do it in a very timely fashion.
How do I do it? Well, it's a matter of getting the necessary artifacts as soon as possible after "spawning", and then using those artifacts as efficiently as possible to defeat the world's so-called "big bad"- whether it be a corrupt government, a demon, or some other villain that needs to be put in check.
The only problem? Everything is random. The nature of the villain, the location of the artifacts, the terrain needed to traverse, and much, much more. You can't expect to spawn into the same thing every single time. A promising "run" would be spawning in a flat grassland with the artifacts nearby, then locating the enemy quickly and having it be quick and easy to defeat. The chances of all of that lining up is so unbelievably low that it almost never happens.
But when you have done it thousands of times, one day you'll get the run.
Over the decades, I've slowly improved my personal best, first saving the world in under an hour, then 30 minutes, then 15, then 10. These are rare exceptions, though- usually a world in peril takes 12-24 hours to get over- still very fast considering most pantheons I've talked to expect it to take years.
Three months ago, I got a run of 5 minutes and 2 seconds that got nearly everything right. It was tantalizingly close to breaking the five minute barrier, something I'd dreamed of for years. Personal bests are very hard to come by when things get this optimized, so needless to say it was gonna be a while yet.
And it was. In those three months, I'd saved another 74 worlds, some of which took days to finish. Some were better, but none were good enough to break the barrier.
But today, I spawned into a world that seemed promising from the get-go.
I surveyed my surroundings. Flat grassland. Perfect. A very distinct tree nearby. I run over to it, and there's nothing there. However, I notice an out of place root, and when pulling it up, I discover a treasure chest right there! How convenient. I knew this had potential.
Opening the treasure chest, I found a long-range bow with magical arrows. Perfect, unless the enemy we're talking about is a government.
I run across the plain, looking for anything interesting. And suddenly, I hear boss music.
Turning around, I see a giant alien, with three giant eyes on antennae. With a boss with such an obvious weak point showing up this fast, I knew this could be the run. All I needed to do was not be bad at firing arrows.
I string up my bow, and perfectly launch an arrow into an eye. The alien seems to take a huge hit, which means my strategy is working. I string up, and fire the second arrow- it lands too. At this point, my heart is pounding, and I'm shaking all over.
Barely able to control my arms, I string the third arrow, and launch. It almost misses... but it hits the eye by the narrowest of margins. The alien crumples the ground, and explodes in a tidal wave of red goo.
There was no way that was it, right? That was simply too good to be true. But as I glance down at my magical Apple watch timer, I notice that it had stopped climbing.
4 minutes, 47 seconds. A personal best by 15 seconds, and not only sub 5, but sub 4:50 as well.
This was gonna be a tough time to beat. | 79 | The gods decided to summon a hero to save the world. They had expected the quest to take years, not minutes. They had summoned the legendary existence known as The Speedrunner. | 165 |
(If you have any criticism, feel free to give it.)
Phantasm had three shadowy visitors in the dead of night standing near the back entrance of his public headquarters. They crouched near the locked doors, each holding a bag of equipment, each with dark resentment on their faces.
"You sure we want to do this?" the big one said. "What if the weakness is fake?"
"I'm sure. Fate is on our side." the old one said. "That cold-hearted bastard needs to pay."
"I'm with Robert on this one," the skinny one said. "He's hurt all of us. He's no hero. He's a perverted psychopathic monster. Those 'villains' aren't destined for evil. Some can change, surely. I know father could, eventually. But Phantasm doesn't give a damn. He kills them anyway."
"That's right, Dillan," the old one said. "My son could've changed. He was such a sweet boy before that accident."
"You're right, damn it. As could my brother," the big one said.
"My father wasn't a perfect man, but he didn't deserve to die," the skinny one said.
"Then, we're decided," the old one said. "We strike tonight. We kill Phantasm while he's sleeping. While he's vulnerable and corporeal." He faced the locked back door. "For my son, Gregory."
"For my brother, Terrence."
"For my father, Jonathan."
The old man pulled out a pair of clippers.
But, before they could get to work, Phantasm appeared behind them. "That's quite amusing."
The three gawked at the floated superhuman, dumbfounded. But their hatred and anger quickly overtook their surprise. Despite Phantasm being right in front of them, the old one began breaking into the house. "You fucking monster!"
"Die!" The big one pulled out a gun from his bag and fired it. It flew right through Phantasm out into the illuminated city behind him.
The skinny one ran. Phantasm teleported in front of him, punched him in the face, and threw him back to the other two.
"You, the big one," Phantasm said. "You were right to question my established weakness. Heh. It's funny because, well, I don't sleep."
The big one and the skinny one had tears running down their faces. The old one was desperately trying to get inside the house. "Damn it!"
"You're all under arrest. Submit, or I'll need to be drastic."
All three of them knew what he meant. The two young ones raised their hands, but the old man refused. "You fucking bastard!"
"Stop it, Robert!"
"Damn it! Submit, Robert!"
But he wouldn't. He couldn't.
"So you insist on breaking into my home and hurting me," Phantasm said. "I guess I'll have to do something about it." Lasers shot out of the superhuman. All three were dead in an instant.
"I'm quite merciless, I think, killing you all quickly. Man, I love this job." | 17 | Everyone thought you were crazy when you got your superhero team to include weaknesses in the official bios. In truth this is a contest to determine who can get attacked in the most ridiculous way. | 50 |
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