Challenge #02542-F352: A Mark in History
Let me show you “hero” the leader of the demonic army, the one you swore to kill, the demon king Drakornia Manafesto. Or you can call him by his formal title “Country of Gloria FIRST HERO” – Anon Guest
They say every hero is someone’s villain. Perhaps every villain is someone’s hero. It’s hard to imagine some of History’s villains in that light. Perhaps Vlad the Impaler was kind to children and loved playing with kittens. Perhaps Jack the Ripper doted on a daughter. Perhaps the man who threw uncounted thousands out of their homes to build an enormous park for the public also was a god-fearing gentleman who went to his place of faith every week, regular as clockwork. Those who look into History rarely find those details.
Drakornia Manafesto, Gloria’s First Hero, had not thought of things that way. He had simply loved his country. He had wanted it to be great. He looked into legends and lore and the long swathes of History and found an era in which his tiny plot of land, with cities huddled together for protection, had been great. In that any Historian might call any era great because it was full of interesting events. Historians seem to love wars, invasions, plagues, and suchlike[1]. He could imagine that his little country of Gloria could fight back against the bigger kingdoms.
He found a way to be nastier, meaner, more violent, and more destructive than anyone else around them. He did so by allying with what could be conceived as the biggest of evils he could lay his hands on. Some history books paint it as an act of desperation. Some say it was seeking the strength he needed to give his people living space. Some say he only meant to make his country great again. Either way, he became host to a strong demonic spirit, used its magic and strength for his own.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02541-F351: Labels and Assumptions
Several humans were starting to get more than just a little annoyed at constantly being called insane. Even at school, when their kids would goof off during breaks or if the kids were in the park playing, others treated them as though they were mind-damaged. When they joined the Galactic Alliance, they thought they would be treated like equals, but instead, they find that they tend to be treated like savages even by other Deathworlders. Sometimes the view that, simply because they were human that they were automatically deranged and dangerous, was hindering them finding good jobs or having the lives they’d hoped for when they left the harsh, pollution-choked, worlds they’d come from. But would anyone listen to their complaints? And, more important, would anyone even try to help? Or, as one man put it as he angrily spoke with another who, like so many, told him he was nuts, “Humans are NOT insane! We’re just different!” – Anon Guest
[AN: Actually, there’s nothing preventing Humans from finding the jobs that fit them best in my pet universe, and being a little bit off the wall isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I say as much over here More on that philosophy here, I should think.]
There’s two ways to go when the world around you keeps telling you that you’re bad. You can be everything they expect you to be, playing into every trope, or you can fight your whole life against it, breaking your heart and soul in the process. Plenty of Humans had tried both. Sometimes, it’s easier to surrender and agree with everything they say about you until you believe it yourself. On this day, Human Sal had just… had enough of it.
“We’re not insane,” he protested, apropos of nothing in the middle of the Valiant Star’s mess hall. “We’re different. Why does everyone think we’re going to just fly off the handle and hurt everyone and everything around us?”
The rest of the crew stopped what they were doing. Some put potentially dangerous tools down or at least rendered them safe for the interim. Companion Ulla gently put hir hand on Sal’s and said, “Why do you think we think that?”
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02540-F350: Wandering Minds
On earth in various places, there are buskers. People who will put down a hat, box, bowl, or other container and then will play music, sing, or otherwise entertain in the hope of donations. Then there are the flash mobs. Large groups of individuals who will coordinate a time where they will come together. They will mill about in a crowd and then, at a predesignated time, one individual will throw off their jacket or other covering and, in costume, begin to dance after turning on a music device with large, loud, speakers. Then others who are part of this flash mob will quickly converge and join in. The dance routine can last as long as 20 minutes or more before they will take their bow and go back to shopping or whatever they were going to do that day. And so it is that humans bring these things to space. Not only to entertain other humans, but possibly other species as well. But what of non-humans that decide to join in on the fun? – DaniAndShali
Some thought Humans were naturally storytellers, and to a degree, that is true. Nothing makes a Human happier than a good tale to relay. Others were convinced that Humans essentially existed to create music. They sang, they hummed, they whistled, they took up a musical instrument and made music. More others insisted that Humans were made to move. Rhythmic gyrations in time to a beat or a melody or whatever their mood happened to be at the time.
The truth was not revealed to the Alliance until a group of Humans got together for some non-damaging fun as part of an experimental socialisation program… and something wonderful happened. Those that played instruments came to a consensus of rhythm and melody. Those who sang conferred with those who told stories, and came up with lyrics. And those who danced… did that.
The Alliance watchers, observing from a safe distance, stared in awe as Humans who had never met before that day collected their shared knowledge of language, music, and movement together… and made something that had never been witnessed before. That was when a different consensus came to pass. The agreement that Humans seemed determined to entertain.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02539-F349: Death Came Knocking
It seemed to him, he was born under a curse. He could always tell, with just a touch, how and when someone was going to die. Out of fear, his mother and step-father had sent him to live with a relative, the relative sent him to an orphanage, and the orphanage, as soon as he was big enough, sent him to live alone in one of the out-buildings, though they at least made sure he didn’t starve. He had no friends, and, it seemed to him, no future. Then, as midnight rolled around on his 16th year, a stranger entered the small shack outside the orphanage and settled on the bed. He wore a dark , hooded, cloak which hid the face, and a scythe was held in a gloved hand. The hood was thrown back to show a skeletal head. The scythe was set aside and the stranger reached into his robes to draw out a carefully wrapped gift. A surprisingly deep, and unusually kind voice then spoke to him. “Happy Birthday my son, I’ve missed you.” – Anon Guest
Once Upon A Time… A child was born like no other known. His differences didn’t make themselves known until he was about four, when he started talking in ways that others could understand. Whenever he touched someone, he would say what he knew, and what he knew was a passage of time.
“Fifty years,” the boy would say. Or, “Three days.” It was when the child said, “One hour,” and the person in question dropped dead that hysteria spread like a plague. Some blamed the boy for the deaths. Some feared his touch from that day onwards. His mother wanted to keep him away from the world, and keep him safe… but on the night of that decision, her son announced, “Two days,” when she kissed her cheek.
That night, she and her husband packed him up for a distant orphanage. When she kissed him goodbye, he said, “Seventy years,” and she wept. The orphanage didn’t take long to discover his gift, either. For a time, they used him in the hospice, to find out which children would thrive and which would perish, but that was the year that he learned what a self-fulfilling prophecy was. There were infants they had already chosen to neglect, and he just re-enforced their bias.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Challenge #02538-F348: Goodnight Everybody
A: Ok look I only have a sawed shotty and a 9mm and I don’t want to fight anything that is bigger than a baby moose. Also if you see a bear follow this rhyme “brown lay down, black fight back, white good night”
B: but can’t you fight back with your weapons?
A: Yes and no. First off the bears in these regions are bulletproof, hell most bears are. More than anything firing this will piss them off
B: well can you tell me is that bear bulletproof?
A: Welp based off the rhyme, good night – Anon Guest
Well. This was a situation. It was not a good situation. It was not even a bad situation. It was a terrible situation. Armin ran through everything he knew about bears. “Don’t make eye contact,” he said. “Keep a calm, level tone when you speak. We’re going to back slowly away…”
“I am starting to regret the decision to document some wildlife on a Deathworld,” said Grox in calm, level tones. “Does this creature eat baby moose?”
“No, your polar bear usually likes fish or seals. Problem is, seals are human-sized and some of these critters have learned that humans are tasty prey. The good news for you is your livesuit will protect you.” For every good news a Human delivered, there had to be an associated bad news. They just worked that way.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]