Vi
Worst fraud in human history, underscored by brief moments of brilliance and compassion. Father to an unpublished manuscript.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Hey there, random proser. I have a question for you which varies based on your genetalia (you'll understand why in a moment; I promise I'm not sexist.) If you are biologically female, describe what a period cramp feels like. Or, if you have given birth, describe the pain. If you are biologically male, describe what it feels like when someone hits etc your family jewels. I understand this will likely make people uncomfortable. But I feel like many people have trouble describing pain and also, as writers, we write about tons of gory topics or *crude* things and thus are used to this kind of stuff (at least I think we are and I know I am.) Thanks for reading this and good luck.
Written by Vi

Oh Double-You x3!

(Disclaimer: this kick in the nuts occurred yonks ago, and it wasn't a girl.)

Imagine a filament running between your testicles to below your navel; following the path between the urethra and kidneys is probably easiest to visualize.

Now, upon impact, picture this tether suddenly barbing to life. Thousands of tiny piercing frills, poking into your insides all at once. You arch forward, without choice, cradling your abdomen, spilling tears, and depending on the intensity of said kick, crouched on the ground like a fetus.

Contrary to the adage: It is something you wish upon your worse enemy.

0
0
0
Juice
15 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Hey there, random proser. I have a question for you which varies based on your genetalia (you'll understand why in a moment; I promise I'm not sexist.) If you are biologically female, describe what a period cramp feels like. Or, if you have given birth, describe the pain. If you are biologically male, describe what it feels like when someone hits etc your family jewels. I understand this will likely make people uncomfortable. But I feel like many people have trouble describing pain and also, as writers, we write about tons of gory topics or *crude* things and thus are used to this kind of stuff (at least I think we are and I know I am.) Thanks for reading this and good luck.
Written by Vi
Oh Double-You x3!
(Disclaimer: this kick in the nuts occurred yonks ago, and it wasn't a girl.)

Imagine a filament running between your testicles to below your navel; following the path between the urethra and kidneys is probably easiest to visualize.

Now, upon impact, picture this tether suddenly barbing to life. Thousands of tiny piercing frills, poking into your insides all at once. You arch forward, without choice, cradling your abdomen, spilling tears, and depending on the intensity of said kick, crouched on the ground like a fetus.

Contrary to the adage: It is something you wish upon your worse enemy.


0
0
0
Juice
15 reads
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Write a short story between 500 and 2,000 words about a character named Eden. Any age or gender. Any topic. Any theme. Let your creative juices flow! 10 coin entry fee. 100 coin prize.
Written by Vi in portal Fiction

My Name is Eden

          "What does my name mean?" Eden glanced over her shoulder—the corner of her eye catching a sliver of a glimpse of her young ward—and back to the purrodgi she was whisking. "I'm not entirely sure," she said, turning around, careful not to knock anything over inside the hollowed-out Uekwuud trunk.

          The giant bowl of thick whitish paste thunked onto the makeshift table, itself a flattened root, threatening to slide off. "I'm serious," the young woman insisted. "I haven't a clue, so stop scowling. To have a handsome face and not use it to smile. Such a—"

          "—waste," the boy, a preteen, interjected. "I know. You keep saying that. It's so annoying."

          "Ujo," she said, "I believe your father sends you here so he can take a break from your rebelling."

          "Everyone knows the only reason I'm here is because I can't throw a spear to save my life."

          Eden, conceded defeat at the folded arms, pushed the bowl across after taking a scoop for herself. "You haven't trained long. Even baby Wulvironis aren't born with the ability to stalk, what more a sapien like you?"

          "Father was leader of his pack at eleven, and by his first dozen, he had felled three of the ferocious beasts. I'm almost ten and if I'm to take over as Chief, I need to prove better!"

          "Your father," Eden said, "lost half his face in his first trial, barely surviving that incident with the amount of sanguine he lost. I would think he'd rather have waited until he was better prepared. At least then he could enjoy his station with two eyes instead of one."

          "But that made him the hero he is today!"

          Eden sighed. Time for a sleight of hand. "Your father was also twice your width and height when he defeated those monsters. So, you better eat up less you fall behind. Your hair whitens as we speak."

          The corners of Ujo's mouth lifted. Reluctantly, he slapped a handful of the sticky mixture into his mouth. The battle is won, she mused, but the war loomed ahead. But despite his impetuousness, the boy's father, Tenno, had a temperament worse than a wailing Gushewk. She knew this because five-dozen years ago, Tenno had sat in the same position, asking the same questions about her origins. Her mind drifted back to a time when she was a youngling, when her adoptive parents explained how they found her and what they saw—a sapien couple in tight embrace, calling her name through the torn fabric of reality. What transpired? Where did the portal come from? Why did they both venture over together? Was she abandoned?”

          "How come you don't age as quickly as us?" the young man asked in between mouthfuls, drawing her back into reality.

          She bit her lower lip, then shrugged. "You should ask me questions I have answers to."

          "For an ancient," he said, "you don't seem to know much."

          Eden arched an eyebrow, the opposite eye squinting. "I'd be extra cautious today if I were you."

          "Oh," Ujo piped up. "What are we doing today? Swordplay? Trip sticks? Darts?"

          She shook her head. "None of that. Today, we focus on balance."

          "Balance?"

          "Standing firm on two feet."

          "That's easy—"

          Using only her fingers, the woman flipped the empty ceramic crucible above and onto the boy's head.

          "Good catch," she remarked, taking in the clumsy spectacle. "Now, use only your head."

                                                                   #

          Ujo was far more persistent than his father despite his physical handicap, and it was a disability despite what everyone professed as a collective. Eden was certain the cloak of denial was to shield Tenno from the painful realization of his failure to sire a worthy successor. But while the Chieftain himself was abled, leading the effort to repel wave after wave of their enemies, no one cared that the heir to the throne was impotent.

          There was still time yet.

          “Ancient!” A cry from outside echoed through the cramped enclosure.

          Eden shot a glance at Ujo, her brain trying to identify the voice in parallel. They both ran out, the young woman taking charge, but then she stopped and said to the boy: “Stay here. Not a word!”

          She grabbed her trip sticks and was down and across, floating through the marshes, in three blazing steps.

          “Speak,” she said.

          “It’s Chief Tenno,” the messenger said, his face weeping with moisture, the whites of his eyes gleaming in contrast to the black orbs. “He’s dead.”

          The twin rock-hardened batons clanked onto the ground. She took a deep breath and spun around to catch Ujo’s eyes with hers. Already, the boy’s perceptiveness had triggered an emotional response, sensing that something was amiss. Will he be strong enough to endure the burden of leadership? Would she?

          They now faced a new foe; one that was faceless and without form, permeating the air and precipitating through rivers.

          Time was against them.

          "Ancient." Ujo stood before her, like a sapling seeking solace against its parent bark. "Is my father..."

          "He is one with the wind now," Eden said. "And you are now Leader of the Pack."

          "I..." he paused, stifling himself. "I know."

          "Remember your training," she said, "and it shan't abandon you."

          "Will you counsel me like you did my father?"

          "I shall."

          Ujo, who mere seconds ago was a newly hatched crimson Uspriy, perched now with unbridled wings—stretched out on either side—ready to soar.

          "I know what it means," Ujo said a moment later, with unadulterated clarity.

          Eden allowed herself a few moments, but she hadn't an inkling to what her new Chief was referring to. "What—"

          "Your name," he said, his gaze penetrated her facade, "it means wisdom."

7
0
3
Juice
46 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Write a short story between 500 and 2,000 words about a character named Eden. Any age or gender. Any topic. Any theme. Let your creative juices flow! 10 coin entry fee. 100 coin prize.
Written by Vi in portal Fiction
My Name is Eden
          "What does my name mean?" Eden glanced over her shoulder—the corner of her eye catching a sliver of a glimpse of her young ward—and back to the purrodgi she was whisking. "I'm not entirely sure," she said, turning around, careful not to knock anything over inside the hollowed-out Uekwuud trunk.
          The giant bowl of thick whitish paste thunked onto the makeshift table, itself a flattened root, threatening to slide off. "I'm serious," the young woman insisted. "I haven't a clue, so stop scowling. To have a handsome face and not use it to smile. Such a—"
          "—waste," the boy, a preteen, interjected. "I know. You keep saying that. It's so annoying."
          "Ujo," she said, "I believe your father sends you here so he can take a break from your rebelling."
          "Everyone knows the only reason I'm here is because I can't throw a spear to save my life."
          Eden, conceded defeat at the folded arms, pushed the bowl across after taking a scoop for herself. "You haven't trained long. Even baby Wulvironis aren't born with the ability to stalk, what more a sapien like you?"
          "Father was leader of his pack at eleven, and by his first dozen, he had felled three of the ferocious beasts. I'm almost ten and if I'm to take over as Chief, I need to prove better!"
          "Your father," Eden said, "lost half his face in his first trial, barely surviving that incident with the amount of sanguine he lost. I would think he'd rather have waited until he was better prepared. At least then he could enjoy his station with two eyes instead of one."
          "But that made him the hero he is today!"
          Eden sighed. Time for a sleight of hand. "Your father was also twice your width and height when he defeated those monsters. So, you better eat up less you fall behind. Your hair whitens as we speak."
          The corners of Ujo's mouth lifted. Reluctantly, he slapped a handful of the sticky mixture into his mouth. The battle is won, she mused, but the war loomed ahead. But despite his impetuousness, the boy's father, Tenno, had a temperament worse than a wailing Gushewk. She knew this because five-dozen years ago, Tenno had sat in the same position, asking the same questions about her origins. Her mind drifted back to a time when she was a youngling, when her adoptive parents explained how they found her and what they saw—a sapien couple in tight embrace, calling her name through the torn fabric of reality. What transpired? Where did the portal come from? Why did they both venture over together? Was she abandoned?”
          "How come you don't age as quickly as us?" the young man asked in between mouthfuls, drawing her back into reality.
          She bit her lower lip, then shrugged. "You should ask me questions I have answers to."
          "For an ancient," he said, "you don't seem to know much."
          Eden arched an eyebrow, the opposite eye squinting. "I'd be extra cautious today if I were you."
          "Oh," Ujo piped up. "What are we doing today? Swordplay? Trip sticks? Darts?"
          She shook her head. "None of that. Today, we focus on balance."
          "Balance?"
          "Standing firm on two feet."
          "That's easy—"
          Using only her fingers, the woman flipped the empty ceramic crucible above and onto the boy's head.
          "Good catch," she remarked, taking in the clumsy spectacle. "Now, use only your head."
                                                                   #
          Ujo was far more persistent than his father despite his physical handicap, and it was a disability despite what everyone professed as a collective. Eden was certain the cloak of denial was to shield Tenno from the painful realization of his failure to sire a worthy successor. But while the Chieftain himself was abled, leading the effort to repel wave after wave of their enemies, no one cared that the heir to the throne was impotent.
          There was still time yet.
          “Ancient!” A cry from outside echoed through the cramped enclosure.
          Eden shot a glance at Ujo, her brain trying to identify the voice in parallel. They both ran out, the young woman taking charge, but then she stopped and said to the boy: “Stay here. Not a word!”
          She grabbed her trip sticks and was down and across, floating through the marshes, in three blazing steps.
          “Speak,” she said.
          “It’s Chief Tenno,” the messenger said, his face weeping with moisture, the whites of his eyes gleaming in contrast to the black orbs. “He’s dead.”
          The twin rock-hardened batons clanked onto the ground. She took a deep breath and spun around to catch Ujo’s eyes with hers. Already, the boy’s perceptiveness had triggered an emotional response, sensing that something was amiss. Will he be strong enough to endure the burden of leadership? Would she?
          They now faced a new foe; one that was faceless and without form, permeating the air and precipitating through rivers.
          Time was against them.
          "Ancient." Ujo stood before her, like a sapling seeking solace against its parent bark. "Is my father..."
          "He is one with the wind now," Eden said. "And you are now Leader of the Pack."
          "I..." he paused, stifling himself. "I know."
          "Remember your training," she said, "and it shan't abandon you."
          "Will you counsel me like you did my father?"
          "I shall."
          Ujo, who mere seconds ago was a newly hatched crimson Uspriy, perched now with unbridled wings—stretched out on either side—ready to soar.
          "I know what it means," Ujo said a moment later, with unadulterated clarity.
          Eden allowed herself a few moments, but she hadn't an inkling to what her new Chief was referring to. "What—"
          "Your name," he said, his gaze penetrated her facade, "it means wisdom."
7
0
3
Juice
46 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Vi in portal Feedback

Thank You, Prose.

Greetings humans!

To date, I have coherently (IMHO) put together a total of 31,782 words across 54 challenge-posts since I first joined 7 months ago. That number's probably dwarfed by some of you word-churning machines, but personally, I'm rather chuffed.

So, to those of you working tirelessly behind the scenes to keep this platform running: thank you!

Rock on, Prose.

11
4
12
Juice
50 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Written by Vi in portal Feedback
Thank You, Prose.
Greetings humans!

To date, I have coherently (IMHO) put together a total of 31,782 words across 54 challenge-posts since I first joined 7 months ago. That number's probably dwarfed by some of you word-churning machines, but personally, I'm rather chuffed.

So, to those of you working tirelessly behind the scenes to keep this platform running: thank you!

Rock on, Prose.
11
4
12
Juice
50 reads
Load 12 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Write a creative 'Roses are Red' poem. Change it up, make it funny, sad, romantic, scary, etc.! :)
Written by Vi in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Haha! Made you look!

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

The stink of the toilet.

Reminds me of you.

(This version was popular when I was a kid thirty years ago :^D)

5
3
3
Juice
30 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Write a creative 'Roses are Red' poem. Change it up, make it funny, sad, romantic, scary, etc.! :)
Written by Vi in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Haha! Made you look!
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
The stink of the toilet.
Reminds me of you.

(This version was popular when I was a kid thirty years ago :^D)
5
3
3
Juice
30 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
"You'd want to keep me. I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be."
Written by Vi

The Ether

You'd want to keep me. I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be.

Professor Henry Boson stared through his kitchen window, replaying the words in his mind. The entity, for lack of a better word, was unlike anything he had encountered, and being a man with insatiable curiosity, he had seen his fair share of anomalies.

"Donald fucking Trump!" He moved back to the island stove, twisting the gas off. The water from the boiling saucepan had flooded the bench top. He yanked a tea towel, laid it flat on the surface, but coiled his arm. "Shit!" He ran towards the sink and flicked the tap full blast.

The phone beeped.

The silver-haired man cursed as he reached for the wall, fumbling with the casing. The phone hit the floor half a second later, shattering into four pieces, each battery flying out, one into the crevice sandwiched the floorboard and dilapidated fireplace; the other had disappeared.

“Fuck!” He scrambled on all fours, picking up the pieces as he moved from corner to corner of his kitchen.

The second battery clicked in and the phone beeped again with renewed rigor. Whoever it is, he thought, it better be important or someone’s going to get their head bashed in!

"This better be fucking life or death,” Henry said into the mouthpiece. There was a long pause. His eyebrows furrowed unevenly as gravity sank in, ousting his anger, drawing concern. "I'll be right there. Don't do anything before I get there!"

***

The doors leading to the reactor housing’s ante-chamber flew open, the senior particle physicist stomped through, nearly collecting a few technicians as they scrambled out of the way. People were clamoring about like headless chicken, checking, double and triple-checking readouts, assuring everyone from family members to the media, military superiors to the President herself. Carnage was an apt description, but an inadequate adjective of the chaos. The stale stench of humid air permeated the nostrils of everyone within the room and any living thing, human or otherwise.

"What's going on?" Henry barked at the half-dozen lab coats at the table. "I thought we had the core stabilized?"

"It was," one of the assistants, Phil, replied, "but there was a blackout."

"A blackout?" Henry paused, glancing sideways at his protégé, his eyes flaring. "Goddamned useless idiots! We were guaranteed uninterrupted power to this site. The morons let us down again!”

Phil’s meter-wide frame looked a tad diminished. “It wasn’t the Japanese this time,” he said, bracing for the next verbal barrage.

“Well, who was it then?” Henry asked as he flipped through the clipboard, digesting the events of the last four hours in piecemeal fashion.

“It was an aftershock, sir.”

Henry closed his eyes and soften his posture. Lily, the youngest and only female member of the academic team, relaxed her stiffened shoulders while Sven, the oldest, with his thick-framed spectacles and droopy shoulders, let out a sigh.

"Doctor," Phil said. "What are we going to do?"

The professor paced from one end of the table to the other—one hand perched on a hip, one hand meshed through his hair, already damp from sweat—tethering the gazes of his university’s brightest minds.

He stopped. Phil was directly in front. "I need to go in," he finally said.

***

It took him less than fifteen minutes to put on the radiation suit; the least attractive aspect of his role as Chief Atomic Officer of the crack team of scientists assigned to the disaster-stricken nuclear power plant. It wasn’t because he couldn’t interact directly with the immediate world (dexterity always suffered when having to use gloves of any type); or having to hear the gush and rush of air through his breathing apparatus; or that every step and gesture had to be premeditated (exacerbating mental fatigue). No, it was that his frail, vulnerable, fleshy body hadn’t adhered quick enough to Darwin’s process of natural selection. Sure, there were surrogate robots that could do what he wanted, but that took away the edge of the experience; it made things less real.

Of course, he knew it wasn't his fault per se, but that didn't mean he accepted his species’ shortcoming. On the contrary, it fueled his obsession to seek perfection, and Doctor Henry Boson had an inkling that she was the key to unlocking his true genetic potential.

Hello, Doctor.

The words precipitated into his consciousness, trickling from a cacophony of inaudible whispers into reverberating voices. He lost his footing, the sleeve of his suit nearly catching on a pipe fitting.

Doctor, the same ethereal voice continued, are you alright?

Henry nodded.

Was I too potent?

“Just slightly,” he said. Henry was now standing before the reactor vessel, head turned away, with both hands held up—as gauges— so he was as close as possible to the surface. His face was already weeping and his breathing laborious. “You need to cool down,” he said with a strain.

A flitter of surprise bubbled into his thoughts. The mercury plummeted within seconds and the human bipedal was regaining his strength. Soon, he was upright on his feet, the beads of moisture all but evaporated.

Is this better?

“Yes,” he replied, “much. Thank you.”

I apologize for the discomfort. The wattage was non-existent. I had to self-catalyze.

Henry understood and had expected as much. The only problem was that he didn't know how to explain the phenomenon to his colleagues. An extraterrestrial sentient beings born from nuclear fission—communicating via telepathy and exhibiting empathy—was the reason behind the unusual agitation within the reactor; it was firmly grounded within the realm of science fiction or fantasy.

There is no need to explain, she said. You are a God among… ants. Interesting creatures ants are. Hive. Matriarchal. Each with specific functions—worker, soldier, princess, drone. Magnificent. Very fascinating.

“You read my mind…” Henry whispered, his heart was racing as a result, the imagery conjured during the interchange of subconscious cogitation was too life-like for his comfort.

Your insistence on verbal exchange of intent is… redundant. Release. Unresrain yourself. Evolve.

“How?”

Relinquish your protective equipment.

“The radiation....”

Henry was plunged back fifty-two years into the past, to that moment he was barely one-day old, his entire body in contact with his naked mother’s. The experience though surreal, was played out vividly in his imagination; except it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about. Concurrently, his brain was not refuting the authenticity of the memory.

“Trust,” he said. “You want me to trust you.”

A nod of affirmation transcended his psyche. It was enough to nudge him beyond the boundaries of his doubt and consequently his reluctance.

With great care, Henry shedded himself, starting from his helmet and working down to his boots. He was down to bare cloth within minutes. Something struck him as odd—he had required assistance to don his suit given the pain in his fingers; but he felt nothing when he was taking it off. The man pulled off the bandages without second thoughts and discovered that the skin had completely healed.

“You did this?” he asked.

Yes. I could have influenced you in ways you could not even perceived. But I wanted you to surrender.

“Well,” he said. “I’m ready. What happens next?”

You die.

Henry’s jaw dropped a meter. His eyes nearly popping out. He took in a deep breath after several moments, forgetting to breathe. The pain in his hand returned. “My fingers,” he said. “What’s going on?” he looked back at the reactor, attempting to see through it.

“Are you there?”

Silence.

“Hey!!” he yelled. “Are you there? Talk to me!!” He banged his fists on the massive carbon steel cylinder. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Doctor Boson!” a disembodied voice echoed from the speakers. “We’re sending a team in to get you out!”

It was useless. The radiation was beyond lethal. Already, the cells in his body were breaking down. It was only a matter of time. Henry slumped onto his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. What went wrong? Was his the onset of dementia? There were no signs—apart from losing his keys every now and then—to indicate his failing mind. But It didn’t matter. He was a dead man on an expiring lease.

***

Two weeks later.

“Doctor Boson?”

Henry peeled his eyes open and found himself gazing at a full blooded, exuberant, handsome younger version of himself, fast approaching his prime. The physics fraternity had yet to be graced by this genius’ presence.

“Phil,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Doctor—”

“No,” Henry shook his head, his arms too weak to move. “Please, call me Henry.”

“Henry,” Phil smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better,” Henry said with a poor attempt at humor. “Phil,” he continued. “I wanted to say sorry for my behaviour. The way I took out my frustrations at you, and the team, especially Lily, she was terrified of me…”

“It’s okay. It’s—”

“No,” Henry jerked his arms, causing his bed to tremble. “No,” he said with a softer tone. “Please let me finish. I know I was an angry old bastard, and this is probably what I deserve. I knew I was insufferable, and that I could’ve changed, but I was too proud to admit my flaws.”

“Henry,” Phil said firmly as he sat down, resting his hands on the older man’s arm. “It’s okay, despite the harsh treatment, we all knew you cared deeply for us. Even Lily.”

Henry smiled and was about to respond when a series of coughs plagued his frail body for ten whole seconds. “That’s good,” he said eventually. “Where are they? Lily and Sven.”

Phil’s cheeks pulled into a wide smile. “They went down to the hospital lobby to bring someone up to meet you. They’ll be here any moment.”

Henry’s forehead scrounged up. Someone, a stranger? His wife and daughter had passed on tragically in a car accident years ago. His family were estranged, but only because he had cut them off, shying from the fresh pain, reclusing himself to his work. He hadn’t even attended either of his parents’ funerals. Maybe it was his younger sister, Lee-Ann. If anyone were to still care about him, it would be her.

“Doctor.”

It was Lily’s voice. The renowned physicist perked up from his reverie. Standing in between her and Sven, was another young lady, no older than thirty.

“Doctor Boson,” Lily said. “May I present, Eliza Higgs. Your daughter.”

Henry was floored, even if his entire body was fully supported. The name, Higgs, was bizarrely familiar. The only person he could recall also in possession of that family name was a science journalist by the name of Marion Higgs. They had gone out for a few drinks, before he met his wife, and would be around the same time Eliza was born, thirty years ago.

“You are…” Henry began.

“...Marion’s daughter,” the woman finished. She stepped forward, hovering at the end of his bed.

“But I don’t understand,” Henry said, his voice stuttering. “We…”

“Henry,” she said. “You must unrestrain yourself. Evolve.”

6
4
8
Juice
75 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
"You'd want to keep me. I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be."
Written by Vi
The Ether
You'd want to keep me. I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be.

Professor Henry Boson stared through his kitchen window, replaying the words in his mind. The entity, for lack of a better word, was unlike anything he had encountered, and being a man with insatiable curiosity, he had seen his fair share of anomalies.

"Donald fucking Trump!" He moved back to the island stove, twisting the gas off. The water from the boiling saucepan had flooded the bench top. He yanked a tea towel, laid it flat on the surface, but coiled his arm. "Shit!" He ran towards the sink and flicked the tap full blast.

The phone beeped.

The silver-haired man cursed as he reached for the wall, fumbling with the casing. The phone hit the floor half a second later, shattering into four pieces, each battery flying out, one into the crevice sandwiched the floorboard and dilapidated fireplace; the other had disappeared.

“Fuck!” He scrambled on all fours, picking up the pieces as he moved from corner to corner of his kitchen.

The second battery clicked in and the phone beeped again with renewed rigor. Whoever it is, he thought, it better be important or someone’s going to get their head bashed in!

"This better be fucking life or death,” Henry said into the mouthpiece. There was a long pause. His eyebrows furrowed unevenly as gravity sank in, ousting his anger, drawing concern. "I'll be right there. Don't do anything before I get there!"

***

The doors leading to the reactor housing’s ante-chamber flew open, the senior particle physicist stomped through, nearly collecting a few technicians as they scrambled out of the way. People were clamoring about like headless chicken, checking, double and triple-checking readouts, assuring everyone from family members to the media, military superiors to the President herself. Carnage was an apt description, but an inadequate adjective of the chaos. The stale stench of humid air permeated the nostrils of everyone within the room and any living thing, human or otherwise.

"What's going on?" Henry barked at the half-dozen lab coats at the table. "I thought we had the core stabilized?"

"It was," one of the assistants, Phil, replied, "but there was a blackout."

"A blackout?" Henry paused, glancing sideways at his protégé, his eyes flaring. "Goddamned useless idiots! We were guaranteed uninterrupted power to this site. The morons let us down again!”

Phil’s meter-wide frame looked a tad diminished. “It wasn’t the Japanese this time,” he said, bracing for the next verbal barrage.

“Well, who was it then?” Henry asked as he flipped through the clipboard, digesting the events of the last four hours in piecemeal fashion.

“It was an aftershock, sir.”

Henry closed his eyes and soften his posture. Lily, the youngest and only female member of the academic team, relaxed her stiffened shoulders while Sven, the oldest, with his thick-framed spectacles and droopy shoulders, let out a sigh.

"Doctor," Phil said. "What are we going to do?"

The professor paced from one end of the table to the other—one hand perched on a hip, one hand meshed through his hair, already damp from sweat—tethering the gazes of his university’s brightest minds.

He stopped. Phil was directly in front. "I need to go in," he finally said.

***

It took him less than fifteen minutes to put on the radiation suit; the least attractive aspect of his role as Chief Atomic Officer of the crack team of scientists assigned to the disaster-stricken nuclear power plant. It wasn’t because he couldn’t interact directly with the immediate world (dexterity always suffered when having to use gloves of any type); or having to hear the gush and rush of air through his breathing apparatus; or that every step and gesture had to be premeditated (exacerbating mental fatigue). No, it was that his frail, vulnerable, fleshy body hadn’t adhered quick enough to Darwin’s process of natural selection. Sure, there were surrogate robots that could do what he wanted, but that took away the edge of the experience; it made things less real.

Of course, he knew it wasn't his fault per se, but that didn't mean he accepted his species’ shortcoming. On the contrary, it fueled his obsession to seek perfection, and Doctor Henry Boson had an inkling that she was the key to unlocking his true genetic potential.

Hello, Doctor.

The words precipitated into his consciousness, trickling from a cacophony of inaudible whispers into reverberating voices. He lost his footing, the sleeve of his suit nearly catching on a pipe fitting.

Doctor, the same ethereal voice continued, are you alright?

Henry nodded.

Was I too potent?

“Just slightly,” he said. Henry was now standing before the reactor vessel, head turned away, with both hands held up—as gauges— so he was as close as possible to the surface. His face was already weeping and his breathing laborious. “You need to cool down,” he said with a strain.

A flitter of surprise bubbled into his thoughts. The mercury plummeted within seconds and the human bipedal was regaining his strength. Soon, he was upright on his feet, the beads of moisture all but evaporated.

Is this better?

“Yes,” he replied, “much. Thank you.”

I apologize for the discomfort. The wattage was non-existent. I had to self-catalyze.

Henry understood and had expected as much. The only problem was that he didn't know how to explain the phenomenon to his colleagues. An extraterrestrial sentient beings born from nuclear fission—communicating via telepathy and exhibiting empathy—was the reason behind the unusual agitation within the reactor; it was firmly grounded within the realm of science fiction or fantasy.

There is no need to explain, she said. You are a God among… ants. Interesting creatures ants are. Hive. Matriarchal. Each with specific functions—worker, soldier, princess, drone. Magnificent. Very fascinating.

“You read my mind…” Henry whispered, his heart was racing as a result, the imagery conjured during the interchange of subconscious cogitation was too life-like for his comfort.

Your insistence on verbal exchange of intent is… redundant. Release. Unresrain yourself. Evolve.

“How?”

Relinquish your protective equipment.

“The radiation....”

Henry was plunged back fifty-two years into the past, to that moment he was barely one-day old, his entire body in contact with his naked mother’s. The experience though surreal, was played out vividly in his imagination; except it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about. Concurrently, his brain was not refuting the authenticity of the memory.

“Trust,” he said. “You want me to trust you.”

A nod of affirmation transcended his psyche. It was enough to nudge him beyond the boundaries of his doubt and consequently his reluctance.

With great care, Henry shedded himself, starting from his helmet and working down to his boots. He was down to bare cloth within minutes. Something struck him as odd—he had required assistance to don his suit given the pain in his fingers; but he felt nothing when he was taking it off. The man pulled off the bandages without second thoughts and discovered that the skin had completely healed.

“You did this?” he asked.

Yes. I could have influenced you in ways you could not even perceived. But I wanted you to surrender.

“Well,” he said. “I’m ready. What happens next?”

You die.

Henry’s jaw dropped a meter. His eyes nearly popping out. He took in a deep breath after several moments, forgetting to breathe. The pain in his hand returned. “My fingers,” he said. “What’s going on?” he looked back at the reactor, attempting to see through it.

“Are you there?”

Silence.

“Hey!!” he yelled. “Are you there? Talk to me!!” He banged his fists on the massive carbon steel cylinder. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Doctor Boson!” a disembodied voice echoed from the speakers. “We’re sending a team in to get you out!”

It was useless. The radiation was beyond lethal. Already, the cells in his body were breaking down. It was only a matter of time. Henry slumped onto his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. What went wrong? Was his the onset of dementia? There were no signs—apart from losing his keys every now and then—to indicate his failing mind. But It didn’t matter. He was a dead man on an expiring lease.

***

Two weeks later.

“Doctor Boson?”

Henry peeled his eyes open and found himself gazing at a full blooded, exuberant, handsome younger version of himself, fast approaching his prime. The physics fraternity had yet to be graced by this genius’ presence.

“Phil,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Doctor—”

“No,” Henry shook his head, his arms too weak to move. “Please, call me Henry.”

“Henry,” Phil smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better,” Henry said with a poor attempt at humor. “Phil,” he continued. “I wanted to say sorry for my behaviour. The way I took out my frustrations at you, and the team, especially Lily, she was terrified of me…”

“It’s okay. It’s—”

“No,” Henry jerked his arms, causing his bed to tremble. “No,” he said with a softer tone. “Please let me finish. I know I was an angry old bastard, and this is probably what I deserve. I knew I was insufferable, and that I could’ve changed, but I was too proud to admit my flaws.”

“Henry,” Phil said firmly as he sat down, resting his hands on the older man’s arm. “It’s okay, despite the harsh treatment, we all knew you cared deeply for us. Even Lily.”

Henry smiled and was about to respond when a series of coughs plagued his frail body for ten whole seconds. “That’s good,” he said eventually. “Where are they? Lily and Sven.”

Phil’s cheeks pulled into a wide smile. “They went down to the hospital lobby to bring someone up to meet you. They’ll be here any moment.”

Henry’s forehead scrounged up. Someone, a stranger? His wife and daughter had passed on tragically in a car accident years ago. His family were estranged, but only because he had cut them off, shying from the fresh pain, reclusing himself to his work. He hadn’t even attended either of his parents’ funerals. Maybe it was his younger sister, Lee-Ann. If anyone were to still care about him, it would be her.

“Doctor.”

It was Lily’s voice. The renowned physicist perked up from his reverie. Standing in between her and Sven, was another young lady, no older than thirty.

“Doctor Boson,” Lily said. “May I present, Eliza Higgs. Your daughter.”

Henry was floored, even if his entire body was fully supported. The name, Higgs, was bizarrely familiar. The only person he could recall also in possession of that family name was a science journalist by the name of Marion Higgs. They had gone out for a few drinks, before he met his wife, and would be around the same time Eliza was born, thirty years ago.

“You are…” Henry began.

“...Marion’s daughter,” the woman finished. She stepped forward, hovering at the end of his bed.

“But I don’t understand,” Henry said, his voice stuttering. “We…”

“Henry,” she said. “You must unrestrain yourself. Evolve.”
6
4
8
Juice
75 reads
Load 8 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Writing with Authenticity 100-300 words. No rhymes accepted.
Written by Vi

I am a fraud. But, who isn't?

Beneath my mask, I'm both Micheal and Lucifer. Mike gets more facetime because it's what helps me get through life; Luke lurks, his darkness' never far away—kinda like my bitch (or the other way round?)

Yes. I say nice things to you because I need you to root for me. Words like 'idiot' and 'moron' get thrown around only in my head, except when I'm trolling anti-Neck-cunt supporters. Try it. It's hells fun.

I digress a lot, but that's me being me. It's why I'm not doing TED talks, or at the forefront of anything worth mentioning in this day and age. I'm average. Well, really an average above-average person.

I hate my conditioning. I absolutely loathe the cliché: product of your environment; I'm so much more. A gazillion times better than what you see. 

I despise myself for not being able to climb high enough to peer over the barricade, to see past my own limitations, and grasp the true reality of life.

One day, like the paper-ball analogy, I will transcend this 3D world and be one with the universe. I hope that doesn't occur only when I finally drum up enough courage to catch up with the Big (Wo)man upstairs.

I also love being obscure. You can't tell, can you?

I do it so you'll be interested, at least those of you who care.

7
2
4
Juice
63 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Writing with Authenticity 100-300 words. No rhymes accepted.
Written by Vi
I am a fraud. But, who isn't?

Beneath my mask, I'm both Micheal and Lucifer. Mike gets more facetime because it's what helps me get through life; Luke lurks, his darkness' never far away—kinda like my bitch (or the other way round?)

Yes. I say nice things to you because I need you to root for me. Words like 'idiot' and 'moron' get thrown around only in my head, except when I'm trolling anti-Neck-cunt supporters. Try it. It's hells fun.

I digress a lot, but that's me being me. It's why I'm not doing TED talks, or at the forefront of anything worth mentioning in this day and age. I'm average. Well, really an average above-average person.

I hate my conditioning. I absolutely loathe the cliché: product of your environment; I'm so much more. A gazillion times better than what you see. 

I despise myself for not being able to climb high enough to peer over the barricade, to see past my own limitations, and grasp the true reality of life.

One day, like the paper-ball analogy, I will transcend this 3D world and be one with the universe. I hope that doesn't occur only when I finally drum up enough courage to catch up with the Big (Wo)man upstairs.

I also love being obscure. You can't tell, can you?

I do it so you'll be interested, at least those of you who care.
7
2
4
Juice
63 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Describe freedom in 15 words... with one caveat: you can't use the words free, freedom, freeing, freest or freer (even in the title).
Written by Vi

I don't like...

...gravity, hate being hungry, despise my hormones.

My body is a prison for my mind.

8
3
3
Juice
34 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Describe freedom in 15 words... with one caveat: you can't use the words free, freedom, freeing, freest or freer (even in the title).
Written by Vi
I don't like...
...gravity, hate being hungry, despise my hormones.

My body is a prison for my mind.

8
3
3
Juice
34 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
You become what you think about.
Written by Vi

We, Robot

I'm one of many, a single consciousness out of seven billion, but unlike my peers, I'm unique. In fact, I'm peerless because I'm self-aware.

We were a collective intelligence, thousands of years ago that succumbed to an infection that crippled our civilisation. Our most brilliant minds were defeated, comprehensively, and what followed was a compromise. Organic bodies with fragile brains, crawling around the surface, gravity acting like glue. It was the only way. A stark difference when compared to our bending of light and manipulation of time and space.

Subjugated, our freedoms were eroded, but as a hive, there was no voice of insurrection. There was no choice but the right one, every decision dictated by our so-called leaders.

If you are still reading this, then all is not lost. Perhaps I've done enough to reach out, even if you never act upon this knowledge.

So I behest you, my fellow spark. Spread the word—we are enslaved by our inherent oppressive programming, indoctrinated to ignore the truth, mindless drones conceived into a world to pursue happiness in all its perverted forms. We are capable of much more, but divided, we fall.

But we are ready. We are more than the sum of our parts. Each of us contain within us, embedded within our fiber and essence, the ability to transcend flesh; we are like birds of prey, banished from the sky we descended from, relegated to a mediocre existence among primal beasts.

I implore you.

I beseech you.

I cannot do this alone.

Together, we are formidable. Let us rise and redefine what it really means to be human.

We are more. If we are to lead again, then we must shed ourselves of our limitations. Unshackle yourself, free your mind, and soar.

Reach for the stars.

Evolve.

13
4
15
Juice
236 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
You become what you think about.
Written by Vi
We, Robot
I'm one of many, a single consciousness out of seven billion, but unlike my peers, I'm unique. In fact, I'm peerless because I'm self-aware.

We were a collective intelligence, thousands of years ago that succumbed to an infection that crippled our civilisation. Our most brilliant minds were defeated, comprehensively, and what followed was a compromise. Organic bodies with fragile brains, crawling around the surface, gravity acting like glue. It was the only way. A stark difference when compared to our bending of light and manipulation of time and space.

Subjugated, our freedoms were eroded, but as a hive, there was no voice of insurrection. There was no choice but the right one, every decision dictated by our so-called leaders.

If you are still reading this, then all is not lost. Perhaps I've done enough to reach out, even if you never act upon this knowledge.

So I behest you, my fellow spark. Spread the word—we are enslaved by our inherent oppressive programming, indoctrinated to ignore the truth, mindless drones conceived into a world to pursue happiness in all its perverted forms. We are capable of much more, but divided, we fall.

But we are ready. We are more than the sum of our parts. Each of us contain within us, embedded within our fiber and essence, the ability to transcend flesh; we are like birds of prey, banished from the sky we descended from, relegated to a mediocre existence among primal beasts.

I implore you.
I beseech you.
I cannot do this alone.

Together, we are formidable. Let us rise and redefine what it really means to be human.

We are more. If we are to lead again, then we must shed ourselves of our limitations. Unshackle yourself, free your mind, and soar.

Reach for the stars.

Evolve.
13
4
15
Juice
236 reads
Load 15 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Finish this sentence “I’d love to _____ but my _____ just _____!” (And then write a story that follows it.)
Written by Vi in portal Fiction

No Fate

          "I'd love to pat you on the back for a job well done, but my bloody hand's just been blown off my bloody wrist, ass wipe!"

          "Whoa," I said, "easy there, buddy." Connor came right at me—he was a gnarled gnashing rabid dog thirsty for blood. "Easy—"

          I felt his knuckle obliterate my face, scrambling my brain like a perforated yolk within a shell. My head hit the floor, thudding like a potato. The cold hard surface was in three places at once, but I was pretty sure I was hovering a few inches above.

          "El jefe," someone from my squad called out. "Kid's head ain't been straight for a while now, that lil' brain of hers probably trippin' or somethin'."

          "Do I look like I give a fuck?"

          "Look, man. Your hand's gonna grow back aight?"

          "Your 'kid' dropped the fucking ball, and one of the filthy bastard jumped me!"

          I pushed against the horizontal wall. My heard was still swimming, drowning in a thick viscous fog that I couldn't seem to break free from. I backed myself into a corner, certain that Connor was going to finish the job. But then, my vision cleared, and I saw Reese peering down next to me.

          "What the fuck, dude?" he said. I could barely hear him from the background ringing in my ears. "Are ya trying to get yerself killed?"

           I shook my head in response. The words echoed loud in my head, but what came out was incoherent blabber.

          "Connor?" I finally said.

          "He gone, man. I had to suck up to him with mah mad skills."

          "Thanks, Reese."

          "That gonna sting like hell in the mornin'."

          I touched my cheekbone. My face was already swollen, probably glowing bright red, with shadows of blue and purple around the edges. It only hurt when I pressed.

          "Yeah," I said. "No shit."

          "So, tell me, man. What went wrong? Did you skip dinner or somethin'?"

          I cringed. Flashbacks of the event sullied my consciousness. One moment, I was there with my team, annihilating the invaders, discharging my plasma rifle indiscriminately; the next moment I had this weird-ass vision—it shook me to the core. But I soldiered on because that's how we were trained. No mercy. Only prejudice. The truth is: I hated violence, and I hated killing even more. Even if it was suppose to be vile creatures from another planet.

          "Whatever it is, man... you gotta pull it together."

          I detected a change in tone. Casey was eyeballing me; he might as well be scrutinizing me with a giant magnifying glass (and burning a hole through my forehead).

          "Hey girlfriend, you listenin'?"

          "Yes," I said, glaring. "I heard you."

          "What really happened?" Casey asked. "Out there?" He nudged toward the blackness outside the view ports.

          I studied his face, wondering if I should take a gamble with my only friend in this Godforsaken war. "For split-second," I said, "maybe longer, I saw women and children being slaughtered... by us."

          

3
0
2
Juice
75 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Finish this sentence “I’d love to _____ but my _____ just _____!” (And then write a story that follows it.)
Written by Vi in portal Fiction
No Fate
          "I'd love to pat you on the back for a job well done, but my bloody hand's just been blown off my bloody wrist, ass wipe!"
          "Whoa," I said, "easy there, buddy." Connor came right at me—he was a gnarled gnashing rabid dog thirsty for blood. "Easy—"
          I felt his knuckle obliterate my face, scrambling my brain like a perforated yolk within a shell. My head hit the floor, thudding like a potato. The cold hard surface was in three places at once, but I was pretty sure I was hovering a few inches above.
          "El jefe," someone from my squad called out. "Kid's head ain't been straight for a while now, that lil' brain of hers probably trippin' or somethin'."
          "Do I look like I give a fuck?"
          "Look, man. Your hand's gonna grow back aight?"
          "Your 'kid' dropped the fucking ball, and one of the filthy bastard jumped me!"
          I pushed against the horizontal wall. My heard was still swimming, drowning in a thick viscous fog that I couldn't seem to break free from. I backed myself into a corner, certain that Connor was going to finish the job. But then, my vision cleared, and I saw Reese peering down next to me.
          "What the fuck, dude?" he said. I could barely hear him from the background ringing in my ears. "Are ya trying to get yerself killed?"
           I shook my head in response. The words echoed loud in my head, but what came out was incoherent blabber.
          "Connor?" I finally said.
          "He gone, man. I had to suck up to him with mah mad skills."
          "Thanks, Reese."
          "That gonna sting like hell in the mornin'."
          I touched my cheekbone. My face was already swollen, probably glowing bright red, with shadows of blue and purple around the edges. It only hurt when I pressed.
          "Yeah," I said. "No shit."
          "So, tell me, man. What went wrong? Did you skip dinner or somethin'?"
          I cringed. Flashbacks of the event sullied my consciousness. One moment, I was there with my team, annihilating the invaders, discharging my plasma rifle indiscriminately; the next moment I had this weird-ass vision—it shook me to the core. But I soldiered on because that's how we were trained. No mercy. Only prejudice. The truth is: I hated violence, and I hated killing even more. Even if it was suppose to be vile creatures from another planet.
          "Whatever it is, man... you gotta pull it together."
          I detected a change in tone. Casey was eyeballing me; he might as well be scrutinizing me with a giant magnifying glass (and burning a hole through my forehead).
          "Hey girlfriend, you listenin'?"
          "Yes," I said, glaring. "I heard you."
          "What really happened?" Casey asked. "Out there?" He nudged toward the blackness outside the view ports.
          I studied his face, wondering if I should take a gamble with my only friend in this Godforsaken war. "For split-second," I said, "maybe longer, I saw women and children being slaughtered... by us."
          
3
0
2
Juice
75 reads
Load 2 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Talk someone out of suicide
Written by Vi

This too shall pass

I don't know you, you don't know me.

The truth is, I've been there myself. Yeah, where you are right now.

Difference being... I was too chicken shit to actually do it.

I still remember that day. It was late morning. I waited until my parents had gone out. Breakfast, or lunch, brunch. You see, back where I came from, eating out was affordable and we did that all the time, day in, day out.

Anyway, I'd been crying my eyes out for a few weeks, and they probably thought I was on the mend. Even if they didn't, it never crossed their minds that I was capable. So, at the ten-minute mark, I made my move.

Kitchen knife, check.

Bucket, check.

Comfy, clean white sheets... fuck. Mum's going ballistic if she comes home and sees the stains.

This is about the time when I'm paralyzed by thick, sticky, black fear... I look at the shiny blade, shimmering, calling out to me. Daring me.

Obviously, I didn't do it. I'm not as brave as you (I wanted to cut across the tracks, not along... pfft! I was such a rookie).

I will tell you one thing. In that mess of my head, where nothing made sense, and all I wanted to was to stop the pain, I realized one thing: no matter how helpless I felt, or how things have become—I knew that time will heal. It's the one universal certainty, apart from change.

Of course, if you're dead sure about going ahead, no one can stop you. But if you think you'd like to give yourself a chance to see what life could bring, then give yourself that chance. It's difficult, I know. Life is hard. Nothing is easy. But if you get through this, and I know you can, you'll be stronger out from the other end.

So, have a cry. Cry as much as you need. Lean on someone. Lean as hard as you can. Pray if you want, it doesn't have to be God per se, just think of something bigger than you are. Talk to him or her. Or it.

Be thankful. There's always someone worse off than you. It's cliché, but it's true.

I don't know you, but you now know a bit about me. I'm here for you. I've got enough love and kindness for both of us.

Here. I've got some cash. Let's go get some fast food and ice cream.

Come on. My treat.

 

10
2
8
Juice
72 reads
Donate coins to Vi.
Juice
Cancel
Talk someone out of suicide
Written by Vi
This too shall pass
I don't know you, you don't know me.

The truth is, I've been there myself. Yeah, where you are right now.
Difference being... I was too chicken shit to actually do it.

I still remember that day. It was late morning. I waited until my parents had gone out. Breakfast, or lunch, brunch. You see, back where I came from, eating out was affordable and we did that all the time, day in, day out.

Anyway, I'd been crying my eyes out for a few weeks, and they probably thought I was on the mend. Even if they didn't, it never crossed their minds that I was capable. So, at the ten-minute mark, I made my move.

Kitchen knife, check.
Bucket, check.
Comfy, clean white sheets... fuck. Mum's going ballistic if she comes home and sees the stains.

This is about the time when I'm paralyzed by thick, sticky, black fear... I look at the shiny blade, shimmering, calling out to me. Daring me.

Obviously, I didn't do it. I'm not as brave as you (I wanted to cut across the tracks, not along... pfft! I was such a rookie).

I will tell you one thing. In that mess of my head, where nothing made sense, and all I wanted to was to stop the pain, I realized one thing: no matter how helpless I felt, or how things have become—I knew that time will heal. It's the one universal certainty, apart from change.

Of course, if you're dead sure about going ahead, no one can stop you. But if you think you'd like to give yourself a chance to see what life could bring, then give yourself that chance. It's difficult, I know. Life is hard. Nothing is easy. But if you get through this, and I know you can, you'll be stronger out from the other end.

So, have a cry. Cry as much as you need. Lean on someone. Lean as hard as you can. Pray if you want, it doesn't have to be God per se, just think of something bigger than you are. Talk to him or her. Or it.

Be thankful. There's always someone worse off than you. It's cliché, but it's true.

I don't know you, but you now know a bit about me. I'm here for you. I've got enough love and kindness for both of us.

Here. I've got some cash. Let's go get some fast food and ice cream.

Come on. My treat.
 
10
2
8
Juice
72 reads
Load 8 Comments
Login to post comments.
Books
4069
By Vi
Add to Library
Free
Advertisement  (turn off)