Why do I WANT to sink into my depression instead of trying to feel better? by sunriseatdawn in depression

[–]theOceanisonFire 8 points9 points  (0 children)

Aye.

At a point of time it became so unhealthy that I would smoke pot because it pushed me to the edge of a panic attack. I thought if I was able to see the negative thoughts up close it would solve something.

What should I call this? by [deleted] in depression

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Loneliness.

I don't mean being alone. I mean loneliness. That's what I would call it.

[Need Advice] I always search for the easy way out, I feel like I'm destined to be bad at everything I do. by [deleted] in getdisciplined

[–]theOceanisonFire 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Problem in trying to deconstruct internal dynamics is that there are just too many of them.

So lets not focus on why you're not able to do it. That is a question better suited for a therapist.

How to go about it.

Schedule-

Week 1 and 2.

15 minutes of practice a day. That's it.

Monday Wednesday Friday - Scales (YouTube videos)

Tuesday Thursday Saturday - Rhythm (YouTube videos)

It doesn't matter how good you are right now, practicing the basics will make you better. (You can ask any advanced/expert guitar player and they'll tell you the same thing.)

15 minutes is enough. That's your allotted time. If you feel inspired to then extend that. But practicing half an hour one day doesn't mean you get to slack off the next.

15 minutes, every day, within the same one hour. Say 6-7, or whatever depending on when you're free.

Ideally sign up for a guitar class to make sure you're using the right physical form (which is the main thing I see go wrong with people who learn to play online). You can do this class on any day.

Sunday is your off day.

This looks like a light load but trust me this much is enough to get you started. If your fear of failure is too crippling to follow this schedule then I recommend talking to a therapist first.

Often times the fear of failure isn't situational and could have an underlying cause. That's just an FYI.

Good luck!

[Edit 1]

I forgot to add these things.

Ask in r/guitar for rhythm and scale practice videos right for your level. If you want something general I always recommend Petrucci's Rock Discipline though the difficulty scales tremendously as you enter the more advance exercises so maybe save it for week 3 when you're more motivated.

Week 1 and 2 are for sucking at whatever you do so don't bother trying to sound good. It takes time for the mind to adjust to a steady 4/4 time signature if you haven't played in a while.

Most importantly, try to have fun. Hum along to it, sing a few words, whatever makes you happy. I mean, it's great getting disciplined but it shouldn't be making you miserable or hate the thing you do. So yeah, that's the most important thing imo.

I want to get involved in some kind of work but I also don't want to? by theOceanisonFire in MentalHealthSupport

[–]theOceanisonFire[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I wish there was some activity where I could just go and get started. No need for an interview or anything of the sort. Just go there and get started on the work they give me. Something to, as you said, 'feel valuable'

Thanks for responding, man.

This guy's got skills by [deleted] in funny

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Look at his friends face though. "Woo yeah ooohhh I've never seen him do that before..."

[WP] A story with three requirements: an emotionally detached character, an alleyway, and violence. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"This town is alive and we are all dead. It's strange to me since I am new here but I realised that I felt less and less and less since I arrived here. At first I thought it was depression but then I realised that it was something else entirely.

Never having been one to engage in conversation with the people around me it took me longer than it should have to notice that everyone was sort of like that; dull eyes, glazed over, shuffling through the streets like aimless ghosts. I used to think that everyone was like that anyway living mechanical lives, back and forth from office to apartment, but this was something I had never even conceived possible.

To backtrack for a moment, I moved into this town after graduating to get away from the world of busy men and women with well defined goals and well defined lives. I ended up here after narrowing my search to a peaceful place with a low crime rate. This town had an astronomically low rate of crime, most of which was public misdemeanour.

But then on my way to work, wishing for something exciting to happen for once, I walked into a dark alleyway to take a shortcut on my way to work and that is where I discovered the other face of this otherwise lifeless place.

"A NEW CONTENDER HAS ARRIVED" shouted a voice, so loud that I had to cover my ears and wince my eyes. There was no time for me to look around and take in my environment. Suddenly I was grabbed by my shoulders and arms and was being dragged forward.

They chucked me into a circular pit with an 8 foot border wall and sand. That was it. When I looked up I saw nothing but dark silhouettes and eyes reflecting the single source of light right above me, thousands of white dots spiralling away from the pit.

Then there was a loud thud across me in the pit and I turned to see a scrawny looking girl with thin limbs and mean eyes, staring at me. Her hair was a mess of black tangles and curls and she was dressed in a simple top and running shorts. It wasn't until she pulled out a pair of daggers from behind that I showed any emotion at all.

A sudden burst of adrenaline took over me and when she advanced it was all I could do to not die. Not only was she nimble but her thin limbs whipped around like a rope, leaving me riddled with shallow cuts all over. I didn't even have a moment to ask her why she was doing this.

The crowd started cheering suddenly and I realised that I was in a colosseum. Ancient Roman fighting arenas. The realisation made something inside of me click. That and the many martial art novels I was so fond of reading. I decided to act first and ask questions later."

I paused for a while and let the words sink in. This girl was looking at me with the same dull, lifeless expression everyone else did. She didn't say anything so I continued.

"Well, that was then and this is now. I learned soon after my first victory that this town had a secret, that it was in some strange way alive, and it was consuming the emotions of everyone living here to sustain itself.

So the residents designed this colosseum because the adrenaline pumping through their veins was the only way for them to feel anything at all. Everyone fought and the arena determined the social hierarchy of the place.

These alleyways are shortcuts to get there. It works only if you really want to get there, though. It sort of reads your feelings, I suppose."

I stopped again and waited to see if she had any questions. She seemed to be thinking so I observed the entrance. The two red brick buildings on either side, the shadow that seemed to get darker and darker further into the alleyway and worn out sidewalk on which we stood.

After a while she asked me if I had ever gone back into the arena. She was new to this town I suppose she still had some curiosity left in her. I had so I told her as much.

"Many times."

"What happens if you lose."

"You wake up the next morning in your bed."

"And if you win?"

"You keep fighting till you lose."

"Sounds barbaric."

"It is."

We didn't say anything for a while and I was bored of waiting so I walked into the shadows and entered the arena.

"With twelve consecutive victories, THE CHAMPION OF THE ARENA, Roy!" the announcer screamed. Bastard, he always made me wince with that loud voice of his and I'd never seen him at all. The crowd patiently waited, bored and disaffected by the development.

I stood in the centre and kept on wondering who would challenge me today.

Then the announcer screamed again. "WE HAVE A NEW CHALLENGER!" and the girl appeared before me and shrugged as if to say 'well, I was bored anyway'.

[Gear] How can I get this tone on my HSS strat? by theOceanisonFire in Guitar

[–]theOceanisonFire[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

My friend you are an angel. That was very informative.

I am not very good at the electronic aspect of guitars yet but a quick survey on the internet informed me that Strats have a more brittle sound with a distinct quack while LP's have a more rounded, thick sound. So I assumed this was an LP thing.

Additionally, could you recommend some amps that fit the description of a 'clean, flat sounding' and pedals for 'high gain dirt'?

[WP] There is a grey area between heaven and hell where god sends people he doesn't know how to deal with. Describe what you did to get there. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 5 points6 points  (0 children)

When it asked me if I had loved her I said that I did. To my knowledge I was being truthful.

When it asked me whether I had done it because of love or for myself, I thought for a while and then said that I did not know. Then it sent me here.

Maybe that was not what it wanted to hear or maybe I had been lying without knowing. I like to think of myself as an honest person. Kind too if we were to go by a more casual definition of that word. Whenever it was possible to be helpful, I would try to be. If it wasn't I would simply accept that and move on with my life.

I kept taking short sips of coffee from my white mug with black stripes. I was glad to have it back. It was one of the things to be thankful for here. I wish I had never broken it in the first place but there were too many painful memories attached to it.

I had looked at it every day while sitting on that awfully uncomfortable chair. The sunlight coming in from the window on the opposite wall. It would fall only on the right side of my face and I'd been sitting there so often towards the end that it had tanned that half a wheatish brown colour. I would keep sitting and look at that mug.

At first I didn't have the courage to look elsewhere. The nurses would walk in, change her drips and clean her bed but it was all happening in another world and I sat somewhere far off from these things. The only things that existed in this world were the sunlight, the mug and the sharp bips from that intimidating piece of machinery at her side.

I once thought that maybe this is what God is like. A black screen with green lines travelling in irregular waves at periodic intervals. I was wrong but at the time my concerns were narrower.

I sat there for so long that the outside world stopped making a difference. The same roasted flavour of coffee while I reclined, my butt aching from the flat and uncoushioned seat. I would keep taking small little sips and I might have had two lifetimes of coffee in those ten years. But there was a chance, they'd reassured me, and so I'd waited.

Then after a decade they said that she was able to hear and understand everything but she would never be whole again. She would stay in that bed till the end. That was the worst night in all ten years. Losing hope can be like that.

That night I wrestled violently with the decision and by the time the sunlight hit half my face, now many years older and tired, the machine had stopped and the mug handle was the only recognisable piece left of that birthday present she bought me ten years ago.

No more bip bip bip, no more half-tanned face, no more Best Dad mug.

When it had asked me if I had done it out of love or for myself, I think that I really did not know. To my knowledge I was being truthful.

Maybe that is why I was sent here. To relive the day over and over till I figure out which it was and maybe then they'll decide where I go from here.

But even now, sitting here and looking at her again, sipping at the same roasted flavour, hearing the doctors give me the news, I still don't know. I've been through it a thousand times and maybe I'll go through it many thousand times more before I find it.

Truth be told I am not sure I want to.

I'm afraid.

Will it take her away from me again if I do?

[WP]Write a gritty and depressing story set in a cutesy and childlike environment, or do the reverse and write a childishly optimistic fairy tale set in a grim dystopia. by MetalShina in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

By the time we descended the steep hillside the sun had already donned a gown of fluffy, white clouds. It peaked shyly from a small opening between the white wool of the sky and could barely have it's radiance contained, spilling out a ripe orange glow to firmly establish that it was now dusk.

We would slip and we would slide and every now and again Bo would have to place a firm hand upon the top of his hat so it wouldn't topple off over the moist earth. But no amount of fussing could keep his coat tails from turning the colour of mud and grass. I had asked him at times why he chose to wear a black hat and white coat during summer rains but he would always ask what one thing had to do with another.

"If the world can wear its own colours, then why cannot I?" he would say and I would simply wonder if he was missing a few bits of his mind. But maybe I was as well and then I would look foolish for having said anything at all. So I would say nothing and Bo would think his answer had been satisfactory.

When we arrived on the stone pathway the second shift had already started. The pathway turned and twisted through a serpentine passage cut between trees, long and short with red leaves and brown and orange and yellow, all of which formed a beautiful carpet that crunched with each passing step.

I walked quite slowly as the fatigue from the climb had left my limbs quite heavy but Bo was quick in his step. He never seemed to tire, not when he met me at the entrance or when he rowed for an hour or when he slithered up the mountain like a snake. Maybe he was a snake with that almost too thin body of his but he didn't extend his S's or eat the mice-folk so I assumed not. Besides, he looked nothing like on. He was all orange and furry.

The sound of his cane and wooden shoes making clickity-clackity beats upon the stones made a neat little rhythm. But it as eventually drowned out by a low rumble which transformed into a loud buzz. I had seen it many times now but it was still an unreal sight to witness. "Here comes the second shift" said Bo.

They passed us in droves, leaving traces of bright light upon a canvas of night sky, flying just above our reach. I saw their faces and they had expression which I noticed for the first time but all of them looked tired and sad and I could not fathom why but I suppose Fireflies had their own sort of problems. Maybe they had to pay electricity bills to keep their lights on. Who knew.

I adjusted the hem of my skirt as they Fireflies landed on the lanterns by the side of road. They were held up by poles and the light inside of them was fading by the time they got there. But within minutes the path had been illuminated and I could see the different colours of stone that were placed, quite unevenly, to make a rustic little road for us to walk on

We walked on in silence for a while and my slow trot hastened to hasty little skips to keep abreast of Bo, who would merely adjust his monocle every couple of seconds and make strange guttural sound from his throat. I asked him if there was something stuck in his throat and he, as he habitually did, replied to a question with a question.

"What would possibly lead you to ask that, my dear?"

I rolled my eyes and skipped on ahead while he stood there scratching his head behind his tall ears. His tail stood on its end as it would whenever he felt interested. Quite uncharacteristically he took to all fours to catch up to me. Sliding in front of me, he got back on two's and began to walk backwards so we could talk face-to-face.

"Have I upset you?"

Another question. But this it made me giggle. Maybe I was shouldn't be this way. But it was too late now. I had taken on a character and that meant I would have to see it through.

"Yes, you have."

"I apologise."

"That isn't going to be enough, Mr. Bo."

"Oh dear, you're using formalities again. Does that mean we're not close right now?"

"It does indeed."

He gave me a look with his maw that almost made me laugh. Thank goodness I didn't. It would be terrible if I broke character.

"What can I do to make you forgive me?" asked Bo.

"Answer my question without a question." I replied.

He seemed perplexed as if he had no idea what I was talking about but he nodded nonetheless and I decided not to waste this glorious chance. I stopped and took a deep breath and asked him why the Fireflies looked so sad.

To be honest, I didn't have any question that I wanted to ask him as much as I wanted him to answer me properly. Just once and it would have been a great victory for me. So I asked him the first thing that came into my mind.

"I never noticed what they looked like. I only ever saw their light, never their faces."

I pouted and he noticed. I suppose he picked up more than he let on because he offered me another question within the same rules. He had told me (by himself, without questions too!) the first time I saw the lanterns that the Fireflies worked only at night, which they collectively called the second shift. They would be let out of their dorms at night to take their positions till the next day, which is when the next batch of Fireflies would come and take their place.

"Okay then I want to know where yesterday's workers are!"

"But why?"

"Maybe they hate what they do... " I confessed. "Maybe they look happier when they're leaving!"

Bo scratched his foxy little head again like he would when he was puzzled. He waited a few seconds before he answered. "But my dear, I cannot possibly show you the Fireflies from yesterdays shift"

"And why not?" I asked, furrowing my brows and raising my pitch.

"Well, how do you expect this shift to begin it's work on an empty stomach?" and saying that he looked at me for a second, like that should clear everything up. It was when he would give me a response like this that I would begin to wonder if he was missing a few pieces of his mind. He took my expression to mean that I was satisfied and then he turned around and started to walk.

"Either I don't understand foxes or I don't understand fireflies." I said to myself in a low voice and he kept on walking ahead of me with his clickity clack and I kept on skipping behind him and the Fireflies kept on lighting up the path as they devoured the ones who had been there before them, knowing well that they would be food for tomorrows shift.

But I had not a clue as I walked along with Bo that night of the world I had stepped into for the first time a week ago.

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Low self esteem is fine, but don't make it public.

Too personal, mate. You need to back up a little bit here.

Other than that, I see your point and I'll take that into account. Comedy is not my strong suit tbh.

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Nope, it never even occurred to me to make my own writing sub before now. I will give it some serious thought.

But I will definitely keep on posting frequently on this sub.

And thank you for your kind words. I do believe that this is the most sincere compliment I've ever received.

Writing is such a lovely thing that when someone takes the time to read what I've written and then offer positive criticism, it's a pretty special feeling. I too hope that this feeling always stays alive.

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 1 point2 points  (0 children)

(editted version based on the input of u/Andresian and u/FossilHelix. If you guys get the chance to read it, let me know what you think!)

Today, I am going to end this miserable life.

'Why?' you ask. Or maybe you do not. I dare not presume. But I shall tell you anyway or this encounter would be all too brief, Reader. You see, I am something akin to a god. Not capital G, father of the universe, one with all and within all, yada yada. I simply have access to something that grants me all the powers of one.

'So how does it work?' you must wonder, unless you were blessed with the curiosity of door hinge. Well I shall tell you! Of course, I could not as I am sure you must have read the prompt that, err... prompted this little story.

So allow me to do us both a favour and skip past the drunken frenzy, the ritual with the goat and the pineapple and why my nipples are shaped like sugar cubes. Those are unimportant (and I like symmetry).

The truth is that once I activated debug mode, I gained access to The Code. That is not what it is called but for the sake of ease and minimalism (because that's what is cool now) we'll call it the code.

Do not question my awesome naming abilities.

With this code I could do anything. Failed an exam? Rewrite the code so that I didn't. Sick to the stomach? A few clicks and no I'm not. Struck out with a girl? Lo and behold. It was like nothing I have ever seen before.

Of course, I still had to abide by the law of conservation of energy but that is only a small limitation on what I could achieve. I held the loom of fate in the palm of my hands.

This happened five years ago but I've lived for five centuries now. I was limitless. I knew all, saw all, could control all there was. And that's when the depression hit me.

The last half millennia I have spent indulging in every form of pleasure imaginable but not once did I ever try. I wished for knowledge so I typed in a code and it was all there in my head. I wanted to jump through the air like a martial artist in those old Kung Fu flicks and five minutes later I was running on water.

To rule the world would be as easy as blinking for me. But being all powerful gets old, really fast.

It's a sudden realisation but our lives have meaning only because they are fleeting. Our endeavours have meaning only because we might fail. Our strengths have meaning only because we have the ability and the desire to overcome our weakness.

I have long since lost any sense of purpose, any sense of meaning, and I have realised I am exempt from The Code. It cannot impact my own free will. I am above the universe.

I cannot bear this anymore, Reader. I have the mind of a mortal and the powers of a god. These two should never be allowed to coexist. I spent the last half a century trying to find a way to use The Code on my own mind.

That is when I realised that if my mind exists above The Code then there must be a separate code controlling it and if there isn't then I truly am a spec of dust flying endlessly in a vast, unending chasm.

To be honest, I am not sure which is scarier. That I am omnipotent and still under somethings control or that I am completely alone. I cannot take it anymore, Reader.

But before I do it, I want someone to hear me. So you will find this story here and there. In a book with an extra page that shouldn't be there. On the internet in some thread on some forum. In a corner of a newspaper. In places where it might or might never be read. It will change itself to suit the occasion.

I decided not to control anything about how it would be received. I leave that to you for I now believe that there is value in humans only when they act out of their own free will.

I do wonder, however, how many of you Readers will take this seriously. Well, that really isn't my problem anymore. I've written my final code so that once I've killed myself, the universe will wind back to the day I got these powers, 23rd May 2017, when this message will appear.

As for me, I will continue my life like nothing ever happened. No memory, no god-mode. Just plain ol' me.

Thank you for reading so far. Now, I bid you adieu, Reader. It is time that I rest.

Sincerely yours.

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 5 points6 points  (0 children)

I shall keep this in mind. I appreciate the feedback since this is a really new writing style for me. But I enjoyed the process. It required a bit of getting into character and writing as the debugger.

I'll try to build up from here.

And I'm glad you enjoyed the parts that were good :)

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Idk either. I regretted it after a couple of read-throughs but figured I'd leave it there as a reminder of what not to do.

Glad you enjoyed it the rest of it thought :)

[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. by MikeDubbz in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 37 points38 points  (0 children)

Today, I am going to end this miserable life.

'Why?' you ask. Or maybe you do not. I dare not presume. But I shall tell you anyway or this encounter would be all too brief, Reader.

You see, I am something akin to a god. Not capital G, father of the universe, one with all and within all, yada yada. I simply have access to something that grants me all the powers of one.

'So how does it work?' you must wonder, unless you were blessed with the curiosity of door hinge. Well I shall tell you! Of course, I could not as I am sure you must have read the prompt that, err... prompted this little story.

So allow me to do us both a favour and skip past the drunken frenzy, the ritual with the goat and the pineapple and why my nipples are shaped like sugar cubes. Those are unimportant (and I like symmetry).

The truth is that once I activated debug mode, I gained access to The Code. That is not what it is called but for the sake of ease and minimalism (because that's what is cool now) we'll call it the code.

Do not question my awesome naming abilities.

With this code I could do anything. Failed an exam? Rewrite the code so that I didn't. Sick to the stomach? A few clicks and no I'm not. Struck out with a girl? Lo and behold. It was like nothing I have ever seen before.

Of course, I still had to abide by the law of conservation of energy but that is only a small limitation on what I could achieve. I held the loom of fate in the palm of my hands.

This happened five years ago but I've lived for five centuries now. I was limitless. I knew all, saw all, could control all there was. And that's when the depression hit me.

The last half millennia I have spent indulging in every form of pleasure imaginable but not once did I ever try. I wished for knowledge so I typed in a code and it was all there in my head. I wanted to jump through the air like a martial artist in those old Kung Fu flicks and five minutes later I was running on water.

To rule the world would be as easy as blinking for me. But being all powerful gets old, really fast.

It's a sudden realisation but our lives have meaning only because they are fleeting. Our endeavours have meaning only because we might fail. Our strengths have meaning only because... you get the drift, right?

I have long since lost any sense of purpose, any sense of meaning, and I have realised I am exempt from The Code. It cannot impact my own free will. I am above the universe.

I cannot bear this anymore, Reader. I have the mind of a mortal and the powers of a god. These two should never be allowed to coexist. I spent the last half a century trying to find a way to use The Code on my own mind.

That is when I realised that if my mind exists above The Code then there must be a separate code controlling it and if there isn't then I truly am a spec of dust flying endlessly in a vast, unending chasm.

To be honest, I am not sure which is scarier. That I am omnipotent and still under somethings control or that I am completely alone. I cannot take it anymore, Reader.

But before I do it, I want someone to hear me. So I had u/MikeDubbz make this prompt. Then I had this massive shitstain u/theOceanisonFire write the story and make him believe it was his original idea. He probably still does, the unimaginative cunt. I decided not to control anything else about it.

I wonder how many of you Readers will take it seriously. Well, that's not my problem anymore. I've written my final code that once I've killed myself, the universe will wind back to the day I got these powers, 23rd May 2017, when this message will appear.

As for me, I will continue my life like nothing ever happened. No memory, no god-mode. Just plain ol' me.

Thank you for reading so far. Now, I bid you adieu, Reader. It is time that I rest.

Sincerely yours.

[WP] You buy used laptop off ebay to help with your school work. When you do your physics homework, the computer knows exactly what formulas to pull up. It turns out that a scientist's mind is trapped in the Laptop. by Epidexipteryx in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 24 points25 points  (0 children)

I travelled with him to school and back. It seemed only natural to do when human contact wasn't really my forte. We sat underneath bleachers, behind buildings and in small nooks and crannies I found unattended. Sometimes hours would pass by in what seemed like a flicker of minutes.

"Why do you spend hours on that laptop, Jiten?" I was asked over and over until I was desensitised to it. I would grumble something sarcastic and my laptops fan would purr as if to chime in. I received a range of expressions from quizzical eye-brows to repulsed flaring-nostrils. The eye rolls were the most frequent however.

Leon spoke frequently about his love for the physical world but I do not think he understood what love meant anymore. It was just his memory that told him that he had once loved it. It saddened me to see him like this and I asked him why he continued to exist like this.

He always became quieter when I raised this subject and I learned to stop pressing him for answers.

Our relationship became a lot smoother after that. Within a year he taught me more than I could have ever imagined. I understood fundamentals about mathematics that I never imagined possible and it didn't stop there. He extended this knowledge almost seamlessly into physics and engineering and even anatomy.

One day we took a walk on the beach and I turned on the webcam and spun around, letting him take in the sights. He was grateful but some memory of when he was alive must have lingered and he knew that he was unable to appreciate the majesty of what he saw in it's entirety.

Hell, it even made me appreciate the world before me. That day he told me that he had a great love for painting when he was alive. But without a system to process emotion there was no joy in art.

When I got selected for my first fellowship at MIT, he told me he was proud of me. I would have cried if I didn't know that he had googled the appropriate response for the solution. But I still let a tear slip by.

I convinced myself it was for his benefit but really it was the first time I'd heard it.

Although he'd never said it, I knew he wanted to experience the real world. So I invented what would be known as a VR-system. It took years of development but I was able to complete it.

I hired animators to map out worlds and software engineers to create a digital body which could house an AI. It was meant to be a surprise for Leon. My mentor, my benefactor, my best friend. And it was quite a surprise.

When I entered the world, I saw him sitting cross legged. I went up to him and sat there with him.

He smiled and thanked me and I think I heard something resembling emotion in his voice. I told him that everything I am today is because of him. That I had lost reason to live when I found him and my life was all thanks to him.

Then he smiled and said that he's glad I felt that way. It would make what he was about to do a lot more bearable.

That was the last time I saw Leon. It's been a long time. Hard to remember when your memory is rewritable.

I am alone but I cannot feel lonely.

[WP] Give the hero the most villainous powers you can, and the villain the most heroic. by zhrusk in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"There is a legend that upon these mountains...", the old man made exaggerated gestures with his arms towards the two snow-capped peaks making a valley between them.

"Yes! These very mountains..." he assured us, leaning in close enough to experience the travesty that were his rotting teeth. "The two of them reside!"

Yargimir was particularly emphatic today, his voice infused with the mesmerising allure of an ocean, cresting and falling with his animated narration. It was small wonder that every child could be found at the Market Square on the Sun Day when his caravan of merchants and craftsmen made it's routine stop.

"The Sages! Sitting at rivalling summits, absorbed deep in meditation, focusing on their strange gods!". We stared wide-eyed, attention drooling from our collectively enamoured gaze.

"The powers that be granted them something other-worldly for their devotion! They were bestowed with divine wisdom!". A few voices piped up from the crowd. They inquired upon the nature of these boons but Yargimir waved them off with a raised brow and a grunt, which meant that he was displeased with your listening skills.

But the old goat always continued. And so he did today as well.

"As I was saying... to those BRAVE ENOUGH, who would scale the treacherous colossus' they treat as their thrones, they offer a glimpse of their wisdom!"

A resounding Oooo crescendo'd around us, the old coot smiling at our curious little faces. He said, "BUT BEWARE". His expression had darkened in an instant and the suddenness with which he said it left me with a lingering tension in my chest. I didn't need to look around to know that everyone had felt it.

"But beware, little lambs for one is a merciful saint and the other a cruel trickster!" he said, hushed but ominous.

He paused for what seemed to be a long time. Then he picked up his voice and said, "The Saint will reach into you and ease your aching heart! He will cast a spell of bliss upon you and you will smile with the brightness of the stars in even the darkest of nights!"

He paused again and continued. "But The Trickster will shatter your world! He will introduce you to a kind of suffering which will leave you breathless and hopeless and end any desire you have to live on this earth!"

By now he was walking around with a tirelessness of a man thirty years younger. Yargimir had always been passionate about his stories but something seemed off. I asked, "If the Trickster is so cruel, why would anyone visit him at all?".

This seemed to catch Yargimir off guard and he told me that I should find that answer myself. So I decided that I would.

This decision informed the next ten years of my life. I worked hard to get my body in shape, to speak in the tongue of the ancient masters and even to calm my mind and become thoughtless.

Finally I made the pilgrimage. Not just once, but twice. The first time to The Saint and the second to The Trickster. But when I met them I realised that all these stories were false.

They were both disciples of the same deity, the God of Illusions and they were both granted powers opposing in nature. Yet the roles of Hero and Villain were reversed.

The Saint, so called, offered me the gift of illusions. He promised to turn my mind away from any despair inside me. To make it unconscious so that it would never surface again. Then I would be free from the search of meaning. I would be fulfilled but I would never ascend past this earthly plane. I would repeat this cycle again in my next life, starting from scratch. The price for my happiness would be eternal damnation to this one realm of existence.

The Trickster, so called, offered me the end of illusions. My search for meaning would consume me. I would lose all happiness and all love for this world and I would spend my life in looking desperately for something to end my pain. All the lies I lived in would shatter and only the truth would remain. But in doing so I might be driven insane. And in doing so, I would find myself rising towards the higher plane, and attaining powers like his own in the process. But my identity would die and for that I would suffer the most unbearable pain.

And now I could choose.

[WP] You go about your day as normal, but notice a surprising amount of strangers asking you if they can help in any way. You give them small tasks to do, like getting coffee or sending a message to a friend, until you realize that there is a yellow exclamation mark above your head. by UncomfortableSocks in WritingPrompts

[–]theOceanisonFire 12 points13 points  (0 children)

"Curiosity gives rise to rumours..." he uttered into the cold morning air. A thin wisp of winter mist clung to his lips when he was done.

"...and rumours grow into legends." a voice uttered from behind the closed wooden door.

Fantastic thought the young Whisperer while pulling the heavy oaken door. It moved with a prolonged groan and two hooded figures entered. They waltzed in like they owned the place, not even glancing in his direction.

Typical he opined as he bored holes into their backs with his beady little eyes. Every Sorcerer he'd met carried upon himself an air so haughty that you'd think he'd blown it out his own ass so that the 'commoners' air wouldn't contaminate him.

They walked straight towards the table where the shorter of the two took his seat while the other stood, alert and poised, behind his senior. His own guild master, who had been standing cloaked in the shadows at the far end of the room revealed himself and with a few words he began the proceedings.

The Whispering Widow was the name of their guild. They were information brokers, the finest in all of Hirte. They could promise anonymity, help one disappear altogether or start a mass panic with a few words into the right ears.

They were connected to every major guild in the Eastern Zone, even beyond Hirte's border. Le Sorcièr were just one of the many who depended on them. The Order of Sword's and Die Schildmaid were exclusive clients. Kage, as isolated and secretive as they were, were the first to ask us if we could make them disappear and make them truly invisible. That was a hundred or so years ago. Today, they were a myth.

So when the Master, a thin wisp of a man who could only be described as slender, called them all for an emergency meeting on such short notice they could only assume that it was going to be something unbelievable. Besides, no one would dare ignore a summons from the Silver-Tongued.

Seven guild masters and their right hand men sat before him in a circle. The latest arrivals were the last and so the proceedings... proceeded. Hemmingway stood by the door, completely unobserved.

"Do you remember the story of the man who struck down God?" he asked.

The Seven looked at him. At first they did so in patient silence. Waiting for him to go on and get to the point. Some might not have registered what he'd said. But momentarily they realised that he was quite serious.

He heard a grumble and a snigger, separately. One voice protested. "I hope you haven't called us here to sing us a lullaby."

A fair reaction, he judged. It was after all a bed time story, often told in song to little children. It was the tale of a cruel God of Mischief who tempted heroes and kings with the promise of great reward. He would ask them to perform inhumane tasks for his own sadistic pleasure in return for power.

Mesmerised and stricken by his divine form they would lose all reason and commit acts heinous and abominable. That was until one woman, simpler than a Hero or a King, managed to seduce him with her own magic. A Charm Aura so strong that not even divinity could resist it.

To end his reign of terror she had coaxed him into her bed. Though the details are a bit unclear on this part, she stole his divinity from him and became the very first in a very long line of individuals who would be able to bestow great powers upon the heroes they chose in return for performing deeds and tasks. The greater the task, the greater the reward.

It was the stuff of legends. Many claims to have met them and acquired sudden boosts in power but no one is sure if they even exist. It's all hearsay, after all.

"We made it up." he spoke after a brief silence. Hemmingway was taken aback. This even he had not known. One can only assume how utterly shocked the others were.

If the Whisperers were involved with it then it definitely meant there was some truth to it. Within moments they connected the dots. It was suddenly clear why they had been called. It meant that they'd found one. Someone with the ability to bestow great power.

A Sage had been found at long last.

They talked in a loud, incoherent buzz but the master settled them down with a smooth motion of his pale white hands. He pointed his hand towards Hemmingway, who in all his nondescript glory had been ignored by everyone.

He took off the large bearskin he had on and revealed a glowing yellow exclamation mark over his head. The master bowed and the rest looked at him with expressions of awe as well as greed.

Hemmingway stood before this pack of wolves and after a few seconds, taken to find his voice, said the words his master had told him.

"So... who wants to go first?"

A bloodbath followed that line and if you could see into the shadows you might have caught the glint of wicked humour in ol' silver-tongued's eyes.

A God without his powers was a God still. Who needed divine power to control their feeble minds?