Welcome to the Post! This is a [PI] Prompt Inspired post which means it's a response to a prompt here on /r/WritingPrompts or /r/promptoftheday.

Reminder:

>Be civil in any feedback provided in the comments.

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

I've loved every sentence of this. My favourite bits are the internal dialogues, where he debates the reasons why either scenario (Alzheimer's or magic) are plausible or implausible for his current situation. Reminds me of characters in other media discussing how find out you're in a dream against your will.

Author Note: Hey friends! So this is turning into a full-on novel I'm writing for fun/ practice. I want to see where I can take this story. I'll keep posting "Parts" as I write them. I welcome any feedback since I might try to get this published when it's done. Keep in mind it's a "first draft" and so I suspect I'll make a mistake with the plot here or there. But overall I think it's turning into a pretty cool story!

Thank you so very much for reading and interacting with this writing prompt response. It has been so amazing seeing all the wonderful comments. Hope you're having a good day, Happy Holidays!

-Midnight_medusa ;)

Oh okay gotcha.

Hrnn.. what region?

United States?

Really? Well im from Illinois and ive never heard anyone use the term M' Freebrams

No no, its a Kentucky expressions

I see

Damnnnnnn this shit is so good.

While I know it's not sensitive, my first viewing of this particular clip was not on a public platform, so I have no idea where it'd be available. I can try tho.

These tanks seem remarkably similar to an M-1 Abrams. And yet you call them... M' Freebrams?

Yes, it's a... Regional dialect.

One of them went to sleep and still hasn’t woken up. It’s been two days…

do you have a link for that?

Good lord what is happening in there?

Tank warfare.

T-.. Tank Warfare, at this time of year, in this part of the country, localized entirely within your bedroom?

Yes.

M-may i see it?

Yes

The hero was truly a veteran of his work, defeating most every challenge he has been out against. Did he always come out unscathed? We're the evil plans always stopped absolutely? Did he win every fight? No, but he has always pushed further than his peers regardless of how hopeless it all seemed. Where others saw unending misery, unbeatable, unable to be fought, wholly unconquerable, he saw the reason to push forward, to look for the light at the tunnel, to find the stars in the blackest of night. Now, ashen haired, wrinkled, and a slowly failing body, he is once again requested to save them again.

"No." Was the cold, emotionless response.

"What? But... You can't say no!" Panicked the office workers who handle sending distress signals.

The elderly hero took a seat in his well used couch and gestured his guests to sit wherever they please.

"That so? Well... Who will stop me? You've been content to never push anyone to my level, so now what will you do since I now have a fully understanding that I can simply refuse your orders?" He didn't speak with care nor any true politeness, he simply spoke what had been on his mind for the last several decades it had been apparent that he would have no successor.

"We... We do have one, but he's erratic, and arrogant, but you're level headed and don't make mistakes--" Before the cowardly office workers could finish his sentence the hero bellowed out a hearty laugh.

"I won't make mistakes?! I'm not arrogant?! Not erratic?! Do you even know who I am?! I've been doing this since before you were even a tickle in your father's undropped balls, kid, you may have given this new guy power but he never earned it, even if he matches my power he will never, EVER come even close to my skill if all he needs to do is swing a wild haymaker or two!" The office workers shaking fingers pressed a button that had yet gone unnoticed, and moments later a much younger hero appeared, barely 19, barely any chance to grow facial hair.

His body was toned and powerful, bulging muscles, his speed and strength unmatched.

"You called?" The arrogant youth spoke to the horrified office workers, who had barely noticed what had transpired.

"This is my... Successor? All that power and he can't even use it. Say, kid, you know any fighting styles? Any real experience besides swinging like a blinded dumbass?" The youthful hero ignored the veteran and approached the two office workers, sitting stock still from fear.

"This the guy you two said could end me? This... Frail old man? Ha!" The young man turned to size up his opponent.

Before anyone could possibly say another word, the youth attempted to strike the veteran but was blocked and parried perfectly.

"Wha-- How the hell did you do that?! You couldn't even track me when I came in!" Screamed out the immature fighter.

"Some things you can only learn by kicking the shit kicked out of you, and I am about to teach you a whole fuckin' lot of new things." The veteran no longer spoke emotionless or apathetically, rather with cold, cruel intention, the urge to maim slicking his words like poison.

For hours the two 'fought', the veteran blocking, dodging, and parrying every strike thrown at him, the youth hardly capable of tanking even a small strike. Eventually they both stopped, and the youth began puking blood.

"Wha--???" Blood was pouring from his body in several areas, most concerningly his mouth and head.

"The fact you can't even close a fist anymore means I caused nerve damage, the blood means internal bleeding, and it being mixed with your stomach fluids just means it's much worse than regular internal bleeding, which you also have, severely. And those spasms you've been experiencing the last half hour you tried power through? Blood is leaking into your skull, and your inability to see straight or clear is from loss of blood pressure. Your wobbly legs means either brain or spine damage, but judging from the fact you can still feel them I'm gonna go with brain. You no doubt have no kidney on the right-- wait... Yeah, your right side. Your liver is no doubt shot as well, and that shallow breathing? Collapsed lung. If you were anyone else you'd be dead, not because you're tougher than most, but because I need a successor and you're the closest I have." The words were factual, not cruel or evil, simply existing to state the current state of things.

The office workers stood and called an ambulance for the youth and promptly left without saying another word. The veteran looked out his window, wondering why he allowed himself to be the only one anyone can rely on, and more so why his friends never made it to their 40's before passing but he has managed to live to 96 and have no true major affects of aging.

The End.

"Is that... an M1 Abrams?"

Yes

May I see it?

Yes

I kinda imagine the juggernaut hit marker sound effect from the older call of duty games

Thank you

OMG I love this!

The next day the newspapers printed their discovery. Like-minded adventurers had been bested. Misty eyed children sat in mute wonder. Chronically sleep deprived eyed the bed with covetous thoughts swirling inside their heads. Savvy business people plotted ways to exploit the bed’s properties for the purpose of maximizing profit. Scientists longed for a more in-depth evaluation.

Competitors, fueled by an endless lust for money, would not be able to compete with such a bed. If even one bed existed that could guarantee a good night’s sleep, and deliver on said guarantee, it would doom all other beds as second best. This was bad for business, and investors would begin to lose faith if they believed their product was sub-par.

Mattress producers began to scheme. They plotted late at night, in dark, abandoned buildings, and sometimes even underground. They united against a common threat and vowed to destroy the very thing they were meant to be selling to their loyal customers. A good night’s sleep every night.

Three days after being discovered, at approximately 2am on Feb. 20th 2014, more than 20 masked men entered a secured showroom containing the magical bed. The men were armed with road flares and canisters of diesel fuel. After 37 hours of fighting back the flames the entire showroom was nothing but ash. Mattress producers quietly rejoiced from the shadows. They had successfully bought themselves a few more years. The world wasn’t ready for a good nights sleep, and they would keep burning as many magical mattresses as it took to keep things that way.

Fevered

A mansion party in the heart of Burlington was way out of our usual weight class, but there was no way we were going to turn down the chance. We’d made a pact to stick close, at least until we got the lay of the land. It was nothing more than words on the wind though. I’d no sooner dropped my keys in the fishbowl, when Laurel had accepted a pile of white with her nose and jaunted off towards the source of the music echoing in the foyer.

I did my best to keep up, and gained some ground when Laurel broke into a boogie where the hallway décor changed from paintings to people, but it wasn’t good enough. She slithered into the press of bodies that made up the dance floor and disappeared behind a wall of tight vests, thigh high dresses, and go-go boots. This kind of party didn’t know the meaning of shy though, and I wasn’t given a moment to worry about her breaking our promise. The first drink of the night hit my palm by way of a caramel skinned beauty who wore a wide smile lined by glittering red lips and a brilliant dress comprised of every hue of blue.

We weaved some playful banter between two more drinks then she worked the same magic as Laurel and positioned us beneath the mirror ball so we could bathe in its kaleidoscope of lights. There in the center, where the electric heat of bodies becomes a sizzle, everyone is your dance partner. Some people are embarrassed by the idea of free love, but I love it, and that haven where flower power had been given miracle gro is where I get to live it.

I danced for ages, until Avalon’s ‘Venus’ fumbled it’s way through the speakers, which I took as a sign to catch a breather. I didn’t rush it. The fishbowl was making it’s rounds, and I watched with a smile as Blue dug her hand in. There was nothing random about what came out. She flashed my keys at me with a wink. She was barely under my arm when a sound rippled through the room. It was familiar enough to make everyone pause. It repeated itself, but louder and closer. Unmistakable. A scream.

All eyes went to the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A lady slid into the opening, covered with blood. She tried to corner but faltered. Her boots weren’t made for the maneuver. I made it one step in her direction when a tiger tackled her. Up until then I’d filed the rumors of exotic pets in my mind under lies built on lies. Despite the tearing of flesh and gurgling of blood my mind struggled to parse something so out of place.

Through the cacophony of chaos, Blues voice pulled me from the shock. A single word, then action. Run. I didn’t get far before an incessant tug of my arm slowed me. I failed to shake it off then glanced back into wide teary eyes. Blue pointed at her left boot, specifically, the odd angle beneath it. I tried again to pull away, then she dangled the keys in front of me. It clicked and I scooped her up and made for the threshold.

She watched behind and did the screaming while my stomach did the sinking as the crowd around us moved faster and farther away. Somehow, we made the front door, the stone stairs, and the car without being turned into meat ribbons. I dropped her in front of my Pacer and she passed me the keys. We were in with the engine running when I remembered Laurel.

Blue yelled about it being the wrong way, but I pulled us up to the steps anyway. I had one hand on the door handle, contemplating joining a man who had charged up the steps with a revolver when the gore covered tiger barreled out. The man squeezed off two shots before being mauled. They tumbled down the stairs together until they met with my bumper. An instant later the beast’s paws slammed down on the hood, and its eye’s crept up to meet mine.

I’d always imagined I would have a story I could tell with my chest thrust out.

I sensed Blue move the shifter. I pushed the pedal down, reversing away from the monster, its claws raking lines in the paint.

I’d never imagined the story would be whispered when I entered a room, punctuated with words like ‘yellow’ and ‘coward’.

Blue did the honors again on the shifter. My hands shook as I turned the wheel and gunned it down the main drive. I didn’t bother looking in the rear-view mirror.

796/800

​

i love crit!

/r/dmonrth for old stuff havent updated in a long time though.

yeah, I didn’t think of SmallVille here

Oh shit.

He found us.

Shut it down, shut everything d-

Well yes and no. It was wrong, sure, but his dad was trying to help him avoid getting bullied.

I remember the day the boy's in the schoolyard called me a villain. They said it because I liked wearing dark clothing, and the shadows of my minions wrapped themselves around me. They said it because, the only friends I'd ever had were the strange, mysterious monsters that swam like wraiths through the air, cutting darkness into the very foundation of the universe. Of course I was angry, but that would never excuse attacking another student.

"If you really believe me to be a villain," I started calmly, "Than accost me! Attack me directly, and you will see, that I utterly fail to demean myself to your level. I will not attack back, I will not even deign it upon myself to use defense. Well go on then, go on!" Yet when they refused, I continued, "See? Not even you believe me to be evil! If you truly believed it to be such, within that moment, you would've laid me flat on my ass; yet you didn't," At the time, I should've realized the folly of provoking teenagers.

After I got out of the nurse's office, I was back to standing strong. I had proven my point, as I'd failed to attack them at all. When I got back into class, it was with a smirk on my face. In every way, I was superior to them, and their lowly bullying. Perhaps if I didn't already have minions, I might've thought about taking them along.

It was my sixteenth birthday, that I was gifted with a suit of my own. It came from my Grandpa, who'd been a supervillain in his own time. I didn't approve of his methods, or his allegiance, but the suit was rather splendidly done, and fitting of my countenance. I thanked him dearly, and then he tried to kill me. Mom didn't let him come over after that (I still visited in secret).

Dad was the one that got me the cape, it was designed after his superhero identity, and gave a light homage, whilst still being dark, with beautiful blood-red streaks along the sides. When I thanked him, he didn't try to kill me, and I was mildly disappointed; he didn't even think me worth the effort, or perhaps I still had a high ladder to climb.

Graduation came, and I finally got to make my debut. It was during the valedictorian speech (which, of course, was mine), that the gigantic mech robot descended. Only moments were needed to put on my suit, and my wraith-like minions flew from the sky ahead. They had been rising in numbers after I'd looted the graveyard (and why nobody had told me that they actually kept corpses there, I'll never understand; I didn't figure it out until grandpa). Before the mech could attack any of the innocent civilians, my army rained from above, attacking multiple different angles of the monster. Then, with a flip of a switch, my jet boots activated, and I soared forwards. Every superhero should have the finesse that I do, but sadly, they all rely too much on their abilities.

As I flew over the monster, I powered up my favorite superpower, the one that I'd gotten from mom and dad. They called it the Laser Ray, I call it the Demonic Wave. As my palm raises, dark tendrils shoot outwards, mimicking a laser as they slam into the gigantic robot. That, combined with my phantoms, keeps the destruction from hurting any of the people down below. Mom and dad are standing below, each of them giving me a thumb-up. I smile inside of my mask, before scolding myself. I'm not allowed to look happy in-front of them; they know this and accept it.

To my surprise, the people actually like me. Unfortunately for me, this means that I need to change my entire strategy. Mom and dad had grilled me in the publicity of hero life, and I knew that if the people enjoyed my presence, I would need to change the way that I market.

It's with an annoyed sigh that I get hugged by my parents, and even more annoyed sigh when I have to confront the people with microphones. Life...Just decided to become a whole lot harder.

Just realized i mistyped i meant

"When he said he was a god of war"

He sounds despicable

Thanks I appreciate the comment. I never really know how my writing is come across so it is great to hear. :)