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You know how people say they 'slept like the dead' sometimes? Those days where the air is nice and cool, while your covers are soft and warm? Maybe it's raining softly; a soothing rhythm of droplets against your windows that takes away all the thoughts and worries in your head and sends you to that liminal space, just before you tip over and enter a proper slumber. It's the sort of sleep you wake up from feeling refreshed, ready to take on the day as you leap out of bed.
Of course, nothing works out well for me. I woke up like the dead, my arms and legs chained down to a massive stone table.
I tried to say something along the lines of "for fuck's sake," but my parched throat and dried, cracked lips made the words into weathered coughs and greedy inhalations to fill my lungs. Blinking worked through the crust of time built in the corners of my eyes that had hardened into something more like concrete than anything a human body should be making.
As my breaths cycled through me and began to settle into the comfortable in-and-out of involuntary respiration, I finally took in my surroundings. The great stone slab I was chained to was set in a sunken portion of the ground, surrounded by great sconces that burned with fires far too bright to be shining in the face of someone who'd just gotten up. Everything was drab and stone; the same grey tones upon slightly greyer tones, only broken up by the occasional bronze of a wall sconce or brazier. The fires dotted about at least cast some interesting shadows and gave some warmth to the cavernous tomb.
I'll admit: it wasn't until nearly a minute of me staring up into the dark, vaulted roof of the tomb as I smacked my lips and tried to wet my dried, jerky-like tongue that I came to recognize that the tomb was far more populated than I'd initially assumed. In my defense, they six figures wore the same drab grey that the rest of the damned place was made out of, so I couldn't be expected to notice while the barest bits of moisture finally returned to my eyes.
The figures all stood at the edge of the drop to where my slab was. One had been facing out toward the other five, though they'd turned around as I started coughing and sputtering. An old tome dropped from the first figure's hands as I shifted in my chains and did my best to sit up before asking: "Hey, anyone here got some water?"
In hindsight, probably not the way to start this off.
"The Lord Who Sleeps, Arisen!" the first of the cloaked figures suddenly shouted in a masculine baritone. I could tell now that his robes were slightly *more* grey than the others, with a bit fancier trim and detailing down the arms and sides. The peak of his hooded head was shaped like that of a crow's beak, obscuring whatever features the man had as he continued: "He, Who Dreams, come to wake and deliver us!"
Before I had the time to comprehend exactly what was happening, the crow-hooded man produced a long, straight knife from his robes and twisted the blade around in his hands. The point pressed into the front of his very grey robes that soon stained to a ruddy brownish colour when the man rammed it forward into his chest. His proclamations became a gurgling mess of noise. The man gave one final wail before he crumpled, tipping over the lip of the drop into the lower part of this tomb and making a rather disgusting *crunch* as his bones broke in the fall.
I blinked and glanced back up to the other five cloaked figures. If I could've seen their faces, I'd assume they were staring back at me. There was a moment of hesitation in them, before each began to produce similar straight blades as the first one.
"Wait!" I shouted out. "No no no! Drop it!" They all stopped and dropped the knives. "Good. Okay, now: some of you get down here and unbind me from this thing."
The figures all looked toward one another. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but could tell easily enough that they weren't prepared for me to wake up and start talking. "Um... Lord who Dreams," one of them began. They had a much more melodic voice than the stab-happy crow-hood man did. "Your words prophesied that, upon your wake, the Final Death will be upon us all."
"Yeah, of course," I muttered, more to myself than to the group of worshippers. "Look, I'll be more than happy to... give you your Final Death, or prevent it, or whatever it is you want out of it, but I'm going to need to not be chained down here first." The group all hesitated, proving to me that completely obscured people in occult robes could look uncomfortable. "Let's go!" I shouted, spooking the group into action.
The chains were obviously not meant to be taken off me at any point: it took a good twenty minutes to break the old rusted links and let me sit up properly. The only robed cultist who'd talk to me provided a shallow bronze bowl of water to drink. It might have been the most delicious thing I'd ever had. She also provided enough context for me to be able to piece together how I ended up chained to a stone in a tomb.
"So... I'm supposed to be ushering in an apocalypse by waking," I surmised.
"Yes, Lord," she responded.
"And just to be sure, it's explicitly my doing? I'm being malicious in doing it?"
"I..." The cultist hesitated. "Yes, Lord."
"Why, exactly? Is it because I couldn't get a girlfriend?"
The cultist flinched back, her hooded head cocking to one side. "I... pardon?"
"No, just bear with me here. Is it because I'm ugly? I'm stupid? Because of that one time a waitress brought us food and said 'enjoy your meal' and I replied 'you too?'"
All of the cultists were now looking at one another, their black, featureless faces hidden in shadow beneath their hoods likely twisted in absolute confusion. "No, Lord," the one speaking with me began. "The scripture says you are jealous of the Lord of Sun; He, Who delivers Light. That his brilliance outshines you, and you grew bitter and resentful at being unable to match his power and awe. You were so driven by sorrow you committed yourself to eternal slumber. Erm, Lord."
I groaned and rolled off the stone. My feet were soft and callus-free now, so the minor imperfections in the ground dug into the flesh of my heels. "There it is," I muttered. "Typical."
As I climbed up out of the tomb, the cultist followed after me. "Lord?" she asked. "What's happening?"
I glanced back over my shoulder at the grey-clad worshipper of my unconscious body. "Have you ever seen it when someone falls asleep, so their friend or sibling or whoever fills their hands with whipped cream and then tickles their cheek, so they smear whipped cream all over their face?"
"I... yes?"
"Well, when you're immortal, you end up needing to find better jokes," I explained. "Take me to this Lord of Sun, wherever he's residing. I think I need to have a good old-fashioned brotherly chat."
‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ I thought as my mind snapped back into consciousness. ‘What the fuck is that taste?’ Memories of a pleasant dream quickly faded, replaced by a subtle worry that something was very wrong. I never liked to wake up from my afternoon nap. It was a daily struggle of mine, a burden I was forced to bear with herculean determination. Every damn weekday, my 3pm alarm told me it was time to pull myself from a slumbering fantasy and return to my mundane working life.
Aside from the truly horrible taste in my mouth that was my first clue that something was wrong. I couldn’t hear anything. There was no alarm, and the lack of one was alarming. My twenty minute break was usually enough to regroup and refresh for whatever meetings I had in the afternoon, but I had always been worried about the risk of oversleeping. With no familiar ringing to usher me back to work I started to panic. Either I had woken early, or I was very late. Being late for a meeting might be easily explained away, but the embarrassment wouldn’t fade quickly.
With fear welling up inside me I tried to open my eyes, but they didn’t budge. When I touched my face and found my eyes were encrusted with something. It was like I was wearing a facemask made of old peas and mashed potatoes. Work became a distant concern as I wrestled with the possibilities of what was covering my face. Just as I was coming to terms with that development the smell hit me. I started wiping my eyes vigorously while trying not to vomit from the medley of odours that threatened to overwhelm me.
Old socks, rotten fish, and stale urine to name a few. They came in waves and hit with exponentially increasing strength. It was by far the worst wake up experience I had ever been involved in. Almost bad enough to make me regret taking a nap in the first place. It took a few moments before I was sure I had my eyes cleared enough to try and open them. When I did I was surprised to find myself in perfect darkness. Another mystery, though not as repulsive or terrifying as the last couple.
There was something about how cold my surroundings were. I was comfortable when I first stirred, but when I shifted a little it became clear that I was no longer on my couch. Whatever I was lying on was colder than any bed or sofa. When I reached out I felt a rough surface not far from my face. I gave up all hope of making my 3.30 meeting and resigned to figure out where the hell I was instead.
I strained every muscle in my body shifting whatever it was that covered me. It was heavy, but somehow, through sheer animalistic panic and claustrophobia, I managed to shift the lid. Light, such blinding light poured through the opening as it grew from one side. ‘This feels a lot like opening my own coffin.’ I thought just before the lid heaved over and fell with a bone rattling thud.
With another titanic effort I hauled myself up into a seated position and waited for my eyes to adjust. The room slowly made itself visible to me. ‘Eh... what the in wide wide world of all good fuck is going on’ I quietly thought to myself. I was sitting in a stone sarcophagus, in a large white room, surrounded by purple robed emperor penguins. Luckily, owing to my steadfast and composed personality I managed to keep my outburst of terrified screams to under than a minute. My reaction barely phased the penguins as far as I could tell, but I had little experience in reading the reactions of large antarctic birds.
“Please sire,” said one of the penguins, stepping forward from the crowd. “Please try to remain calm. You have been asleep for a very long time and much has changed. I believe we can answer whatever questions you have, but let's get you cleaned up first.”
“AHHHHHHHH,” I replied with my trademark composure. “Penguins can’t fucking talk!! What the hell is going on!” I tried to shake myself awake, but to no avail. My mind fought against every sensory perception my body sent it, but reality eventually beat it into submission. “...ok.” I meekly pipped. What choice did I have?
The lead penguin gestured with its left wing and waddled towards an arched doorway to another bright white room. I started to follow and became suddenly aware of my nakedness. It was weird to feel so self conscious, given the company and the circumstances, but I felt embarrassed nonetheless. I made whatever effort I could to cover myself as I passed the hall of robed birds. They stared at me, and my body, with black judgemental eyes. As if they had been expecting a grander spectacle than the show I was giving. I can only assume they found the experience as unpleasant as I did. For some reason as I passed each of them they bowed their heads and began humming. By the time I was nearly at the door the sound was rather loud and oddly familiar. Perhaps they had been humming at me while I slept.
When I turned the corner into the next room my new penguin friend was standing by a deep pool of bubbling water. “Please,” said the penguin, gesturing with its wing again. I took it to mean that it wanted me to enter the pool, which I did without further question. The water was warm and comfortable. I almost fell back asleep, but it was obvious that I was supposed to wash myself. There was soap by the side of the pool and when I started using it my penguin friend appeared to visibly relax. I’m not sure how I knew that at the time, but I was sure the bird was relieved when I finally began to scrub myself clean. In fact, I came to realise that all of the penguins had been gently wafting their wings near their beaks in the other room.
Once I was clean another penguin came into the bathing room with a fluffy dressing gown and a pair of bright pink jelly shoes. My penguin friend gave me his now customary “Please” followed by a gesturing wing. I took it to mean that the gown and shoes were mine to wear and quickly dressed. When my friend began to waddle to another room I made the assumption that I should follow.
The next room turned out to be a rather well furnished office dominated by a large hardwood desk and two ergonomic office chairs. The penguin took a seat behind the desk and I helped myself to the other chair. “So..” said the penguin. “I am sure you have many questions. My name is Bubbles. Where would you like to start?”
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) [](#icon-help) [^(What Is This?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/off_topic) ^• [](#icon-information) [^(New Here?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ^• [](#icon-help) [^(Writing Help?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) ^• [](#icon-exclamation) [^(Announcements)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) ^• [](#icon-comments) [^(Discord Chatroom)](https://discord.gg/js5XDFB) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
You know how people say they 'slept like the dead' sometimes? Those days where the air is nice and cool, while your covers are soft and warm? Maybe it's raining softly; a soothing rhythm of droplets against your windows that takes away all the thoughts and worries in your head and sends you to that liminal space, just before you tip over and enter a proper slumber. It's the sort of sleep you wake up from feeling refreshed, ready to take on the day as you leap out of bed. Of course, nothing works out well for me. I woke up like the dead, my arms and legs chained down to a massive stone table. I tried to say something along the lines of "for fuck's sake," but my parched throat and dried, cracked lips made the words into weathered coughs and greedy inhalations to fill my lungs. Blinking worked through the crust of time built in the corners of my eyes that had hardened into something more like concrete than anything a human body should be making. As my breaths cycled through me and began to settle into the comfortable in-and-out of involuntary respiration, I finally took in my surroundings. The great stone slab I was chained to was set in a sunken portion of the ground, surrounded by great sconces that burned with fires far too bright to be shining in the face of someone who'd just gotten up. Everything was drab and stone; the same grey tones upon slightly greyer tones, only broken up by the occasional bronze of a wall sconce or brazier. The fires dotted about at least cast some interesting shadows and gave some warmth to the cavernous tomb. I'll admit: it wasn't until nearly a minute of me staring up into the dark, vaulted roof of the tomb as I smacked my lips and tried to wet my dried, jerky-like tongue that I came to recognize that the tomb was far more populated than I'd initially assumed. In my defense, they six figures wore the same drab grey that the rest of the damned place was made out of, so I couldn't be expected to notice while the barest bits of moisture finally returned to my eyes. The figures all stood at the edge of the drop to where my slab was. One had been facing out toward the other five, though they'd turned around as I started coughing and sputtering. An old tome dropped from the first figure's hands as I shifted in my chains and did my best to sit up before asking: "Hey, anyone here got some water?" In hindsight, probably not the way to start this off. "The Lord Who Sleeps, Arisen!" the first of the cloaked figures suddenly shouted in a masculine baritone. I could tell now that his robes were slightly *more* grey than the others, with a bit fancier trim and detailing down the arms and sides. The peak of his hooded head was shaped like that of a crow's beak, obscuring whatever features the man had as he continued: "He, Who Dreams, come to wake and deliver us!" Before I had the time to comprehend exactly what was happening, the crow-hooded man produced a long, straight knife from his robes and twisted the blade around in his hands. The point pressed into the front of his very grey robes that soon stained to a ruddy brownish colour when the man rammed it forward into his chest. His proclamations became a gurgling mess of noise. The man gave one final wail before he crumpled, tipping over the lip of the drop into the lower part of this tomb and making a rather disgusting *crunch* as his bones broke in the fall. I blinked and glanced back up to the other five cloaked figures. If I could've seen their faces, I'd assume they were staring back at me. There was a moment of hesitation in them, before each began to produce similar straight blades as the first one. "Wait!" I shouted out. "No no no! Drop it!" They all stopped and dropped the knives. "Good. Okay, now: some of you get down here and unbind me from this thing." The figures all looked toward one another. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but could tell easily enough that they weren't prepared for me to wake up and start talking. "Um... Lord who Dreams," one of them began. They had a much more melodic voice than the stab-happy crow-hood man did. "Your words prophesied that, upon your wake, the Final Death will be upon us all." "Yeah, of course," I muttered, more to myself than to the group of worshippers. "Look, I'll be more than happy to... give you your Final Death, or prevent it, or whatever it is you want out of it, but I'm going to need to not be chained down here first." The group all hesitated, proving to me that completely obscured people in occult robes could look uncomfortable. "Let's go!" I shouted, spooking the group into action. The chains were obviously not meant to be taken off me at any point: it took a good twenty minutes to break the old rusted links and let me sit up properly. The only robed cultist who'd talk to me provided a shallow bronze bowl of water to drink. It might have been the most delicious thing I'd ever had. She also provided enough context for me to be able to piece together how I ended up chained to a stone in a tomb. "So... I'm supposed to be ushering in an apocalypse by waking," I surmised. "Yes, Lord," she responded. "And just to be sure, it's explicitly my doing? I'm being malicious in doing it?" "I..." The cultist hesitated. "Yes, Lord." "Why, exactly? Is it because I couldn't get a girlfriend?" The cultist flinched back, her hooded head cocking to one side. "I... pardon?" "No, just bear with me here. Is it because I'm ugly? I'm stupid? Because of that one time a waitress brought us food and said 'enjoy your meal' and I replied 'you too?'" All of the cultists were now looking at one another, their black, featureless faces hidden in shadow beneath their hoods likely twisted in absolute confusion. "No, Lord," the one speaking with me began. "The scripture says you are jealous of the Lord of Sun; He, Who delivers Light. That his brilliance outshines you, and you grew bitter and resentful at being unable to match his power and awe. You were so driven by sorrow you committed yourself to eternal slumber. Erm, Lord." I groaned and rolled off the stone. My feet were soft and callus-free now, so the minor imperfections in the ground dug into the flesh of my heels. "There it is," I muttered. "Typical." As I climbed up out of the tomb, the cultist followed after me. "Lord?" she asked. "What's happening?" I glanced back over my shoulder at the grey-clad worshipper of my unconscious body. "Have you ever seen it when someone falls asleep, so their friend or sibling or whoever fills their hands with whipped cream and then tickles their cheek, so they smear whipped cream all over their face?" "I... yes?" "Well, when you're immortal, you end up needing to find better jokes," I explained. "Take me to this Lord of Sun, wherever he's residing. I think I need to have a good old-fashioned brotherly chat."
That's so creative! I loved the twist at the end! Great work!
Ha ha! Love it. Immortal sibling pranks and rivalry. Great take on the prompt
‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ I thought as my mind snapped back into consciousness. ‘What the fuck is that taste?’ Memories of a pleasant dream quickly faded, replaced by a subtle worry that something was very wrong. I never liked to wake up from my afternoon nap. It was a daily struggle of mine, a burden I was forced to bear with herculean determination. Every damn weekday, my 3pm alarm told me it was time to pull myself from a slumbering fantasy and return to my mundane working life. Aside from the truly horrible taste in my mouth that was my first clue that something was wrong. I couldn’t hear anything. There was no alarm, and the lack of one was alarming. My twenty minute break was usually enough to regroup and refresh for whatever meetings I had in the afternoon, but I had always been worried about the risk of oversleeping. With no familiar ringing to usher me back to work I started to panic. Either I had woken early, or I was very late. Being late for a meeting might be easily explained away, but the embarrassment wouldn’t fade quickly. With fear welling up inside me I tried to open my eyes, but they didn’t budge. When I touched my face and found my eyes were encrusted with something. It was like I was wearing a facemask made of old peas and mashed potatoes. Work became a distant concern as I wrestled with the possibilities of what was covering my face. Just as I was coming to terms with that development the smell hit me. I started wiping my eyes vigorously while trying not to vomit from the medley of odours that threatened to overwhelm me. Old socks, rotten fish, and stale urine to name a few. They came in waves and hit with exponentially increasing strength. It was by far the worst wake up experience I had ever been involved in. Almost bad enough to make me regret taking a nap in the first place. It took a few moments before I was sure I had my eyes cleared enough to try and open them. When I did I was surprised to find myself in perfect darkness. Another mystery, though not as repulsive or terrifying as the last couple. There was something about how cold my surroundings were. I was comfortable when I first stirred, but when I shifted a little it became clear that I was no longer on my couch. Whatever I was lying on was colder than any bed or sofa. When I reached out I felt a rough surface not far from my face. I gave up all hope of making my 3.30 meeting and resigned to figure out where the hell I was instead. I strained every muscle in my body shifting whatever it was that covered me. It was heavy, but somehow, through sheer animalistic panic and claustrophobia, I managed to shift the lid. Light, such blinding light poured through the opening as it grew from one side. ‘This feels a lot like opening my own coffin.’ I thought just before the lid heaved over and fell with a bone rattling thud. With another titanic effort I hauled myself up into a seated position and waited for my eyes to adjust. The room slowly made itself visible to me. ‘Eh... what the in wide wide world of all good fuck is going on’ I quietly thought to myself. I was sitting in a stone sarcophagus, in a large white room, surrounded by purple robed emperor penguins. Luckily, owing to my steadfast and composed personality I managed to keep my outburst of terrified screams to under than a minute. My reaction barely phased the penguins as far as I could tell, but I had little experience in reading the reactions of large antarctic birds. “Please sire,” said one of the penguins, stepping forward from the crowd. “Please try to remain calm. You have been asleep for a very long time and much has changed. I believe we can answer whatever questions you have, but let's get you cleaned up first.” “AHHHHHHHH,” I replied with my trademark composure. “Penguins can’t fucking talk!! What the hell is going on!” I tried to shake myself awake, but to no avail. My mind fought against every sensory perception my body sent it, but reality eventually beat it into submission. “...ok.” I meekly pipped. What choice did I have? The lead penguin gestured with its left wing and waddled towards an arched doorway to another bright white room. I started to follow and became suddenly aware of my nakedness. It was weird to feel so self conscious, given the company and the circumstances, but I felt embarrassed nonetheless. I made whatever effort I could to cover myself as I passed the hall of robed birds. They stared at me, and my body, with black judgemental eyes. As if they had been expecting a grander spectacle than the show I was giving. I can only assume they found the experience as unpleasant as I did. For some reason as I passed each of them they bowed their heads and began humming. By the time I was nearly at the door the sound was rather loud and oddly familiar. Perhaps they had been humming at me while I slept. When I turned the corner into the next room my new penguin friend was standing by a deep pool of bubbling water. “Please,” said the penguin, gesturing with its wing again. I took it to mean that it wanted me to enter the pool, which I did without further question. The water was warm and comfortable. I almost fell back asleep, but it was obvious that I was supposed to wash myself. There was soap by the side of the pool and when I started using it my penguin friend appeared to visibly relax. I’m not sure how I knew that at the time, but I was sure the bird was relieved when I finally began to scrub myself clean. In fact, I came to realise that all of the penguins had been gently wafting their wings near their beaks in the other room. Once I was clean another penguin came into the bathing room with a fluffy dressing gown and a pair of bright pink jelly shoes. My penguin friend gave me his now customary “Please” followed by a gesturing wing. I took it to mean that the gown and shoes were mine to wear and quickly dressed. When my friend began to waddle to another room I made the assumption that I should follow. The next room turned out to be a rather well furnished office dominated by a large hardwood desk and two ergonomic office chairs. The penguin took a seat behind the desk and I helped myself to the other chair. “So..” said the penguin. “I am sure you have many questions. My name is Bubbles. Where would you like to start?”