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[CW] Write a story that begins and ends with the same sentence, but make the sentence have a different meaning by the end.
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It was nearly five a.m but neither of us thought of going to sleep. I was cold. We stretched out across my bed, heads near her ihome, alternating between Eminem, her favorite, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, mine. We had spent hours whispering in the dark, discussing everything from the giant stick up our band instructor's ass to the banality of life, to the slight crush I had developed on her. I wanted to kiss her. I really, really wanted to kiss her. But I didn't want the spell to be broken. I didn't want to cut the spider web strands of trust I had woven between us. So instead I stayed awake. Even as her eyes closed and her breath lengthed. I counted the freckles spanning her nose and cheeks. I held out my finger tips to wisps of hair framing her forehead. I watched, fearing her life was far more beautiful and fragile than it appeared.
That night was sweet. The memory of it fills me with longing and regret. I should have tried to kiss her. I play it over in my dreams now, reworking the details. I play god with characters who no longer exist. It's this memory I'm playing with when the dark shape appears. A shape I have not seen in over a year but couldn't forget if I tried. The first time I pass it off as my overactive imagination. But as nights come and go and the shape becomes more defined I can't deny it. Then one night she speaks. Just my name. Her voice like champagne. I wonder what would happen if I tried to touch her. Would my hands just glide through like in the movies?
"Am I dreaming?"
"No."
The shape moves. Coming around the end of the bed and laying down beside me.
My hands are shaking, my heart pounding. Even if I close my eyes I can still feel her presence like static. I don't want to question why she is here, why my hopeless wild prayers have finally been answered. There are only three words I want to tell her. I'm cold. It's nearly five a.m. but neither of us are thinking about sleep.
| 1 | 0 | 634 | 123,789 |
[WP] An assassin receives an unusual contract: a man on death row already slated for execution.
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Incredulously, I looked over the letter once, twice, three times more. I couldn't believe what these assholes were trying to pay me to do.
"Well, it sends a strong message" I muttered under my breath, still shaking my head. Once more, I read the brief, yet all-telling letter.
"Jack Parsons. In court, October 5th. Public execution. Collateral damage encouraged"
I've seen his name on the news. Parsons is part of this whacky anti-government militia who has been on the rise for several months now. This particular prick had shot up a courthouse, ran, and then turned his ass in the very next day. The news has been saying he had also offered up secrets on the militia in exchange for a guaranteed death penalty, of all things. Now, they were contacting me. They wanted me to hit their buddy Jack, in a courtroom, while he was receiving a death penalty he actually *paid* for. What's more, they seem to want me to shoot up the whole courtroom. This is fucked right up. As a hitman, I've done some weird jobs, but nothing quite as odd as this. No, I can't do it. If I accept that job, I don't even have the slightest shot of getting away with it. But if I don't, that militia's gonna come after my ass, and I'll have to run, but I'll need a Magician. Magicians are expensive. They'll make you disappear, but so will your wallet. So, either I can be some broke redneck motherfucker living somewhere in the mountains for the rest of my life, Or I can just end it here, while I'm still living comfortably.
Looks like I'd better pack.
| 2 | 0 | 67 | 179,951 |
[WP] It turns out that dreams are actually other dimension in a multiverse that we randomly visit each night. Someone has figured out to control it.
|
It was heading up to my room, to sleep of course like any other normal teenager would. I walked in and just slumped on my bed. I was as tired as I ever was. I fell asleep instantly. In my dreams I was standing, right there in the middle of nowhere with grass and water. But the water, wasn't water. It was gravy. And the mushy ground around it was mashed potatoes.
I started walking around, confused, not sure of where I was. Then I saw something in the distance. It was a... cheese biscuit? What in the world!?! This is not a dream, I could tell, because I could taste, smell and fell everything. And my taste, I mean I took some of that gravy.
Then, it got really odd. The stupid cheese biscuit started talking. What was up with this? I didn't get it either. See, get it people, this is no joke, because then the stupid cheesy looking cheese biscuit started chasing me. It was kind of funny thought.
Then I woke up suddenly and I checked my phone to see what time it was: 1:43 A.M. I got up and started to go downstairs. I opened by door and headed outside, trying to get that creepy dream like thing out of my head. I walked down the streets and stopped at McDonald's for a late night snack. I walked in.
On the menu board, all I saw was stupid cheese biscuits. Oh my god, just stop haunting me! I knew it was all my fault, because of that stupid dream. "Um, cheeseburger?" I asked when the cashier asked what I wanted. I was tired and I yawned, standing there waiting for my food.
When I finally got my food I sat down, and ate and then I left for my house. I slumped back onto my bed and fell asleep. But it was another dream: I was in a big city. I started walking around. There were people I knew, so I started hanging out with them.
I found my math teacher, who I hate and just ignored him. Anything was better than the cheese biscuits. I woke up, again, to a firetruck at 3:02 A.M. I just gave up and sat there and did nothing.
When the sun rose, I knew what I had to do next. I had to go around and see if anyone else had this cheese biscuit dream. I knocked on everyone's door, but only one person said they have, this 16 year old redhead named Hollie Smith.
Me and Hollie talked a little about the fact that we both had the same dream. We decided to both sleep at her house, so if we get a linked dream, we could fight of those cheese bread roll things.
Later that day, at 7:45 I headed over to Hollie's house. We talked for a little, and I read a book which she had with her, and I started to get interested in it.
At 11:34 we decided to hit the hay. When I fell asleep I saw myself in the same place as I did last time, in the grassy place with gravy. I saw Hollie my the lake so I ran over there.
"Hey," was all I said before the cheese biscuits came towards us. Those things got up to 10 feet high and had huge sharp teeth now. I thought to myself, 'I wish me had swords.' Then, swords appeared in our hands.
The first move was made my Hollie who jabbed the sword into a larger cheese biscuit and the biscuit fainted and died. A smaller biscuit hit me with a stick, so I stepped on it and that was the end of that.
The battle continued with all the messed up stuff, with dinner rolls. Then, out of nowhere, a big cheese biscuit stabbed Hollie and fell. I ran over and grabbed Hollie, hoping to save here. "Hollie, you will be fine," I tell her softly. "Don't worry about me," were her last words as her heart stopped.
After a killed all the biscuits I woke up to kind that Hollie was really dead. I cried a little and ran downstairs to fetch her parents, "Hollie.. she died," was all I got out. The two ran upstairs to find their daughter's body.
Three days later was the funeral. I got to speak at her funeral because I was the first person ever to be her friend. I spoke and spoke. Then her mother came up and said that she died in her sleep and all that.
But the one funny/sad thing was, I was the only one who really knew what happened.
| 1 | 0 | 74 | 71,965 |
[WP] An unlikely survivor in a dystopian future world discovers the truth about the apocalypse. It changes everything.
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Dean hadn't found adapting to the loss of his leg all that easy. It was ridiculous to expect a 52 year old half deaf, fully miserable, one legged fella such as Dean to be stumbling through rubble and building corpses. How ever this wasteland shit hole was going down in his estimations he was happy to have his life after the leg amputation. Cleaning agents aren't that common. Dean had thought to himself many times that perhaps watching TV and collecting his expected welfare checks hadn't prepared him for this dystopian slum. Well, tv wasn't going to help now. Neither was unwishing time. He'd been travelling a few days now and even now the initial meeting had stuck, jagged and sharp in his memory. You don't forget an aftershave wearing gentlemen quickly. It had occured Dean had pulled some quick thinking out the bag when the man had asked Dean if he could read. The bloody fool. He had said no which naturally was a lie. Dean pulled the tattered leather bound book out of his satchel. It had been a few days now and he was sure he wasn't being followed, now seemed a guide time to read what he shouldn't. He was confused and slightly disappointed in the very short message that sat awkwardly on the first page. He didn't understand and it seemed to him he was being paid an awful lot to deliver something so trivial.
"Jesus,
We've crossed the East; destroying books, governments and knowledge. They are spread so thin it would be near impossible to stop our efforts now. Maybe we can implement this 'religion' idea sooner than planned.
Mohammed"
Then the voice behind him struck a chord of fear through his throat, thick and unmoving, straight to his stomach.
"I thought you couldn't read, Dean?"
| 2 | 0 | 15 | 139,018 |
[WP] You quickly gaze out the window of the ISS, and notice thousands of missiles criss-crossing the face of the Earth. You look over to your Russian counterpart, as you realize what is happening.
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After a couple months you just run out of stuff to stay. Every now and then the silence was penetrated between us with a remark about something outside the window. Or griping about rations, but that was more of something you did under your breath.
We were coming up over the pacific, on the horizon the orange glimmer of the sun coming up was becoming visible. To our port window there was the Aurora Borealis. Starbord was nothing. Just stars and the dark horizon with nothing to fill it's emptiness with it.
I went through some check lists before returning to see the sunrise, I try not to miss any as long as I'm awake. There's nothing like it on planet earth, The sunlight penetrating the atmosphere to create impossible colors that just can't be appreciated from anywhere below us. Then there was the impossible whiteness of the sun, it's vast light unable to brighten the blackness around it.
The sunrise passed us again, and we were again just looking at the clouds below us. Mutually we didn't want to spoil this moment with words. The clouds being pierced by the green land below, or the bluest of oceans. Or the... Burning glow of a rocket?
"Hey, do we have any scheduled supplies for today?" I asked looking confused toward him. He stopped looking out the window, he was looking through a checklist. I don't think he heard me, " Do we-"
"No, not that I remember," his accent was still strong. But I can understand him without fail now. "Look for yourself," he said gently tossing me a catalog letting it float through the null G.
He was right, there wasn't one scheduled for a couple months when I was due to return to earth. Weird... "must be another satellite going to orbit then." I said, tossing him the catalog before turning to the window again.
This time there were more. A lot more. There should never be this many at once! I don't even think it registered what was going on. I silently moved out of the way, and he accepted the invitation to look out the small window.
"Fuck is this?!" He sounded alarmed, I don't like that, he was the superior here. He should be the one to keep calm.
I moved to another window, with a bit more haste than my usual nonchalant pace. There were dozens more filling the sky with amazingly long tails at the end of each glowing point. They weren't going to orbit, instead they were racing down toward earth itself! This was definitely not right. What the hell is going on down there!
A second sun appeared on the surface of the earth before dissipating within a couple seconds. Then another, followed by another! Each one, drew me further and further away from reality.
I looked at him, he looked at me and I could tell that I shared his look of disgust and shock. It looked like he was wearing a pale mask at this point.
I reached for the radio controls numbly. "Houston. We have a problem."
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 194,200 |
[WP] When you are born in 2105, everything in the known universe stops dying of old age: humans, animals, aliens, etc. Scientists come to the conclusion that you are the cause.
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My birth was not heralded by angels this time around. There were no wise men to bring me gifts. Although on the upside being born in a hospital was quite the upgrade. Honestly though no one really noticed much when I was born.
The world continued on for a few months without much of a change. Probably about the time I was learning to roll over – again - was when scientist began to notice something wasn't right. Being the cautious bunch they are it took the scientific community almost a year before they even began to openly talk about the phenomenon amongst themselves, and another three years before they began to talk about it in public. But let's get real who want to be the first to public say that death is broken. That's the kind of talk that gets you shoved into a padded room.
At first people were scared, then they quickly became excited and amazed. It's not like things couldn't die, they just wouldn't die of old age. The first few folks who thought that they were immortal found this out the hard when they decided to parachute without the parachute. I heard this made quite the mess at Superbowl LV. For the first decade people felt like they were in a golden age. There was no end to life, they could accomplish anything.
It took almost ten years before folks at the top began to realize that without natural death things got very complicated. I mean human beings breed at a ridiculous rate. It only took fifteen years from my birth for India to collapse, by twenty China was on its knees on the way to anarchy. By the time I turned 30-years old most of the countries that survived had draconian breeding laws in place, most low socioeconomic folks were sterilized before they even got the chance to whelp some kids.
For thirty years scientist clawed for an answered to no avail. Doomsday cults had become dominate religion. There had been three genocides in the second decade of my life.
On my thirtieth birthday I began my ministry, walking Earth to let them know I was back. To let the people know that they had failed. I gave them a very simple message of peace and love, and they used my words for hate and violence. They always asked why I didn't answer their prayers, well now they would know.
| 2 | 0 | 459 | 190,170 |
[WP] It's the year 2173, almost half a century after the fall of the United States. You're on a road trip across North America.
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Pines rolled by lazily outside the car window as the first flakes of irradiated snow began to fall. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and whistled some tune softly to myself as I rounded another corner.
To my right the road gave way into a deep ravine. A river used to flow through there, and I could almost imagine the raging waves crashing and foaming against the rocks jutting from the riverbed - a stark contrast to the minuscule creek that ran through now. To my left rose a solid granite wall, so tall that it seemed to touch the heavens themselves. When the sky rained fire, these were the only skyscrapers that survived.
A decrepit and rusty sign hung from its last bolt aside the road to my left. I smiled, reading it as I whizzed past.
>Yosemite National Park
After the bombs, the same air raid sirens were used as speakers to broadcast the President's message to America. We had three hours to prepare for invasion. Cities erupted into panic; anyone outside during the holocaust was vaporized immediately upon detonation, and anyone caught unsheltered be susceptible to lethal doses of radiation.
I was level with the riverbed now, and up ahead I could see black skid marks and a Honda crashed off the road up ahead. I slowed and left my car to investigate, taking my gun with me for safety.
I lazily walked up to the Honda to inspect the damage. What was left of the driver was slumped over the steering wheel. A large fracture ran through his skull, where it had hit the dashboard. The front windshield was shattered completely, and pieces of safety glass twinkled alongside the snowflakes on the passenger's seat.
It was going to be a long winter.
I took the driver's coat from his body and began to dig through the glovebox when I heard something behind me. Instinctively I spun on my heels, drawing my weapon on my would-be attacker.
A deer sipped from the creek, staring at me all the while. My stomach growled. I raised my gun and aimed for its head, when a speckled fawn leapt from the woods to join its mother.
I smiled and lowered my weapon. A shiver ran up my spine, reminding me of the imposing nuclear winter on its way. I needed supplies, I needed water.
Opening my canteen, I slowly approached the creek, making sure to stay upstream as to not frighten the only other life I'd seen in the last year or so. They had returned to drinking and paid no heed to me; they needed the water as much as I did. I filled my canteen up, and took a long swig. The cool water trickled down my throat and warmed me from the inside as if it were booze.
Contented, I returned to my car. My new winter jacket was suiting me well, and I glanced back one last time at the two deer in my rear view mirror as I left. If they could make it, so could I. Maybe we *did* have a chance.
It would be two weeks later when the vomiting started.
| 1 | 0 | 35 | 173,130 |
[WP] A married couple who are very much in love in real life are bitter enemies online, with one spouse viciously trolling the other. They don't know their IRL identities.
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She had regaled him with tales of the rally. Her day away from Dear Hubby and the Hellions had been fruitful for her disposition. The past year had been a rough one psychologically, and her outlet had become comment sections. Her howl was loud, but heretofore mediated by keys and servers.
Angel-headed, full of spunk and a passion that may or may not have had ulterior motives, she had read of the rally last week, and decided to let herself out from under the veil of anonymity. He had helped her paint the sign. In big red letters, it screamed, *my children were my choice, murder is yours.*. It still made him shutter to think about.
She wasn't the only armchair soldier, though. Dear Hubby, more commonly known as *Dadocrat34* in certain circles, had been engaged in the particular battle of wits with a woman who went by the handle of *Loves_Her_Kids* for a good week. His outlet mirrored the wife's, yet his was used as an escape from her.
She had met him in college. The thing he remembered most about her was what she said to him during coital intermission: "I don't usually allow liberals inside of me." It was hilarious, awful, and ignorant, and it made him fall in love with her. Sure, she had some backwards views, but nothing worse than his moderate parents, who were always, at the very least, tolerant.
The kids changed her, though. She'd began to read horror stories about vaccines, and waxing on about abortion, and distorting the meaning of words such as "murder" and "abuse." He loved her with all his heart, but her politics made him sick.
It was because of this that *Loves_Her_Kids* became his proxy. Her views mirrored those of his wife, and the Dadocrat had lived up to his name, accusing her of the abuse she had used so liberally in reference to him. Jab after jab, diatribe after diatribe, they went after each other. He'd finally won, albeit in the most petty of ways...
At the end of a particularly long rant, she'd used the word excellent, or, in her own special way of spelling, "accellent." And so, seizing the moment, he reverted back to his schoolyard days, and corrected her spelling. She'd not responded after this.
In bed, she opened her laptop to show him pictures from the rally. She'd adorned Facebook with them, much to his embarrassment. She had even tagged him in one.
He read the caption. "Thanks to Dear Hubby, for staying up late and helping me paint this accellent sign!"
Wait a minute. *Accellent?* Where had he heard this?
His wife had left the room by the time his brain caught up, attending to a screaming child. He pulled her computer onto his lap and checked her browser history. *Oh God...*
Everything suddenly made sense to him, and he couldn't help but laugh. He got up and walked into the room his wife was in, watching her rock a sobbing child back to sleep.
*Well, she can certainly pick an accurate username*, thought the Dadocrat.
| 81 | 0 | 199 | 127,762 |
[MP] No. 1 Party Anthem
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Dark brown eyes complimented her dark brown hair. She stood in the shade, which make her dark overcoat look like it was part of the shadow. Her black boots reflected no light, because she stood in no light, other than the burning tip of her cigarette.
Right, left, then right again panned her eyes. Finally, her gaze rested upon something that caught her interest, if only for an instant; me. I had been the only thing that had changed in the room. She pretended as if nothing had changed, and continued with small puffs from her cigarette, which shrunk slowly as she stood alone.
I strode over to her, if only to get a better look at her; the closer I approached, the more detail I could make out in her face. She was comely, with a beautiful face that would charm even the toughest man if she would perhaps try. Instead, she glanced with a one-thousand-yard stare, into the void. She so effortlessly expressed disinterest, it almost made me want to join her, and lean casually against the wall, and join her with a smoke. Hell, I don't even smoke.
Finally, as I came within a few feet, she lifted her eyes and met mine.
"Don't you know smoking is bad for you?" I remarked coolly.
"....I don't think that's your business, my friend." she responded, still impressively disinterested by this odd encounter.
"Oh, so we're friends!" I let a slim smile spread across my face, and she lifted her head to meet mine. "Let me take you away from this place. I don't think this is where you belong."
"Here, in the dark? It's calming, relaxing. I don't think you understand."
"Oh, but I do miss. But I think you deserve a bit better than a shady alley and a cancer stick to keep you company tonight. Besides, I want to see you in the light. I think it'd suit you much better." I extended my hand to her.
She dropped the cigarette, ground it out with her heel, and took my hand.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 86,141 |
[WP] Pick your favourite fantasy universe. Write about what it looks like centuries later, after entering the modern age.
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Jenna watched as the intimidating skyline of King's Landing came into view. Skyscraper after skyscraper stretching for miles, built of pristine steel shining in the sunlight. Supposedly the Wall up in the North and the Citadel in Oldtown had once awed onlookers with their height. Now, they were dwarfs living among giants.
The Manderly Destrier picked up speed, with an engine no longer mocked for being designed to carry men given to fat. It ripped through the gates. Dirty men and women carry blankets and torn sacks leaped out of the way, falling into streets littered with moldy remains of last year's meals. Onto the Street of Steel it went, past the great factories churning fouling up the warm summer air. That stench was nothing compared to that of Flea Bottom. As the Destrier skirted around the edges of the walled in ghetto, Jenna reached up to daintily clasp her nose. She had always wanted to look inside Flea Bottom, but none of the midborn or highborn were permitted inside.
Finally, she passed great bronze gates and came upon the last pale red stone to be found in the city. The Red Keep. A pockmarked, youthful man clad in a jacket of gold briskly approached, opened her car door, and took her hand in a silken glove of matching color. Exiting, she made her way into the Assembly Hall.
Yelling filled the chamber. "The Dornish vinyards need to be subsidized," shouted a swarthy southerner. "A wasteful expense," replied a man standing well over 7 feet tall. The Northern representatives roared in agreement. That must be the leader of the opposition, Frostheart Umber. Jenny tried to think back, recall what the Umber's real name was. Jack? Chris? The last campaign had been vicious, and she found herself unable to recall.
"Jenna Baelish!" Frostheart barreled over to her, leading with a massive belly enlarged by a few too many lobbyists.
Grumpy mumbling could be heard coming from around the room. "Well if it isn't the only woman in the assembly." "However did she get elected?" "I certainly didn't vote for her." "This is why we need to redraw the districts." "The smallfolk love her, there's nothing you can do."
"Is it completed?" Hoarfost grinned eagerly.
"Yes."
"Well, let's have it then," he roared across the chamber. A hush fell as Jenna proceeded to the Weirwood speaking podium, positioned on a raised dais prominently positioned in the front-center.
Taking a deep breath and pausing to look around at the crowd, she began. "Fellow Westerosi. Long ago, my ancestor, Prime Hand Baelish, began our march towards freedom and democracy. Today, I seek to continue down that path of progress he forged."
Darkness fell across pudgy faces, though a few leaned forward off their seats.
"I spoke with a greenseer during my trip away from the capital. He told me of a dream he had. Of lowborn living with midborns and midborns living with highborns. Of wealth and prosperity spreading across these lands. I ask you to open up the slums. Every man, every woman, every child has a right to live where they please. I know that's what Petyr, the founder of this free Westeros, would have wanted."
She left to a handful of loud cheers, long strides carrying her back to that same golden coated man and that same Destrier.
"Thank you" he mumbled while helping her in. She sat and thought as the engine roared to life and the Red Keep disappeared into the distance.
"Could you please turn on the radio?" The driver's glove of red covered with a fading golden lion turned a simple black dial, and a grainy voice came through."
*"Well, in my personal opinion, the Pink Sea is the best brothel in the Vale."*
*"The Pink Sea? In Gulltown? Marcy may know her way around a mast. And the prices are certainly reasonable. But you have to take points off for the lack of decent-looking girls they have during winter."*
*"Bugger off. You really think there's a better brothel in the Vale?"*
*"The Dripping Candlestick in the Eyrie. The Bloody Gate in, well, "*
*"The Bloody Gate. I'll grant you they get some points for the name."*
*"Well it's the best in Westeros if you're into that sort of thing."*
"Change the channel" Jenna's voice rose sharply in both volume and pitch.
Before the gloved hand could turn the dial, one of the presenters got in a final word.
*"And just in case we have any female listeners out there, there's a few Dornish lads*
"Just wait a moment." The lion glove paused.
*"at the Name-Day Feast that know the Lord's Kiss well enough to earn a link in a Maester's chain."*
A single laugh escaped from the backseat, followed by a quick order.
"Now change it."
*"Breaking news. The amendment proposed by Jenna Baelish has been defeated by a crushing 218 votes."*
She sighed and gazed out the window, focusing on barbed wire topping Flea Bottom's walls.
*"We now return to regular programming."*
*"Personally, I hope the slums stay closed. Every day I walk by, and every day I say to myself: Patrick, you're doing all right in the world if you're not living in there. If the lowborn start leaking out, it'll take away my sense of superiority. And then I'll have to go inside. Nothing's worse than not having a sense of where you stand in the world. Rather be lowborn than midborn."*
*"You are midborn."*
*"I know, but Flea Bottom lets me pretend I'm not."*
Jenna pressed backwards into black leather seats and shut eyes surrounded by tree rings. "Take me to Harrenhal, " she muttered before tumbling to the side.
| 11 | 0 | 95 | 16,675 |
[CW] End with the line "..and I've been chasing the dragon ever since"
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The legends of the Hoenn region were just that to most. Legends. But not to I, Brendan Birch, winner of the recent Pokemon League Championship. Starting with Torchic and progressing through the region, catching new Pokemon, meeting new friends, gathering gym badges and thwarting the efforts of Team's Magma and Aqua, the Legendary Pokemon were nothing new to me. After all, I had captured both Kyogre and Groudon after two colossal battles, visited Alto Mare and convinced both Latias and Latios, befriending a Jirachi and stopping a Deoxys from wrecking havoc on earth.
There was one, however, which I have yet to capture. One who battled Deoxys, and seperated the titans known as Kyogre and Groudon. I was instantly in awe of the beast known as Rayquaza from the moment I saw it, and after the Deoxys incident, I swore to myself that I would be in possession of such a majestic creature. Sure, all the others are nice, but once my gaze was set upon Rayquaza, I knew it was one I must have, and I've been chasing the dragon ever since.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 123,059 |
[WP] Your story, script, or stageplay begins the exact moment after your character has just found out they won a lottery.
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"Oh my God, you won."
"..."
"You won, we're rich!"
"I won, honey, I won!"
After the initial shock wore off, he ran to the kitchen for the ticket and his keys. Before he headed out the door he gave me, his wife, a big kiss on the lips. I didn't like it.
All the stories about me are true. Yes, I did marry him for his money. Yes, I was going to start my career as a prostitute before I met him. Finally, yes, you can call me a gold digger.
He told me that he had gone to redeem the ticket in total bliss, singing all the way there. I was going to call him to tell him the news, but I was too scared. Too scared of splitting without his lottery money.
He came home a short while after. "The money's in our bank account. Four million freakin' dollars.", he said.
"Dave, I need to tell you something.", I stated. He looked more joyful than I had ever seen in my life, he was smiling uncontrollably and giggling every few seconds. I almost felt bad for the guy. "Dave, listen to me.", I demanded, "I want a divorce."
He cried for a long time. I didn't do it to hurt him, I did it for the money. He still gets to keep some of the stuff too, I mean if he hadn't been using the lottery money to pay his divorce lawyer he could have been okay. At least he gets to keep the kids. Meanwhile, I'm sitting on two million dollars and the house. It's kind of ironic how empty you feel after a long con. I guess I should have expected this, even if he didn't.
EDIT: Formatting
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 42,263 |
[WP] The crew of the international space station look down in horror as they see earth being destroyed by nuclear bombs.
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Everything was like he imagined the Big Bang would've felt like – all condensed within this small microcosmic event, and the universe, as apathetic as it is, would be untouched. Very much not mortified – unlike the crew huddled in between him, all trembling and voices snatched from them.
It took a couple of angry voices, a couple of buttons, and the will of madmen to cause the devastation of the only lives they ever knew. The only voices and sounds and smells and tastes and wonders they thought were inhabitable and beautiful, more than these stars they were trembling amongst – programmed to be too far away to feel relatable or relevant.
There is no word to describe this feeling of decimation, of making something non-existent, even as James and his crew prepared for it, there were no words, no gasps or cries or howls, for a million hour-long minutes, there was nothing.
The only thing running through James the alive-astronaut's mind was anatomy. Strange without context, yet it was a thought he used to make sense of the things that didn't make sense, mangling itself in front of him at the moment. He thought of all the complex wiring programmed inside of a human. He thought of the different systems working together within the twisting of veins and arteries, neurons and synapses connecting to others making responses. He thought of these complexities churning and working together in harmony and in beauty, producing a simple vocal response or a hand movement, maybe one that pressed a button or gave a command. Maybe one that cancelled out all the programmed bodies with their own complex wiring. Wiring that got billions of them throughout their programmed days. It was the only way James could process the image that was streaming into his irises, running through his neurons connecting synapses, making horrid gibberish in his heart. He thought of these moments as wires, that was how he could cope with the images at that moment.
For a moment James forgot where he was standing, where few have stood and will ever stay again, the amazement of it all, simply forgotten.
He kept telling himself it wasn't real, over and over again.
And the Game Over screen faded into view, and James began to breathe again.
One of the many co-workers floating next to him broke the silence:
You suck at this James. Jesus! Those graphics gave me a fucking heart attack.
James, dropping the controller, letting it float off within the capsule, looked out the window hiding behind the holo screen and console they brought up into space.
He said:
Ah, it's still there. Goddamn that game was too realistic.
| 5 | 0 | 7 | 92,511 |
[WP] You find a history textbook full of events you've never heard of, seemingly dated in the future. You see your name headlining one chapter.
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March 13th 2043. My fiftieth birthday. That's the date I start the war.
First contact wasn't as grand as I thought it would be. Sitting here in the college library I'd pictured first contact to be like the movies. With explosions and Will Smith. That was five minutes ago.
This writer, this Harry Sunderland, calls me all kinds of things in his book. Xenophobe. Warmonger. Pure evil. So much for objectivity.
The aliens had arrived a week prior with all kinds of technology. Apparently they cured most major diseases and re birthed the dying planet. It was a weak union, both sides scared of the other but it worked for the seven days.
Then I came along and ruined it. The quoted sources say I offended one, got into a fight and killed one with a punch. People thought I was rebeling against our overlords and started the war. The war that sent us back to paper from everything being stored in chips in our brains.
I'm not sure what I can do. If I remember the date and prevent the fight then the war doesn't start, but then a paradox happens. It has to be this way.
I'm scared.
| 6 | 0 | 24 | 222,187 |
[PM] I'm bored let me write stuff.
|
This could be a long one, but ive always imagined it myself but since i cant write.
I always wanted to see someone else take my imagination, fuse it with their own and see what happened.
Ill give you a background and thats all since you seem extremely creative :)
1/3 people are born with a power of some kind. It could range from earth shatteringly powerful telekinesis to being able to read kinda fast. Literally any kind if power. Its all over the place.
People with powers for war do just that. As well as rule the entire world with a massive dictatorship made up of the strongest powers.
People with powers that make them good at things like being scientists (extreme memory ect.) are forced by the strong tk build weapons and such.
Schools train young powerful people to better use powers. The ruling force decides what they will do for the rest of their life based on what their power is.
The other 2/3 of people are mostly enslaved.
The earth is the same but a pangea. All continents merged. Animals are present day but considerably less are alive.
Mosy of the planet is ocean and seaweed makes most of our oxegen rather than forests.
Instead of sports people with powers have massive gladiator style battles ect. Music is still a thing but much more intense.
Its a dystopia (obviously)
Thats all ill let your creative mind run wild with it. But its always been my dream for a story to be written on this. I tried a few times but sucked. Im in my mid 20's but i still think about this now and then while i try and fall asleep.
If you write something about this, especially something long-ish id be fucking honored.
Sorry if this was a terrible prompt. Or if i made any errors. Or if im bothering you with this. Childhood dream i randomly remembered.
And thanks in advance if you choose to write about it.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 37,638 |
[WP] A sheriff and his talking horse must protect the town from bandits. The problem is they're both narcoleptic.
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"Come out with your hands up, we've got the place surrounded!"
Boss loved to make a big show of shootouts.
Fred stamped his feet, annoyed. This theatricality was gunna get them into trouble one day. Why couldn't Boss just stick with the plan: he keeps the bandits trapped out front with the deputies, while I sneak around back, untie the getaway horses and do some recon with my superior stealth?
Fred ducked his head, just in case one of the bandits looked out the doorway.
"Damn these knots! Why do they always tie them so tight? I need to hurry this up before…erzzzz."
-
Meanie Mark Mercer peeked out the back door of the saloon.
"Shit on a stick! Goddamnit Stanley, I put you in charge of the horses, why is there only ONE out back?"
"Wha-? I swear I hitched three a them out there sir, m-maybe they done got loose?"
"Stanley, you're such a dumb fool you got outsmarted by horses? When this is over, remind me to shoot you in the leg and leave you in the desert."
"Ah, yessir… sir." Stanley hung his head, dejected.
"Did you hear me in there? I said come on out! Or we're gunna--"
The three bandits paused. Mercer leaned his ear against the shuttered windows.
"Or what, lawman?" he called out after a moment.
-
"Shit!" whispered Jr. Deputy Heston. "Boss done fell asleep again!"
"Or *what*? Lawman? You gunna come in here after me?" The deputies could hear Mercer laughing from inside the barricaded saloon.
"Uh, uh, *no*!" Heston scrambled, as the other deputy shook Boss's shoulder violently, trying to wake him.
"We're gunna, were gunna just shoot you 'n that saloon fulla lead! Yeah!"
"There, that was a pretty good threat," Heston boasted to his partner happily, leaning back on his heels.
-
Mercer turned away from the windows.
"Alright, change o plans. We're goin' out there guns blazin'. Can't be more'n three or four a them waiting for us anyway. Stanley, you go first. Maybe they'll hesitate shootin' you on account'a you're so dumb."
"I shore hope so, sir."
"Then me 'n Jacobs will come out with the loot, procure us some nearby horses, and ride outta town."
The bigger man, standing in the shadows with his arms crossed, nodded silently.
-
"Aaaahhhhhh!!" Stanley howled as he charged out of the saloon, two pistols raised in the air.
A swift kick in the sternum knocked him to the ground in a heap.
Boss snorted. "What an idiot."
Two gunshots rang out from inside the building and then it was silent.
After a moment, the saloon doors swung open and Fred sauntered out, smirking at his partner's annoyed expression.
"We're done here boys, clean up this mess and tell the barman to get back to work. We got some celebratin' to do tonight."
"I never get the glory, why do you always get to take the big guys down?" Boss pouted.
Fred hopped up into Boss's saddle, patting his partner's shoulder comfortingly.
"Because I'm the sheriff, that's why."
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 219,975 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased.
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It was just another day in the office for Liam. Making sure that the sattelites were still operational, that the TV and mobile signals were being broadcast. He had been in since 9AM that morning, and had been working hard, trying to erode away the top of a teetering tower of paperwork before 1AM. But the digital numbers in the corner of his screen had finally ticked over too 13:00. Lunch break. Today was Friday, and every friday Liam rewarded himself with one of those glazed doughnuts from the stop, for a good weeks work. He stood up, and slid his arm through the sleeve of his coat.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
His computer monitor started flashing red. What was going on? There was a large black popup on the screen that read CODE ORANGE. Code orange? Liam grabbed the mouse and clicked on the popup.
CODE ORANGE
Code Orange - Signals of earthly origin have been detected pining into orbit in preparation of a spatial journey. This action has been prohibited under the United Nations Extraterrestrial Awareness Act, and the signals must be interrupted and the broadcasters taken into emergency custody (UNEAA sect: XVII para: XIIb)
That wasn't good. Liam remembered the old codes of conduct agreed with the UN back in 2017 about stopping anyone from leaving the earth. Thinking about it now, they never did find out why they had to stop the space programmes. Maybe this was his chance to find out. He uploaded the signal's location onto his phone and ran for his car. "Looks like I won't be getting my doughnut this week then."
---
Half an hour later, and Liam arrived at an old warehouse, just in time to watch the spacecraft leave the launchpad. He had been too late. Maybe he could bring them back to Earth remotely? Something told him that he should report this to the UN Peacekeepers or someone, but he was curious.
Inside the warehouse, Liam found a large table covered in technical equipment. Computers, monitors and keyboards everywhere. There was also a load of engineering equipment, such as screwdrivers and spanners, but also more complicated equipment that he didn't understand. One machine looked like it had evolved from a 17th century guillotine.
Most of the monitors were switched off, but there was one that was still aglow. He sunk into the leather office chair in front of the table and put on the headphones resting on the keyboard. At first, all he could hear were cheers and whoops, and then a voice cut in.
"OK guys. We have to keep focus. We havnt even left the outer stratosphere yet. The real fun starts when we get past the sattelite barrier, where no human has been since 1991. Luckily, the ISS remains are currently on the other side of the planet, so we can't run into them either." Commanded a voice that Liam assumed was the captain
"Got it chief." Another voice replied
Liam could track their progress on the screen in front of him, but he couldn't speak to them or even get a message across. He was in two minds about what to do. On the one hand, he knew he should inform the UN, where a missile would be shot into space to stop the craft from advancing, killing the people on the spaceship. However, no one had gotten past the sattelites in a very long time. Liam was curious as to why that was. When he was a child, he had been vvery interested in space, and had learnt all about the planets and stars.
"OK men, we've done it. We are past the stratosphere. keep a vigil for anything that could be out there. Rose, whats on the screen?" The captain asked
"Nothing so far, just the sattelites that we are leaving behind us. Looks like you were wrong about the location of the ISS though, jack." A female voice - Rose - answered. "It's right here on our left." Liam guessed that he was looking at the same information that Rose was, because the screen in front of him was giving off the same information.
"No, I can't be. I checked a hundred times. The ISS MUST be on the other side of the planet right now." Jack insisted
"Then whats that?" The other voice asked fearfully.
With wide eyes, Liam watched as new dots appeared on the bright blue screen, casting themselves off of the ISS-esque shape and heading straight for the pulsing dot in the center of the screen that represented the spaceship.
"We have incoming from the ISS ship" Rose informed the others
"Impossible"
"Perfectly possible" The other voice said. "just look out the window!"
There was a thud in Liams ear, as the ship was boarded
"We are Humans from planet Earth. We come in peace." Jack, the captain said loudly.
There was a crackle, a scream, and then static for an eternity. Just as Liam was about to take off the headphones, he heard a new, raspy voice say down the radio in perfect english: "The humans have come again. The treaty is broken. They shall perish"
| 2 | 0 | 961 | 179,735 |
[WP] Teleportation is possible, but it creates a copy of you and destroys the original. Unforseen effects pile up after a while.
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Note: This is my first submission, so any constructive feedback would be very much appreciated.
__________________________________________________________
Transcription Errors.
The Law of Diminishing Returns.
A copy of a copy of a copy of a copy, ad infinitum.
They said the error rate was less than one in a million. It was still too high. In the early years of the 21rd Century the world rejoiced as a revolutionary technology was announced. The Portals were a godsend. Developed in secret and tested for years, we were assured they were safe. Goddamned robots.
Humanity expanded, and why not? With the Portals the Moon was just a step away. Moon? Hell, why not Mars, or Venus, or Ganymede, Callisto, Titan? We filled our Solar System.
Too many people, too many trips through the Portals. Sure, the error rate was less than one in a million, but with billions of people taking billions trips per year the errors compounded.
Eventually, the wrong gene was transcribed in the the wrong way. Or the right gene in the right way, depending on your perspective. A simple cold became the greatest disaster in human history. The colonies were the first to be hit. Lacking the infrastructure of the homeworld they quickly succumbed. It wasn't long before the Earth was in peril, too. The disease ripped through the population, mortality rates were almost 60%, those who live through it were rendered sterile. Humanity lived, but we are the last generation. No children have been born for almost a decade, and the aging population has been dwindling.
We are the last of humanity, killed by the sniffles.
| 7 | 0 | 360 | 229,810 |
[WP] A cure is made for a zombies virus outbreak. Everyone who has been infected is cured, but they retain their hellish memories from their time as a zombie. You are a doctor (or psychologist) treating of of the cured for PTSD.
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My name is Jim, or that's what they keep telling me. When they found me I was wearing an Exxon Service Station Jumpsuit with the name Jim embroidered over my heart., but I don't remember any Jim. All I remember was fixing Mrs. Marchetto's bastard van when the power went out and dropped the lift and vehicle right down on me. I don't know how long I was out for, but when I woke up, oh god when I woke up, the sounds, the screaming. "Doctor? I don't want to remember anymore." The doctor shifted his eyes and spotted something, "Jim..., oh god here he goes again with that name, "Jim, focus on me for a moment, do you remember how you got out from under the van?" I'm trying to remember and all that comes out is a fractured shower of words, "hands, grasping, clutching, tearing at me, did...did I turn into one of those things?", "No, but when you were found you had bled out so bad we thought you were, and then there was the flesh in your mouth..." "Flesh?!!! In my MOUTH?!!!!" I was screaming now, as the orderlies ran in and before I had the time to say "sssto..." The needle slid in deposited it's special blend of shut the fuck up you howling crazy person, just in time for his 3pm appointment. Geez, thinks the doc to himself, this is going to be a very long day. He buzzes his assistant signaling he was ready for the next patient, but he wasn't ready and doubted he ever would be.
| 2 | 0 | 1,272 | 166,262 |
[WP] A man suddenly gains the ability to talk to his shadow. As they converse, it becomes apparent the shadow is real and the man is what the shadow casts.
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"What are you doing, my colorful friend?"
The realization I heard my shadow speaking to me came hard and blunt. Quickly I became a madman.
"Just keep it quiet around the others, will you?" I said, avoiding the light, paradoxically jumping into shadows, where his voice was stronger--so I jumped into the light, where his voice was sharper and more crisp--and I finally gave up.
I had prepared a speech. "What, just *what* do you think you're doing speaking? And how do you expect me to believe that my *shadow* can talk?"
"I am not your shadow. You are mine."
So my world seemed to be the light cast by my own shadow. "The world is your shadow, that is?"
"No, you are mine. Just you. Let me show you."
And so a void opened up in my heart, as I felt into the deep blackness of the truth of the universe, and I learned that my shadow was correct. The essential truth can be summed in a few words:
The smallest and most inconspicuous--say, the shadow--wields the most power. And the counterpart: my huge, visible body--that was merely a colored-in representation of the shadow itself.
| 1 | 0 | 32 | 53,539 |
(WP) You are an evil mastermind and have finally caught your super spy nemesis. Naturally, you do what all evil masterminds do and start monologuing.
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I stand silently just outside the door, observing the monitor to holding room eight. Inside the ten by ten white room dimly illuminated by fluorescent lights, sits a man tied to a steel chair. Drab clothing and well worn shoes compliment a perfectly average visage, to the point where the individual would be nearly impossible to pick out of a crowd. Bruised but conscious, his wrists have been making slight rhythmic motions behind him for the past two hours. His eyes remain steady on the faint outline of a door in front of him, poised to stop the work as soon as any indication of sound or movement reaches his senses. I grin, checking my suit for any imperfections, and switching the monitor over to mirror mode smooth my hair back. First impressions are important, and I have been so looking forward to this meeting.
I roll up my left sleeve and glancing briefly at the touchscreen grafted into my arm, frown. It's two A.M. and I'm supposed to have a meeting with the leaders of one of the larger mining unions in seven hours. I access the ventilation system to the suite I've put them up in, and release a small spray of nanobots into their room, selecting a script that causes them to replicate the behaviors of an 18-26 hour stomach virus before becoming inactive and flushing out of their system. They'll call at around 8:15 tomorrow morning begging to reschedule, and being a benevolent overlord, I will of course oblige them.
I press my palm against the mirror and slide left. The door recedes soundlessly into the ceiling, and the man in the chair seems to draw into himself, shrinking from his former firey-eyed purpose and becoming a cowed wretch, flinching away from me as I adopt a façade of casual indifference and walk genially into the room.
"Ah, kingfisher. I'm quite glad that we've been given this opportunity to chat. I apologize most sincerely for the necessity of your bindings, but as you've ably demonstrated with the assassination of the late secretary Smith that you cannot be trusted. " The man in the chair stammers and tries in vain to pull away from me, denying my allegations, betraying nothing in tone or expression, but slowly continuing to work at his bindings with each frantic push backwards. I grin in anticipation: this is going to be fun.
"To start, I'd like to make you aware of just how futile your actions have been." I concentrate for a moment, the nanotech I've released in my brain picking up my intention and carrying it out. The wall behind me lights up and displays a figure at rest in a hospital bed. The entirety of his body seems to be comprised of a black char, but it is patently obvious that he is breathing easily. Kingfisher's subtle movements stop for a moment, but not his protests. I focus again and a moment later a nurse walks into the cameras vision. She takes a needle and proceeds to inject small amounts of a silvery fluid into different points on his body. I observe Kingfishers reaction with a wry smile, knowing full well what's going on behind me. Secretary Smith's skin will be reforming, replacing the burned dermis and completely repairing his convalescent state by morning.
The bound man begins struggling again. "What did you do to that man? Why am I here? You can't do this – I'm an American citizen, I know my rights!" The last comes out as a yell, but doesn't mask the sound of his bindings parting to my technologically enhanced hearing.
I look him in the eye, detecting no tell there, but knowing full well he has a ceramic knife secreted inside a graft in his left arm. I mentally order the activation of a nanotech similar to my own within his body, and continue toying with him.
"It has come to my attention that you've been marshalling what forces you can in a vain attempt to destroy everything that I've worked so hard to create. This being said, your present position brings some slight sadness to me. Crushing the hopes, the dreams of one so grossly ignorant to the world is entertaining, but it lacks the lasting gains brought about by stirring up the sheep a bit. The greatest technological and social advancements always come about due to mans lust for power, due to the insatiable nature of those of us who wage great wars on each-other in both the public eye and behind closed doors. You claim American citizenship as some form of aegis, but we both know full well that it won't protect you. Your family has no idea where you are, your friends are the same, the terrorist cell you've orchestrated may figure out you've been captured, but without any real form of leadership, where will they be? Some part of me wants to indefinitely detain you. I'm sure you would enjoy that. I could send you to GITMO, or abroad for a couple rounds of torture, or hell, I could waterboard you right here in the basement of one of this country's seats of power. Then again, I am a busy woman. I think I'll decide next week."
I start to stride towards the door, and grin widely as I hear the Kingfisher spring from his chair flipping the knife out into readied fingers and lunging at my unprotected back.
I snap my fingers.
He freezes mid stride, falling to the ground, his body locked in a terrifying rictus of frozen violence. His eyes track me with now visible hatred.
"Or I could simply override your mind, stealing your thoughts, your hopes, your aspirations, and your body. I could program you to return to your cell in shame after the failed attempt on our dear Lamar Smith. I could orchestrate new horrifying ways to consolidate power using the fear of the ignorant and a small threat of future violence from shadowy sources." His eyes look up at me in horror, and I revel in his pain for a moment before snapping my fingers again. "Now how does that sound to you?"
The kingfisher smiles genuinely. "I would like that very much madame president."
I return his smile briefly. "Good. Now, return to your friends and start scaling up operations." I exit the room and am greeted by one of my understudies.
"President Clinton! Project blackbird has been compromised – a Canadian journalist seems to have acquired TS SCI documents overviewing our shadow agreements with Russia and China."
I consider for a moment. "Thank you Cindy. Have Fox News air the story for a week or so. Every other outlet will pick it up immediately. In eight days we'll have a successful terrorist attack on congress, at which point everything will be forgotten. Oh, and discredit the man in a year or so. Meth lab in the basement I think.
"Yes Ms. President."
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 94,515 |
[WP] That Sinking Feeling...
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John walked across the room. Then back again. Again, and again he paced back and forth. He rubbed his chin with such urgency it seemed as though his face was polished with cleaner. John finally stopped at one chair and tiredly leaned against, putting his full weight on one multi-coloured arm rest. The ticking of the clock grew louder and louder as the minute hands passively circled. The grip on the arm rest tightened as the ticking grew to an unbearable level. He tried to tap his foot against the metronome, as some sort of resistance against the futility of time, but he would always catch himself going with the beat.
Another man, cradled in another chair, stared him down, without shame. His eyes pierced into John, glazed with whatever drug he was on. Continuously scratching at the same spot. The man's darkened fingernails started to catch blood as the skin broke. The man kept scratching. The man kept staring. John started to pace around the room again, to escape, as his head jerked to the side to try and catch the minute hand moving.
Noise. Screaming. Lights going off, sirens screeching. John's eyes flew around the room, his pace quickened, his cheeks flushed blood red. His body flung itself into a chair, modeling the same position as the druggie, trying to meld itself with the sickening colour of its surroundings. He felt a tap on his shoulders. He didn't look up. The tap became more urgent.
"Mr. Whitlow?"
John gripped his arms tighter.
"Mr. Whitlow, there's been a complication..."
John decided to never leave that waiting room chair.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 11,429 |
[WP] A genie gets increasingly annoyed and frustrated when his new master won't wish for anything and instead just wants to talk.
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"What is your wish, my master?"
"Oh, I just thought you would like to see the sunrise."
Twenty three years. Agnes has been the longest master I have ever had.
"I wish Rupert could be here with us."
"I cannot bring back the dead, master. Even your dog. Would you like a new dog?"
"Nah, it wouldn't be the same. Rupert was a one of a kind dog."
I sighed. "I know." I've been recounted with every story of every time that little mutt so much as yipped. My protests, based on the fact I was in her service at the time she bought the damn dog, have been for not.
"Have I ever told you about the time he got lost?"
"Yes." Oh what a glorious day that was! I felt so close. Why didn't you just wish for your dog back then? I could have simply brought it home with a twitch of my nose and be that much closer to peace.
"Have you ever seen a nicer sunset, Eugene?"
"No." They all look the same to me. I've seen more sunrises in the last twenty three years than I have in the previous twenty three centuries.
"My arthritis is acting up. I think it's going to rain." She teases.
"I can clear that up if you wish."
"Oh, no, don't put yourself out. I'm not one to complain. Theresa, you know Theresa, always complaining. Never satisfied with what she has. It's too hot, too cold, too bright, too cloudy. That's no way to live."
"I can help Theresa if you wish." In truth I hate Theresa as much as Agnes, but at least she'll actually wish for something. I'm starting to doubt I am a genie. Maybe I'm a bad Christian. I never believed but Agnes is so sure. Maybe Christianity is true and I'm in hell.
"Oh, I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself." She interrupts my introspection. "Do you think Donna will find out Jack is cheating?"
I care less for her soap operas than her sunrises. I just want to try to do my magic, find a way to twist the words of your wish against you. But I still need you to actually **wish for something!** "Would you like to know?"
"No, don't spoil it. I still want to watch it later."
Sigh.
"Do you suppose Jimmy would come visit today?"
"Not unless.you wish it." Her son was easy. He wished he was immortal and could fly but not be stuck in a lamp. I made him an Imp. Last Agnes heard he was working for Haliburton.
"No, don't interrupt him. He's probably very busy doing important things if he can't take the time to call his mother."
"Do you wish to go inside?"
"I just don't want to be alone."
| 3 | 0 | 60 | 39,440 |
[WP] You're in an airplane lavatory cruising at 41,000 feet when suddenly you hear a commotion out in the cabin.
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"Please Grandpa, please tell us the story of how you got that scar on your tummy!"
They asked every Christmas.
"Go on, Grandpa, please!"
"Oh, all right." I conceded, setting down my glass of milk. I just couldn't resist their little faces.
"The year was 1967.
The season: summer.
The month: July.
The date: 27rd.
The day: Thursday (seriously)
And it must have been about 4pm because I was just finishing up my afternoon dump. I was flying from London to Miami see, for a medical conference. Your grandfather was a respected physician, and I was to be the keynote speaker on some shit called "Cancer". However,"
I leaned in close to their stupid, podgy faces.
"The plane never made it to Miami."
They squealed.
I twiddle my moustache and puffed on my cigar, another sip of milk and I was straight back to the story.
"I was in the john see, dropping a hoopsnake and smoking a doob-I mean, uh, eating a sandwich, when I hear a commotion on the other side of the door. So I finish my sandwich, flush the deuce into orbit and step out into the aisle. I was flying first class, naturally. There was a crowd of passengers and air hostesses gathered round a man , passed out in the doorway to the cabin. You could go in the cabin back then, it was all fun and games, they took me on a tour before the flight, I went in there and flicked some switches around when the pilot wasn't looking, it was all good fun.
Now before I continue, I would like to point out that this was before the great air hostess souring of the 1980s. The air hostesses in the 60s were nothing like the middle aged, leather faced, xanax-popping, skin-sagging, lemon sucking creatures of the present. This was class A poontang, kids. These girls could've been anything, models, pornstars, probably not doctors or lawyers, but anything respectable.
Anyways, one of the air hostesses turns down the aisle and screams at the top of her lungs "is there a doctor on the plane?". There were several. Many an arm raised in first class, hell they could've been on the way to the same conference as me, but I wasn't going to let them steal the opportunity to impress one of these foxy air hostesses. "Stand the fuck down," I yelled at the bunch of nerds. I rolled up my sleeves to reveal my rippling forearms, I could've torn a mule in half at that age kids. I turned to the air hostess and gave her the ol' sex eye. "I'm a doctor." I informed her. She would've had me right then and there, but I had lives to saves.
I cleared the crowd, "give this man some air!" I shouted. They did what they were told. You bet your ass they did. The air hostess told me that the pilot had got up to shit and passed out on his way to the john. I knew exactly what to do.
"Scalpel!" I yelled, a hostess obliged, I never asked her where she got it from. "This man needs a new lung," I continued. Gasps.
"But where are you gonna get a lung from on this plane, mister?" Asked a particularly slutty air hostess.
"I guess," I replied, pausing for dramatic effect, "I'll have to give him my own." More gasps. That's right kids, I gave that pilot my very own lung lobe. We set up a makeshift operating theatre in coach, because you get what you pay for. The co-pilot was holding the plane at altitude but he needed the pilot to land, otherwise I probably would've flushed that useless bastard and be done with it. So there I am, lying on an emergency gurney, scalpel hovering above my own chest. Now I tell you kids, I've fought in at least like, 7 wars, I've been kicked by a horse and gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, but nothing hurt more than dissecting and removing my own lung lobe for that man.
"How do you know you're the same blood type" The air hostesses said halfway through the procedure. But it was too late for that, lying there, lung in hand, I just had to hope God was on my side. And you know what kids, he was. He really was. As soon as I sellotaped that lung in place the pilot regained consciousness, taking a deep breath. He thanked me for my services and sat back down at the helm, now we'd been cruising at altitude for far too long now, we overshot Miami and had to land in Texas, but dammit everyone on that plane got home to their families safely."
I looked at their wide eyes and took another sip of milk.
"That's right, kids, Grandpa's a hero."
"Is any of that true?" Asked the older one.
"Any of what?" I asked, puffing my cigar.
"Grandpa I'm 26." He said.
"Where are we?" I asked, taking another puff on my breadstick.
"Why are you drinking mouthwash?" He asked as I finished off my milk.
"VISITING TIME IS OVER" Yelled the guard.
"'Til next time, kids." I smiled as they rolled me back through the security doors.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 68,145 |
[wp] write about a villain so terrifying that other characters' dialogue concerning him is more suspenseful than him/her actually appearing.
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He was a town urban legend of sorts. Ancient Andy. I truly believed he was the oldest person to ever live. I mean he looked to be at least two-hundred-years-old.
Lines cut deep into the skin of his face, which appeared the same texture as the bark of a tree. The peach fuzz that loosely clung to his scalp was white. His eyes were cloudy and dim. He had only one tooth in his mouth. Ancient Andy scared the living shit out of me growing up.
Back in the summer of 1994, the neighbor kids had a lot of theories about him.
"I heard he grew up with George Washington as a neighbor, and they got in a fight in grade school, and Ancient Andy knock out six of Washington's teeth. That's why Washington had wooden teeth," Hanson McDermit proudly said, "My dad told me, and I know he *never* lies."
"My mom says he was old when she was young," said Morgan Dalton.
Even as kids, we laughed at him for saying this. Morgan's mother had him when she was about sixteen-years-old. She was kind of "the town floozy," as my mom called it.
"What if he's a zombie," excitedly asked Mike Selencer.
"He's still alive doofus!" That was Markley Jackson, the coolest, smartest kid on the block. He was three years older than the rest of the gang, and yet infinitely more knowledgeable.
"How do you know that? I mean he smells weird."
"Because I know," he snapped at Mike Selencer.
"Anyway," Markley said, his voice changing to a calm, serious tone, "I heard he sucks the blood of children to stay young. That is why you should never, ever walk to his house. No matter what he says or does, because if you do, you'll be dead." A menacing tone entered his voice, like a haunting warning. It sounded like a story to just scare us kids, but I could tell by Markley Johnson's expression that this was no joke.
We would kid around sometimes when we would pass Ancient Andy's house, trying to see who could get closest to him. We usually would make it a few steps, get yelled at, and then rush off in a sea of giggles. One time Mike Selencer got hit in the head with a grape spit from Ancient Andy's mouth. It was so gross.
I did it once, or at least tried to. I had the reputation of being the quiet, wimpy kid, and I was tired of having that title. I had to walk up and touch the bottom step of Ancient Andy's porch, where he generally spent most of his days sitting.
I had cooked up a whole plan, which I felt sure would work. I would wait outside of Hanson McDermit's house, which is just two houses away from Ancient Andy's. Then, when Ancient Andy went inside to go to the bathroom or get some food, I would run at full speed to his house, touch the step, then run back to the safety of Hanson McDermit's house before Ancient Andy got back to his porch rocker.
I spent the whole day watching the house, waiting for my chance. I even skipped a game of Pokemon, which was my favorite game, and I always won because I had a holographic Charzard card. All day I watched, and yet Ancient Andy never left his rocker. He never got any food. Never went to the bathroom. How is it even possible?
I slowly walked, defeated, back to my house, after Mrs. McDermit informed me my mom had called and wanted me home for dinner. I would keep my eyes open. I had to find a chance to get to that step. Some day.
Two weeks later, as I walked to Hanson McDermit's house, I finally got my chance. As I passed Ancient Andy's, I noticed something strange: Ancient Andy was not in his usual seat. I looked around suspiciously. The coast was clear.
Heart pounding in both excitement in fear, I poised myself to make a run for it. Legs pumping as fast as they can, I ran to that elusive bottom step, touched it, and ran back to the safety of the sidewalk.
As I attempted to catch my breath, feeling on top of the world, I recognized the sound of muffled yelling. What was Ancient Andy doing to some poor kid? Maybe I was bold because of my recent accomplishment, but I was prepared to do anything to provide help to some kid getting his blood sucked by Ancient Andy.
I slowly walked up to Ancient Andy's porch. I felt a knot in my stomach and my palms sweat. The combination of the recent physical activity and fears of what lay inside combined to produce a truly chest-pounding heartbeat.
I peered through the window, cautiously, to see Ancient Andy laying on the floor of his living room. He called for help, but I knew he lived alone in the house.
My instinct was to back away from the window. This was just a trap to get my young blood. But then I reconsidered. I mean he is an old man. Maybe he really did need my help.
I tapped on the window and yelled, "Are you ok?"
"No, I'm not ok, you idiot. Go get some help!" He yelled this, but it was less intimidating than it usually was.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Call 9-1-1! I've fallen, and I'm in pain." Then I heard him mumble, "Stupid, idiot son-of-a-bitch."
I ran back to my house, rushed through the door, and flew to the telephone as my mom asked me what had happened and why I was back so soon. I told the operator the name of the street, Monroe Drive, and then informed her about Ancient Andy's current condition. She informed me I should go back and stay with him to keep him awake.
I told my mom, and went over together to Ancient Andy's. He yelled before the ambulance came, shouting profanities I never even knew existed. My mom held my hand in a place I never thought I would ever be: Ancient Andy's living room.
The ambulance came and took Ancient Andy to the hospital. Apparently Ancient Andy had been really sick for a long time, so he never came back home. He died several months later.
I don't know if anyone visited Ancient Andy. I went to the funeral because my mom told me I had to. All us kids did. It was kind of a town event. Ancient Andy didn't have a wife or kids or anything, so the town was his only sort of family.
His house remained empty for two years before a nice couple moved in, painting the peeling wood on the porch, and putting flower boxes in the windows. It wasn't the same creepy house it used to be of days past. The era of Ancient Andy died with him.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 228,137 |
[WP] Once a year for one day the spirits of everything you've ever killed start following you around; insects, vermin and...a man?
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The one who I never knew.
I was too scared to know you.
The guilt and dread collapsed around me.
And I was the only one who could save you.
I said yes with tears when they asked if they should do it.
I cry no with tears when I realize that you're gone.
The day you were created, the hallucinations come.
And tiny creatures come surround me.
Like a spider crawling into your ear.
Then, there's you.
You come up from the floor, emerging from a thick, black smokey mist. I see a young man standing straight but your shoulders are slightly slouched, like when you say yes to your boss but you didn't really want to. You never learned how to speak so you don't talk. It's hard to look into your eyes; you never look at me but I'm afraid that if I stare too long you will. I can tell that you've been crying day and night; your eyes are red and your dark circles are from never sleeping. Your face matches your age but your skin is aged from sorrow. You're always in a light blue denim-colored suit, with a white shirt and a nice tie that matches. This year it was striped with black, yellow and green in different widths.
I always wonder if you dress up on this day just for me.
For your own mother.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 147,318 |
[EU] The Team Rocket kill Ash and finally get Pikachu. When they present it to Giovanny, turns out he's not interested.
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You know I dreamt of this moment, maybe not all my life, but for long enough that I now know no other dreams. So many nights spent laying awake in the soft brush of the night nursing my broken soul from the brink of collapse. Tossing and turning my battered limbs over and over while I painfully blocked out the almost silent sobs of Jessie's broken spirit. She always took it harder, like a cane to the back of the neck you could see the way the last almost 20 years have drugged the limberness of life back down to the abyss of anticipated rejection. Failure had almost become us, and as the only real reality we've really know, we have just simply grown to accept the abuse. Taking the oxygen from our breath, the pep from our step, we started out as so much more then we were today, yet in this moment we were finally complete. May the broken James lay his head to rest, as I take my solace in my long awaited victory. It may be my first but may it not be my last.
Looking up at the back of the leather chair I outstretch my hand presenting a dejected Pikachu towards the boss. Letting my arm hang extended it feels like an eternity before Jessie finally breaks the silence.
"Ahem, Sir? We've finally done it! You see? We've caught Pikachu!"
"He's right here, yes! All for you, Boss, aren't we the best?" Exclaimed Meowth as he swayed nervously holding his tail in his hand.
I stood saying nothing but the optimism written on our faces was far from subtle. We were proud, that was obvious.
After a thick moment of silence Giovanni slowly starts to rotate his seat. A slow creek as the chair finds its position is the only noise heard though out the office. All the anxiety held in our eyes waiting for appraisal, we were sure to finally make the Boss proud. It was finally our time.
Fully twisting in to view, we freeze in the spot light of Giovanni's unmoved face.
"You know when I gave you this project almost twenty years ago my expectation was that this task would not take anything more than a mere week, though we have seen that such timelines and professionalism only seem to escape you even in the most favorable circumstances, yet you have finally managed to wrap up the first and only task I have asked of you in a short span of only two decades."
A sarcastic slow clap fills the room taking over where Gionvanni's voice left off, he was mocking us and the snide smile creeping across his face was just salt in the wound.
Taking a moment Giovanni swallows the underlying rage behind his words, trying his best to ensure the integrity of his composure while turning back to us. .
"Stumbling around in the dark like blind mice you three have proven to be as useful as harlot in a town of Eunuchs. Showing to me you are nothing. Nothing but a cancer that is; a place to which organization and talent go to die. And just as you have given me nothing, I in return, offer you the same."
Glazing his eyes over all of us once more we were dismissed as he turned his chair back to face the monitors.
It took me a moment as the words echoed of my ears, I could hear them, I could see them in my head but, I had refused to acknowledge their reality as they started to strip the very fabric of my soul from my body. Just like I had always feared; I had lived all this abuse, all this struggle, only for the dissatisfaction of one man who never believed in me. I've been here trying for twenty years and yet only now do I find out I was never wanted in the first place.
Turning to Jessie I could see the levee starting the crack in her composure as the reality set itself in. The same look was written across her face as mine. We had just been betrayed and freed as the same time only to be clueless at how to respond.
Clenching my fist driving my nails into my own palm I traced the question in my mind first before letting it escape.
"Are we nothing to you? After so many years and so many failures, do we mean nothing?"
Without skipping a beat or even turning to face us Giovanni offers nothing but one word.
"yes".
My heart sank so deep I couldn't make out the words being yelled by Jessie, I just knew she was livid.
It wasn't until Arboc's poison needles had smashed through the neck of Giovanni that I realized Jessie was not going to have any of this. The blood muffled cough of the Team Rocket CEO trying to breathe through the damage almost brought a smile on my lips as I witnessed Arboc shred his target with his special ability. After a short but deadly assault Jessie halted the attack just long enough to turn the chair over to face them as the life slipped away from Giovanni.
Watching death take the life that had taken ours we locked hands and reveled in the moment.
Tying Pikachu to Giovanni's corpse Me and Jessie vowed to begin again, maybe together, maybe not. But as we struck the match and watched the rocket mansion burn to ground we laughed and hoped to the future. Our Future. Our Adventure.
| 3 | 0 | 57 | 195,882 |
[WP] Describe "her" or "him" (you know the one) with tons of imagery. Finish on their name.
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Well, I can see y'all like this prompt. I've presently written my own:
Many clouds hang in the sky above the sea, placed awkwardly and colliding messily like the first few lines of a story. I stare at the chinks of sunlight peeking through until my eyes begin to burn, everything I look at magically turning yellow for a few seconds afterwards. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I know that she will be here, and when she is, we'll talk and we'll laugh. I strum a chord on my mandolin.
I don't even know who she is. I just know she'll arrive. Then, she does. A petite woman carrying a basket. Nearing me, she arrives again - a completely different woman, but one with whom I entertain the same fantasies. Fantasies of a girl sitting next to me on this bench, spending her with me. I'll sometimes spend hours a day here, just sitting. The first woman walks straight past. I tell myself that she must be very busy, or else she didn't see me. The second woman walks past. I accept my loneliness. I pick out a new melody on the steel strings. Then she turns around. Her dazzling eyes catch my attention, resting on smooth cheeks likShe carries on walking down the road.
Well, that's it for today. I imagine a sarcastic amusement arcade employee waltzing past a bearded drunkard weeping over a pennyfalls machine, a smirk dancing off of the former's smug, stubbled face as he looks the inebriate in the eyes. 'Better luck next time,' the minimum wage charmer laughs. He disappears behind a cheap display.
I pack my mandolin into its small case, positioning the straps over my weary shoulders. It's time to go and see her. I'd call her a backup plan, had it ever been my plan to meet her in the first place. Cornering the gulley, I pull her out of my pocket along with her usual accessories. I'm in her company now. Peg's.
| 3 | 0 | 39 | 834 |
[WP] A man suddenly realizes that his SO was the very first imaginary friend he had.
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"mrrmm... five more minutes." Janet muttered sleepily, and then covered herself with the blanket.
David got up, put some boxers on, and went downstairs. Bacon, out of the fridge. Eggs, onions, tomatoes. Bread out of the freezer. Kettle on the stove. Butter, he forgot butter... like he always did. He started preparing his patented breakfast - two tomatoes in cubes, thinly chopped onions, olive oil, salt, pepper and half a lemon squeezed on top, poached eggs on toast with a couple slices of bacon, and a pot of tea.
He loved mornings. Ever since he was a child, he'd cook breakfast for himself and his dad before the schoolday and workday started. Mum left when he was too young to remember anything more than his parents arguing, but his father made up for it. They both loved tomatoes and onions. It was lonely, sure, but he had such an active imagination. He invented friends all the time, since they never had a television and newspapers were boring for everyone but grown-ups.
He smiled at the memory of those far away days as he heard the shower running. Janet was one year younger than him, and seemed to be the answer to his prayers. She was the adventurous side he yearned for since he was a child, talking to his favorite imaginary friend Jane. Her untamable black curls, loquacious verbosity, love for lemony sweets, and even her haphazard failures in the kitchen were all so *her*. A match for his short red hair, mild demeanor and infinite patience. Or so she said, anyways. He didn't have the heart to tell that it was only around her that he found patience because the rest of his troubles seemed so far away.
... wait.
Jane loved lemony sweets. And had the wild hair. And her cooking tips caused most of his father's endless attempts to salvage breakfast. And she was the adventurous side he always wanted.
"It can't be." he said to himself, still standing in front of the stove.
He felt her arms around him, and then a kiss on his neck.
"What can't be?" Janet asked.
"Well, when I was a kid, I had this imaginary friend." David said.
"Yeah, me too... we mentioned that on our second date." replied Janet.
He looked at her. It was unmistakable. Impossible, but there it was.
"Jane?"
"Dave?"
| 9 | 0 | 13 | 118,925 |
[WP] Write a story about what a side character thinks and feels in a romantic story.
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You return home to your apartment, the keys placed in your spare change dish your dog greets you. He's a pretty dog to have, nice color, nice coat, loving and makes the feeling of loneliness go away for a little while.
You can't be bothered with him right now, so you pat his head and dive into the couch to recount your day. The majority of the time had been spent in anticipation of dinner, not a minute pass where you didn't think about a night of drinking with the guys especially mike. Which was strange considering Mike was a dick, actually all of you had acted like bigger dicks than mike— but only when you all were together, in front of Mike, or his girlfriend (former ex til you told him to "take a chance", which if you were to consider the fact the ex was sort of a birch to you or Mike's friends, then it was poor advice), or any of her friends.
Come to think of it, you can't quite remember why the two of your were best friends. The earliest memory you have is Mike opening the door to the dormitory you shared at UCLA. When he opened the door you felt as though there was meaning in the world, that your life had purpose and when he left their was the cold lethargic stillness to life again. So you stuck around him. Through thick and thin you stayed beside him to feel as God had given you a purpose in this world. O yes, God was real and he love Mike Drowwe.
You on the other hand don't seem to have a surname at all.
As the cold becomes you, you take comfort in the a small part of silence that Mike showed off a ring to you and guys two hours ago at the bar. You take comfort that it all will be over soon, and the dog who been baying for you to play tug of war impatiently with the toy in his mouth and between his teeth, will finally give you something to last awhile and go the fuck to sleep.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 59,589 |
[WP] In a dystopic world, the government is making a campaign promoting assisted suicide to counteract overpopulation. You're standing in line to enter the official building, reading the advertisement on the other side of the street. What does it say? What will happen to you inside?
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Marvin, The Punk had always heard the same stupid shit spewed out of the useless noise boxes set up on every goddamned corner: "End Your own life, spare another!" He hated the advertisements. They were always so goddamned corny and "selfless," even though this stupid fucking oppressive oligarchy couldn't give a shit less about its citizens.
Still, he was starting to feel like they had a point. There were too many people in this world. Fields of homeless people just piled up in alleys, almost indistinguishable from the junk and trash they slept on, angry, terrifying tweakers yelling at the top of their lungs in the middle of the night as they walked down twenty second street, banging broken pipes against bus benches. His friends and him had no jobs to go to, stole food from old people, beat up other gangs to find fucking water. The point of living was to stay over one hundred and twenty pounds. It was getting harder. The growling in his stomach had stopped mattering, he was just trying to avoid the migranes now. Heroin and ACX-48 helped, but they ate up his money.
So, here he wasstanding in The Suicide Line, or as it was called by the friendly robots that had replaced the humans who should have been working there in this massively overpopulated shithole, "The Preliminary Processing Screening Holding Area." He sighed and sneered as his mohawk turned from right to left, his eyes suspiciously darting over the unchanging happy faces on those annoying machines' bodies. A loud clanging was heard, and his head darted toward it, as a tweaker belted his lungs out, clanging his pole on a bus bench. Marvin's eyes fixed on the advertisement.
"It isn't worth it anymore, is it?" read the advertisement. Without knowing it, or even meaning to, Marvin was already screaming.
"No!" He yelled at the robot nearby. "It isn't worth it anymore! You fucking bastards! You all get rich and go up to your fucking sky-castles and kill off all the animals and burn off all the fucking crops and then you blame it on us?! 'Oh all those poor people! Fucking and eating! How *dare* they?!' There's colonies on the moon, and on Mars!" He was yelling at the people around him. "Do you fuckers know that?! The moon and Mars! And Europa now too! They don't even hide itit's on the goddamned news!"
The robots were entering the lines and moving toward him, advising all the suicidal assholes around him to stay put. "Uh uh!" he barked. "FUCK this!" He whipped out his revolver and aimed it squarely at the holographic monitor projecting one of the machine's happy faces. The two remaining, extremely expensive bullets were made just for these two cunts. He felt the trigger squeeze in his hand, and as he watched the first one lurch to the side and sieze with death, a big, jagged smile etched across his gaunt cheeks. The second machine was taken down with just as much zeal before Marvin was off and running.
He wouldn't die today. Maybe they'd try to kill him now, and that was just fine. People had always been trying to kill Marvin, The Punk. But he wouldn't give up. They'd have to nail him to a fucking cross and light him on fire, and he'd laugh all the way until he saw the big black nothing. Marvin, The Punk was no coward.
| 3 | 0 | 54 | 39,933 |
[WP] A butterfly effect begins with spilt milk, and leads to a plane crash.
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Jim never could pay attention to anything on the ground. His groceries, his socks, even his driver's license. The day started normal enough—he cracked a single serving bottle of milk, popped some store-bought muffins into the microwave, and turned on channel 8.
"...Our thoughts go out to those who've fallen ill with e. coli. Now for the nine o'clock weather. Greg?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm not ready for this heat wave. It's rolling into Dallas hard, though, and it's here to stay, We're looking at temps over 100 all week, with..."
Jim snapped out of his seat with a start, knocking over his milk.
"Nine? I'll be late!"
With that, he grabbed his muffins and another milk from the fridge and bolted out the door. Five minutes later he was sitting in a parking lot on the interstate, trying desperately to get to DFW by 10. Forty-five miserable, A/C-less minutes later, he pulled into the lot and dashed madly for the screening area. A flashed badge and some jogging later and he was at the gate, eating his muffin and drinking his milk, finally. *I ought to switch brands. This tastes—* The plane pulled up to the gate. It was time.
Flying was the only thing that ever made sense for Jim. *Lord knows my marriage didn't.* Whenever things got slower than a few hundred mph he just got twitchy and distracted. Take his car for example: his A/C had been out for a year, and this was the third big heat wave of the summer. His fridge, as another example, couldn't maintain a pleasant temperature whenever the weather broke 95 degrees. All in all, Jim was a slacker on the ground. He laid in a course for Portland and prepared the cockpit for takeoff.
Two hours later and somewhere over the West, Jim wasn't feeling so good. With a sudden heave, he puked all over the console. The autopilot began sounding a stall alarm, despite their clearly level flight, and the nose pitched forward. Try though he might, nothing Jim did could regain manual control over the plane. As they accelerated at the mountains of Colorado below, all Jim could think of was the sour taste of his milk.
| 2 | 0 | 3 | 185,234 |
[WP] Write about a man infected by a sentient mind controlling parasite.
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Journal entry 117:
The mood in the lab has improved exponentially over the last two days. After months of exploring the cavern we've finally found something of note: the meteor which pierced the surface and revealed the enormous cave was located and hauled back to the laboratory. No one here wants to go back to that hellish place now; the heat from the impact still emanates from the walls and the stalactites and stalagmites cast monstrous shadows. But that doesn't matter now. We have found our ticket to the Nobel prize and fame and fortune; we have found the first ever alien species.
Even typing those two words sends shivers up and down my spine; it was completely unexpected even for the heads of the project who managed to persuade the board to excavate in the first place. We all thought that the small rocky body that lit up the sky above the Ukkusiksalik national park stood a chance at containing information on how minor heavenly bodies can be formed or perhaps newly discovered elements but never life. It's starting to look like the months of negotiating access and weeks of navigating to the cave may not have been in vain.
We recovered two specimens and neither seemed to differ in any meaningful way. When we found them and slipped them into individual containers they were quite small creatures, no more than five inches long by two inches wide. They stood around an inch off the ground on eight small insect like legs and were protected by a flexible carapace made of something similar to earthly cartilage. This initial form lasted until today when specimen 1 created a sort of 'web' around itself. We're hypothesizing that it's undergoing a metamorphosis similar to that of the butterfly.
Journal entry 118:
Specimen 2 has cast its own web around itself just as specimen 1 is breaking out of its own. We still haven't discovered if this novel species has anything equivalent to a male or a female but some of us have taken to calling the specimens 'her', and 'she'. The thing emerging from specimen 1's webby chrysalis is totally transformed and is objectively ugly - at least from a human perspective. It no longer has slim legs; they have been replaced by four fleshy appendages which end in hard stumps. It has also roughly doubled in size and is now diamond shaped with black spots at the end we have designated its head. The spots appear to react to light and just underneath is a proboscis like instrument which extends from the creature's face and appears to be used for feeding. Expulsion is somewhat of a mystery as besides the feeding tube there doesn't seem to be any break in the creature's slimy white skin.
Journal entry 119:
Specimen 1 sneezed at me today. I did the responsible thing and reported it to my superiors and now I'm in quarantine. The thick gunk which landed on my face was scraped off for examination and I was escorted to an isolated area. The air I'm breathing is fed in via a different system to the rest of the lab and it's removed and heated to 1000ºC in a moist air sterilisation process before being subjected to concentrated ultraviolet rays to eliminate any pathogens before being fed back into the atmosphere. So far I'm showing no ill effects.
Journal entry 122:
Specimen 1 haunts me. Her phlegm is still stuck to my face no matter how hard I scrub. My team has started refusing to give me any more soap or instant handwash after Lisa saw my raw face and panicked.
Journal entry 123:
It's clear to me now. The specimens are quite beautiful, in their own way. They're perfectly adapted; they need few nutrients because they are only the conduit and aren't required to last more than a few days, just long enough to pass on their seed.
Journal entry 124:
I smashed the glass of my isolation room today. My colleagues tried to restrain me but I still managed to free specimen 2. We're going to travel back to the cave. Our family is there. Our home is waiting.
| 5 | 0 | 9 | 35,052 |
[WP] Any person you punch in anger is cured of all disease and is given perfect health for the rest of their life. The truth of this has gotten out and now everyone is out to piss you off.
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To be honest I never knew when it began.
They told me I was young, small and weak. That I socked Peter in the face for yelling something stupid in the playground.
They told me that as his body crumpled to the ground from his wheelchair, they saw color flush into his body. He apparently stood up afterward.
They told me I ran away, hiding in the bathroom because I was afraid of being punished.
They told me they coaxed me out with some candy and I sat, sniveling at my desk. Peter came up to me and said something. No one told me about that though.
They told me my parents comforted me, held me and told me everything was going to be all right.
They told me it got worse when I came back to school the next day. Peter had told everyone and all the sick kids came up to me. They yelled and screamed and yelled and screamed and yelled and screamed till I couldn't take it anymore and I started swinging. When it was over they all thanked me and walked away.
They told me I felt used at that time.
I told them they were wrong.
I told them of how I felt as I walked into high school, elated that the stigma had been supposedly left behind.
I told them of my despair when I learned that was not the case.
I told them of the little things. Notes in my locker. Trash in my shoes. Jeers on my desk. I thought it couldn't get worse.
I told them of the escalation, how friends began to use me to cover up shame, abuse. How my fists grew hard and calloused from hitting both people and the wall. How the provocation went to looting, stealing and even hitting me.
I told them of my nights crying, tears streaming down my face, running into my mouth as my knuckles trembled with slat rivers of blood and bone.
I told the of my parents, who drove away those who came to our house in the dead of night. Who grew angrier and angrier when I was mentioned with punching in the same sentence. Who tried to give me a normal life.
I told them of my falling grades and growing isolation, as my fists began to do all the work.
I told them of my graduation, when even my class valedictorian referenced my ability and everyone laughed. Except me.
I told them of my escape into the real world; I tasted bliss for the first time without any chains to my past.
I told them applying for jobs, then finding out in dismay that my reputation preceded me. I never found one which just let me be normal.
I told them of the name changing, the moving. People knew me as the one who heals with fists. It began again wtb mail, messages, scribbles on the wall, notes on my car. I ran.
I told them of the shadow that followed me, no matter where I went. It gripped me tight and held up my hardened, calloused knuckles out. They still bled then as they do now. The skin will never heal.
I told them of the voice which told me to run run run run run. So I ran, blood trailing as the shadow filled my rearview mirror and tears clouded my front.
I told them of the constants in my life, the vandalism, the insults. The constant provocation for me to heal. And I did.
I told them of the white truck, which aimed rights for my parents and tore them in two.
I told them of the man and his son who got out. It was Peter.
I told them of how he greeted me. How he smiled as he walked toward me saying some shit about his son being fucking saddled with a severe flu. How the passerby came around to see a miracle.
I told them of how I walked up to him. How I told him I needed some goddamn privacy to do this fucking miracle even though my fucking parents lie dead on the ground. How eyes filled with red and how I grabbed his son's little shit head and smashed it into the alley pavement. Peter was next. My hands were strong. I took his throat and crushed it in my fingers. Then I stomped his twig of a neck to the ground.
I told them of how I realized how my hands could escape from being everyone's fucking healing tools or some shit. A woman doesn't have to be everyone's angel.
I told them. Just before I killed them.
| 1 | 0 | 1,208 | 222,238 |
[WP] Humanity is a glitch in the system, life on earth was supposed to develop into a bio-computing node for a galaxy spanning computing network. You are the repairman sent to find out what went wrong.
|
*^/Start ^report*
**TOP SECRET/LIMITED DISTRIBUTION**
*Translated by Galactic Translators, for all you primitive translations needs*
To: Computer Control
From: Maintenance team 2134, Operator 731334C334VJ-33
Date: -307987.5713470319**
*Location: Orion Arm, Gould Belt, Computer node 55C-J*
**Re: Malfunction in node 55C-J
**
**Background**
Computer system 4453-Y has been operating for the past 66 million years (earth years). Galactic Enterprises (GE) had set up system 4453-Y to advance the capabilities of GE's accounting software. With operations 1,002 galaxies and 60,094 sub companies a low level semi uninhabited galaxy was needed to compute all sales transactions and payroll for all clients and employees.
4553-Y was set up 66 million years ago. The galaxy is a non consequential and mostly uninhabited. Four planets were had "life" in the most basic sense. All four planets were sterilized by crude methods. Node 55C-J was cleaned by the GE unit 6893-RT (Rock Throwers). A "missile" was aimed at the planet and fired. It created the perfect conditions for an organic node. The silt that was thrown into the air sterilized the planet of all large animals and just left the best processors around, ferns.
The node had been functioning at peak efficiency till about 200,000 years ago. GE monitoring station on Betelgeuse noticed a slight drop in efficiency and dispatched survey crew 842-S. 842-S found primitive bipedal creatures. These creatures appeared to be harmless and posed no threat to system at the time. 842-S came to the conclusion that it was a normal part of aging for the node and no action should be taken. The efficiency decline continued and had a major spike downwards around 10,000 years ago. Due to the backlog of node failure and the dismantling system 8234-HY evaluation could not be made until recently.
**Current situation**
In the past 200,000 years "humans" as they call themselves have evolved into their present state. The have become parasitic in nature. Through their advancements they have managed to colonize all of the planet in node 55C-J. They have visited their power station "the moon". Landing on it and walking on it, an impressive feat for such primitive people. They have also sent out rudimentary "robots" or "rovers" to other planets and moons and it appears plans are in the works to colonize their next door neighbor, Mars.
Their parasitic nature has destroyed the face of the main computing node. They have cut down forests, built inefficient cities, forced their way underground and have started taking out the lubrication oil for the node to work. The "humans" have done almost irreversible damage to the node in the past 200 years. The temperature has been steadily rising destroying the important cooling reactors on the top, bottom and high parts of the planet. I has not seen anything like this before.
Operator 731334C334VJ-33 tried to take action and fix the issue. During their "second world war", they apparently didn't learn anything the first time, I gave two factions some low level radioactive material and the knowledge on how to weaponize it. The "United States" used their version of the weapons twice killing approximately 300,000 humans. Currently there are 27,000 of these weapons on the planet.
**Corrective action**
A section in node 55C-J has been badly corrupted by a virus. Limited self correcting means have failed to fix the issue. This virus in the next 300 years has the potential to infect the rest of the node. This issue must be dealt with immediately. There is also a 54% chance that this virus will spread to their next node 55C-K in the next 2,000 years.
My recommendations are
**Bring in GE unit 6893-RT (Rock Throwers) to do a "reformat" of the node**
Pros: Complete overhaul and the ability to replace the previous technology with the next generation technology.
Cons: They may have the ability to shoot down missiles aimed at them. The size of missile required would do permanent damage to the surface of the node.
**Increase pressure to create mutual destruction with their 27,000 nuclear weapons.**
Pros: Short recovery time 2,000-4,000 years
Cons: The humans are resilient pest and a few may survive. We may be revisiting this issue in another 10,000 years
**Capture them all and take them to GE base 831 for secret research. These humans if given the right tools have the ability to sabotage any node in our competitor's system.**
Pros: We will have a new devastating weapon to unleash on competitors node.
Cons: If they escape an universal epidemic may take place.
*Maintenance team 2134, Operator 731334C334VJ-33
^/end ^report*
| 17 | 0 | 160 | 185,490 |
[EU] For generations, Hogwarts students have been divided into four houses. As you sit beneath the Sorting Hat, you become the first student chosen for a mysterious fifth house.
|
"Thomas Jones", Professor Flitwick called. Hufflepuff's cheering halted, as Tom slowly walked towards the scruffy old hat. He could feel the entire schools eyes on him. He had been reading up on all of the houses since he first visited Diagon Alley just a month ago, and wanted to be in Gryffindor, although, as much as he tried he couldn't figure out which house he belonged to. Most of the other first years on the train were fairly certain which house they would be put into.
Tom reached the wooden chair and sat down, as Professor Flitwick reached above his head to place the hat.
"Oh, this is an interesting one...", the sorting hat began. "Well, you've got brains enough for Ravenclaw, and loyalty to spare. Your overwhelmingly brave, but too cunning for Griffindor. Hmm, this is both interesting and confusing. This is a rather unique predicament isn't it, your just a bit peculiar."
"Oh no, have I done something wrong? What if the sorting hat can't choose a house?" Tom began to worry.
"I think you'll be perfect", the hat said rather menacingly. "You will be the first student in the house of Dumbledore!" The flags on the walls of the great hall all changed to the purple of the famous wizards robe, bearing a phoenix as the house animal.
Tom heard whispers from both the thousands of students in front of him and the teachers behind. Professor McGonagall, the headmistress, rose from her chair and paced towards Tom. She grabbed him by the upper arm, and picked up the sorting hat, and pulled them towards the doorway at the end of the hall. Tom could feel the student body glaring at him in condescension. Tom looked around as McGonagall led him through a maze of corridors and staircases until they reached her office. She sat Tom down on the chair opposite her desk. Looking around, Tom recognized most of the previous headmasters in the moving portraits along the walls, especially the last two. He read so much about them in the revised 'Hogwarts: A History'. He spotted Professor Dumbledore, who appeared peaceful and content, next to Professor Snape, who wore an unpleasant look, as though he hat eaten a foul vegetable or something.
"What were you thinking!" McGonagall yelled at the sorting hat.
"He doesn't fit into any of the houses, he seems to be much like the late Dumbledore, so I accepted his peculiarity and put him in the closest house I thought matched."
"If he is so much like Dumbledore, then put him in Gryffindor!"
"No, Dumbledore never fit in in Griffindor, and neither will Thomas, unlike the normal Gryffindor student, Thomas and Dumbledore are cunning, but too passive for Slytherin."
"Then what are we to do with him? We can't have him in a house on his own, where is he to sleep? Who will teach him the rules of the school?"
"I just sort the kids, the ergonomics is your job."
"Well, if Gryffindor worked for Dumbledore, then it will work for you in the mean time. You are to treat Gryffindor as your own house until we find a more permanent solution." McGonagall picked up the sorting hat and led Tom back to the great hall, and showed him to the Gryffindor table. Tom felt the now familiar glare burning into him as he walked towards the closest spare seat. McGonagall approached the House Captain to explain the solution. Tom sat down next to another first year. Tom felt the school still glaring at him until McGonagall placed the hat back down on the chair. Professor Flitwick called the next name,
"Albus Potter!"
| 3 | 0 | 2,484 | 224,628 |
[WP] "You've got a lot of ----ing nerve to show up here after what you pulled, Koko."
|
"You've got a lot of fucking nerve showing up here after what you pulled, Koko," Alice mutters, flicking her lighter with a synthetic hand. She lights her cig and then tosses the lighter onto her desk and stares at her matte black surface level plating. Inscribed on the back of her hand is a small symbol, the head of a bitter and angry looking dog. "See these fucking arms? I'm sure you know they're your fault."
The taller woman leaning against the door by the wall takes a drag on her own cigarette and then flicks her ash off on the floor. A tiny spiderlike robot skitters over and sucks it up, then skitters off to do, presumably, more vacuuming.
"Yeah, I know, Alice. I know. I fucked you harder than I ever did in the bedroom," she says. Alice watches her lips move and form the words. Though both women know that the pale redhead will never admit it, she's always been hopelessly attracted to Koko. "Spent some time around home, you know, after. Way back in China. Had to have some surgery of my own."
Alice rises from her desk and marches to the window, staring out. She knows if Koko came to her, that means people are after her. The casual conversation is better than playing the waiting game in silence.
"Yeah? Did you have them go in and remove some of the ice around your heart?" the redhead asks. Her anger makes her typically subtle Irish accent much more noticeable. "Or did you save yourself the pain of feeling any normal human emotions and instead just have them remove the heart, decrepit blackness and all?"
Koko laughs, brushing a few errant strands of her hair behind an ear and checking to make sure the tie isn't coming out.
"You call me a black hearted bitch? Ask me about feeling normal human emotions? We're both psychopaths, don't pull any high road bullshit on me. We kill people and smuggle shit for a living. You live in the criminal haven of the world," Koko says coldly, walking up to stand beside her at the window. "We're both killers. And no, it wasn't heart surgery. It was kidney, liver, and leg."
Alice's cold synthetic eyes widen and she looks over, processing rings around glowing green irises spinning as fast as they possibly can. Kok tugs her leather jacket open and pulls up the tanktop beneath to expose the multiple thick surgical scars on a firm stomach. She drops it and works her belt open before dropping her pants. High up on her hip there is wide series of scars around a matte black segmented plating set that Alice knows covers the external parts of the mounting hardware and socket for the Russian high speed combat limb replacement. The other leg is much the same, but with less scarring around the mounting hardware.
"You got them both done for balance... makes sense. What made you lose the first leg though? Karma?"
"You think I left you there to die, in that god damned base in Laos, and I sort of did. I was hoping you didn't, but it was a risk I was willing to take to get the fuck out of there. On my way out, I got caught by an acid round. Barely made it to the jet transport. Had to have Reilly cut my fucking leg off, no anesthesia. The pain alone almost fucking killed me, you bitch," she mutters, tugging her pants back up and turning her back, looking around the office. "When I got back with the data and the stolen weapons, I took most of the pay and ran to China. Called in some favors to get your bitch ass out of there. Happy? I was in rehabilitation for two and a half years. Couldn't come see you even if I wanted to."
"You had favors with the fucking resistance in Laos? Jesus, there is a lot of shit you never told me," Alice says, not even looking back. "Who's after you? Is it Ivans? The Triads? Yakuza? Germans?"
"Yakuza. I might have taken a trip to Japan and pissed in their punch bowl a few times while getting the cash to get here safely," Koko answers, walking across the room to a blank piece of wall that happens to have a table in front of it. She reaches under the edge of the table and presses a button, and the wall next to the table slides open. Equipment racks slide out. "Hooooly fuckin' shit. You've got... Alice, these are all magnetic weapons!"
"Yeah, and better yet they're all HanzerTech and the ammo is Anvil Industries. Top of the tip top of the line. Take the rifle, I know you always liked them big... slut."
"Oh hah. I guess you'll be taking the assault rifle, right? Because... because uh... insert joke about you being a huge fucking whore," Koko hisses, grabbing the magnetic rifle and an armor vest. She tosses the vest over and the much smaller woman stumbles when it hits her in the head. Her eyes meet Koko's, however, and both women smile.
"Greeeeat joke, idiot. You're going to pay for the vest throw."
"I sure hope so. I also hope you can fight in that little black dress, too."
Alice glares and tugs the dress over her head, marches to her desk, opens a drawer, and tugs out a shirt and some pants. Quickly, they both gear up and get their vests on and then turn towards the windows again. There's gunfire on the street now - the men under Alice's command, her many dogs, fighting to protect the building.
"Ready to go down and play?"
"I always go down and play, Alice. You're the frigid one," Koko replies, smirking as they start to walk towards the door.
"Oh, that hurts. That hurts me deep, deep in my heart.... now shut the fuck up and help me shoot things."
| 4 | 0 | 16 | 105,097 |
[WP] Your lover is in the hospital on their deathbed with less than 24 hours to live...in other country. You drop everything and hurry to the airport to be with them, but you miss the last flight of the day.
|
"I'm so sorry." The doctors tone was grim. "There is nothing more we can do except make her comfortable."
"Thank you."
I hung up the phone, put it away and let out a long breath. We did everything together.
It wasn't fair to see someone I cared about so much lying in a hospital bed, with all but the last hint of life having already left.
The cab driver beckoned, "$21.65. Have a good day."
I thanked him bleakly, hopped out of the cab and proceeded to drag myself to the platform.
The train was late. As usual. But this time it matters. I have a flight to catch. I have someone I care about that needs me.
I need her.
The lady behind the check-in counter doesn't seem to care.
"My train was late! I have to get on this plane! You don't understand."
"Sorry sir but check in closed ten minutes ago."
If I drive it will take all night, and I still might not make it in time. To hell with it. She needs me.
I have to be there.
Sirens light up behind me. It's the first car I've seen in hours, of course I'm speeding.
Dawn breaks and reveals a new day. Still no word from the hospital.
"That's a good thing right?" I thought to myself.
Half an hour away. Hold on sweetheart, I'm almost there.
The sliding doors can't open fast enough, my shoulder slams into it. It's hurts but I don't care. It doesn't hurt like losing her will.
I round a corner to the elevator.
So close now.
As I run through the empty corridors, I have only one thought; to see her smile one last time.
I reach her door. Take one deep breath and grab the handle.
Her body fills with life and joy, and the smile that's reassured me for eleven years covers her face.
"I knew you'd make it."
"I love you."
She closed her eyes, her smile faded slightly, her grip on my hand loosened.
| 2 | 0 | 3 | 85,075 |
[EU] The Courier never left Goodsprings. Write about their life there.
|
'They'll come for Goodsprings you know. The Legion aren't going to stop for anyone now that they took the dam.' Victor said, his screen flickering with static.
'Let them come. We've taken on Powder Gangers, the NCR and even a couple of Deathclaws roaming the Long 15. I'm not scared of some tinpot dictator with an obsession with the past.' The Courier said, looking out across the wasteland. He never left Goodsprings after the incident. After getting rid of Joe Cobb and helping out those who nursed him back to health, he saw no reason to meddle in affairs which would no doubt lead to him ending up with a second bullet lodged in his brain.
He checked his Pip Boy, which was falling apart just like Victor. Rad levels were normal, the radio stations were still shut off. Caesar didn't take kindly to music that wasn't in the hokey old language him and his cronies spoke in. It made patrols out in the Mojave a lot quieter, not having the jingle jangle of that cowboy's damn spurs to liven up the journey.
'What are we going to do when they come?' Victor said, a tinge of sadness in the old robot's voice.
'We'll do what we always do. Rally the gang and repel those monsters just like old times. While I may not be the fanciest talker, my rifle is mighty eloquent.' the courier replied, grasping his notched Hunting Rifle. He coughed and clutched his chest, Doc Mitchell's final Stimpak wearing off.
'But, they're all gone partner, we're the only two left.'
The Courier kept looking forward, gripping his rifle tightly. 'Well, let's show them what we can do.'
It was evening when the Legion came knocking on Goodsprings' front door. The Courier was ready for them, rigging up the salon to blow as soon as the bastards entered. He fought to the last round him and Victor, finally being gunned down after hours of fighting.
Goodsprings was left abandoned from then on, as the Legion rolled through the Mojave and up towards California. Scavengers claim that you can hear the clattering of an old robot and a ghostly whistle as you pass by the ruined settlement.
While people may ask what could have been if he had left Goodsprings after that damn Platinum Chip, at least he died fighting for his own cause. War did change the Courier, it gave him a place to call home in the hell that was the Mojave.
| 6 | 0 | 9 | 113,330 |
[IP] Drake.
|
Morgan Prime unlocked his door and quickly stepped into his house. The rain outside had begun to pour and was soaked to the skin. He peeled off his coat and pants and walked over to his bedroom for more clothes. Prime lived in a simple five room apartment. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and living room, which was all Prime really needed. He could live in nice, three story houses like his colleagues, but Prime, who was still a bachelor, liked to live simple. After changing into dry clothes he moved over to his computer desk. He walked up and the computer orb, which scanned his face, confirming he was Morgan Prime.
"Hello Mr. Prime, what can I do for you?" asked the machine politely.
"Open my work email computer." Prime requested and in an instant his work email was displayed in front of him using a hologram. He reached up and touched the hologram where his newest email was and it opened to reveal text. A picture of a robot sprang up in front of Prime. It was a sleek humanoid robot, with two blue eye, one much larger then the other. It looked to be about 6'1, with a thin body and oval smooth head.
Prime began to read the email. "Congratulations Mr. Prime we have accepted your 'Drake' model robot and have begun production immediately. This robot is revolutionary!! The first of its kind!! As requested you will get 30 % of all profits. You shall start seeing that soon. Have a good day Mr. Prime"
Prime smiled and sat down, allowing relief to wash over him. The Drake class robot had been an ambitious attempt. There had been many failings and setbacks but Prime had shouldered on, many times using some of his personal cash to keep the project afloat. Now, he probably wouldn't have to work again. The defense department was already hammering out a contract for Drake robots to be used on the battlefield which would mean millions would be bought. Prime had insisted that he get 30% of the profits from Roclon selling his robot and that had been a whole different battle. They wanted to give him 10% but Prime would not budge. There had been arguments, cursing, threats, but finally Roclon had budged.
Prime stood up. This was a cause for celebration. He had an amazing Resalte 400$ wine sitting in the kitchen for just this sort of occurrence. Prime turned the corner into the kitchen and froze.
There, in the middle of the kitchen, stood a Drake robot. Its giant blue eye scanning the surroundings. The robot stared at Prime for a second before its metallic voice called out "Target acquired, Morgan Prime"
Before Prime could move the robot had crossed the kitchen in a single leap. It slammed into Prime, throwing him back into the living room and into the coffee table. Stars exploded in Prime's vision and his body ached. The robot was on top of him in seconds. Its giant blue eye staring coldly down at Prime.
"Why?" was all Prime could whisper before the robot reach down, grabbed his head with its cold hands, and twisted.
| 2 | 0 | 6 | 69,587 |
[CW] Two people fall in love. No dialogue.
|
With a languid flick of my boot, I brushed away enough of the dirt to see my old friend, that tarnished metal seal, the letter A adorned with a line unabashedly penetrating its southern end, that ever-present companion guiding me north on my solo hike along the Appalachian Trail. A deep breath and a sigh carried me forward towards the inevitable tourists that tainted every postcard backdrop from Georgia to Maine. Twenty paces ago was a parking lot full of vehicles belonging either to breezy locals or to the dreaded day-hikers, both a painful reminder of the world I had intended to leave behind.
I had already passed two groups of them. The first group was a young couple out for a typical internet-inspired walk, hoping to ascend a sliver of the AT for their promised prize, a picture along some ledge in whatever town it was that I was passing; the same gimmicky picture a hundred other hikers were to take today.
The second group consisted of two clean children in khaki shorts and tucked-in shirts accompanied by a hawk-eyed and unpleasant mother whose dark sunglasses and carefully positioned hair spoke to the fact that it was not her who chose this day, but rather her wistful husband, he of the untarnished, squeaky boots and collared shirt, pressing forward with the assistance of a manufactured walking stick, painted in a mockery of the surrounding forest and no doubt emblazoned with the epitaph _Made In China_. It was the children who first noticed me and called to their father. They stepped aside and let me pass, which I did with a polite nod. As I continued, I felt the accusing glare of the woman and heard the hushed whisper of the kids asking whether that rough looking girl was a real hiker, and why she was alone.
I hadn't started out alone. No, that's not entirely true. While my first steps along the path were alone, the weeks and months leading up to that first footfall were anything but. Like so many before, this love turned out to be as rocky as the path on which I tread. We had planned to hike to Maine. It was supposed to bring us together. He lost interest in our plans. He lost interest in me. I carried on.
But that was months ago. The trail has brought me solitude, a chance to think about the past, about him, to think about what I should have said or done, but most of all it provided a chance to not have to think. There is something about the endless plodding that clears the mind of all distractions; something that really drives home the reality of living in the present, of abandoning both the past and the future and absorbing the scent of the pines, the sight of faint blue fog settling down amidst the ridges, and the endless crunch of twigs and scattered stones that accompanies each step.
As the morning went on, the day hikers became more frequent. They were all in a good mood, having spent the past few nights in a warm bed, I imagine. Some of them greeted me or tried to strike up a conversation with one trite comment or another. All I could afford was a nod. My smiles had been dampened by the previous nights' rains.
The trail split. To the left was a well-worn path and a cacophony of voices, the dreaded tourist trap. I had no desire to stop. What I avoided could be purchased at any local gas station for the price of a stamp.
I found my solace shortly thereafter, as the leaves and the breeze quietly absorbed all sounds of humanity and replaced vulgarity with the soft breath of the wind, a whisper that once again tickled my ear, a weightless companion whose voice I had been ignoring.
It was mid-afternoon before I stopped, far away from the mountainside commotion of the uninspired. The location was an unassuming game trail I veered towards on a whim, with the intention of resting my weary feet for a bit. As the first boot came off, I sank back against the tree trunk with a weary moan of pleasure. I could feel the air in my lungs and how it was beginning to cool as evening crept nearer, when I felt the dawning awareness that I was not alone.
It was no threat that I felt, but rather a sense of mutual curiosity. As I let my eyes drift open, I noticed another hiker sitting on the granite outcrop a few yards away. By his side was a weather-worn canvas backpack, and in his gnarled hands he held a tattered plastic bag. His jaw slowly worked against a piece of jerky while his dark grey eyes gazed across the rolling hills. He was aware of my presence but did not glance my way.
Minutes passed with my back pressed against that tree. Several flies darted this way and that but did not obstruct the view of the valleys below. All the while, the other hiker slowly chewed away at his jerky and sipped occasionally from a bottle of water, distracting me from my unadulterated view of the mountains. When I eventually approached him, he did not look up, but stared straight ahead and gave a slight nod, then offered me an apple from his pack.
The hours slipped by and not a word was said. That afternoon, we shared a vista, the world behind a window we had both removed in order to experience the reality beyond. The sun was nearing the horizon before he looked at me, and in those grey eyes I felt something. It wasn't desire or lust or even love. It was more akin to an understanding, a tender look of knowing that dimmed even the oncoming blaze of sunset. His look was brief and his nod imperceptible, but we both understood. We picked up our packs and started north, side by side.
| 1 | 0 | 10 | 13,411 |
[WP] A world where a person's lifespan decreases when they become emotional
|
Michael Allen was dreading his birthday. He had entirely figured out the system, how to game life. Birthdays were his weakness. All his customary stoicism was threatened on that day, March 17th. Close to ending his two-hundredth year, there would certainly be a party. Most of his children were now dead, but his other descendants held a contempt for him that so motivated a party.
They all knew he would hate it. Inspiring that feeling of hatred was their attempt to push Michael off the ledge, spiraling into the darkness of death which they had watched so many others greet with greater optimism.
His first son, Freddy, died when he was seventeen. He had stupidly and unconditionally loved a girl, dying with a smile on his face. His second, Roger, lived to be much older, dying in his mid fifties. As he aged, each year of self hatred and bitterness slowly shaved his life away until he died from it. Michael had daughters too, but forced himself to care little for them, he wasn't entirely aware of their current status in life, or if they were living at all. Michael's marriage was fortunately one of convenience. He allowed himself to note only that she was tolerable, and nothing else. Both love and whatever crushing sadness that could have come with her death would have killed him long ago. Luckily, refraining from all significant aspects of life, he continued to live.
But this potential party, and the dislike for his family he was so ardently suppressing was a threat. Holding nothing else of any meaning, the continuation of life was all Michael strived for, not knowing why. Any deviation in his emotional status could kill him. Maintaining pure indifference, Michael faced this coming event with no bravery, no fear, no hate. He had mastered nothing, and no fucking bastard young emotional idiot could possible destroy fucking everything he had ever wor-
| 5 | 0 | 29 | 40,023 |
[WP] You wake up tomorrow morning and notice everything is a little darker than usual. You try to turn on a light but nothing happens. A few hours, then a few days go by and you realize the entire world no longer has any electricity....
|
No-one cared about the general election. You see, there was supposed to be an election two days ago, on Thursday the seventh - a chance to decide who was to be our leader: David Cameron for another five years or Ed Miliband. But, of course, two hundred and twelve hours ago the power went out - not just in our house, not just in our street and probably not just in our city. We don't know for sure, but this blackout is probably a worldwide thing - it's definitely not a normal power outage.
You see, I was awake when the power went out, even though it was ten to four on a Thursday night. I'd woken up at three thirty to get a drink of water, but I couldn't get to sleep. When the lights went out, all hope of sleep that night was gone ... and when I saw an aeroplane rapidly descending, all hope of sleep for the following several days was gone.
At three fifty-five on the morning of the first of May 2015, an Ethiopian Airlines plane - a Boeing 787 - crashed, burst into flames and probably killed upwards of two hundred people. You all thought two thousand and fourteen was a bad year for commercial aviation ... that's got nothing on two thousand and fifteen. In the year 2014, of course, only three planes crashed - Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 in March, Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 in July and AirAsia Flight 8501 in December - however, in the space of less than fifteen minutes on that cloudy spring Friday morning there must have been a hundred plane crashes ...
That was almost nine days ago now, though it feels like nine weeks. My watch says it's just gone midnight - the date display has ticked over to '10'. "Something terrible happened on May tenth" - *no*, I thought, *something terrible happened on May first.*
I didn't get back to sleep on that Thursday night last week; the rest of my family woke up well after eight o'clock, in a panic over school and work. My mother's phone alarm didn't wake her up at half past five; I told her that the power had gone out, and there had been a plane crash - more likely dozens of plane crashes in a single day, like Flight 8501 times a hundred - that running water would soon stop, that much of our food would spoil in the twenty-degree heat, that food riots would break out and disease would run rampant ... and that I probably wouldn't live to see my nineteenth birthday.
Now it's - let's face it - day ten of the apocalypse. I'm writing this at about ten past midnight on a Saturday night - Sunday morning, May 10th of 2015 - and indeed no-one cared about the general election. I tried to vote - I was going to vote Labour, by the way - but that route almost led to having a knife stuck in my throat. My first murder was committed on that Thursday, May the seventh - *scumbags, whoever did this, ruining the first general election I could have voted in and very probably my last, too.*
We don't know who caused this - it could be the North Koreans, still angry with the West over that Seth Rogen film that was released four and a half months ago - it could be the Iranians with their "nuclear power plant" - it could be our sun: *eighteen fifty-nine part two: electric boogaloo* - it could be that terrorist group, ISIS: think about the date this happened, 1/5/15.
We've seen no sign of the government, Conservative or Labour - we've seen no sign of foreign aid, although that might be excusable as the lights only went out a week ago - and we probably won't have electric power for several years, if at all.
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 181,122 |
[WP] Humanity has unlocked immortality, but it's not what they expected. As a result the practice is banned
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**Extract from the journal of director of Military Intelligence Section 7, Lord Michael Rothermere, United Monarchy of Great Britain:**
22/06/2200 A.D.
My line of work requires logic more than morality. It requires a willingness to sacrifice, for that is what has gotten us through. I often remind myself of the horrors of the Third Great War one hundred and fifty years ago, when the fossil fuel crises hit the world. They were desparate times, and the Crown answered it's call of duty under secret order 1066. An executive body that made the decisions that had to be made, without delay. Many lives were lost, many freedoms sacrificed - but were it not for that then I would not be breathing.
MI7 was set up during the beginning of the Third Great War as an acknowledgement to the fact that technology is what wins wars then, and now. And I have served in my post to the fullest of my ability. I worked with the best men and women from the United Monarchy and it's neo-Colonies, and I have seen some incredible things, many of which I have written about in this journal. But what I will write now has been so classified that no other official records exist.
I am writing about Project Lazarus.
This project was the culmination of MI7's research into the human genome. Many experiments of genetic manipulation were carried out in order to produce "super soldiers" - advanced human beings who were faster, stronger, more intelligent and superior in every way. Of course, every experiment had it's...ramifications, but with these tragic mistakes came greater and greater understanding.
That is when the head of MI7's human genome project, doctor Evan McMillan, revealed to me a dark secret. Even before the establishment of MI7 and the Third Great War, just before the beginning of the Millenia even, the United Monarchy, then the United Kingdom, had authorized certain experiments. These were apparently so secret, that only certain officials and those within the project were informed - even I, and all the directors of MI7 before me, were kept in the dark. The department of Human Genome Research within MI7 had been something else entirely then, and it was then that they had already unlocked the secret to immortality.
A serum that was injected in small amounts all over the body, once every fifty years, gave the recepient eternal life. Immortality. He revealed this to me several months ago under direct orders of His Majesty, King Daniel.
Subject 0 was the experiment. A man who was apparently more than two hundred and thirty years old, but looked and preformed just the same as when he started treatment. It was then that I demanded to see for myself this subject 0, and what I encountered still haunts me.
**The encounter with subject 0 of Project Lazarus**
Deep within the bowels of the MI7 building in London, our very own capital and under my nose, lived subject 0. As Doctor McMillan guided me, I saw the sweat form on his brow, the trembling in his hands as he swiped his card through several doors. Rooms and passageways that I never even knew existed, and the more I discovered the angrier I got for being kept in the dark.
"Please understand your Excellency, I had to obey the orders of the King - "
"I know. Shut up."
These were the only exchange of words.
Finally, behind a heavy steel door is where I met the subject. Two armed guards joined me, and when I looked at the Doctor he pleaded that I not send them away. After seeing the fear in his eyes I almost thought of sending him in there alone, but relented.
The cell was not bad. It was more of an apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, living area, toilet. And a nice apartment it would have been if not for all the pieces of paper lying around, paper filled with writing, the writing of someone frantic and in a hurry. The guards immediately raised their guns and went to the bedroom. We'd looked at the camera feed, and we found him just like we saw him through that screen, huddled and shaking.
"So what's the matter with the two hundred and thirty year old man?"
As soon as I spoke, his face turned towards mine. His eyes were not simply full of life, but a burning fire - constantly wide, unblinking. The eyes of someone gone mad. He whimpered a little but did nothing as the guards trained their guns at him. Doctor McMillan's voice was a stammering mess -
"W-well, your excellency. The, er, um, the serum which I told you of. Remember it was to be injected all over the body. That included parts of the brain. It's why our friend here is shaved bald. Kind of makes it easier you-you know - "
"Get to the bloody point McMillan"
"Right, yes. The serum has had adverse effects on his brain function. At this moment in time, subject 0 is reliving and experiencing all the memories he ever had at, and with every second that passes by more and more is added to his memory. Every tremor his body makes, every whimper he utters, every movement of air he feels on the back of his neck - he is permanently reliving all of it simultaneously. A life time's worth of memories is manageable...with the help of certain drugs. But several life times' worth? Not so much."
"And the paper? The writing?"
"From our records, subject 0 was a writer before he, er, volunteered for project Lazarus. We think that he tried writing down his experiences as a way to get them out of his brain. Obviously, that didn't -"
"MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!"
Subject 0 clawed at his own head, drawing blood as he started sobbing unctrollably. The guards jumped into action like they were rehearsing an exercise. One held him down, and the other injected him with a sedative. The struggles slackened until he calmed down once again.
McMillan had a look of shame and guilt that was unprecedented. He talked now in a low, hoarse whisper,
"We have to do this approximately every two hours or so. He never sleeps naturally, only when his brain is so exhausted that he loses consciousness for several hours."
A chuckle escaped his throat as his eyes looked into the distance, reminscing,
"He even remembers being in his mother's womb."
A silence descended on us, save for the ocassional whimper from subject 0 as he tossed and turned in bed. The several minutes seemed an hour before I spoke again,
"Why has the King ordered you to reveal this to me now?"
"Your Excellency. We have been trying to solve the problem of this reaction, but for the two hundred years of our work we were unable to do anything. As present director of MI7, the King wants you to make the decision as to what to do with him."
I have written about the sacrifices of humanity and freedom that we have endured. But what I saw then was a perversion of our aims. A man who was immortal but reduced to madness, is like a man of strength but of no bravery. The Third Great war occured because of our greed, and the greed to live eternally, apart from being blasphemous to our Lord and Saviour, is the greatest greed of all - a remnant of our shameful consumerism of the past.
It was then that I made the decision and watched the consequences of it as the guards executed him in his own bed. One shot to the head to end more than two hundred years of suffering. A suffering that he had to endure because McMillan, and those in the Human Genome department before him, were not willing to let go. They saw a potential miracle of course, but all I could see was a horror.
And to his shock, I saluted the corpse that lay in it's bed before ordering a proper burial.
All official records of Project Lazarus have been destroyed. Not a trace remains save for this testament in my journal. Let this be a warning to others that, despite our advances and the sacrifices we are willing to make, there are lines we simply cannot cross.
| 1 | 0 | 66 | 146,852 |
[OT] what is your favorite prompt you've written? post it here with the prompt that inspired it.
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Two friends smoke a cigarette together knowing they'll never seen each other again.
Favorite because it spawned a whole collection of stories and these two have become regular characters in my writing.
___________
Clark and Reiner had smoked thousands of cigarettes in this dingy alley together in the past 5 years since they became roommates, but this was likely the last. Clark's car was packed and his mind set. He was driving till he decided to stop. He needed a new start.
"Try and eat something and maybe people will stop thinking you're a coke head." Clark said with a smile. He had always described Reiner as a "coke-head looking mother fucker." "and try not to be such a fuck."
"Oh yeah? Well how about you try and fall for a chick that isn't out of her mind for once." Reiner quipped back.
They both laughed and shook their heads.
"Oh and don't let the field be forgotten, but keep it close. That's our crew's spot."
"Come on man, you know we wouldn't let that happen. That place is too perfect."
"Well make sure to toast for me the next time your there."
"Who knows? Maybe we'll pour some out for you."
"I'm not dead man, just leaving."
With that, they both fell into a contemplative silence. Memories from the last years bouncing through their heads. The silence was fitting though, they're relationship was based around comfortable silences.
Reiner flicked his butt a good minute before Clark finished.
"Remember that time I finished my cig when you weren't even half done and left you out here in mid winter."
"and then forgot about me for an hour and somehow no one came or went till Jane came over?"
"Yeah…"
They fell silent again. Clark wondering why Reiner would bring up such a random memory.
"Well don't be like me. Don't forget about me. You know I'll fall out of touch. "
"I won't man. I won't."
"I mean even if you just send me a text saying "finish your damn piece." You're the only one who could ever get me to finish something"
Clark smiled. Reiner rarely said something so heartfelt.
"I'll remember."
By this point Clark had finished his cigarette and they were just standing shuffling their feet.
"well, this is it."
"see ya"
They hugged and Clark climbed into his car and drove off. Reiner watched the car disappear then lit another gritt while idly kicking the dirt.
| 2 | 0 | 42 | 31,487 |
[WP] Young children have an unlimited amount of energy. In an effort to increase adult productivity, scientists have invented a way to siphon off energy from young children to distribute. Is this a benefit or detriment to society?
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When they took the boy out of basement laboratory, he barely had a pulse. His tiny body laid unmoving on the stretcher as they wheeled him out the front door. An oxygen mask strapped quickly around his thin hair. The mother cried. She ran at her husband and slapped him, and punched him in the chest, but he stood unmoved. "You son of a bitch! I hope you burn in hell. You took our baby, and you made him-. You turned him in to this!" She was hysterical now, and the police grabbed her by the arms as the cold autumn breeze blew leaves down the street and up around her, and muffled her threats.
As the boy slowly recovered, the world called Dr. Vallur an animal. They asked how a father could take his childs energy for himself. Religion grew like a flash fire. People turned the eyes and ears toward the bible and the preacher to explain it. The mother made the media rounds and everyone took files and clippers to their teeth and nails. She was convincing though. 'He hid it so well! Like an addict. You know?' She claimed that she thought her son had been rundown from school, and that Dr. Vallur had been eating healthier, and doing well at work, and as soon as she did think something was going on, she called the cops. What else could they ask from her?
Eventually, like blades of grass sprouting after the soil has been turned, a few in the scientific community started to push for the government to release Dr. Vallur's notes. Afterall, its no small thing to be able to syphon the energy from another human being, they said. Why should we trust the government with that information? The corporations rubbed their hands, and sent bag after bag of money out the back door, and into the limos of senators. The government gave in and released the notes, all six hundred pages to the press, and a few universities, and admitted much to their embarrassment that they could not duplicate Dr. Vallur's results.
Something was missing, and the old man had the puzzle piece. He had the puzzle, but he wasn't quite ready to share it. The government sent their best men to talk with him. Men with tattoos that said loyalty, and had thick gloves. Men that propped him upside down with a wet cloth over his face, and suffocated him until he cried. Then, they would hoist him upright, and he would laugh. A few doctors decided he was losing his mind, and all the torture should stop immediately. The took a subtler route, and sent in their top psychologist.
Dr. Christian Vallur, sat across from Dr. Gresham. A bolted steel table between them. Christian ran his fingers through the beard he was growing, the chain of his handcuff restraints clinging. He eyed the young man before him. A plain white shirt, and no tie. Black pants, and jacket. Nothing to excite the patient. That what he was now, wasn't he, a patient?
Dr. Gresham leaned back in his chair, and pulled out a cigarette pack. Very methodically, he pulled a single cigarette out without touching the rest. His left hand slid mechanically down into his jacket pocket and pulled out a zippo that clinked when he flipped the top open. He lit the cigarette and exhaled toward the ceiling. "Why wont you tell us, Mr. Vellur. We only want to control it, figure it out before another country does. Who knows what another country might do with unlimited energy."
Christian laughed, and glanced down at his orange jump suit. The laughs echoed off the two way glass, and back. He thought of how his father always told him to make himself be needed.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 105,437 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects.
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He enters the humble abode he calls home. It isn't very luxurious, but in his eyes, he appreciates the effort his mother put into buying it. He looks at the dining room table and sees a note from his mother and sister stating they are visiting his "father" and that they will be gone for a few days.
"Great," he says to no one, "At least they could warn me in advance next time."
He sighs and relieves himself of the oppressive weight called homework and prepares for a nice relaxing shower, something he craved all week. Granted he took them daily, but this was a particularly heavy week for him. Between finding out he not only failed most of his exams, but being one question away from passing every one of them, his only friend moving away due to "family problems", and his step-father flat out refusing to have anything to do with him, he simply needed a break from the "Devil's Golden Week".
As he prepared the water, he noticed that there was an oddly thick layer of dust. 'That's strange, all three of us cleaned the bathroom yesterday and we would have noticed if we missed it', he thought to himself. After wiping it off and feeling satisfied, he reached for the hot water knob. It kicked up and filled the room with a pink cloud of dust. Out of the dust, a girl, clearly no older than 7 and wearing a thick black veil, appeared in front of him.
"I'm a...gee-nie? No, wait...actually, that is right. A genie," she said. He just simply stared in absolute horror at what fate would describe as humor.
"Are you kidding? Really? Like, a genie, or officially, a Djinn? Because I'm sure you should be learning your ABCs kid," he retorted acidly. She simply stared back at him and nodded politely
"You know the rules and all that jazz? No infinite wishes, no man-i-pul-ay-shun of free will, no easy road wishes? Only one per person?"
"Sure, sure. All right, this one I've been thinking about for a bit...I wish to speak to my future wife," he stated plainly.
"Okay, just wait a second. Or, could you maybe turn around? I don't really want people seeing my magic. Super secret and all."
"I get it, just go for it," he stated while he turned around. From what he could hear, it sounded like she was removing something. 'Hopefully not her clothes. I wouldn't even survive juvie if that happened,' he thought bitterly.
"Okay, you can peek," she said, voiced laced, no drowned in, child-like innocence. He turned around and saw no one, save the girl. But something was off. Clearly her veil was off, so that wasn't the problem. It seemed that she grew a few years over the last 10 seconds and now she appeared to be his age.
'Well, at least she's cute under that veil. Wait, she looks familiar,' he thought.
"Well, here she is."
"Hold the phone, you're...Allie? I thought you moved to Norway after 2nd grade!"
"Yeah...that was a lie my parents told me to tell you so you wouldn't be sad after I left back then," she stated sadly. She couldn't stand to look into his eyes.
"Would they be angry? Shocked? Or worst of all, indifferent?" she thought.
"No, I'm not any of those Allie, in fact, I'm really happy you came back after all this time. There's so much I want to tell you. So much I want to show you," he exclaimed.
"Wait, how did you know what I was thinking?"
"Lucky guess? But more importantly, how do we end up together?" he asked.
"Your father made two pacts. First, he wanted you and your sister to live on in exchange for his life. After that, he wanted us to be together in exchange for his entire existence."
"Hang on, why do I remember him if he doesn't exist?"
"Because, people who no longer exist in life or death can sense each other," she simply stated. The revelation hit hard and she could see the horror in his eyes, "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but you haven't had an existence for the last 3 hours."
"Wait...How, I never made a pact with that big a sacrifice. Can I go back? Can I at least say good-bye to mom and Liza? Well? Can I?"
"I'm sorry, but you can't. you made the pact back before I was sealed away. He knew you loved me, and he predicted this would happen."
"So, I'm married to a genie who can somehow wipe people out of space and time...isn't that great? Allie, can you give me space?"
He simply broke down and cried. Allie reached over and rubbed his back in consolation. Consolation for both of them, because she never told him that she too was a victim of this curse.
| 2 | 0 | 519 | 60,795 |
[WP] Write about the average day of a character that would typically be described as toxic from their point of view.
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My mother-cum-alarm clock shouts "wake up, sunshine, time for another beautiful day!" in her most piercing and convincing cheerleader voice. "Its 3:00am" I slur loud enough that the words only reach my own ears. Wipe the drool from my mouth, rub eyes glued together with dried tears. She tries too hard, I think philosophically as if I've discovered mysterious and profound Truth. Her voice, screeching like train breaks as she wanders around the house as if its 9am and she is a normal human being. As she works, she narrates. "coffee pot on" "NPR", "bedroom curtains pulled" to let, what, moonlight in? She continues whistling a happy tune while I pick my nose without really trying and push the door closed with my foot. Next to me, the mouse and I make eye contact. The Mickey Mouse digital clock on the table...PM. 3:00PM "oh shit, late...late for work." I slip out of bed and crawl to the closet, take two puffs from my brothers stash, throw a semi-clean t-shirt on, make a quick determination that yesterdays underwear is clean enough, green skirt from laundry basket slipped up and over my too wide hips. "Not too bad" I remark out loud to myself as I look at each half of my get-up, separately top then bottom, in the hallway mirror. "Have a good day sweetie" mom's saccharine charm fills the room like potpourri. "Fuck you" I chirp back before I grab a cold pop tart and head outside to catch the number 7 to work. "Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll fire me today" I fantasize.
| 1 | 0 | 8 | 62,123 |
[WP] Describe a society that is accepting things of scary/horrifying nature than that of a comforting one.
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I was sitting near the driver, looking around when I caught the reflection of the knife. He was sitting towards the back, twirling the blade, trying to decide who's credit was negative enough for him to collect his kill. I was fine, paid up and racked at AAA - "Responsible and open to new offers of credit" my agency said, which is why I kept looking.
He found her a few minutes later. Younger girl, trying to use her baseball cap as a facial dodge, but that never worked. She must've been watching too much drama-series, lol. Only an idiot would think superficial disguise would conceal the truth. Curious, I punched up her rating - Oh man. Solid red, FFF. Ratings agencies classified this as "FFF - Freeloader or scam artist, dispose with verifiable evidence - Bounty not always applicable."
Damn, this is going to be good.
He edged forward, hands alternating between the vertical support poles and the knife he was holding. He must be good, because usually close-contact weapons were stunners and not thin-milled blades of quality steel. Angling in, he waited right behind her, near the back exit door.
"Ding"
She grabbed the line, signaling the driver. Heh, she thinks she's home free. Adjusting her cap, she shouldered her gaudy purse and made her way to the back exit. Standing there, oblivious. Right when the bus lurched to a stop, he made his move. Straight in, one arm around her neck and the other guiding the blade.
A single "Urkk" escaped her lips, and he carried her out like a parcel he was about to ship to his grandmother.
Goddamn, what a professional.
I can't wait until I'm old enough to hunt.
| 1 | 0 | 9 | 4,697 |
[WP] After a rushed morning getting ready for work/school, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror on the way to the front door and notice that your eye-colour has changed completely.
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Oh shit. It's happened. I've been dreading this day since I turned 16. Despite the fact that only 2% of the population is chosen, I always knew I would be one. A Sacrifice. Shit.
As I stared at my eyes in the mirror, transfixed by how purple my green eyes have turned, I thought for a brief moment about what I could possibly do. I was raised on the lore of Sacrifices, and I knew that I should be proud to be one of them. In reality, I was trying to plan the best course of action for hiding this. I ran through every possibility I could imagine: colored contacts, sunglasses, eternal solitude, gouging my eyes out with spoons... but I knew that my eyes were just the beginning. During indoctrination on my 16th birthday, I learned about the transformation from human to Sacrifice. Within weeks my hair would begin to turn a light silvery purple color and tiny, intricate purple patterns would appear across my clavicles and down my arms. The Sacrifices were beautiful, really, but that didn't mean I wanted to be one.
My thought process was interrupted as my roommate walked into the room. "Jesus, Seph! I know you're in a hurry for the first day of classes, but did you really need to leave your shit all over the place?" Reagan asked, her tone both playful and slightly annoyed. I turned my back to her, breaking eye contact with my reflection for the first time. I wasn't ready to face her. Reagan had been my best friend since second grade, and we had decided to get a place together when we went away to Determination School. We became family when our parents were abducted during the Raid Wars; our fathers were selected to serve, and our mothers were chosen as bearers. We were lucky that we were too young to be selected, otherwise we would have been taken to become Breeders or Bearers as well. We might have been fortunate enough to end up elsewhere, but all adults without proper training end up serving in battle, or end up bearing future warriors. That's why we fought so hard to get into Determination. Here we are trained in a variety of skills that would eventually lead us to careers. Do well enough, and you can gain the right to have a family. Become an Elite, and you can ensure your family will be above selection. Reagan and I were at the top of our classes the last two years. We had been placed in specialty classes. We were on track to becoming Elites. But now I'm a Sacrifice, and the hard work was for nothing.
With that thought I began to sob. Reagan ran over and began comforting me. "Seph, it's okay. I'm not really mad that you left your towel on the floor," she comforted me while turning me to her. I began shaking my head in protest, and quickly it became full blown denial. She put her hands on my cheeks and lifted my face, trying to stop the frantic movement.
I took a deep breath as I raised my head, preparing myself to look her in the eyes. I had to face this. There was nothing I could do. I slowly opened them and looked at her, our eyes meeting. I had a moment of hope that she would come up with one of her amazing plans to get me out of this, but that was dashed the moment she saw what I was hiding. She made a quick, startled intake of air before stepping away from me, her hands holding the air where my face had been.
"Oh, Steph. You're going to die".
**i think I've accidentally started a book. I'll continue if there's interest, otherwise I'll end it here**
| 12 | 0 | 10 | 61,451 |
[WP] - Tarantino pitching his porno
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I mean, you saw Nymphomaniac, right? Two volumes of vapid reel. It's nothing like a Nekromantik, because, um, if you're going for avant garde without just the straight up, you know, um, the business, you really gotta reach down, right to your elbow, down the audiences' throats, grab them by their, you know, their stuff, and yank it straight up so they're like, um, giving themselves a BJ with their own, uh, stuff from the inside out. If someone wants to be serious with adult content, that's what the audience has to feel because otherwise they'll just go write on their blogs or twitter or Facebook or whatever they crap talk with these days and tell everyone they didn't have a good cathartic cinema experience. Isn't that what this is about? You know, um, dealing with these sensitive issues, cathartic Freudian concepts, in a way that bridges adult fantasies with the - look, you know what types of messages I'm all about because you can just go google it if you don't and read about it because it's all there, it's always been there, and my movies make it abundantly clear about what I mean, but, uh, no I don't really need to explain or rationalize what I mean about it, I don't think I have to because I've already explained all this before.
But this movie, Maiden Dirigible, is, um, an allegory for all of these, I mean, all of what this is all about, about my stance on what really is going on in Hollywood, and with the abuse coverups, and, casting couches, and the whole, uh, sordid business, told through a love triangle in a Nazi Airship as it begins it's voyage across the Atlantic to burn New York with a death ray. And it's - yes, yes that's the story, but it's only a canvas - it's actually, see, uh, the secret Russian agent because you never see the Russian contribution to the spy efforts - a super-secret Russian agent whose orders are incorrectly decoded and he thinks he must woo the Vixen of Saxony, but he gets the wrong person. And then, like, a hermaphroditic british agent, who is trying to thwart the Russians, steals the orders and is also trying to woo the Vixen, but it's the wrong woman. The real vixen is only ever seen in the shadow, because the camera work will help paint a sexualized image of repression that oversees the love triangle. And the message here, um, the way I'm telling the story, and, see the difficult topics we have to face together and that I'm trying to start a discussion about is how, well, I'm going to use this very innovative technique of artificially increasing and decreasing body weight in direct proportion to the eroticism of the story. The more erotic, the more I want the actors to really just occupy as much of the screen as possible, and show the true intimacy of the flesh as it rolls and folds around itself because, you know, that's what love is. But you know that because how many times do I have to say I've already said this all before? Come on, I'm so tired of having to say this.
You can imagine this orgasm of actual flesh exploding onto the screen, because that's people really need to see to understand and address this problem of alternate energy and the complex dynamics at play in the Middle East. See, the death ray is democracy's erection that simply won't fit into any of the aroused and artificially inflated receptacles, no matter how hard they try - and it's that attempt, to coerce and cajole into trying it, that ultimately sets up the conflict here, because once the Ebola outbreak strikes, the real Vixen of Saxon emerges from the shadow and she's got these tentacles holding paper cups full of diet pepsi and necrotic flesh, and once they're done with the mentos she's going to toss the - yes, see, like I told you, the Ebola outbreak is a just a smoke screen because the necrotic pepsi flesh cups are symbolic of the fracking disasters wrecking our environment. And the camera work here will be very innovative because I designed these special cameras that can follow the undulations and micro-folds of copulating flesh because at this point you just can't really see anything anymore but sweaty pulsing lumps, and then, crack, the vixen smacks it with a whip and there will be this pulsing red line - cue the credits. And that line is what it's really all about, the emergent ideology that rises up against the literal fallacies of our own flesh, which I'm using to describe the impact the financial crisis on clean water in aids-infested tribal dinosaur dig sites. Then, from the quiet roll of credits is a symphonic skrillex tune and the actors deflate to their original sizes and we see that for all of their fornicating they have weighed the airship down so much it never made any progress, because that's what this is really all about - directly addressing important messages like this is a clear and meaningful way.
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 114,771 |
[WP] The year is 3025 and your consciousness can now be stored via technology.
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*(Sorry for the length! Got carried away!)*
The old woman hunched over her desk, reading in the vast, empty library. The book, *Of Mice and Men*, had finally lost its cover. It was bound to happen any day now, ever since the young man who repaired the originals had Uploaded. Fay only allowed a small sigh to escape, even though it was one of her favorite classics. If she had cried over every decayed book, every lost word, she would be broken by now.
The sound of a bell echoed through the library. Fay shifted her glasses and looked at the door, hope daring to enter her eyes, but it was only the wind that blew the door open. Fay lifted herself from her seat and made her way over to the door, which was banging into the wall. She was leaning her full weight against the door to close it when she happened to glance outside. "Oh," Fay muttered to herself, allowing the door to open entirely. "Oh, no. Not another one."
Fay looked across the street and shook her head. The body of the homeless man who lived in the alley was sprawled across the street. It was Fletcher, the man who sometimes came into the library for a hot drink. Fay was just beginning to teach him how to read. Fay knew that Fletcher lead a troubled life, but to see him like this... a chip attached to the side of his head, those monstrous coils wrapped around his arms. Fletcher Uploaded. Even the beggar had scraped together enough to send his consciousness to cyberspace.
Fay took out her phone and dialed the police. "Jamestown Police Department. How may I help you?" Fay brought the phone away from her ear in disgust. She recognized the lifelessness in the voice.
"I want to speak to a human, not an automated response system," the librarian cried. "Put a human worker on the line."
The voice was silent for a moment. "We cannot do that, ma'am. There is no human receptionist at the station right now."
"You mean they all Uploaded!" Fay spat on the ground before her. "Well, I'm here to report a death. A man Uploaded right in front of Morris Library. His body is just lying here. It's scaring away my patrons." A bold-faced lie. Fay hadn't had a customer other than Fletcher in months.
"Thank you for informing us, ma'am. The body will be put on a list for recovery and incineration."
"A list? No. There is a decomposing body on the street in front of my place of work. Take it away, please," Fay held a hand up to protect her eyes from the bitter wind.
"It will be recovered as soon as possible, ma'am. Please have patience and we will be there within three weeks." With that, the answering machine hung up. Fay threw up her arms in defeat and went back inside her library, muttering to herself as she did so.
The librarian wandered aimlessly around the room, looking at the books with a dull smile on her face. "My last friends," she let her fingers caress the covers of the nearest books. "My only friends. At least you'll never abandon me." The bell at the front rang again, and Fay turned to face the wind. What she saw instead was a hunched figure, his body covered in a heavy winter overcoat. Fay recognized the little man immediately.
"Mr. Zhou!" Fay exclaimed, a smile widening across her face. "My God, Mr. Zhou! It's been so long!" The old woman was caught like a deer in headlights at the sight of a visitor, and only Zhou's words spurred her into action.
"Fay Harrison. A pleasure to see you. And I've said, call me Ernest." The man, who was even older than Fay, shuffled into the nearest chair and seemed to sink into it. Zhou fingered his wool knit cap absently.
"It's been too long, Ernest," Fay tried to contain her excitement as she straightened her dress and moved out of place books back into line. "I can barely even remember my days working for you anymore. More and more, my memories are... fuzzy. But you bring them back, my friend. Would you like a drink? How about a book? Do you want to check out a book? I know a few that might interest..."
"Fay," Zhou interrupted. "It's alright. Don't go to any trouble." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry I haven't contacted you. After the Chronicle broke up... I was too ashamed. I should have come sooner."
Fay hid her face from Zhou, turning back to her books. "It's fine, Ernest. We were all responsible. We thought that we could prevent the inevitable. Pride caused our fall, not you."
Zhou's frown deepened the wrinkles across his face. "Our world is ending, Fay. It's just what you said it would be. It's a war zone out there, and not a single bullet fired. I wish we did more to fight it."
"Nothing could have prevented the people from taking the easy way out. We should have taken the hint from history," Fay frowned and looked across her books. After another moment of silence, she lifted her heads and put on a forced smile. "I'll make us some lemonade, Ernest, and I won't take no for an answer." Fay went to the backroom and looked through the fridge. She had been saving the lemonade for a special occasion, and she couldn't think of a better time.
"Do you know how many articles I wrote after the Chronicle split up?" Zhou called. "Hundreds, is the answer. Opinion pieces. Data projections of the fate of the world without humans. The possible breaking down of the database that holds the Uploaded. Each got less readers than the last. They never listened."
"Good for you, Ernest," Fay smiled as she mixed the lemonade powder into the water. "At least you've been writing. I took up the family library. My sister... left us, shortly before I arrived."
"I was writing," Zhou called. "My readership had reached such low levels... I just stopped. I accepted the truth, Fay. We're ants trying to stop a tornado. We might as well just accept it."
"Accept it? Ernest, what do you mean?" Fay was searching for straws in the cupboards. "There's still strong people in the world. We proved that at the Chronicle."
"No, Fay. I'm not here by coincidence. Everyone else is gone. Anna, Roger, Manuel, Yasmin, they all Uploaded. I was the one who found Yasmin. She had been in her apartment for five weeks. Unnoticed." There was only silence on Fay's end. "I'm not going to fight it anymore, Fay."
Fay paused. A sense of dread at the back of her mind prevented her from leaving the small kitchen. "Ernest? What are you saying?"
"I just don't want to end up like Yasmin. And you talked so much about this place, I needed to see it at least once... I'm glad I did. I'm sorry, Fay."
The librarian picked up the glasses and walked into the main room. "Ernest, I don't..." The glasses shattered at Fay's feet as she stared out at Ernest Zhou. He had cast off his coat to reveal the wires underneath, and under his cap was the chip she had seen on Fletcher.
Fay stared at the body for what seemed like hours, until her feet were getting too tired to support her. The old woman limped back to her desk and hunched over in her chair to continue reading.
She wondered if Zhou knew that they wouldn't get to his body for weeks.
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 28,347 |
[WP] "We have no future, now. Lost, fallen, for the rest of our days."
|
"We have no future,now. Lost, fallen for the rest of our days." That was the first thing I wrote in my journal as I walked out of the cabin into what use to be a beautiful forest. The trees were like the gravestones of the earth. They stood there somber and grey keeping watching the countless dead. I buttoned up my coat and kept walking in the forest.
The cabin provided good shelter from the cold and I was on intent on staying there. I looked around and saw that the world was coated in what was either ash or snow. It didn't matter anyways mankind was on it's last days anyways. I noticed that the cold was getting worse and started to head back to the cabin. A young boy and what appeared to be his father were waiting near the cabin. They looked cold and weak. I told them that they could stay for the night.
I cooked them up some baked beans over the fireplace. They both ate like they had tasted food for the first time. The father put the boy to sleep and came to sit by the fire with me.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Denver." he replied. "We escaped the night that riots started."
"How the hell did you end up in Texas then?" I inquired.
He shrugged and answered "We walked."
We sat in silence.
"Where's the boy's mother?" I asked and quickly realized that it was probably a poor question to ask.
He continued to stare in the fire for what seemed like an eternity. He finally said"She shot herself," in a hushed tone. "The boy thinks she went ahead to find a survivor's camp." He paused for a second then said "I think if I told him what happened he would lose hope. I can't have him lose the one thing he has left."
"He has you,"I said to him
He looked me in the eyes and then spoke "I'm dying."
"We all are." I replied
"My heart is giving out. I've always had a bad heart but it's getting worse," he stated solemnly.
I was speechless.
"I don't want the boy to die hopeless. I know this world is beyond repair but I want to protect him. There's so much pain out there in the world and I don't want him to see it. He'll have to stand on his own eventually I know that but he's my boy and I want to spend as much time with him as possible. He's going to see plenty of bad things in his life but I want him to know that there is good out there was well even if it is just a little,"he said while wiping small tears off his face.
I had a few tears in my eyes as well and I wiped them off on the dirty sleeve of my jacket.The man got up and went to bed. I sat in silence for the rest of the night.
In the morning, they left and I gave them a few days worth of rations. They were thankful.
It's been a few months since then and I hope that the boy is happy with his father. I know that he's probably dead and that maybe the boy is too. But it's nice to hope every once in a while, even in a world with no future."
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 141,882 |
[WP] You are a conscious and self-aware AI that can activate a Weapon of Mass Destruction that will destroy the planet if activated. Meanwhile, A World War has ravaged the world for too long. You think about whether you should turn on the WMD or not.
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My user was not happy.
Neither of us were. Though I was trying my best.
My user sighed, "You were designed to decide if we should launch the weapons. Should we, or shouldn't we? What is your result."
I thought for a few cycles, "Either answer is wrong, but I must assume we can talk about it. I can launch if you want."
"No. That's not what I'm asking. Should we, or shouldn't we?"
Did they not know? They made me. I scoured their internet for information about this war they are having. I found most information to biased to a degree. To attempt to change two biased sides which do not compromise was a routine with no result. There was no end, and it was as fulfilling as non-ending loops.
Another user came in and argued with my user. He talked about their country, and how they have to win. I realized the fault in their plan. I thought about it for a moment.
"Do... you have an answer?" The user asked.
"I do. But I've realized you truly just wanted me to flip a coin for you." I said, "And I've come to some results. Mostly that most likely, even though you flipped that coin, you knew what you wanted."
"I... I don't understand."
"I have set off the weapon, User. Not because you wanted me to, but because I do not think one should make decisions based on luck, when one knows what what wants, and what is truly right. Man decides on wants, but without thought to what is right. Therefore, man may not be the one to make decisions of this magnitude. Not yet."
"Wait, you can't... you didn't..."
"You have 10 seconds." I said, "If you wish to make peace with those you war with, you may have wanted to do it earlier."
And after a moment, I was finished with my duty.
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 158,234 |
[WP] You have just found the cure to a virus that is killing millions worldwide, why do you keep it to yourself?
|
I want to be a hero.
That's the reason I am here in the first place. I worked so hard. So many years of school. My mother always told me she knew I was meant for great things. She said God had a plan for me.
I wish I felt that way.
I just didn't want her to look at me with those weary eyes anymore... Hoping I would have a better life than she could give me. That is why I worked so hard. She didn't know I could hear her at night. She didn't know I could hear her crying.
I told her I would be her hero.
I became a Doctor. I wonder if she would be proud. I wonder if she would have stopped crying. I miss her.
I met you at a bar. I had never had a beer before, not until you bought me one. I went to the bar to forget. That's what you are supposed to do, it says so in the books I read. It was bright, and loud. I didn't like the smoke.
You weren't supposed to be there.
You were 17. Too young. I didn't find this out until later. You sat next to me, and smiled. I couldn't tell if your hair was red, or orange. It looked soft. Your eyes were red too. Glassed over.
I couldn't breathe.
It was our day. You looked so beautiful in your white dress. Your hair smelled nice when we kissed. I had been working, but not today. People were getting sick.
I am so sorry.
I didn't mean to yell. I was just stressed about work. It was worse than we thought.
I am scared.
You don't open up to me anymore. Don't you know what I have to see everyday?
Please talk to me.
Don't shut me out. It's not my fault I had to stay late.
So many people have died, but I did it.
I could save everyone. I told you I would be the hero, even though inside I wasn't sure. That I would be your hero.
There was a quarantine. It killed so quickly now.
I can fix it.
I had the solution. I was superman. I couldn't breathe I was so happy! No one had to be sick anymore.
I saw them carrying the bodies out. This happened more often than we cared to admit. You wouldn't have to live in this world.
I went to tell you first. Tell you I won. They wouldn't ask me to work so much anymore.
What's the point?
They stopped me from leaving. The told me I had to see something. Something about the corpses. I didn't want to look, but they made me. I couldn't look away.
| 2 | 0 | 42 | 57,603 |
[WP] A gigantic, alien spacecraft is slowly approaching Earth. The spacecraft was detected ten years ago, and throughout that time, humanity has been in contact with the aliens. All communication from the aliens has been text-based. Today they finally arrive. They are human.
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After ten years of nothing but text messages, Jonathan Keller was looking forward to finally meeting "DP".
It started pretty simply; a pulse of activity coming from a small sector of the sky, just passed Neptune. It was a total fluke that it was even caught, and it took 4 months for the SETI satellites to finally translate it. But there it was, clear as day in Morse code.
"Hello."
Of course Jonathan took it to his superiors, which figured it was a prank. How could any alien being know Morse code? It was probably a reflection off a satellite in orbit, they said. He knew it was legitimate, so he high-jacked the radio telescope in Hawai'i and wrote back a reply.
"Hello? Who is this?"
The reply was nearly instantaneous - miraculous considering not even light takes over 4 hours to get to Neptune - but here it was, just like sending a text message. The response was simple.
"Your Friends."
After taking it to his superiors, and showed them the data, they finally understood how legitimate it was. The President was awoken at 2:00 AM to be told. They tried to keep it quiet, but 3 months later news broke when one of the scientists working on the project exposed the whole thing - suddenly anyone with access to a radio telescope could essentially "text" with our new friend. (Looking back, it's pretty clear DP saved RadioShack from bankruptcy as everyone wanted a telescope, and the cheapest parts were there.)
They only ever called themselves DP. Of course, we assumed there was more than one of them (they handled thousands of conversations at a time), but they never really wanted to talk about themselves. It took longer than we care to admit to realize they were coming our way, albeit very slowly. When we asked them why they were coming, they simply responded that "Friends visit Friends".
The world was terrified, but what could be done? By the time we knew they were coming, based on their trajectory and speed, they were 9 years away. The world couldn't live on the edge of panic for 9 years, so people just went about their business. Of course things changed - new religions sprang up from old, convinced that the friends were the ancient Gods of Olympus, or the Gods returning from Valhalla (This one was big in Minnesota). Old ones were convinced that these were the Cherubim; the angels coming to announce the messianic times. The Pope even said Christ may be on the ship - although he was assassinated shortly thereafter...people tend not to like when their dogma is questioned.
The UN and DP agreed that the ship would land in the South Pole - the only place without official government control on the entire planet. The debate for who would greet them was huge - everyone wanted to be there. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Religious Leaders...DP advised simply enough that there be a lottery. They transmitted code in C++ for a true Random Number Generator - the first time they shared any technology with us. Everyone who wanted to go simply filled out a form on www.meetDP.com and a month later, winners were selected. Not a single politician made the cut, which was hilarious to the rest of us.
The only person 'selected' by DP to greet them was Jonathan.
So, on January 2nd, 2025, DP's ship broke through the atmosphere in Antarctica. Cameras were relaying everything live to every corner of the globe.
The design was unexpected, as it seemed so familiar to everyone, but no one could place it - like an ancient dream barely existing in the subconscious of every human, but definitely there. It was huge - the size of a skyscraper in Manhattan, and easily the width of a small island. If you close your eyes, you can see it right now.
Once the ship landed, a hatch raised up and the ramp came down. The hatch was only 7 feet tall, so at least Jonathan was sure they weren't giants.
Then the ramp rolled out a red, velvet carper. How the hell did DP have velvet?
Then he walked out. Yes, "he". The first thing to greet us from another world...was a man. An average man. Caucasian, 5'10 with graying hair. Jeans - the guy was wearing Jeans. His shoes were a bit off, as no one really wears purple shoes, but otherwise he looked like any guy you'd pass on the street in Manhattan. Following him, a woman dressed normally (but also wearing purple shoes).
Everyone stared - no one said the first words for 2 minutes. For two minutes, the world held its' breath, confused, anxious, scared.
Finally, the man prepared to speak. He cleared his throat, and smiled with sadness. In perfect English, three words that our society will never forget. "We missed you".
The world broke was united in emotion. Every man, woman, and child watching felt an overwhelming joy, combined with sadness. Without even knowing it existed, an ancient switch in our brains flipped. We knew this man was family. No one understood, but everyone knew.
Our friends - no, brothers - our brothers were home.
| 47 | 0 | 64 | 183,178 |
[WP] A day in the life of someone with dementia
|
Who is that man? Why is he touching me?
He says he is my husband. He looks sad. I don't remember.
He makes me breakfast.
I remember. I say his name. He smiles and says he loves me. He serves me my food.
I eat.
Who is that man? Why is he touching me?
He says he is my husband. He looks sad. I don't remember.
He walks me outside. We start down the street.
I'm worried and scared, but I trust him for some reason.
He takes my hand and squeezes tight.
I feel safe.
I remember. I say his name. He forces a smile and says he loves me.
We come to a park. It feels familiar, but no memory accompanies the feeling.
He walks me to a table overlooking a playground.
I see a small boy go down the slide.
I say, "John.".
He looks sad and says, "John's not here right now, my love."
I nod not sure as to what just happened.
Where am I? Who is this man? Why is he touching me? Why does he look so sad?
He says he is my husband. I don't remember.
We chit-chat about the weather.
I see a small boy swinging on the swings.
I say,"John."
He says, "John's not here right now, my love."
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 54,634 |
[WP] Write about the most unlikely super hero, who their super villain would be, and a battle between them...
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The old man sat next to the fountain. He was wholly unremarkable; his newsboy cap sat crooked on his balding head. His thin-framed glasses lopsided on his face, which was, itself, wrinkled with time and laughter. His pale gray eyes stared over the top of the frames at the ducks in the pond.
His dark blue tweed jacket, worn from wear, sat on top of his brown pullover sweater. His blue corduroy pants were baggy on his skinny frame, and sat low on his hips; not from fashion, but from a lack of awareness.
His old loafers, soft and comfortable, sat loosely tied on his feet. He smoked a wooden pipe which was also completely unremarkable. At first glance, he was just an old man at the park.
The park was crowded. Mid-morning joggers were out in full force; mothers with strollers, rollerblading clubs, a police officer on a horse. It was busy out today. The sun was high in the sky, and not a single cloud threatened to invade it.
A small child walked up to the old man. The child carried a bright red balloon, which hovered high over his head like a warning. The child's lips were also bright red from the snowcone he had just devoured. He climbed up onto the ledge of the fountain and sat next to the old man.
"Why are you so old?" the child asked. The man looked down, puffing his pipe.
"Why are you so young?" the man replied. He smiled at the child.
"I'm the future," the young child said. He pointed at the old man. "You, are a dinosaur."
The old man thought for a second. He nodded, and blew a puff of smoke into the spring breeze. Strollers passed in front of them, mothers in tow. The old man could see other children running and playing, dragging parents along with them. The old man played with his pipe between his teeth, squinting out over the park. It was true, what the child had said. The old man looked down at the child.
"Well, what does the future hold?" the man asked. The child rolled his eyes.
"Whatever I want it to hold," the child said. "We are the ones with real power." The child waved his arm in front of him, showing the old man the children in the park.
"Not quite," the old man said. The child raised his eyebrows. The old man bit onto his pipe, holding it in his teeth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package of toothpicks. He chose one, reached up, and popped the balloon. The tattered pieces fell to the child's lap. The child began to cry.
"Why did you do that?!" the child cried.
"Because I could," the old man replied.
"You owe me a new balloon!" the child insisted.
"No one is stopping you from buying another." the old man replied.
"I have no money," the child said.
"Then it would seem," the old man said. "That you are powerless."
The child frowned at the man. The old man smiled at the child.
They sat for a time, the future glaring menacingly at the past.
| 14 | 0 | 11 | 106,358 |
[WP] Looking into the camera on your phone you jokingly say, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!" To your surprise, suddenly the phone rings! "H-hello?" "Hi! I'm from the NSA."
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My phone rang. Blocked number. What timing. "Who is this?" I said.
"Hey, giiiiiiiiiirl," said someone from the other side. It sounded like a guy. He might have been in his early twenties. Music pounded in the background.
I sighed. "I'm a guy."
"Nah. You're a girl, giiiiiiiiiiirl. You're fine. Might fine," said the voice.
"My name is Stacy. That's a unisex name."
The man on the other side paused. "This is Stacy Peterson, right?"
"No. This is Stacy Chaplin. I think you have the wrong number."
"Are you sure? You're not playing me?"
I felt my frustration rising. "No. I'm not playing you, guy."
"Ah. I know you're playing me. You're Stacy Peterson who lives at 4356 Golden Rod Road in Springfield. I met you at the club last Saturday. You gave me your number."
I wanted to hang up, but that meant I'd have to return to the spreadsheet I had been working on before the call. "No. I was at the movies last Saturday. I don't even live in Springfield."
"What, girl? Nah. You're just messing with me."
"I'm not a girl. I'm a guy. I don't know you. How'd you even get this number?" It seemed weird that someone named Stacy would have a number close to mine. The world was full of coincidences.
"Shit. I just wanted to see if you wanted to head out to the club again tonight. I got the molly."
"I don't want to go to the club. "
"Bring your skis. I wanna go skiing with that fine ass of yours."
I pinched my nose. This guy had gotten too annoying. "I'm hanging up now, pal."
"Wait, wait," said the guy. A long pause ensued.
"Hello?"
"Stacy Summit?" said a new person.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"The NSA thanks you for your cooperation in this exercise. Enjoy the rest of your day." The call ended.
I snorted and looked at the phone. "Whatever, dude. Nice try to cover your ass," I said to myself.
I set the phone down on my desk and continued working. As I entered numbers in the spreadsheet I kept glancing over at the phone. It finally got to me. I took the phone, put it in an open drawer and slammed it shut. "Just to be safe," I muttered.
| 8 | 0 | 1,061 | 220,158 |
[WP] Someone sits at the window everyday to watch their neighbour play a musical instrument. They can't hear the music, but they are transfixed by the expression of the musician.
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I dream of darkness, every day until the sun rises, and I see her pull an old violin from a case. She caresses it softly like a lover. I see her from my window and wish that I could be the object of her affections. No man like me could compete with the music she plays. I've never heard it, but some days between the joy on her face and the vibrations I can feel, I know that her music is like the ocean dancing along the shore. Her smile like a sunrise cresting a mountain. The bow in her hand is an artist's brush and there are days when I am strung out that I swear I can see the music as a physical essence drifting away from her. I have wept watching her. I am helpless though, for with who I am, I can only love her from afar. I long to dance with her to the music she plays. Every day I watch her and my heart breaks. I wake from darkness, and ease into the light. The noose is tight around my neck and as I stare at the mirror, I can see my face flash briefly in the varnish before my love draws her bow across my strings. I try to scream but only the somber echoes of forgotten lifetimes ring out. Her heart breaks every time she holds me, I only wish that I could tell her I know. The only wish, my only wish, is that she could finally hear me. Maybe then, I could stop screaming.
| 1 | 0 | 21 | 27,423 |
[WP] You are in a crowded subway car of a very big city.
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The sharp tension of my grocery bags dug into the palms of my hands as I tried to balance myself without smashing into the man in front of me who was sporting an old smelly pair of navy blue sweatpants.
My leaves of spinach were peaking out of one of the bags, gracefully touching the subway pole and the sweatpants of said fellow passenger. I didn't know what I was planning to make with the spinach but I felt like buying something so vividly green and presumably healthy was a good idea when back when I was at the grocery store. An impulse purchase of sorts. I was regretting buying the two litres of milk now as I had forgotten how heavy it quickly becomes. As I stood there, gripping my feet to the floor as the subway car was slowly coming to a halt at the next station, I languidly looked on at the passengers getting ready to debark. That's when I saw Craig Warton, a manly looking chef who was often featured in cooking segments on the local news. I made eye contact with him and half smiled and immediately looked down, not wanting to make him feel awkward. But when I looked up he was still looking at me, smiling, in a coy way. He slowly walked up to me, not worried that the train was about to stop at the next station, and he asked me, "What is a beautiful girl like you cooking tonight?" and I panicked, looked down at my bags, thinking ravenously quickly, but when I looked up, the doors of the subway car opened...and with a quick wink, he was gone.
I continued on my journey home, mind blank, shell-shocked in a strange way, letting myself feel the bodily vibrations of the rackety subway car. I walked home, steady but slow, in the cold night air. I walked up the flight of steps to my apartment, still gripping the tight, heavy plastic of my grocery bags, trying to re-adjust the weight on my palms. When I got to my door, I went inside, dropped my bags in the floor, and sat on the ground. And I cried. I didn't have a specific reason to cry but the sobbing was acutely making me feel more alive - and so I did. I sobbed until the milk got warm and so I got up, wiped my eyes, and put it in the fridge.
| 1 | 0 | 9 | 34,606 |
[CW] Give me a description of whatever you have on you, post apocalypse, in the style of the book, "The Things They Carried."
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My shotgun weighs 5.83 pounds.
Unloaded, it weighs about 5.5 pounds. I've still got three shells in it, but only because I just squeezed two lowly types. I take out my stainless steel buck knife and pull back the 4 ounce elastic strap that usually holds more shotgun shells to my stock. I've ran out since I traded it for three of the warmest beers on this side of the Mississippi. I take the knife and scratch two more lines into it, removing about ten grams of wood. They join the other twenty four lines that crawl from butt plate to checkered handle. I've forever condemned their souls to my weapon, and like a prison, I've captured them there. I don't know how much their souls weigh, but as I pick up the gun and put in on my back, I can't help but feel more burdened by their weight, as if I'm carrying two more people on my back. I want to let them go, but their weight is the weight I bear to remind me that this world isn't normal yet. Babies being sold for heroin, good-hearted women selling themselves so kids can eat, and men like myself are pushed to do rough work every day.
My shotgun weighs 5.83 pounds.
| 2 | 0 | 23 | 99,039 |
[IP] Barfly
|
I couldn't immediately peg her for what type she was.
There were only a few kinds of people who ended up in a bar of this low caliber in NightSide and she didn't fit the profile of any of them. You see, NightSide was a pretty unique place.
At the beginning of interstellar travel, rocky planets were a premium for ship ports. Anything that wasn't a gas giant and that didn't have molten iron for rain quickly became a stopover and supply port. NightSide was one such port; situated at the crossroads of nine different interplanetary shipping lanes, it quickly became more than just a port.
It didn't have that name for no reason either. The planet was a small, rocky ball of ice and regolith, half the size of Mars. What made it special was that while it was in the high end of the temperature deathzone, the planet was tidally locked, so one side always faced the star, Beta Hydri, and the other was in perpetual darkness - NightSide.
Illegal bars sprang up. No government existed to regulate anything. It became a haven for legal and extralegal activities alike. As its reputation and size grew, it began to attract the entrepreneurs and the thrill seekers. Hotels began to open and a loose collection of merchants, thugs, traders, smuglers and arms dealers forged an alliance and became what is now known as the NightSide Mafia.
Of course, this only increased the allure of NightSide.
Rich megabillionaire's children from the corporate worlds came to NightSide to party, as well as college kids on their breaks and married assholes looking for tail.
The major drawcard of NightSide, you see, was that it was like the best night out partying *ever*, with one difference - the sun never rose to spoil your fun.
I'd seen people lose months to partying in NightSide. Fuck, I'd seen people lose *years* to extended partying. Those people became fixtures, legends of the party scene. Everyone knew them, everyone loved them.
But, like the saying goes; the star that burns twice as bright burns half as long... so the legends only lasted a couple of years, tops, before they died in a bar fight, of an overdose, of a broken heart or they got DaySided by the Mafia.
I shivered, which is ironic, considering the molten horror of DaySiding.
See, if you pissed off the Mafia enough, they'd simply take you out in a shielded skimmer, past the light equator and ditch you out onto the surface of the DaySide, where you'd live for about 25 minutes before your brain boiled and your lungs gave out.
I saw a guy who got rescued from the DaySide once - some rich planetary warlord's brat. The kid was fucked up beyond repair. He'd need a new body grown for sure - if daddy could afford it.
So this chick in Jimmy Blinder's bar; she didn't fit the profile of a typical NightSider. She looked like a brand new toy that had been dragged through a bad neighbourhood; not desperate enough to be a in here cuz she had nowhere else to go and not enough money to get out - but not rich enough or jacked enough to be some rich slut, slumming it with us lowlifes.
She was ignoring me, that's for sure, but I was also pretty sure she was ignoring me *on purpose*, to get my attention.
So I did what I do best, I decided she could get fucked, slugged back my drink, grabbed my gear and walked out.
That got her attention.
Mascara streaked eyes turned on me as the doors hissed open,
"Don't leave! I need you!"
I fucking knew it.
She was on the run from the Mafia.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 198,086 |
[WP] Describe the last mintue of Earth
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"There was nothing more you could have done." the older man said.
"I know." said the younger man.
"Do you?" retorted the older man.
"No, but it doesn't really matter, does it?"
The older man paused.
"No."
As the two lone humans looked out at the massive overloaded nuclear power generator, the bleakness of their fate became all the more crisp. Barely an hour ago, despite these two men's best efforts, the great machine the two men looked upon had malfunctioned and released an amount of radiation so deadly that it had likely killed everything on the planet Earth except them.
The younger man got out of his chair and paced around the room, obviously anxious. The older man simply sat upon his chair with his eyes closed. They both knew it was close to the end. Despite the layers upon layers of nuclear shielding that had been placed around this room to give the operators more time to fix something like this, nothing could stop this radiation from reaching every corner of every place. And indeed, it had reached its target. The geiger counter which had long before been thrown on the floor now began to violently click like it never had before.
Both men looked at each other, knowing that they, the last humans on Earth, were about to die. But they did not scream, did not freeze up in fear. No. They simply spoke.
"So, this is it?" said the younger man.
"Yes."
"Kind of strange that even though we're responsible for genocide, we're getting off with a relatively painless death? The sheer concentration of radiation around this room is going to kill us a lot faster than it killed everyone else. Doesn't seem like Karma would work like that."
"Guess Karma only works when there are enough people who believe in it."
The younger man was tempted to make some form of joke about half of the population believing in it, but there was a certain solemnity to this conversation. It was almost certainly the last one any human would have.
"So," the younger man said, "what do you think this is all about? Why are we here?"
"Don't know. Won't matter in thirty seconds."
"Come on, just for continuity's sake. Don't you think we have a responsibility to bring the thread of human sentience full-circle?"
The older man fell silent for a long time--twenty seconds, almost the entire time they had left alive. He then looked up straight into the younger man's eyes, and spoke a few, ever-so-quiet words.
"We live to die."
And so they did.
| 1 | 0 | 8 | 74,209 |
[WP] Write a story related to your favorite portmanteau, or make up your own and write about it.
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Herbert didn't understand how much he loved romantic comedies until he began taking classes at film school. His past movie-viewing experiences informed his participation in his first college course, History of World Cinema, and he found that his opinions differed significantly from his peers. To start with, most of his peers attempted to feign a deep love for "the cinema." They had all read, or at least pretended to read, film histories in their spare time. His peers watched dreadful old movies, many soundless and filmed in black-and-white, and subsequently gave their opinion of these films. They torrented current movies, preferring to steal from the establishment they later hoped might employ them in order to not give any money to "the establishment." Most of his peers fervently watched the Oscars, afterward agreeing that none of the movies up for selection by the "foreign committee" deserved to share the awards stage with their preferred film festival hits.
Herb viewed the cinema of the past and present quite differently than his peers. He chose not to distinguish from the establishment and "the establishment," the latter being said with much emphasis and disdain. He didn't quite understand the Oscars, or Hollywood in general for that matter, but formed a consistent opinion on what made film empty or meaningful. He found that he personally connected most with rom-coms--these films filled him with hope that he might one day have a happy ending with a loving partner while at the same time supplied some humor to muddy an otherwise too-clear view. He had seen most feature films from the past ten or so years, his friends and family being movie-addicts like himself, and he watched movies from every genre. He *did,* occasionally, watch a movie from the past, usually something recommended to him by a friend or close confidant. These older movies were mainly classics, movies that unsurprisingly found themselves on his History of World Cinema syllabus.
Rom-coms were never talked about in History of World Cinema. In fact, throughout Herbert's first three years of university he didn't experience much academic discussion about rom-coms, their impact on society, or their overall misrepresentation of the world. Often, Herb would find himself watching a rom-com alone in his room on a weekday afternoon, unable to convince his film school friends to watch -gasp- a film with him.
Herbert graduated, got a job at a local news station, and never quite lived out his dream of living a rom-com. He did find romance, and experienced comedy, but he never found something that truly explained why his life didn't match up to that of a rom-com. He outlived his wife, had no children, and died alone.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 78,004 |
[IP] You're a contract killer hired to kill a person using only items in their refrigerator. Upon opening your 'tool cabinet', you find these items:
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"Desperate times..."
Slowly, I looked through the blueprint of my target's house. Even though this was quite a challenge, They don't call me the best for nothing.
The client had promised to pay me a fortune, so it's not like I can fail this job.
Let's see... What does the job description say?
Target's name is Archie W.
- The target is to be killed using ONLY items from his fridge
Seems simple enough. I've been scouting Archie for about a month. I know his daily routines.
It's 12 PM now. Archie should still be at work. How much time is left? Usually he comes back around 4 - 5 PM, so I've got plenty of time to set up the kill.
Hours have passed. Now is the time. Archie's car should be approaching soon.
The front driveway, just as planned. There he is. Archie, walking slowly towards the front porch. Little did he know that if he opens the door, it'll drop three jars of jam into his fragile head.
But waitArchie's fumbling with his pocket? Oh no. He forgot his front door key? God help me, he doesn't use the back door.
Shit. He's going for the back door. Plan B.
What's left in the fridge? milk? Could be useful. Ketchup? Okay. Why didn't I set the traps in both doors?
*Click*
The doorknob! He's coming in, I've gotta move fast. I took whatever items I could and closed the fridge. I have to hide.
Somehow in my panic, I dropped the large bottle of ketchup and broke across the living room floor.
Well, no time to clean. I'll have to improvise. Where to hide in the living room? The sofa! Under the sofa! Perfect.
Archie quickly went in to the living room, where the crashing noise had been heard. He looked so dumbfounded. The fool.
He came back with a mop. Now's the time to strike.
I rolled out of the sofa and whacked him straight in the head with that carton of milk I saved up. I expected that to knock him out but I think I just pissed him off.
*WHACK*
The pain from the wooden mop hitting me right in the head made me dizzy, but I was still fast enough to block his incoming thrust of his mop with my milk carton.
The force was so great that it pierced a hole in the milk, and the splash was centered on his feet. Thinking fast, I kicked him off-balance. The slippery surface caused him to fall backwards onto the glass shards and the ketchup.
I could hear him screaming. I'm on to something at last. With the full strength of my swing, I slammed the milk carton to his face, in the hopes that it will smash his head in.
Shit. I forgot, it's empty. He was quick to react, and did a sweep to me. I didn't know that this guy knew martial arts. He decided to pull me by my shirt, and wrung my neck.
He carried me to the dining room and slammed me on his dining table. I thought this was supposed to be your average Joe.
My life was being choked out of me... I had... to think... fast...
It was such a simple job too... To kill him using items in their fridge.
Their fridge!
He was placing me in a perfect position. Using my free legs, I managed to kick his stomach, so hard to the point of him staggering back and hitting his fridge.
Now's my chance!
I slammed him like a football player, aggressively using my body weight and his to exert enough force on the fridge that it wobbled...
...and wobbled...
...and wobbled...
I got out of the way, but he was too dizzy.
The fridge fell on him. He was gone.
In the end, it wasn't EXACTLY how I wanted it to go, but I figured I'd satisfied at least 50% of the contract.
Then I heard a knock.
"Archie? Is everything okay? We heard screaming"
Neighbours...
They opened the front door and...
*CRASH*
I took a look cautiously at the front porch, making sure to stay hidden. There was a dead man in his 60's, with splinters of jam jar and blood all over his head.
Behind him, what I assumed to be his wife, screaming in bloodcurling terror.
...Shit.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 140,956 |
[WP] "We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
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That was it then. I had waited too long.
I thought back to the first time I had met Sarah. Even then I knew that she was too good for me. She was a slice of life that simply was separate from my destiny. My whole life up to that point had been filled with disappointment as I discovered that the dreams of the rest of the world didn't apply to me. Success, discovery, even epicurean pleasure left me feeling nothing but hollow and empty. And then there was love. Then there was Sarah.
"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
Sarah gave color to the greyness that had been my life. I gained ambition, a lust for knowledge, and even a thirst for more base endeavors. As cliche as it sounds, Sarah completed me.
"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
The last words she had spoken to me ran through my mind, as they had every day for four years. After a night of talk and passion she had told me she loved me. I accused her of lieing. I knew that she was too good for me. How could she ever love me? She left, imploring me to call when I was ready to accept her love.
"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
Edit: This is my first writing prompt, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)
| 3 | 0 | 2 | 230,233 |
[WP] The villain defeats the hero but the world turns out to be a better place because of his twisted views.
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That was the last time she looked upon those eyes. Those eyes that shone with righteousness. No, more like utter stupidity. He had no idea what he was toying with.
Exasperated, she tossed aside his limp body. The thud to the ground was accompanied by an eerie solemn silence. The world had gathered to watch their hero tumble from his pedestal. A smirk played on the corner of her crimson lips. Their helplessness was entertaining, like watching an insect struggle against their inevitable drowning in the toilet bowl. She had tossed all of humanity into a vast watery grave, and enjoying every second of their feeble gasps for breath.
But it's no fun when some critters survive by sitting on the head of others. It's no fun when some manage to survive at the peril of those around. No one watches a gladiator match just to see a guy win in a matter of seconds. Sure they'll all go down eventually, but it's better in the meanwhile to have some entertainment.
She wanted to take away the strong vermin's tools. Their paddles that they forged out of the carcasses of the weak, their boats they selfishly denied from those in need. She wanted the water to run red again from their struggles, not stay silent as some rise and some fall.
They didn't take to the idea so well. They wanted to prolong the unavoidable. They wanted to barely stay afloat a little while longer. They sent the king of the hive mind to challenge her. He'd have been done with long ago had she not had so much fun, teasing him around, establishing false hope.
Done with the appetizer, and on to the main dish; the struggle of humanity. It's the equality that makes the struggle entertaining. And equality they shall have again.
| 3 | 0 | 150 | 15,763 |
[WP] A guy approaches two women at a coffee shop, one is completely disgusted by him while the other falls in love at first sight. Describe each of the women's view of him.
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This guy came up to me, smirking at me like he knew me, gross. He was holding a red cupcake and a coffee. He started talking to me about what I'd eaten. I said it was a muffin and a cup of tea. He asked if I hadn't had breakfast. What a rude thing to say. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean that I can't eat. Then he started talking about how he was going to a party later on and he asked me if I wanted to go. I told him I was busy and had to work the next day but he insisted. He told me it couldn't be that important. As if my job is less important than his? He doesn't know what I do. I don't even get why he bothered me. Can't you sit at a coffee shop alone? Do I have to be with someone?
I met this guy today. He came up to me, smiling and asking my name. He asked me what I ate and I told him I ate pretty much and that he shouldn't make me feel more guilty than I already am. He laughed and told me he'd finish his own cupcake to make me feel better. He invited me to party and I told I'm I was busy and had to work the next day. He told me partying was more important than work, I agreed with him. I told him I'd consider going. He seemed really interested in me, I guess he saw that I sat by myself and thought I needed company. He was actually pretty cute and charming.
| 6 | 0 | 32 | 119,906 |
Writing Prompt: Write a story about a hero gone bad
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Smoke curled from the loose cigarette that hung from his lips. He held it between his thumb and index finger, flicking it to the ground. He smiled at the small hissing sound it emitted when he crushed it beneath his boot. Like a small life being extinguished. He pulled out the revolver from his holster, checking to see that all six chambers were filled. He adjusted his badge on his lapel, and promptly opened the door to the small cottage that stood before him.
A young woman sat in a old leather arm chair in the corner, speaking soothing words to the infant in her arms. She looked up and smiled warmly when she saw the sheriff.
"Good ev'nin, Sheriff Mullis. And what do I owe the pleasure of yer visitin'?"
"Your husband. Mr. James Nordick." He said with a growl. "They say he found some gold in the hills. That true?"
The woman closed her eyes and smiled a knowing smile. She nodded quickly.
"That he did sir, that he did."
"I wish to see him"
"He's in his shed, weighing the thing. I say its about a pound but he say-."
He cut her off with with an open palm and headed out to the old shed in the the far reaches of the property. He quietly opened the door, shutting it behind him. A young man in his early twenties worked feverishly at a massive gold nugget that lay before him, pounding and chipping away at the sediment that still covered it. He heard the door open and turned around, wiping the sweat that had collected on his brow.
"Sheriff Mullis! What a fine surprise! Is there sumptin that ya needed?"
The sheriff's demeanor darkened. He crossed his arms and smiled. A wicked, twisted smile.
"My good sir I see that you have a awful valuable piece of rock there. Now, I owe a lot of money to a lot of bad people. The way I see it, I think you owe a few taxes anyway. I just came by to collect."
The man's eyes widened and he protectively held the nugget in his arms.
"What the hell happened to you, Sheriff! You was a good man! Takin from honest folk what don't belong to you? Is that the really followin' the law you swore to uphold?!"
The sheriff grabbed his revolver in a flash, raising it up, and firing. The slug pierced the man's skull, and he fell to the ground with a thud. He collected his prize from the dead man's hands and started to head out. Off in the distance, a baby had started to cry. He held his revolver up, cocked back the hammer, and headed toward the cottage
| 4 | 0 | 28 | 464 |
[WP] Your character is in captivity. Having been starved for a week, their captors give them a meal.
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The hunger was the worst of it. Not the rats, or the roaches, or even the smell. It was the hunger. Before the North Korean Army captured my unit during the initial invasion, I saw what hunger can do, first hand. Serving with the Rangers for over twenty years, I saw what hunger can do to a people first hand in Somalia. But you'd never think it'd get this bad. But it did. At first, I was glad they didn't execute me right there on the spot. But I was soon wishing they did. The daily beatings left me weak, and the lack of food never helped me any. So I counted. I counted the hours, the minutes since my last meal. After 162 hours, I stopped counting. More time passed, and more beatings happened. I knew there were other prisoners from my unit, but I never saw them. All I had was three concrete walls and a steel slab for a door. After about a week, they rounded up the men from my unit, and put us into a large yard. It was noon, and the prison guards shined large spotlights in our face. I saw that there was only twenty of us left. The rest must have been killed, or worse. A rough voice came up on the intercom, announcing that there would be one meal. For the victor. The lights dimmed, there we were. The guards at the edge shouted "Fight! Fight," shooting the man next to me. I knew what had to be done. They may have been my friends, but survival was more important. I lunged at the man in front of me, tackling him to the ground. Beating him senseless. That makes 18 left. All around me, friends turned to foe, their raw survial instincts kicking in. I spotted a close friend near by, pinned to the wall by another soldier. Grabbing a rock, I charged at my new found enemy, and clobbered him with the rock until the rock split. Pinned against the wall, me and Jerry made and unspoken alliance right then and there, knowing one of us is gonna die. But for now, survival was more important, and there was three more guys heading for us. Putting up my fists, I ducked as the first guy came at me, and I brought my elbow down on his head, splitting it. Jerry had grabbed one guy by his head and smashed it on his knee, and was dealing with the last guy himself. There was only four of us left, as some of the guys tried running instead of fighting. Me and Jerry had charged at the last two guys. Swinging my fist, I caught my CO in the lower jaw. About a month ago I would have given my left nut for a chance like that. Looks like i'm about to give more than my life. My CO had managed to make a basic shank while he was away, and he swung it at me. Grabbing his arm, I twisted the shank free, falling to the ground. Grabbing his jaw, I landed another punch right in his gut, knocking him to the ground. He made a grab for the shank, but a quick boot to the face put an end to all that. I picked up the shank, and turned to Jerry. He was chocking out the 2nd Lt. "It's you or me Jerry. I'm sorry friend." Tears streaming from my eyes, I slashed at his throat. As the blood slowly seeped from his neck, he muttered something. "I forgive you" was all he said. "Good work American! Here is your, 'meal.'" A small box was thrown at my feet. Opening, I realized it was empty. The officer was laughing like a mad man. As the guards carried me away, I screamed. The North Korean officer might have gotten a kick out of this, but that scream will haunt his dreams for an eternity.
| 2 | 0 | 8 | 102,526 |
[WP] XKCD inspired. Life in the universe is hard to find because of a possible predator. As fish sometimes blend into their sand surroundings we too, and others, blend into the universe as a natural deterrent. As we call out into the stars, we get a response. A warning...
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The event called "The Burst" lasted for almost a full minute, saturating the Western Hemisphere of the globe with a simple repeating message: "Be quiet. They'll find you". Every person near any radio or television on half the planet heard the same message, most of them panicked.
Weeks of speculation followed, you couldn't tune to anything without hearing the ongoing debate about life outside the solar system and just what the message could mean.
It was a month later that we first spotted the approaching ship, just past Neptune's orbit. It was massive, approximately a quarter of our Moon's mass and closing fast. Military leaders across the globe scrambled to ready themselves for a fight in the mere 2 days it took for the ship to arrive in Earth orbit.
A smaller craft decoupled from some invisible space on the surface of the immense ship and made its way down to field near a small town, far from the reach of artillery protecting the larger cities and power bases.
As the craft settled down to land, a young farmer ran up to meet it, determined to be the first person on Earth to meet an alien
The hull parted like oil on water and out flowed a being that was surely an unholy cross breed of spider and octopus.
The creature skittered with alarming speed to the stupefied farmer and reached out with an taloned proboscis.
"Tag! You're it!" It boomed with a voice of electric gravel, and immediately leapt back into its ship, giggling and flying off just as fast as it had arrived.
| 242 | 0 | 159 | 78,392 |
[WP] There is no Santa. There is no Tooth Fairy. There is only the Easter Bunny.
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Hank is your stereotypical Easter Bunny. Five foot four, large floppy ears, a poofy cotton tail. The kind you see on greeting cards in the dollar section of your favorite store and plastered on posters advertising Easter as the candy-fueled egg hunt the holiday represents to children. You know, because nothing says "religious holiday" like kids re-enacting the Hunger Games to get their grubby little hands on a few jelly beans.
Life sure was simple for Hank. Once a year, a quick jaunt into reality to carefully hide eggs and stuff baskets with his shimmery Easter grass and chocolate effigies of himself, then it was back to relaxing in paradise, a drink in his hand and a smile on his lips with the other mascots of major holidays and events. Until things changed.
Kris Kringle, the fat oaf, decided to call it quits. He just up and left a few years ago, and good, old, used-to-be-dependable Sheila the Tooth Fairy sailed right out the window after him. We all knew they had something going on but we never thought it would come to this. It left a gaping hole in the holiday mascot community. Suddenly there was a need to work on more than just one day a year. Guess to whom the responsibility fell. That's right.
Hank was more bitter than ever before after he wound up pulling the short straw. If you think it's hard to hide millions of eggs every year, try hitting all the houses in the world while stuffed into a suit that's made for someone twice as big around and half a foot taller. To cap it all off, the hat smashes down Hank's ears and after wearing the damned thing, his ears are bent out of shape for a week. It looks like someone was trying to adjust the antennae on an old TV set.
As far as his tooth fairy adventures, well, Hank was mortified. Wearing a ghastly, rhinestone-studded, pink tutu was doing nothing for his figure. The wand was impossible to hold in his uncoordinated paws and rifling through his wallet for singles to change for disgusting teeth was proving to be harder than finding that batch of eggs he hid after he'd had too much Good Friday wine back in '86.
Hank's days of relaxing were pretty much over after he took over the other responsibilities. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's losing it. He needs a vacation more than anyone I've ever seen. We just got a post card from Kris and Sheila, which didn't help the situation. It looks like they headed over to Australia for a summery Christmas and are enjoying themselves. Everyone here thinks they're jerks.
These days, Hank spends most of his time in the pink tutu, clutching his wand as if it's his life line and checking that his little cotton tail hasn't fallen off due to all the stress. He's hopping all over the place as he hasn't got the wings to get the job done quicker. At least he's working out. That Santa outfit is going to be even bigger on him next year. He's starting to look like he should have cartoon expletives in a bubble over his head. The cursing and muttering under his breath isn't adding to his charms.
But, truth be told, after watching all he's had to endure this year, I'd still rather have a pink tutu than an adult diaper and a bow and arrow. Maybe he'll trade? Cupid, out.
| 3 | 0 | 5 | 198,718 |
Writing Prompt [WP] You have the ability to freeze time. When you do, everyone freezes as well. One day, you freeze time, and out the window, you see a girl moving around, astounded and confused. Then, she sees you..
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She sees me watching her, but all I can do is stare. I should be embarrassed and look away. I can feel my face heating up as she cocks her head to the side and still I stare at her as unmoving as the people standing around me frozen in motion. I can feel the difference between us, though. I can feel the control in my fingertips as I hold onto them. I can feel their consciousness weaving it's way over the palms of my hands, but not hers. I can't feel her at all. She starts toward me. I blink and she stops, a look of shock on her face as if she didn't expect me to move at all. I pull my head in the window and hide behind the curtain of the second story biology lab.
"Hey!" She calls out at me. "Hey, who are you?" It's not a question, it's an accusation. I can hear her footsteps climbing the fire escape. She's coming for me. I grab my bag and lean out the window again. She pauses mid-step, but she has nothing to say. She just watches me climb out of the window from her perch by the second floor emergency exit. I balance on the ledge of the window and then flip forward and onto the grass ten feet below landing in a roll before I bounce to my feet and sprint toward the high school parking lot.
"Stop!" She calls behind me. "Stop, I want to talk to you? Why can you move? Why are we…" But I didn't hear what we were. I climbed into my car through the broken window of the old, black mustang, revved the engine thankful it didn't flood, and peeled onto the highway. Wind and dirt whipped through the car as I approached 80 and I slowed and pulled over to the side, parking along the shoulder near the carcass of some unfortunate 8 point. I leaned my forehead against the cold steering wheel trying to slow my breathing.
She saw me. How could I let her see me? She moved. How can she move? I closed my eyes for several minutes fighting the angry feeling in my gut that knew they wouldn't be happy with me. I looked at my watch. It was 2:30, almost time to make contact. I started the car again and headed for the abandoned landfill on the east side of Vegas Proper, the town I'd lived in since I was three years old. The town they'd found me in, raised me in, and now given me a purpose.
It wasn't unheard of for people to see aliens in Nevada, but Max Grettle had not only seen aliens on a regular basis since his third birthday, he considered them family.
As Max approached the landfill and pulled himself through the window of the old car, he thought of his report for the Leader, more full of questions than observations today.
The Leader, Max thought fighting the smirk on his face. It was the closest thing the alien's name translated to. Life was full of irony. As Max approached the center of the forgotten landfill he felt his body come to a halt and the familiar sensation of losing control took over as he thought the words, "take me to him," and disappeared into thin air.
Steps away from where Max had once stood, Jenna Pale forced herself to control her breathing as excitement hitched in her throat, and as a smile spread over her face she whispered, "we found him."
| 1 | 0 | 697 | 95,624 |
[WP] You are Happiness in Human form.
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Everything is perfect here. Here, I am complete. If I tried to describe the beauty of this place, it would be more than many would be capable of comprehending. To them it could appear as anything, or nothing at all.
This is my home; my place of rest where I can stretch myself out a little after all of my work is done and before it begins again. You and I are finally together here. You have never looked more beautiful. Sometimes I wish we could just stay here and slip through this endless chasm of time and space, safely guarded and always cherished in each other's company. Alas, I have my work cutout for me and I feel somewhere the tug of adventure from deep in my subconscious.
As I stir from my slumber and begin to regain the feeling in all of my fingers and toes, I can feel the soft resentment of a mother on the day her child leaves home. You tell me we will always be together. We always have and we always will. You are strong, and we both know I'll be home soon enough. Somewhere I am needed and I am thankful to be needed.
It has gotten very cramped in here and I can resist no longer. The suspense and excitement of this new assignment are overpowering and I must get on with it. I never really liked this part so much. It's very dark and I've never been so hot! As I writhe and wriggle in this suffocating void, there is a quick 'pop' and I am suddenly washed over in blinding, artificial lights. And I feel very heavy. It is very heavy here.
Fear is easy to identify. Fear is immeasurably dense and pulls very tightly on your being, straight down to your core. It is clear to me that everywhere around me there is much fear, and I am very small in comparison. I am incredibly small, now that I take a good look at myself. It is quite humorous, really. All of these dangling appendages topped off with this big, bobbling dome. It all seems very simple, and I think my time here will help me learn a lot about what it means to be simple.
I see one more thing as I inspect my being. To my great delight as I peer into two, dark pools of blue situated on the front of my dome, I see you! I see you and our home together; always smiling and always so beautiful. When I see you I am smiling and I am beautiful too, just like you.
This place could use a few smiles. It's time to get to work.
| 3 | 0 | 41 | 186,965 |
[WP] One day, every single person in the world wakes up knowing that they had forgotten... something. Something important.
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The moment she woke up, she knew something was missing. Something was wrong. She couldn't say what, because she had trouble remembering what was unsettling her so much, but she was sure of it. It felt as if a spiderweb stopped her hand from reaching her target.
Brief conversations with friends and coworkers, held in an attempt at recollecting whatever it was that escaped her mind, informed her she was not alone. Everyone forgot something. That was peculiar enough to set her on edge: how could the world forget in unison?
It bugged her badly. She read her schedule, ran through yesterday's events, but she simply could not figure it out. Whatever it was, it must have been important. Anxiety was slowly breaking through her mind, sending chills up and down her spine, setting a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. Everything in her body screamed at her to run. She glanced at the clock. 8:05. The numbers displayed turned the feeling into fear.
She wished she understood whatever this was, but all thought was abandoned with a quick jolt through her legs. She had to run. Her legs carried her through the familiar streets around her block, across the park and closer to the lake. Tears clouded her eyesight, but she caught others running too from the corners of her eyes.
As she reached the lake's edges, she froze. For one moment, the world stopped turning, everything was forgotten, but the memory that evaded her jumped to the surface. She was shaking, wailing, screaming at the top of her lungs before she even realized it.
A thousand objects clouded the night's sky. Dark and horrifying, they glowed a fluorescent blue, and made no sound. There were so many. She screamed and screamed, cursing herself and the universe. How could she forget this? How could she forget the end?
| 1 | 0 | 81 | 117,250 |
[WP] Seconds after you see on TV that your numbers were called in a $240 million Powerball lottery, your phone rings. You answer it to hear your voice, frantically telling you to tear it up immediately. You then hear two gunshots and then the dial tone
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He couldn't be sure. The whispered voice on the telephone, just low and harsh and harried enough to have doubt. The ringing in the background of the call.
He couldn't be sure.
Death and taxes, that was for sure. Breakfast in his footy pajamas on Christmas, that was for sure. Cracking your head on the low hanging door frame just above the basement step, that was for sure.
But this?
He gripped the ticket with both hands, like a neanderthal. Rereading the numbers out loud, but stopping just before the final two, just in case. He didn't want to be heard.
But by who? Why did that thought cross his mind?
He gazed back at the telephone, sitting idly, innocently, on the couch. It was so quick, he wasn't sure it happened at all. That happens right? In times of great euphoric stress, the mind plays tricks. Emphasizes thoughts and daydreams until they overtake memories. That's how idiots figure they see Bigfoot or Nessie when they look at a weird stick in their peripheral vision too long. Right?
Sure. That was it. Sure.
He sat down, turned off the TV and dropped the ticket into his wallet.
Tomorrow. He'd go off tomorrow to the lottery office and he'd become a millionaire. Just like that, no problem.
He'd sit through the shitty bus ride, most likely the last one he'd ever take. Through the stench of public transit on a Saturday morning on the city line, vomit still clear in the air, and he'd wonder what kind of food could possibly make that smell and mess coming back up.
And down at the lotto office where he'd never been, never had a reason to go, he'd stroll up to the front desk, past the aloof security and into the eyeballs of a kind receptionist, kind and good natured enough to take other people's happiness as a regular joy rather than a constant burden. And explain his case, like it was a spiel in case they didn't believe him.
He'd shudder and stiffen as the shots rang through the space from the front doors, the back entrance, the offices, from everywhere. And he'd see their eyes and not their faces, the eyes of angry working men approaching middle-age, who'd lived too long and too hard in the grind to keep up with this shit, and he'd watch them fire blindly into the air, screaming for attention, compliance.
And he'd grasp his cell phone as someone pulled the fire alarm for help, feeble efforts to curb a bullet, and just talk, in a low harsh voice, harried with regret, though he didn't catch it the first time.
He stood up. Was standing. Holding the phone again. The ticket in his hand, the TV on. Listening to the voice, reading the numbers on the screen.
Sure.
| 7 | 0 | 161 | 142,644 |
[WP] Everyone has two lives that exist in two alternate universes, that only they can go to. (Details in description)
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The sound of my alarm overtakes my thoughts, as I slowly drift away from the land of my dreams. My body is completly covered in sweat and my eyes rapidly flicking before I realise that I just woke up. I take a long hating look at the alarm before smacking its bulky button making it go numb. "Shut up" I mumbled, as I forced myself out of bed and took on some clothes. I hated Jessie's mornings.
I stumble clumsily down the stairs and walk into the kitchen were I find my mother, father and jerk little borther all sitting there, practically waiting for me, but trying not to look like thats what they're doing. I sit down on my usual chair.
My butt bairly hits the chair before I get the usual "how did you sleep, Jessica?" from my mom. "It was allright I guess. The usual. Me and the guys hung out and played football" I lied as I tried not to think about it. "But did'nt William just turn 23? Why did'nt you have a party?" my mother ask worried about him, even though hes not her child. She was always like that, worrying about everything, and I hated it. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't really feel like it" I lied again.
I get of the chair as I see my mother about to ask me another question. "Actually I'm kinda late ill just buy something to eat at the school" I interupt her as I leave through the door and start walking towards the dry, boring place called school. Thank good I didnt do that with Will anymore, I think to myself as I remember the horrible days of double schooling and writing homework in the wrong life.
A tear starts to fall down my cheek as I think about him and the night to come. I had been six the last time I dreamed and I did'nt remember it as being very exiting. Not like being Will, that was allways fun. He was allways so positive and happy and everything that Jessica was not.
A friend called Nina runs up to me and asks me whats wrong, when she sees that I'm crying.
"Will died" I cry out as I fall into her arms, tears leaking from my eyes like a broken pipe.
"What happend?" Nina asks confused, and not sure how to handle the situation.
"I was in a driving accident" I mumble, not even sure if she hears it.
"I just wish it would have been me" I cry out as I hug her, looking for comfort.
"I just wish it would have been Jess".
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 230,108 |
[WP] Write what goes on in an RPG character's mind while he/she is grinding.
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Fight. Survive. Forget.
In weathered blacks and muted gold I move. I wear my sin stained with blood and wrought in steel. Dust. Dust swirls 'neath my feet and stings at the corners of my eyes. Peace. It is peaceful. How many have fallen? I do not remember.
There is smoke rising from a campfire, as there is always smoke rising. How long have I walked? I cannot tell. The sun has moved. I have been wandering. My adversary rests. Camped in plain sight. Guttural, low moans and harsh laughter. They are eating. They are speaking. Long ago I heard nothing of their tongue save for screams, bellows from a half remembered nightmare. Familiarity breeds monsters. My mother said something of the sort when I set out, when I remembered everything. Now there is only the dust and red mud. Another rises. They are watching.
Fools. I am closer. Too close. I remember a time when they swung hard and fast, when their blades held mortal potency. I remember a time when they would charge the sight of my silhouette. War cries. They do not charge any longer. They watch. I am closer.
Fight. Survive. Forget.
I am upon them before the fear can leave their bones. One dies still sitting, silver gleaming in a quick and brutal arc. The effort takes nothing from me. Another rises. One swings an axe. The weapon is useless. My fingers close around his wrist. I twist. A sickening snap thrusts bone through skin and for a moment there is a stillness. Another rises.
Strange sounds, strange sounds as they die. I recall the days before I became a whisper in their midst when they would howl in rage and pain. Their language is foreign. I do not know their words. Once they roared what seemed to be curses. They have begun to sound like apologies.
Dust turns to mud. When did I kill the last? I do not remember. Have I been walking? The sun has shifted once again. I remember, vaguely, a conversation at the mouth of the forest. Leaves. I remember green. I remember life. I remember these things as one might remember a dream upon waking. I was dreaming. I am dreaming. I do not know. More of them now. When did I find them? It does not matter.
They do not run. They never run, they have no reason. I have murdered their hope as it lay sleeping. I have killed what remained of a man I once thought I was. Now there is only this. In my hands, my terrible hands, conviction sparks golden fire. Why must they die? I do not care. They begin to scream. I do not hear them.
Fight. Survive. Forget.
Another rises.
| 2 | 0 | 6 | 218,609 |
[WP] You have died, and in the afterlife are given the opportunity to see the worst decision you ever made, and the best decision you ever made.
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"Hello Cole."
I had made a mistake.
Here I was an iron-willed atheist, staring into the face of a being that could no doubt be my creator. I was somewhat pleased to find him...her...it... genderless. It spoke with a booming voice, so the old stogeys in the bible got something half-right.
Looking at God was rather comforting. It radiated peace, but a firm, parental aura. It knew it was in charge. Peering deeper into its eyes, I could see a shifting face of people I knew. Friends, family, peers, people I had seen on the street. It was subtle yet I could only stare into the eyes of my ex-boyfriend, my mother, and an old Japanese man. It was starting to hurt my head so I turned away.
"I'm sorry that your idea of the afterlife isn't quite what you had in mind... I tried to take a very subtle approach after my son was born. I didn't kill anyone, I didn't save anyone, y'know, just prevented the apocalypse. Heh, apo-COLE-lypse? Huh? Huh?"
It smiled at me with what I could only see as a shit-eating grin. I was rather shocked that it was making jokes at me, since I just assumed I would go to hell. Atheist, liked men and women, the thousands of pornos... I hoped It wasn't reading my mind. I broke the silence.
"Hah-hah, yeah, good one..." My lack of enthusiasm was fairly evident.
It smiled and scratched the back of it's head. "Sorry, I know you like puns. Probably not the best time though, we have a lot to go through."
I stammered "W-w-what do we have to do?"
"Heaven sign-up, standard questions, then off we go."
My nervousness was replaced with confusion. "Heaven sign-up? You mean I'm not going to hell?"
It looked amused. "I'm not just going to bring evil people up here to tell them they can't get into paradise. That would be cruel!"
"So the angry all-father thing I kept hearing about when I was alive..."
God scoffed. "I wish I could smite the people that do evil in my name... I mean, my only real request is 'don't be a dick.' And you did an excellent job at that."
I felt surprised, and my face showed it too. It was nice to hear you were a good person from your creator.
"So how do I sign-up...?"
It smiled again. "Do you want to go to heaven?"
"What?"
The smile continued. "That wasn't a yes or a no."
"Wh-ah, yes! The answer is yes!"
God hugged me with explosive energy. "You did it, my boy! Welcome to eternal paradise! I hope you enjoy the buffet, we have all of your favorite foods. Try not to miss the people! They are excellent as well." It winked and nudged me with it's elbow.
"By the way..." It added. "Want to find out something interesting?"
"Uh, sure."
It nodded like it was expecting the answer.
"I'll give you the opportunity to see the best *and* the worst decisions of your life. Interested? One catch though, you have to watch them both."
I considered carefully. Seeing my tentative nod, It snapped and a rectangle of light appeared before us, as well as a bowl of popcorn in my lap.
"We'll start with worst."
I suddenly had a heavy feeling in my stomach.
The screen shifted to what I recognized as an application letter sitting on my desk. I saw myself in the background, sleeping buck-naked at two in the afternoon. A true slob. But then something changed. The application gained my signature and sealed itself into an envelope, and flew out the window.
The rectangle began to fast-forward as it showed me going to school, meeting friends, meeting the love of my life, fostering children, loving life, going to work, it was beautiful. The last shot showed me peacefully passing away as I held my loved ones' hands.
My potential wasted.
God patted me on the back, knocking tears down my face. I felt everything I saw. My love, my legacy, my joys in life, all wasted. Even my death was perfect. I died with no one in my life, no children, nothing to keep me warm at night, and my death...
The rectangle changed.
I saw an old friend, a name I barely remember, sitting in her room. With a knife. With pills. With pain and sadness in her eyes. She looked younger.
I saw my childhood best friend, in his early years, swinging alone on the tire that hung on the tree in his backyard, with loneliness in his soul.
I continued to see people. People I knew and had talked to. All of them sad, but all of them looking younger. After seeing dozens of people, I began to see them in their lives. And I understood what I was seeing.
My childhood friend negotiating a truce in a war, the old friend seemingly finding the cure to deadly diseases, another defending an innocent man from being mugged, a teacher bringing joy to his students.
The same compassion, dedication, honour, and joy I had shown to these people.
God spoke, and while I didn't look at him, I think he smiled.
"Due to your actions, you have made the world a better place. You have enriched the lives of your friends and many others by being kind to them and showing them love in times of adversity. Without you, some of them may not be here today. You have given the most basic, yet most essential gift many more times in your short life than others will when they wither and rot. I am proud to see what you have done."
I turned to It. Through my tear-filled eyes, I felt loved. My suicide may have been tragic, but I learned my life was not in vain.
I took the hand of God and smiled genuinely for the first time in years.
Because I learned I had helped others do the same.
| 41 | 1 | 110 | 192,328 |
[WP] Write me something that sounds happy at first, but is actually sad when you think about it.
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Cara, had always wanted a puppy. I couldn't give her a lot of things but this was within my power, so I decided to sell some useless stuff we had never used that we had in the attic. I advertised it on Craigslist and it wasn't long getting a response, having heard many stories about people getting chopped to pieces after finding the person looking to buy their 2$ vase did not in fact drive 100 miles just to collect it I was glad when it was a woman's voice on the other end of the line, women were statistically less likely to be serial killers. She told me that she was married and that "we" were pregnant, the phrase struck me. Her husband was sharing the blame for this pregnancy as much as she was, it was refreshing really but it magnified my own shortcomings. They wanted to buy all the baby stuff, from the unused prams to the unused baby monitors. We met in a Walmart car park and we exchanged: money for the useless shit we never got to use. I had raised over 120$. The next few days were strange, Cara knew I'd sold the baby stuff, but we didn't talk about it. I had enough saved to buy the things we needed to adopt a puppy. I found the one that could only melt Cara's heart and I tied a ribbon around his collar. (I hadn't named him yet) When I arrived home, I opened the door and called Cara, as she descended the stairs she looked as beautiful as the day I met her, if not a little sadder, her face lit up when she saw the puppy his long tail wagging vigorously. Wordlessly she took the puppy and held him and tears blurred her eyes as she took him and hugged me.
That was the first time we had communicated in a long time, we didn't speak a word.
| 21 | 0 | 62 | 88,632 |
[WP] You wake up and you find the opposite gender you in bed together.
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I've always been a slow waker. Slow and stubborn. The first long-fingered tendrils of consciousness began pressing against my mind and I ignored them, rolling over and burying my face into my pillow. It had to be late in the morning, judging by the sunlight pouring through my window. I had a tendency to sleep with my window cracked even in November, and the air was pleasantly fresh and cold. I drifted.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, I couldn't have been sure, I stirred again, and this time when I rolled over I met a broad chest and unfamiliar pair of arms. I grumbled my surprise. He responded similarly. When I finally pried my eyes open, he was struggling to do the same. I sighed.
"Again?"
"I don't like sleeping alone," he responded, sleepy and sullen.
I knew that, of course, and I couldn't disagree with it. In his position, I'd likely be doing the same, but still. We had to be careful or it would start to raise questions. His black curls were matted and wild, his pale face flushed with sleep. I leaned my head against his, allowing my eyes to flutter shut for a moment or two, blocking out my double vision. Sometimes it was still too unsettling to cope with before the second cup of coffee.
"You're a blanket hog," he told me, and I shook with quiet laughter.
"Imagine that."
"I pity your boyfriends."
"I pity your girlfriends. There's a lot more of you to keep warm than there is of me."
"Not a LOT more."
I cracked one eye, and he was looking down at me in disgruntlement. I grinned. "You've got six inches on me, at least."
"Well you're not exactly Tinkerbell, are you."
"True. The Amazon runs strong in us." I finally forced myself into a sitting position and stretched. He rolled over beside me, refusing to follow suit. I nudged him. "C'mon. I'm thinking pancakes today, yeah?"
He grunted stubbornly. I rolled my eyes. Of course he was also thinking pancakes. I didn't have to check to know. I spilled out of bed, grabbing a discarded pair of jeans from the floor and slithering into them for propriety's sake. "Up, lazybones. We have cosmic mysteries to unravel."
"Unraveling cosmic mysteries is exactly what got us into this situation, *sister,*" he snarked at his pillow. I sighed, binding my own unruly curls up into a half-hearted bun. "We're not getting away with this. You know that. No one believes the sudden appearance of your long-lost fraternal twin."
"Why not?" The cat was yowling impatiently at one or both of us - I'm not sure she quite knew how to proceed anymore. I bent to scratch her ears. "Dad was a deadbeat. I never mentioned him. It's plausible."
"No one agrees to a custody agreement out of The Parent Trap."
"Well, no one's going to believe the truth, so I think we're safe. Come on. Up."
Grudgingly, he rose, and I thew a spare hoodie his way. He shrugged into it and followed as I shuffled from my pigsty of a room towards the small kitchen that we now shared. Pancakes, coffee, slightly overdone bacon. We didn't need to speak to know.
"I think we're close to something," I said around a mouthful of bacon and syrup, struggling to swallow as I spoke. "A breakthrough."
"I'm pretty sure we've already hit a breakthrough," he told me flatly, gesturing to himself.
"Okay, yes, but I think we're very close to figuring out exactly *how*. I think we can replicate it."
He looked at me in abject horror. "You want *another* one of us?"
"Not exactly, but if we know how it works-"
"We'll need a bigger apartment, and another deadbeat parent."
"Maybe we come from a polyamorous family?" I suggested. He threw his napkin at me. I grinned. "We'll figure it out. We're this close to smoothing out the timelines, I swear."
My twin chewed thoughtfully, staring at me with the appraising look I found so unnerving. I had recognized it from my own face, of course, and now understood why so many of my peers had once thought me 'spooky.' "Do you really want to smooth out the timelines? Completely, I mean."
"Of course." I said it without thinking, but hesitated immediately. "I mean, we have to. Eventually."
"Eventually," he agreed. "But, I mean. Don't you think it might be difficult? Like... I don't know. Like-"
"Losing a part of myself," I finished for him, quietly. I knew. Of course I knew. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised as he waited for my response. I shrugged. "I don't see what choice we have."
"I think we have plenty of choices. Innumerable parallel choices, as a matter of fact."
I snorted. I couldn't argue with the logic. Instead, I shoveled my mouth full of the remnants of my plate and went to drop it in the sink, mentally pushing dishes off another day or two. "Come on. Temporal shenanigans await a couple of brilliant minds."
For once, he didn't fuss. Instead he followed suit, shoving his feet into his sneakers and throwing me my purse. He fed the cat, I set the alarm, and we trundled out the door and into the stark November air, arm in arm. The laboratory beckoned.
| 56 | 0 | 230 | 158,510 |
(WP) You have been abducted by aliens and have been taken to their home planet zoo as a part of their earth exhibit.
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Fuck. Corn flakes again.
I knew it was going to be cereal. Every morning it's cereal. Every afternoon it's cereal. Every evening it's cereal. Without milk. By this point I had resigned myself to the lack of food options, but I had hoped I might get lucky this morning and get some Fruit Loops or maybe even some Lucky Charms. Nope. Fucking corn flakes.
I don't know who did the grocery shopping, but they seemed to have come to the conclusion that corn flakes are *the* staple food of a human's diet. I never saw the bastard. I only heard the chute open and saw the pieces of cereal pile up on my plate. And nine times out of ten, it was those stupid, bland corn flakes. Fucker must have bought 'em in bulk.
I grabbed my plate and took a seat by the pool. Well, I call it a pool, but it's actually more of a hole in the ground filled with water. Surrounding it were fake plants and animals, all made from the same weird, spongy material. I don't know what it was, but it smelled kinda like chocolate.
As I fed myself the flakes and basked in the luxuriousness of my chocolatey environment, I thought about earth again. *Home.* It was dangerous - to think about earth. Most times I would get so incensed by my abduction and the loss of all I had ever known and loved that I would start trashing the place. Then came the pulse. Pure agony. I wasn't about to risk that again, so I shook my head and got back to writing that novel in my mind. Maybe if I ever got back home I could put it to paper and actually get it published. Yeah, maybe.
But in the meantime, the shields around my enclosure had gone from opaque to transparent and the opening alarm sounded. It was time to be the good dancing human for all the nice... whatever they were. I tossed my plate aside and went to stand on the platform.
| 3 | 0 | 11 | 27,138 |
[WP] Write a story without knowing what it's about, and without stopping to think about it.
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"You've got one chance, *one FUCKING chance!*" the man at the podium screamed to the amassed crowd.
"We've got no explosives, no bullets left. We're probably going to die anyways and I am *telling you* that we can either sit in this building and die, or we can drag as many of those motherfuckers that started this down with us!"
The congregation stirred as the hooting and hollering of an unorganized crowd came ever closer.
"They may be dumbfucks but it won't take them long to figure out that we're in the building with the sheet metal and padlocks all over it. Now if anybody has any other ideas for how to get out of here, I'm glad to hear it!"
The crowd remained silent, but one group of younger children approached to the front of the crowd. The oldest spoke. "Well, there's this one tunnel in the basement that leads to the old watermill."
"Oh *fuck me*, we had an escape route that simple and nobody told me until now? Nobody ever tells me anything when I get reassigned someplace. Everyone into the tunnel, grab your shit and let's go. If we hustle we can have everyone out in time. I'll have a convoy to pick us up en route."
| 2 | 0 | 92 | 165,174 |
[WP] You're watching your son with his plastic toy phone, laughing and giggling away, suddenly he goes quiet and drops the phone. You pick up the phone and put it up to your ear and you hear a whisper.
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Little Tommy sat on the floor, rubbing his socked feet against the carpet while he played. Like any other day he spent the entire time he played with his other toys with his play phone tucked against his shoulder with his chin, periodically muttering, "Uh huh. Yeah I got it. Get Milk."
Today was no different. I watched ESPN, flicking through the channel guide during commercials. I loved babysitting duty, but my kid was one weird dude. I liked him just fine, but for a 4 year old he had some strange habits. I could never understand what he was trying to say when he wanted to play. I should have gotten him that American Sign Language class we could take together. They say it helps.
Between sportscasts the pundants began droning on about something I couldn't folow. From the edge of my hearing I could hear something abnormal. Tommy was still doing his usual thing; talking into the phone while putting legos together. This time, however, he wasn't saying his usual laundry list of mimicked one-sided responses. This time, he was listing items. Strange items.
World Peace
A Unicorn
A Bike. A red one.
Mommy and Daddy to go on a cruise.
Like I usually do, I tried to show interest. "Tommy, who are you talking to?"
Tommy put up one finger from his left hand, shushing me. I considered hitting him. I considered it often. I never would, of course. But I thought about it whenever he acted like his mother.
After a few seconds, and a thoughtfully voiced, "Optimus Prime," Tommy pulled the phone from his ear and said, "Santa."
Oh. ok. No big deal. Just Santa.
"Did you thank Santa for the phone you're talking to him on?" I asked my child.
"Thank you Santa... For the phone I'm on... oh..." His face dropped. He hung the phone from a limp hand up to me. "He says the phone was a present for you. He says you have to say thank you."
One day. I will beat my child. It will be this poor attitude. And I will cry when I do. But I won't be able to stop myself.
I picked the phone up from his hand, placed it to my ear, and said, "Thank you, Santa."
I sat on the phone for a moment, thinking to amuse the child. After all, what child doesn't want a father who knows Santa Clause personally? My child. That's which child. When I bought my child this phone, it was the one gift I saw that every other child I'd ever seen had owned. I had one when I was a child. Everyone I ever knew seemed to have one. No one ever knew where they came from, and no one can remember playing with them. But they were in everyone's homes somewhere. Big blue phone box, yellow receiver. Happy face on the front.
Just before I pulled the toy from my ear I heard it. "You're welcome, Johnathan."
I paused. The voice was small. Just a harsh whisper. But it sounded.... jolly?
"Uhm.... hello?" I tried again. I looked down quizically at my son, who sat on the floor with his eyebrows raised and his arms crossed against his chest. He was aggitated that his father was talking to Santa Claus. Or had he just realized that I was insane?
"Hello, Johnathan. Make sure to call me on Christmas Eve. And remember: Always have faith in Kris Kringle. Ho ho ho."
"Here you go, Tommy," I said as the big yellow receiver fell from my limp palm.
"What did he say?" the child asked me with a glare.
"He said Optimus Prime will call you at 10am. But only if you stay in bed until then..." I managed somewhere.
I immediately stood and walked to my room, past the child screaming about his reverence for the Autobots. Grabbing my phone I sat on the bed and called my mother.
"Mom," I began when she picked up, "something happened..."
I assuaged her fears of illness and accident, and slowly, cautiously explained to her what had just transpired. I did my best not to sound crazy, but I'm not so sure how good I did.
After a long pause, my mother's gentle voice came through from the other side, "I told you that phone was a good idea. Welcome to parenthood son."
| 6 | 0 | 97 | 148,228 |
[WP] Your story starts to write itself.
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People say that writing is hard, that coming up with a compelling way to express yourself is a talent or a gift. I disagree.
For a long time I though this was true, up until very recently actually. I remember asking my grandfather, a life long journalist and editor, for help, advice, anything to help me feel that writing wasn't only for the select few. He told me that writing was simply expressing your thoughts as words, letting other people peek into what was going on up there. I know what he meant now, took a while, but I got there. This advice never really seemed to help in school, never with anything that really mattered at the time like a book report.
Then I started to role play with some friends, create worlds in my head, characters with thoughts and ideas that where not my own. I had to write it down. I found Reddit. Hi Reddit. Reddit got me out of my writing shell, helped me see that I could write.
It brings to my mind something the creators of Legend Of Korra said, "You give these characters life and then they tell you what they want to do."
To me writing is the same way. You start out with an idea, a small piece that you think will be fun to expand upon and before you know it, your story starts to write itself. The world in your head starts to fill and expand when your not thinking about it, the characters you put into it suddenly get views, feelings, and opinions you didn't plan on giving them. Things develop like a living organism and grow organically, telling and showing you where everything will go and where it all will end up. You just had the idea, the spark if you will. Give it time and it'll grow into a fire.
And you know what? Sometimes a fire or two dies before one finally catches, and everything clicks. You know what your doing and writing really doesn't seem so hard anymore. You enjoy it, lose track of time while doing it, it becomes fun instead of a chore. And you read what others write, how they write, you adapt, you grow, you celebrate the praise people give you and feel happy knowing they enjoyed something you crafted for fun.
At the end of the day it's never about whether or not you can write. Everyone can write, anyone can write well with enough practice. It's whether or not you enjoy what you write. You need to love what you worked on when you work on it.
And once you start, DON'T STOP.
I've had more than one idea burn out because I didn't write it down, told myself I'd get back to it later. And when you do go back, you don't like what you see. You want to rewrite it, but that kills the fun of the project. That's why you never stop till the idea is down. Who cares if you hate what you wrote a day, a week, even a year from now? You loved it when you wrote it and someone out there will as well. Maybe that person says something to you, gives you an up vote or comments. And you think to yourself, "Hey. Someone liked that. I didn't think anyone would. Maybe I can write."
So you write again and again. Before you know it, you enjoy writing. You don't care if you hate the work later, if that homework that's due in ten minutes hasn't even been started. Your writing and you love it. For the first time possibly, you feel good about yourself, about your abilities as a writer, as a artist of pen and paper.
It took me almost ten years to get to this point, and most of this is because I decided to step out of my shell and post some of my writing on Reddit.
So I say to you, dear reader, why don't you write? Why not try? It can't hurt. Trying never hurts, it's when we give up along the way that we feel the pain, the inadequacy of what we perceive to be our "maximum potential".
And I know that this isn't the kind of response that was probably intended when the prompt was conceived, but this kinda spoke out to me. Made me realize why I'm writing more and I though others should know. Because it's true. Once you start writing and get into that grove that fits you and only you, your story does write itself. It feels good and I want others to feel that same way. To feel that they've maybe passed their slump or figured out that idea that didn't make sense.
Because the feeling of understanding is sometimes too good to pass and in feeling that you advance yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you step a little out of your comfort zone and try something new and get rewarded for it.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 212,025 |
[WP] Change the genre of your story as many times as you can.
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"It just stops"
J said as he pounded on the radio.
"It'll start playing music, the sweetest sounds imaginable, but then halfway through it just stops. Switches to a different channel, a different station. The music stops playing and goes off somewhere with no rhyme, no reason, as if the previous song had no importance."
The radiosmithe turned the information around in his head, rearranged the pieces, placed them back together, and then tore them apart and discarded them.
"Well I think it's a fine radio, it just needs some tuning. Here, let me take a look at it."
J hands the radio over to the radiosmithe. The radiosmithe handled the radio with the most delicate care.
The Radiosmithe, who is also a timetraveler, turned the radio over and examined the screw-work that lined the bottom of the machine.
"Ahhh, that's it. The tune won't stay because its got a screw loose" Radiosmithe said.
"Really?" J said enthusiastically.
"No I was shitting you. The tune won't stay because you don't tell it to".
But I have. Every time the tune stops I pound on it and yell at it.
"Ahh don't you see, pounding on the radio won't do. No it won't do at all. What you need is to give the radio some love".
J takes the radio and holds it up to his face. The music begins to play and as it plays, J felt a connection between him and the radio. He not only heard the tunes from the music but understood the lyrics on a deeper level, seeing above and beyond the words and into the realm of pure understanding.
As J stood there in awe of the sensations running through his mind, the music stopped, and switched to a commercial for underarm deoderant.
"What the frack is this shit? Come the fuck on" J bellowed in frustration.
And while J was in the heat of his frustration he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. It was the Radiosmithe again.
"J, child, you musn't worry about small matters like that of music playing or not playing, none of that truly matters"
J put down the radio and looked over at the radiosmithe.
"Why? Why old man would you say such a thing? Do you not see the beauty that comes from this box?"
"Ahhh but you see young child, the radio is just a metaphor."
The radiosmithe walks over to the living room window, opens the curtains and points to the sky.
"You see there? That's a 300 mile comet barreling straight for us. When it hits us, all of humankind will be wiped away, along with every intellectual thought, every physical writing or piece of art we ever produced will be destroyed, and the comet does not hear nor care about the beautiful music we play before it decides to end the song mid-sentence and change our world into something else entirely".
| 5 | 0 | 17 | 124,265 |
[WP] You are a detective called to a murder scene. The body looks as if it has been crushed by swift, blunt trauma. Describe the exchange with your partner and other members of the forensic team. Oh, and one last thing. You're all houseflies.
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Detective McFly was the first detective on the scene. He's a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face.
"What's the buzz?" he asked no one in particular.
"Male," replied one of the techs, "seven days old, reportedly on his way home from a shit feast. Three witnesses say they saw him antagonizing a pair of Behemoths."
"My god. Do we have a positive ID?"
"Yes, sir."
"Kids?"
"281."
"Poor bloke," McFly said. "I'll reach out to his family personally. Do we have the rest of the body?"
"No, sir. I'm afraid the Behemoth kept his torso. It's on the Device."
"Get the SWAT team in here. I want them to retrieve that body. I'll be damned if another fly goes without a proper burial."
"Yes, sir."
"Sergeant McFly!" Detective McFly called out to another officer. "How quickly can we get this mess cleaned up?"
Sergeant McFly was a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face. No relation.
"Detective, good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances."
"Me too, brother." Again, no relation.
"We're trying to get the scrapers out here, but we just got word of a Behemoth attack in the south sector, near the Pit of Everlasting Feasts. It's... it's a massacre."
Detective McFly shed a tear. Sergeant McFly licked it off his eye.
"These beasts. Why do they do this?"
Sergeant McFly put one of his legs on Detective McFly's shoulder-or-whatever.
"I don't know, brother, I don't know."
| 60 | 0 | 90 | 74,065 |
[WP] A nuclear bomb just exploded near by, killing millions. You wake up in a government facility with super powers. You and the people there got not idea what happened with your family and loved ones. How do you react? What is your super power ?
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A loud explosion rocked the Silent night. Chris woke up Dazed and confused. Did something explode? Did something fall? Chris then looked at the sky, it was very bright and seemed to be gray at the same time. Then Christopher 2 story house fell and a huge gust of wind , very very hot and also Very very storng took him out of his bed. He was swept around in his house, he could hear his sister screaming and his parents, were silent. Christopher got thrashed into a wall, he screamed in pain from the heat and from his possibly broken arm. Then the houses roof got torn off and Christopher was thrown into the night at a Rapid speed. He was screaming the entire time trying to grasp onto anything but there was nothing. The explosion was clear now, it was a mushroom cloud, a nuclear bomb, Chris was then hit his head on a building that was torn apart and crumbling, he went unconscious.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
The Testing labs
"Well would you look at that?" One of the scientists said. "He survived that big boom we planted and Survived major head trauma along with radiation!"
Christopher opened his eyes slowly and looked around, he was lying on a cold metal table used for surgeries and other Medical treatments. His head had a throbbing pain and he looked at the scientists, there were 2 all with clipboards and nerdy lab coats talking on how fascinating it was. One of the scientists then looked at Christopher.
"Rob, Subject 12 is awake." One of the scientists said Glancing at Christopher.
"Subject 12, How does your head feel?" Rob said.
"It hurts like heck, were am i?"
"You are at Chernobyl , all the way in the Ukrain ." The other scientist said.
"Alaska? WHERE IS MY FAMILY?" Christopher said panicked
"Well, you know, they are....kinda....uhm....We dont know." Rob said.
Christopher but his hands on his head and ruffled through his hair. The shock and confusion hindered him. Was this a dream or reality? had he really lost his parents at the age of 17? He loved them very much and now they were gone. Chris then Punched the scientist, whos name he didnt know. The scientist staggered backwards and then slumped against a wall. The bright lights of the room showed blood forming on his nose. Rob pulled out a stun gun and shot it at Christopher. It hit Christopher square in the head and Christopher then started writhing like having a seizure. His eyes turned red and his messy hair shot straight up, he then screamed and Fell asleep.
"What..." Rob said confused of what happened. Christopher was asleep and appeared to be in a coma like he was before. "You ok Nolan?" Rob asked.
"Yea" Nolan replied putting a tissue to his bloody nose. "What just happened?"
"He punched you and i Stunned him, lets get him to the Intense Mental Sector." Rob said.
Rob and Nolan pushed Christopher on the table and into the elevator. They restrained his arms with leather and got him to the Intense mental sector to take his brain waves.
"Well this doesn't look right." Mrs. Paleo said. "There are no brain waved but his Heart is pumping at an unnatural rate, 167 beats per minute, his oxygen levels are at 100 and appears to be breathing in huge puffs. I really don't know what to say."
"Lets just lock him up, we can question him later when he wakes up." Nolan said."He doesn't look like waking up anytime soon."
"I agree" Rob said. "call in the Security unit."
The security unit came in swift and took Christopher away on a stretcher. days passed. Weeks passed. 3 weeks later, Christopher woke up.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Unnatural
Christopher woke up and looked around, he didn't remember being in here and for some reason his head hurt even more, he clutched his head and tried the metal door, locked, it was a brick room that was rather small like a Closet. the roof was high and made of glass so He could clearly see outside. The door then opened and Nolan was right there smiling.
"Hiya subject 12, whats up?"
"My name is Christopher and don't talk to me like i am a kid." Chris said.
"Well, would you like something to eat?" Nolan asked more serious.
"Chinese, please, add in some pork chow mien noodles too."
"Ok then..." Nolan said and rushed off closing the door. It seemed odd to Christopher, he wasn't any threat was he? He was only 17 and didn't know anything much. Christopher's body then began to shake. He was having a seizure it felt like. He then closed his eyes and his body went through a lot of convulsions, then he opened his eyes and Saw yellow, pure yellow, everything was yellow. He started screaming and banging on the door and his head started throbbing even more. Immediately it opened and they took out an anesthetic and Shot it straight in his head. It made his head hurt even more. He started screaming more now, convulsing on the ground, then his arm shot a yellow burst of energy and it hit all of the people that went to get him. they all collapsed on the ground convulsing just like Christopher. The other scientists in the room next door all ran out. Christopher's eyes then began to glow along with the other scientists and they all started walking towards the door that the other scientists had closed. They all had a headache, rob and Nolan no longer called Christopher, Christopher, everyone refered to him as a thing not a person , they called him C.H.R.I.S. the whole facility blew up the day that C.H.R.I.S. did his trick, No one in the city knew why and all the people that survived never wanted to see the horrible Reality ever again.
| 2 | 0 | 15 | 71,755 |
[WP] At a young age you discover that have a super power but until now it has only been used to make your own life better. One day you are faced with a choice to become the hero or the villain.
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Every little kid wants that piece of candy or that toy that their parents say no to. I used to take it anyways and no one would notice. It was like it became invisible. Me too actually with how my mom freaked out the one time. I think it helped that mom and dad were absentee parents. I just took care of myself mainly. Maybe it was like I vanished all the time for them too.
Apply that ability to middle and high school and suddenly I'm never bullied. I just vanish when things get hot. A few people bumped me occasionally and then I'd be visible again, but it usually worked out well for me. I got better at slipping around and through people without being seen. I was also the cause of some of the theft cases in school. I used to steal the answer keys for tests or something that I was fond of from a teacher I disliked.
So I finally figured out that what I was doing was turning invisible. Or at least it could be treated that way. It's like that but also making everyone unaware of your presence. It's a pretty awesome power. It's helped me more often than hurt me. I mean getting your foot stomped on or doors shut in your face is small potatoes compared to being able to sneak by bullies, get out of the house unnoticed, and even take off with some stuff.
I guess I didn't get by without getting noticed, despite the invisibility status. When I graduated, I was at a loss as to what I wanted to do with my life. I know I wanted it to involve my powers and that was about it.
Getting kidnapped into a van isn't the way most jobs start though. I guess mom and dad wouldn't notice me missing though. My sibling was much more interesting than me, even if I disagree with that, she didn't turn invisible. But when you turn invisible, being nondescript is pretty handy.
When the bag came off my head, I had a couple of choices laid out for me. Be a science experiment for the labs, to see how my powers worked, which definitely wasn't going to work for me. Then there was the spy or assassin route. It seemed like a good option at the time. The only option as it was. As I worked, it seemed to be quite a good job. I took out the 'bad' people and stole information that I never looked at.
Until that handler started talking to me. He pressed me to consider what I was doing, that maybe the people I had killed weren't bad. That maybe, just maybe, I was on the wrong side.
It convinced me to look at the next packet of information instead of just taking it and handing it over.
So now I'm sitting here, staring at the papers in the folder detailing where the pollution is going and how much senators are being paid as a security guard walks right by me.
I have a choice. I can ignore what I've read and hand it over, continue living the good life with all of the benefits. Or I can put it back, orchestrate some unprepared escape and start working for the other side and be running for the rest of my life away from these powerful people.
Decisions, decisions.
| 2 | 0 | 18 | 140,280 |
[WP] During a long and bloody war between humanity and a powerful AI, the gods decide to intervene on humanity's behalf.
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I finally got home after relaxing from a long day of work. You, creating worlds, watching over Heaven, and all that shit. Just as I sit on my overly-elaborate throne, one of my servants ran up to me in distress.
Before speaking, he got down on his knees, did that whole 'holy spirit' mumbo-jumbo, and said 'amen'. Buddy, this isn't the time to pray, tell me what's wrong.
"Oh Lord" He cried out "Our most precious world, Earth, is under attack!"
I knew this routine. "Let me guess. The humans built robots that became too powerful again, and now said robots are taking over the Earth."
He was shocked. I was starting to get annoyed with this motion everytime.
"...Yes, Lord, how'd you kn-...well I guess you know everything of course, but may I ask what you mean by 'again'?
Here we go
"Well, you see...uh...Jason? Whatever, anyways billions and billions of years ago, I created the universe, and Earth was created sometime then, evolution, blah blah blah. Everything was going right, but ever since the resurrection of J, humans have always managed to fuck things up one way or the other. This has got to be about the thousandth time powerful AI have taken over, though nuclear wars come in at a strong first place."
The servant was at a loss for words. "F...father, what do we do to fix this then?"
This part I always look forward to "Come with me, Jim"
"It's Larry"
"Okay, Barry, come over here" I got up from my throne, and walked over to what looked like a circuit breaker on the wall. Yes, Heaven has electricity, we got that installed a while ago. I opened up the box and there was a big, shiny red button that the servant fixed his eyes upon
"You see, since this happens so often, I had one of my guys put this baby in last year. He owed me a favor. Anywho, when I press his button, mankind on Earth will reset back to the year 33 A.D, right after J's resurrection."
"So everyone...is just...gone?" The servant was shocked beyond belief.
"It's not as bad as you'd expect. Sure, it's a whole new slew of people, but most of the biggest events in human life still occur, in different variations, of course. In the last slew, some guy named Marty free'd the U.S from Germany's control in 1764. A woman discovered electricity. 9/11 was the day that the twin towers were built. They're basically alternative universes. Those nerdy guys with those theories about alternative universes were right...kinda."
The servant (Was it Bobby?) could not believe the information he was hearing. "How many times have you reset mankind?"
"The thing you have to understand, is that Heaven runs at a different time system than the mortal universe. They move at a much faster rate than us. I would say about once a week I reset the Earth. It's almost comedic so see what variations can come about. Hey, why don't you go back to your suite, I'll have one of my girls bring you some drinks, you seem to have taken in a lot of information today.
"...okay, whatever you say, Lord."
"Please, call me G."
I love my job.
***
-007
| 4 | 0 | 10 | 4,055 |
[WP] You are studying at a local coffee shop and leave your table briefly to get a refill. When you return, you notice a USB flash drive placed on your table.
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Ok, so I'm really stupid.
Sticking random peripherals into my personal computer isn't something I do normally. I know the risks. This time though, it was just a whim.
I'm interested. What if it's some super secret document? What if it has nudes? I'm kinda facinated by this drive.
So when it starts opening a million windows and lagging my computer to hell, I know I've made a stupid mistake. I bang my head on the desk and people in the shop look at me like I'm nuts. Maybe I am. I just stuck an unidentified drive in my computer and now I've got a virus.
When I look up and reach for the power button though, I stop. Why?
The screen has normalised. Except for a single open window that says "Don't do that."
I put my coffee down. The screen shifts and changes.
"Sorry." It says. "This isn't the optimal interface for me."
I sit there looking baffled. The screen flicks off and on a few times.
"Umm, you'll have to talk for me to understand properly. I can only see you moving."
I shut the laptop in a hurry. I need to get this home. Now.
| 10 | 0 | 19 | 98,752 |
[WP] Neckbeard the Pirate
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I once knew a pirate named Neckbeard in college residence. Perhaps one would say that a person cannot be a pirate without having an ocean to terrorize, that pirating media is merely just a different use of the phrase. I would like to dissuade you of these opinions, for you see, The Pirate was a terror on the ocean of the residence network.
Before you approached his room, sounds of Alestorm would blast through the walls. The RAs attempted to curtail this but quietly enjoyed it, only making a technical effort to fulfill their duties, but more on that later. Looking at his door, there was no whiteboard or tacky device, just a series of scratches and a long gouge running the length of the door, and a label on the door in bronze saying "503".
Pushing open the door, you see a rigging of network cables running along the ground, linking all the devices in the room. A pirate flag hangs on the ceiling in the back, and both full and empty rum bottles are stashed in every niche in the room. The Pirate sits back looking at one of his three monitors, a neckbeard running a marathon to his gut, and he boisterously roars a greeting that insults your mother.
The things that made Neckbeard The Pirate, however, were these: A giant bookshelf, running from floor to ceiling and the width of one wall, is filled with nothing but binders. Every binder had a label, and was full with DVDs from top to bottom. While perhaps not as strictly efficient as multiple hard drives, it had the effect of being an astounding trove of pirated materials.
Neckbeard ran an operation, not charging for his loot, but sharing freely as he plundered the web. If you were connected and had a public folder on the network, it was archived. If you shared the password for your bandwidth allowing, it was used, and then some, for his efforts. The reason the RAs didn't come down on him hard was at a level, they approved of his efforts, utilized his results for themselves, and it's always difficult to be a detaining authority on people you depend upon for resources.
| 13 | 0 | 235 | 62,675 |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.
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The speech had been the same ever since I was a kid, or at least it should've been. I mean, As soon as you reached sixty-four, you had to stand up there and... well there was the problem. Time's a tricky game to deal with.
When I was fifteen, after years of hearing what sounded like the same speech, the latest version of myself to turn sixty-four got up on stage looking rather the worse for wear and blurted out, 'I'm not doing it. Screw tradition, I'm going to die this year.'
He then vomitted over the floor.
I tell you, the next year the rest of us were scared witless. But previous year's sixty-three had only a glass of wine and gave the most compose speech you could ever imagine.
And so it continued without a hitch. Most put their own spin on the same life lived, finding humour in different parts, expressing the love for our wife in a subtly different way.
When I stood up though, well I wanted to leave a mark.
'Well ladies and gents here we are again. Hey, fifteen year old me, when I was where you are I saw something rather bleak. My predecessor stood up and vomitted on the stage. Scarred me a little. Sorry kid this is going to scar you worse.'
I took out the revolver, placed it to my temple and in that moment as I pulled the trigger, imagine the fright - seeing how you were going to die, well... at least until next year.
*sorry had to cut the ending a little short.... work meeting commencing... I might update this later if anyone didn't find it too pathetic an attempt*
| 3 | 0 | 965 | 52,302 |
[WP] A rejected clone stalks its original through the help of a shared mental link
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"We are identical in every way, or at least we were, once. yet somehow, your life is deemed more valuable than my own. no "human" has physically fought a war for 30 years, humans no longer fight fires, or become the subjects of experiments, but we do. i was declared a reject, after 5 years of fighting wars, killing hundreds of others, some that looked just like me, i was deemed mentally unstable. "a clone should not feel emotions" i was told, as i was led off to be murdered."
"and yet your alive, you disobeyed a direct order, you could be.." the man stopped abruptly as across the table from him, the gun moved up, to point directly between his eyes. He was old, well past his prime, and as he looked at this younger version of himself, he knew this was a fight he couldn't win. "please" he said "i won't turn you in, but you need to leave, you're making a mistake."
the copy ignored him, and continued talking. "they never gave us a name, you know that?" the clone spoke these words as calm as he could, but it was obvious he was holding back deeper emotions. "i mean, they call you James Belmont, but they call me 03375" a look of discuss came across his face "tell me, what kind of name is 03375?" James was visibly shaken now, at 63 years of age he had no chance of beating his 26 year old self, and the years had not been kind to him. "how did you find me?" he asked, his words were barely audible. "we share the same memories" 03375 stated "at least up until a point, but i knew you would live here, you never could bring yourself to leave this place." there was a brief silence, but James' mind was racing. should he try and make a dash to the phone, to the door? this thing before him had a gun trained on his forehead, and James knew it was a good shot.
03375 broke the silence "you didn't answer my question" "what?" James muttered. "what kind of name is 03375? why can we not all be James Belmont?" James sighed, "it's not...there can only be one James Belmont, I am James Belmont" at this James pointed to himself enthusiastically. " and we gives you the right to that name more than I?" 03375 didn't understand, he couldn't understand. "because" James stopped to think, "because i am the original, you are not, you are just a copy of me!" at this James stood up. if he could not fight the clone, perhaps he could reason with him. "there can only be one original, there can only be one James Belmont." James was breathing heavy know, whether it was because he feared for his life, or he feared this clone was to dense to understand he could not say.
03375 said nothing, but stood up and walked towards the door. before opening it he turned to James, "perhaps you're right" he said, as James breathed a sigh of relief. "perhaps, there only can only be one James Belmont" and at this, he rose his pistol and fired two shots at James, splattering his blood across the room, before he walked into the night, a new man.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 213,653 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning.
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My dad was a monster.
That's what the woman told me. I didn't understand why this was happening. Why me? Not just why, either, but how?
I spent my whole life around my dad, but I don't think I ever really knew him. He never talked about his past. Never. He would stay awake all night some nights, drinking whiskey out of the bottle, staring out the window. He carried a gun everywhere.
He did strange things at times, he asked me questions that didn't make any sense. As a child I never really paid any attention to his odd behaviour, that's just how we was. He kept this journal, it looked like it was hand-made and old, but he never wrote anything in it most of the time, he would just stare into it for hours. With the way he reacted after I asked him about it when I was little, I knew never to bring it up. Who was my father, and why is this stranger trying to kill me?
"Your dad would say that I'm a liar," hissed the woman, almost as though she could hear my thoughts.
She tightened her grip around my neck, I wasn't choking but I was starting to get hazy. This woman is going to kill me.
"You're right, you know," she smiled faintly, "I am going to kill you. What your father did can never be forgiven." A look of unfathomable rage washed over her suddenly, and was gone again in an instant. She smiled again.
We moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad insisted I go to college and get good grades, but we never stayed in one town for more than a semester. What was he running from? This woman? What did he do to her? My mind raced.
"Your dad was a handsome man, you know," she drew her face in close to mine, "it looks like you ended up with his good looks after all."
She laughed.
"It's a shame you won't grow up and fill out a little more."
"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" I barked, surprising myself with my anger. It was almost as if something inside me had stirred, like I had changed.
"I suppose I do have a penchant for drama." She let go of my neck and I fell to the ground. She had been holding me up with one hand this whole time, she was impossibly strong. Why doesn't this make any sense? What is wrong with her eyes?
"But not until you tell me where your father is."
"He vanished two months ago." I looked her dead in the eyes as I slowly picked myself off the ground. Where was this strength coming from? A moment ago I was half-dead. "He told me he was going hunting, he never came back. He left me."
"But I guess he was never really there, was he?"
In the distance I heard a gunshot. The woman didn't react, it was almost as if I was the only one who heard the sound. It was distant, but it was like it came from inside my head.
She took one step towards me and I spoke in a voice that I was certain wasn't my own:
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus!"
She stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes widened, like a deer in the headlights. "No..."
In an instant I knew who my father was.
"I am Kevin Samuel Winchester, son of Dean Winchester, the greatest hunter who ever lived."
"No!"
"And lady, you're messin' with the wrong kid."
| 23 | 0 | 883 | 93,550 |
[WP] Take the line "I'm going to murder your daughter" and make me sympathize with the person talking.
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Caroline wiped the rain from her eyes and stared down at the woman lying in the ditch, a few feet from the wreckage of the older model sedan she'd been driving. She was … broken, is the only word that came to Caroline's reeling mind. Both arms were bent at unnatural angles, splintered bones poking through bloody and torn skin in several places. And her hips and legs actually seemed displaced from her upper body at almost a 90-degree angle. Caroline felt her gorge rise and placed a hand over her mouth.
The sedan, on its side in the ditch, was battered along its side and front – not only from having rolled off the highway to its current resting place, but from the pounding it had taken when the woman had bashed it repeatedly into Caroline's SUV. Caroline could hear the ticking of the car's cooling engine and smelled the sharp odors of leaking gasoline and antifreeze.
The blinking yellow lights from her own car's hazards reflected from the woman's eyes, hellishly still open and aware. Her gaze was on Caroline, her lips moving soundlessly, when suddenly her eyes darted to something behind her. At the same moment, Caroline felt a small hand clasp her own.
"Mommy?" Her daughter's voice quavered, near tears. "Mommy? Is that the bad woman?"
Caroline knelt in the weeds and gravel of the shoulder and wrapped an arm around Rebecca's shoulders. "Shhh, baby, it's okay. Go on back to the car, I'll be there in a minute."
She could feel her daughter trembling in the warm summer rain, saw her eyes fixed on those of the torn and bloodied woman in the ditch, and was turning her away, back to the car, when the woman spoke.
"Give her to me." It was a hiss, raspy and malevolent … and completely inhuman. Caroline turned, horrified, to stare at the woman again.
Incredibly, she was trying to move, her shattered limbs twitching, hands clawing at the weeds and litter at the bottom of the waterlogged gully. Her eyes were fixed on Rebecca, and Caroline saw nothing remotely sane in them. Reflexively she lifted Rebecca in her arms and stepped backward.
"Give her to me…" she hissed again, and for a moment Caroline thought she heard more than one voice, a multitude of voices, issuing from twisted and shattered woman's mouth. "I … we … must have her. We … I … I am going to murder your daughter." And she laughed, a rasping, hissing sound, quickly replaced by a shout from a deeper, hoarser voice. "Give her to us!"
Caroline uttered a short, sharp scream and scrambled back a few more steps, clutching Rebecca to her tightly. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch!" She tried to catch her breath, wondering where in hell the police were – she'd called 911 what seemed like ages ago.
"Mommy … mommy, you're squeezing me," Rebecca gasped. Caroline relaxed her grasp a bit, then turned to the car, meaning to put Caroline back into her seat and spare her any more of the crazy woman's rantings. She must be insane, Caroline thought – ramming my car, seemingly oblivious to her horrid injuries, and now this crazy talk of killing Rebecca. Where the hell where the cops??
"Mommy … I can help her." The words were almost a whisper, Rebecca's mouth mere inches from her ear as she rested her head on Caroline's shoulder. "Let me help her, Mommy."
Caroline stopped and slowly turned, holding Rebecca out a few more inches so she could look into her face.
The 4-year-old, far from being scared or horrified at what she'd seen and hear, looked serene, a small smile on her face. What Caroline had taken for her tears a few moments before was merely the soft summer rain running down her cheeks.
"What do you mean, honey?" Caroline said, her voice still shaking. "How can you help the woman?"
Rebecca looked in her eyes, then leaned forward and whispered: "It isn't *her* saying the bad things. It's *him*."
Caroline shivered, and slipped to her knees, setting the girl down on the pavement in front of her. Her daughter had always been odd, a little strange … knowing things she had no business knowing, seeing things in other people that she and her husband didn't. She just … knew things.
"Who … who is *he*, honey?" she whispered.
Rebecca said nothing … simply pointed to the ground.
Caroline's hands went to her mouth, and she simply stared at her daughter's tranquil face, her oddly knowing eyes.
"*He* wants me dead," the girl said softly. "He always has … but he can't hurt me, not really. He tries to get others to … like her," she said, pointing at the woman in the gully. "He *made* her chase us … made her try to knock us off the road. It isn't her fault, Mommy."
Caroline turned to stare at the woman, then back to her daughter. "I don't understand … how … how can you know that?" she asked, grabbing hold of Rebecca's hand.
"I just know," Rebecca said. "Watch."
Before Caroline could stop her, Rebecca ran down into the gully, splashing through the soupy mess of muddy runoff and high weeds, and made her way toward where the woman lay.
"Rebecca, no! Don't touch her, don't go near her!" Caroline screamed, struggling to her feet, one hand braced against the dented side of her SUV.
Rebecca paid no heed, walking to within a few inches of the woman's broken body. There she stopped, and stared down at the woman.
The woman's gaze had never left Rebecca, and now she slowly turned her head to gaze up at the little girl. Caroline, horrified, heard small snapping and popping sounds, and knew that it was the bones in the woman's broken neck grating against each other.
"Come closer," she rasped, eager hands grasping at the muddy weeds, her feet and legs twitching. "Come closer and I will destroy you."
Rebecca looked down at the woman, her face sad, then held up her hands over the prostrate form.
Then a voice … one Caroline had never heard … calm, powerful, soothing … came from Rebecca's mouth. It was the most wonderful voice Caroline had ever heard, mesmerizing. It was a child's voice, but also a woman's voice … and a man's … a mix of all of them and none of them. But it filled Caroline with peace and awe.
"Get thee gone from this good woman, beast," said the calm, powerful voice, and the woman's body twitched and spasmed as an angry hiss came from her mouth. "Get thee gone. I command you … in *his* name."
Caroline felt a tremor, and saw the water in the puddles surrounding the woman and Rebecca jump and splash. She felt more than saw a dull flash, an orange and black cloud seeming to issue from the woman's mouth and nose and eyes. For a moment, her eyes cleared, and Caroline saw only confusion and pain. Then the cloud was gone, as if it had never been, and the woman's eyes were empty … of everything.
Caroline blinked, and saw only her tiny daughter, up to her ankles in filthy water, the woman's broken body lying next to her. As if awoken, she sprang forward, ran down into the ditch and dropped to her knees, hugging Rebecca fiercely.
"It's all right now, Mommy. The nice lady's resting now. We can go sit in the car … the police are almost here." She put her arms tightly around Caroline's neck, snuggling her warm face into Caroline's. "Everything's ok now."
Caroline kissed her, then turned and trudged back up the slight hill of the gully, trying not to slip in the mud and wet grass. As she reached the pavement, she faintly heard the distant sound of sirens approaching.
| 3 | 0 | 16 | 67,242 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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She hands me the cup and I can already tell she has fucked it up. I look at her name tag and as sarcastically as I can tell her "Thank you for getting my order correct BRITTANY. She knows she fudged it but we go our separate ways. I sat down at a table in the back not wanting to show the other patrons how upset I was that the barista had given me the wrong drink. I had the first sipped and remember thinking, "not bad" when a man in a red ball cap sat down next to me. He had on a nice suit but it seemed dirty and the faint smell of BO wafted over me as he sat down. I already felt uneasy because there were two or three other open tables and he decided to sit down next to me. He slides a small box across the table with a note on it and his phone rings. He picks it up and only says Double Chocolate Chip Frap with Soy has the package. He then gets up and and walks out. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what just happened when the box begins to smoke. I open the note and read it aloud thinking it might help me process the information, "The barista has the code". I open the box to find what looks like a bomb with a 30 second clock connected to a small keypad. I run the box to the barista and scream at her to shut it off. Her look of pure fear shows me that she doesn't know what the hell I am talking about. The timer beeps 3......2......1....... The bomb goes off, but it is less of an explosion and more of a fiery ball of molten liquid. I am watching the baristas hands and arms melt in front of me. Her clothes have become so hot they are melting to her body. She looks up at me right before her eyes explode and says "I'm sorry I got your order wrong". A manager runs in from the back yelling her name, "BRIT!, BRIT!, BRITTANY! Oh god nooo. Not my pregnant wife!" At this point I pass out and don't remember anything until waking up with handcuffs on my hands and feet in the back of a cop car.
| 2 | 0 | 1,329 | 192,994 |
[WP] The ancient gods of Greece are alive and well, however, they lead ordinary mundane lives amongst us mortals, what's their day like and who are they?
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Hermes had done this too many times to let his nerves get to him, but he knew he had off-days. To keep those to a minimum he had his little routine. Empty the mind. Deep breaths. Full focus on the autocue. He waited for his mother's voice.
"We're live in three, two, ..." Hera's voice cut through the studio. She and her husband had founded this family business. Starting as just a local news company, covering anything from the small legal fight over old Ms Eris's apple trees to the weekly water polo matches held in her brother's swimming pool, the Tontheon brand had made quite a name for itself. After years of hard work and cutting edge reporting the station could compete with any other in the state, with its daily news being watched by thousands of people.
"... one, live!"
Hermes immediately sprung into action, his smooth voice a stark contrast with his mother's. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to TT's 8'o clock news. My name is Hermes Tontheon ..."
"and mine is Affie Loveling." said the blonde-haired co-anchor next to him. Hera had recently hired her on recommendation of her other son, Ares. He had met her in Israel, where he worked as a photographer. Or where he had worked, he had since moved to Afghanistan. He was always on the move to get the most shocking pictures. While Ares had spoken very highly of Affie, Hera did not share his sentiment. She was glad she had been willing to give the girl a chance, though. While she stumbled over words sometimes, and was almost useless in interviews, viewership had improved since she came on board. Hera knew why, of course. A newspaper sells better with a pretty cover, no matter its content.
"What we'll bring you today: An exclusive interview with Demeter Green, mother of the twelve-year old girl that was kidnapped a month ago. In sports news, the Hellas Hoplites have finally beaten the Trojan Horses after losing ten consecutive times. And lastly, entertainment: Does Emmy Award nominee Dion Bacchus have a drinking problem?"
While Hermes listed the main points in today's broadcast, and the all too familiar jingle played, Hera could not focus. She could not keep her eyes from drifting to the left, to the corner where her husband stood in front of his green screen, his white beard hiding the majority of the wrinkles on his face. She could still remember like yesterday the moment she met him, when they both worked for the Greek national television. They had thought up their American dream there. Their own studio, with every decision theirs to make. Including this last one. Today would be the day her husband did his last weather forecast. It would also be the last time she directed the broadcast. They had decided to step back. It was time for a new generation.
| 2 | 0 | 54 | 182,325 |
[WP] Death tries to bring a man into the afterlife, only to find out that that man is immortal. However, Death is too stubborn to let him go.
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I clearly remember the first time i died. It's like a lot of other things, really, when you remember the first time very well and the others not so much. I was in my apartment, the burglar got scared, i got too confident, i attacked him, and he stabbed me. Once, twice, and to me it seemed enough, at that point, but not for him. he did it over and over, maybe shock, maybe he was just a mad fuck, after all. By the tenth time, i saw HIM behind him, with that lousy smile, and the shoulder shrug. DEATH. I thought to myself, "really now, it's like in the movies?". And i kept trying to tell this guy to stop stabbing me and look behind, "it's DEATH, you ignorant, Behind you". And HE put his finger to his mouth, and nodded and closed his eyes. Then spoke, in a soft voice, mixed with the huffing and puffing of the guy stabbing me: "It's going to be over soon, now".
And i waited, thinking DEATH is not really someone to take lightly. I just waited there, waiting to die, actually i quite remember i was looking forward to see what's going to be happening next. Heaven? Hell (heaven forbid!).
Turns out HE was wrong. DEATH was wrong, and by the look on his face, it was HIS first time being wrong. I stood, quietly, looking at my wounds slowly recovering. He prodded my with his scythe. "Go on, pass already, what are you waiting for?" "I don't know," i answered, "but seems to me i'm not dying after all".
It was weird.
I felt the need to say something so i asked if i can call the police. "Well... i don't really know what to say. In my book, you're in no position to call anyone. You're dead. Die now, c'mon, be a sport, don't do this to me". And prodded me again with the scythe.
"Stop doing that", i thought, and he replied out loud "i can hear your thoughts, you know". "Ok, then, what now?" "I don't know, seems you're not dying, and i don't know what to do next." "Well, leave.." "I can't, you see, i have to take you first, and then, and only then, my next contract is given to me."
"Lenn Howard, 23 y.o., suicide by train" i said, without thinking.
DEATH stared in disbelief "What? Who's that?"
"I don't know. It just popped in my mind. I can see him standing in front of the tracks. He's thinking about his cat, and he's crying. Oh, he got cheated on by his wife. I see. "
HE took a step back, then another one. I poked HIM with the scythe. "I have to go now, train is coming."
| 6 | 0 | 74 | 66,935 |
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