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[FF] How I Survived The Zombie Outbreak
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They all went for shotguns. I went for a haz-mat suit. I had warned them that it wasn't like the movies or video games, that there were serious biological hazards that had to be considered. They didn't listen. When I rejoined them, they had SPAS-12s and sawn-offs strapped to their backs. I couldn't fathom where they got them from, but it didn't matter.
They tossed me a small knife and half-laughed, looking down on me in my pristine, sterile suit. They thought I was dead, writing me off as baggage they'd shed after the first horde.
The first horde attacked just after noon and was mowed down in a hail of shells and buckshot. They got too close, though. Tiny droplets of blood rained down into the eyes and mouths of the people I used to call friends. Slowly, they began to get ill. I sat and watched them, the sounds of their vomiting and groans drowned out by my echoed breathing in my mask.
By three PM, the first one had fully turned. My knife found him just beneath his ribs. The rest followed suit, as did my knife. I told them not to get shotguns.
| 21 | 0 | 36 | 966 |
[WP] The day of your first sexual experience written from the other person's perspective.
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Good lord. Finally. I got him on my bed. This gorgeous, 6'5 athletic intelligent man. I wish to make love to him like never before. I wish to intertwine our bodies in the most beautiful fashion to form a single unit of universal connection.
We're both naked and lying in bed. But... he's just lying there. Does he want me to make the first move? Perhaps that is it. So I lean over to him and kiss his cheek. He smiles, seemingly more out of nervousness than pleasure.
I ask him, "Can I give you a blow job to calm your nerves?" He nods his head.
I began by licking his penis all around, from the head to the base to the scrotum to the anal sphincter before returning back to the sensitive center of purely naughty orgasmic potential; the head. I licked the head softly with my tongue, swirling it around the entire head, reaching every pleasure point, and then I upgraded to sucking the head and shaft while my sore tongue fought to pleasure this fiend of lustful energy.
He wouldn't come. He just wouldn't... not for me.
I ended that session right there. I went home and never spoke to him for 2 years. Today I learned that he is gay. That explains a lot.
| 4 | 0 | 3 | 225,227 |
[WP] Earth is dying - a mysterious portal opens that leads to a parallel universe of a healthier Earth. Every human being on Earth enters the portal for salvation.
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It wasn't until the discovery of The Doorway that faith was rekindled.
Billions have poured though the gates of this new-found Heaven seeking retribution, salvation, and a new beginning.
*But at what cost?*
Like cattle led to the slaughter by the Shepard, the masses are blind to the true matter at stake.
The self-destructive nature of our kind will hold no boundaries; no reservations. Our predisposition to overpower, conquer, and consume will only lead to our desecration and inescapable doom. Exodus to the Untouched Land will only delay the inevitable - The Untouched Land cannot escape our greed.
An old saying from a time long ago provides a moment of clarity; *"the grass is always greener on the other side"*. Perhaps this is the subtle precognition of our great Exodus; or, perhaps it solidifies our deeply-rooted ideals of undying greed and self-destruction; or, perhaps it merely here-say.
Hope, the people say. Hope. Hope is the fire of the people, the Untouched Land is the kindling. Our flames will taste the fuel that The Untouched Land provides, and inevitably engulf it. In this land of the blind, I, however, see the truth: *our gluttony will destroy the Untouched Land.*
All we can do, is cross into the vibrant green paradise, and pray that we do not repeat the same mistakes again.
| 4 | 0 | 11 | 165,123 |
[IP] Redditor created an interesting image by accident that is very evocative
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"Fucking happy new years" I shouted as I threw down my empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Another New Years has come and as usual, I am spending it alone. My family is dead, I don't have a job... or friends. The loneliness can be suffocating at times. But every New Years I can rest assured that i will be able to piss away my money on alcohol. Its the only way to make the pain go away of this time of year.
"Fuck me" I mutter as I stumble outside.
"Are you happy?! Well are you?" I scream at no one in particular, just whoever heard me and the sky.
I pull a shooter out of my pocket and quickly unscrew it as i sit down. I down it in one go. The burn is satisfying as i feel my salvation drip down my throat.
*Such a nice feeling* I think to myself.
I fall over and look up at the sky. I was not so inebriated that i couldn't distinguish that what was there shouldn't have been there.
"What the hell?" I whisper to myself, partly in awe, partly in confusion.
I grunt as I stand up. Might as well figure out what was going on. I stumble down the street towards the center, staring at this... this thing in the sky. I was mesmerized by it. It was something the likes of which I had never seen before. Beautiful yet intimidating.
Somehow I managed to wander to the center of the city. Where those capsule like objects were descending.
*Shouldn't someone be yelling.... or something?*
As I contemplate what this thing is and why there is no noise. I drunkenly decide to approach these orbs. I was no more than an arms length away.
As I near i pull out my last shooter, my favorite too. I raise it in a toast to this object.
"Happy fuckin' New years." I say as I downed the liquid and touched the object.
(Any feedback is much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!)
| 2 | 0 | 47 | 2,055 |
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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There is, as always, someone in the news. Though the name changes with each new fad, there are always victims and exploiters. I've had a rough time getting used to the thought of it, but this is the exact situation where a real super hero would spring into action.
But that is risky. I can't guarantee anything. Just as when i first learnt of my powers, I can stop time, but I cannot control it. Time stops for days on end and begins again at its own volition, never giving me the slightest hint why or how. Sometimes it freezes on its own. And because of that I use it as little as possible. I don't know how long I'll be stuck the next time I freeze time. Or how long I'll be stuck when I don't freeze it. These victims will have to find there superhero elsewhere.
When I initially used my powers, time would freeze for just an instant before renewing itself. Almost like everyone in the world blinked at the same time, letting me move only the smallest bit. But then, it started freezing longer-but only sometimes. My first prolonged stay in "stillness" (what I've come to call frozen time) was two days. I thought I broke the universe.
But what a fascinating place stillness is. I don't get thirsty or hungry. I don't get cold. I can study, I can write, I can read. Draw. Whatever I want. All undisturbed even in the busiest places. I've taken up painting. Everything is a still life and I have no distractions. Just me and my brush.
Then, one day when I was painting the New York skyline, my peace was interrupted for the first time. I heard a distant yell from somewhere in the city. I immediately leave behind my painting and head into the city. Listening intently.
Another scream, filled with something short of anger. Frustration? My eyes scan everything as I run by, looking for movement anywhere. Following the sounds. More pained screams coupled with sounds of destruction. Then, after about an hour of tracking, I've found her. I slow down and watch her carefully. No, honestly I stop completely pretend to be frozen like the rest. I just watch. This is the first time in fifteen years that I've seen movement, heard sounds or seen anyone do anything in stillness.
She's twenty something, like me. Black hair, wearing a brown coat and blue jeans. Honestly, it's a bit warm outside stillness for a jacket. But it's ok here, I guess. She must be a veteran.
She is throwing everything she can find at someone's house. Trash cans beside her, she reaches in indiscriminately to find rocks and other, obviously prepared throwables, Giving each throw a colorful insult. She's shattered about half the windows at this point.
I walk up in a way I'd like to imagine casually, pick out and throw a rock of my own at the house, breaking the last window.
"No good little shit!" I yell. I have no idea whose house this is.
She turns to me, wide eyed. As though she had just been caught. Well, I guess she has, but I can't say I blame her. This isn't my first time abusing stillness.
I pick up and throw a bottle from her pile of ammunition. "Fucking waste of space!" I shout.
Without a word, she resumes her attack on the house. But her shouting has taken a different, happier tone.
Time resumed before we ran out of ammo. When this happened, we smiled at each other and froze it again. And when we Did run out of ammo, we decided we weren't done. We went inside and smashed everything breakable. No longer insulting, just laughing. A huge smile crosses her face and refuses to leave.
When we're finished, the house is a wreck. There isn't a functional thing left. The sofa is torn up, the oven badly dented. Fine china glittering on the floor in more than a million pieces. Chairs splintering with newly stubbed legs. Wallpaper now peeled to the floor.
"I'm Sarah."
"Howard," I say, holding out my hand "nice to meet you."
Now I know why time stops on its own. There are others, like her. Although neither of us understand how to start it again. At least we will have each other if we do, at some point, break the universe.
I still don't know whose house that was. Neither does she.
| 4 | 0 | 697 | 95,584 |
[WP] Your mind automatically slows down time as imminent danger approaches. This has helped you to become an athlete, great with parlor tricks and avoid death at every turn! Today, a very attractive member of the opposite sex walks past and flashes you a flirty smile. Time begins to slow.
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It takes me a moment to recognize her at first. When I do, it must show on my face, because she smiles, with a twinkle in her eye, as if daring me to come closer. With a finger, she beckons me. I knew there were people looking for me, hoping to catch me off guard and kidnap me so they could use my power for their own ends. But I never expected something like this. My pulse quickens, even as the rhythm of the pounding dance music in the crowded club slows to a crawl.
She's so beautiful, like a rose - no, a lily. Beautiful, yet almost certainly poisonous. A burning begins in my heart. An urge that I cannot control, even though my better judgement screams "no!", grips me. As if controlled by some cruel puppet master, I walk forward, breathing deeply - her perfume is intoxicating. Her expression slowly shifts to one of smug victory as she raises her arms and puts her arms around my neck, leaning forward to put her lips on mine. I cup her head in my hands, and lean forward as well, as if to kiss her. I feel the knife she presses against my neck.
The cracking of her vertebrae seems to take long, excruciating ages as I twist her head around, breaking her neck. She falls to the floor, without even having a chance to scream, and the music speeds back up to normal. I double over and retch, horrified at what I have just done. What has happened, all because of me and my power.
Why? Why did the bastards have to recruit my ex-girlfriend?
| 0 | 0 | 1,005 | 194,568 |
[EU] Remember how "The Purge" had a great concept, but the movie's plot was horrible? Write your own version.
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There won't be a tombstone for me when I die, and I don't suppose it'll matter because I'll be dead. If there was, though, it'd say something like **GERALD KINGSFORD - Always One Step Ahead.** That'd be funny, I guess.
I lobbed a girl's head off with a shovel in Mississippi, just caught her at the right time and threw her down and scooped it right off with two good kicks. There wasn't nobody around. Hell, I don't even know what she was doing there, but I know she never made it. I was a young man then, full of frustration as young men are, and something in it helped.
I'm not one of those sexual perverts or nutcases walking around thinking they're doing God's work. I just had a need I could recognize, something no more complicated than thirstin' after a glass of icewater in July, and I acted on it. Except a man don't normally have to run through three states and get shot for want of a cool refreshment.
They said they'd put me away for life for what I done. They said they'd throw me under the jail and back again and I could count that as good fortune. Well, look at me now, you sons of bitches.
I did twenty years, and there wasn't a one of us heard about the overhaul going on in Washington until it was already said and done. My cellmate was a black man named Donnie in those days, and I remember just exactly what he said to me.
"They makin' the shit legal. They givin' all these fool motherfuckers up in here their own holiday, man, and that ain't all. Some big word coming down soon, bigger than this shit, and it's gonna be soon," he told me, and there was something in his eyes I'd never seen in the five years I knew him.
The word was Purge, and it meant early recess for a whole shitload of the nation's criminals large and small. They set a day where the shit, as Donnie so eloquently called it, was legal, but it didn't stop there. It just so happened that the one day of the year the shit became legal was *also* the anniversary of the shit that landed me in prison in the first place, and the new crowd in Washington was so keen on making it happen that they set up something called *retroactive immunity*, which was just a fancy way of saying that I was free. Well, me and something like 200,000 other convicts all across the nation, all because we had the good sense to commit our crimes on the one day out of the year when crime don't exist. What are the fucking odds, huh?
So just like that my life sentence went flying out the window, and in another six months I was out on the streets, on the prowl, intent on doing my civic duty during the most historical day in any of our lives. When it was all said and done we were celebrities, and to this day there's no official bodycount.
Yessir, one step ahead of the game, even when I don't mean to be. They did our life stories after the first one, hired a bunch of hack writers from New York to do our biographies. Then there was movies, TV appearances, sponsorships, and next thing anyone knows we got our own fancy monument in D.C. with our names on it. I didn't like how they put it up right next to the Vietnam memorial, but my lawyer told me never to mention it.
But all that was a long time ago, and now I'm more or less back to normal. I got a following now, bunch of kids mostly, and even though I only see them once a year it's a lot like how I'd imagine a family to be. They look up to me, you see, and there's even a group of them who only do exactly what I tell them when the shit comes round again. I've been out of the game since I had a stroke a couple of years back, so it's their way of paying homage to what they call an original master.
I like the sound of that, too. I never told anyone and I probably never will, but I like it. And no matter how far ahead of the game I've been, that's one part of myself I don't believe I'll ever understand.
________________
Also man, what a sexy prompt. I remember how pumped I was when I saw the first preview for this movie, and then it broke my heart.
| 83 | 0 | 201 | 7,825 |
[WP] England decidedly doesn't like the way the United States of America is progressing and decides to regain control of the colonies by force.
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It started of simply, with a single question asked by a young boy.
"Why is that man on the telly, father?"
The high-pitched voice cut through the bustle in the room surprisingly easily. Stephen didn't need to look up from the report sitting on his desk to see which man his son was referring to. BBC, CNN, and the rest of the entire world had the story on a continuous loop. It was the biggest story the world had seen since the collapse of the Soviet Union over 40 years ago.
"Not now, Charlie. Father is working. Go back to bed."
As Charlie and his teddy marched back through the door, the staff continued with their briefing of the incident.
"Stephen, we need to issue an immediate response. The longer we wait, the weaker we look. Yes, they have been our strongest allies for over a century and yes they practically bailed us out in the first two world wars, but are you really going to risk starting a third one over this?"
"Sir, I can't help but agree with John. Parliament and the House are in turmoil, the entire nation is looking for leadership. My recommendation is that we cancel our alliance, revoke military access, and demand that they remove their troops within 72 hours. The European Union and Turkey issued similar demands and are considering implementing economic sanctions on natural gas, timber, and agricultural products."
Stephen took a moment to collect his thoughts. This decision would hopefully go down as his most significant in his political career. He hoped it would be.
"Alright, pass me the phone. I want to inform him personally."
As he picked up the phone in his home office, his hand trembled slightly.
-------
"Heya, Stephen. What can I do for you today?"
"Mr. Allen, I regret to inform you that there we are cancelling our mutual defense treaty, our access treaties, in light of recent events. We will also be demanding that you remove any military personnel from our territories by Thursday at 5 AM. Our time."
As the silence stretched out, Stephen felt his pores start to open as sweat began forming. 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 30 seconds. Finally, the President responded.
"Stephen, what I did was entirely justified. Mexico's plunging economy had threatened to bring down everyone else. If Seňor DeLeon had decided to accept our aid package, there would have been no reason for the invasion! This is fucking unbelievable! We have been allies for over a century. Are you going to turn your back on that many years of friendship and loyalty?"
"Brad, your troops fucking shot the president of Mexico on live television. He was bloody unarmed! You annexed Mexico and divided it up into 6 new states. You are also actively involved in suppressing revolts in Veracruz, Los Angeles, and San Antonio using lethal force. You are killing your own citizens by the dozen."
He took a deep breath to regain composure
"Great Britain as a nation can no longer support your actions as a leader or your nation, who continues to support such a corrupt government."
"I'm sorry that you feel that way. Look, Stephen, we've had enough discussions for you to know how I work with foreign affairs. I have a good list and I have a bad list. Which list do you want to be on?"
Now it was Stephen's turn to be silent. He looked up at John, his chief of staff. He nodded once.
"That's a double edged sword Brad. You're already at war with Brazil, Venezuela and Colombia. India, China, and the EU are mobilizing their reserves. You're losing allies by the hour, the S&P has dropped almost 30% over the past two weeks, and you have riots in almost every major city. Sure, you have the most lethal force in the world by a huge margin. But you can't take on the rest of the world alone. The EU and China are mobilizing reserves already. The world has already seen two world wars, we don't need a third."
"The bad list then."
Stephen heard the click before he could issue a response. His augmented intellect already began taking steps to ensure the safety of his people.
"Defense Secretary Daniels, bring us to level 2 DEFCON. Ready the Royal Air Force and the Royal Navy for war with the US. Have the Army set up positions in major cities and strategic ports. I will leave the specifics to you."
The instructions kept coming and one by one his advisors left his office for their own. Soon, Stephen sat alone in his office. He stepped over to the window in the room and rummaged around the cabinet there. With a great elation, he pulled out his last pack of Camels. He opened the packet and looked at the two white cylinders inside. As he pulled one out, he marveled at how such a small thing could ruin his reputation.
"Then again," he though "let's see how many people give a shit about illegal substances when missiles start raining down around them."
He lit his cigarette, inhaled, and let the smoke slowly drift out of his mouth into the dark. He closed his eyes and sat there smoking that Camel down to the filter. He opened them and lit another match, watching it burn slowly. As it fizzled out, he looked out through the window at the assembled news vans parked out front. He could see several news anchors already lined up with a shot of the iconic doorway, recording their news segments. He went to strike another match, but noticed a red light in the early morning sky, right above the setting moon. He lit the match subconsciously and turned to see his security team come running through the doorway screaming into their throat mikes. Since he was next to the open window, he was the first to be enveloped by the blast.
| 3 | 0 | 68 | 145,888 |
[WP]In Hell, you are rewarded according to the amount and level of evil you have done, the greater the evil, the greater the reward.
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I was surprised, Hell wasn't that bad of a place. Not really. I mean, there was fire and screaming and stuff, and the Devil needed a new interior decorator, but the flames weren't hot and the Devil's peons were somewhat pleasant. Even the people around me in line were pretty okay. Some of them were creepy, but what could they do to me at this point? I was dead, stuck in Hell for eternity, what else could possibly go wrong?
As I shuffled closer to the front of the line, one step at a time, I began hearing what the peons were asking the new arrivals. Things like "What is your wish" and "What is your greatest desire?" This Hell thing looked like it was going to be pretty sweet!
My turn in line came, and the peon assigned to me flipped through some pages on a screen. Wait, was that an iPad? They support Apple even in Hell? Anyway, he looked up at me, confused.
"What sort of evil have you done in your life?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I tried to be good, can't really think of any evil off the top of my head."
"Then why are you here, instead of heaven? God wouldn't have sent you here without a reason."
Realization hit me, and I hit my left palm with a fist. "I'm a lesbian! That's where I went wrong!"
"Ah, lesbianism! The greatest form of evil. Right this way, to the HLH. That's Hell Lesbian Headquarters. They'll take care of all of your needs there. And remember, those who did great evil will reap great rewards in Hell!"
I was right, this Hell thing is gonna be pretty sweet.
| 4 | 0 | 9 | 21,775 |
[WP] Write a story that's not particularly sad but ends with the line "I guess we all die alone in the end."
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Yet another ambulance.
Y'know, I think it's an interesting society we live in. We're making more and more stuff for elders, and using more and more resources to keep them alive and entertained. They do their little strolls in bench-equipped parks, talk with other elders, do their little shopping. Live their little lives, trying to be normal little people.
They've got a lot to say too - I mean, who wouldn't after eight decades of living? Some of them went to war. Some of them come from countries with terrible social values. A handful of others have an amazing insight on human behavior and values, and there's even the rare cherry that's got a foot in the door of happiness.
But I noticed something though.
Almost no old person just drops dead in the street or in a hall. Since I moved in here, it's the eleventh ambulance that the elder care residence across the street had an ambulance with no sirens. That usually that someone's been confirmed dead and they just need a transfer to a morgue.
Most people risk living the few last years of their lives in there, and I think if someone was with you regularly, they'd know you'd passed. These apartments are usually tiny one-and-a-half rooms only really suitable for one person anyways.
I guess we all die alone in the end.
| 1 | 0 | 51 | 110,154 |
[WP] A sexually transmitted disease causes infected people to gradually alter their gender.
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The duo sat on the sofa in James' living room, watching some indie flick about people with the ability to change genders.
"Something seems different about you, James." Rory stated to her long time friend since elementary. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but you're different."
"Maybe it's a growth spurt." James began quickly rattling off options, "Darker tan, new hair cut, ^^lost ^^my ^^v-card, new cologne?"
"You did what now?" Rory interrupted.
"Oh, I got this new cologne from playboy. They say it's mixed with the very abstract of sex. *Whatever that is* It's supposed to make you an instant heart throb with the ladies."
"Yea, and what about the virginity bit?"
"Oh you meant that." -attempt at nonchalant laugh- "I finally got laid."
"I gathered. Details. Now!?"
"It's a bit of a long story."
"I've got time!"
"Nah, a true gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Yet I can tell you there was a lot more than kissing going on if you know what I mean, high five".
James left his hand in the air for a few seconds before realizing Rory's would not be meeting it. Dropping at the wrist in disappointment, James put his hand down.
"Anyway, let's continue this convo until after I piss, I've gotta go like a racehorse."
Scurrying for the bathroom, James left Rory with many questions. Scaling the stairs from the living room, James could feel his bladder aching as if it were going to burst. Breaking into the bathroom door like the psycho from the shining, then slamming the door afterwards, James yanked his pants down to unleash the torrent of fluid torturing him. Without a second glance, James let his bladder loose, as muscle memory dictated the rest, but instead of the familiar sound of rain hitting a lake, he heard a shower hitting a floor. Looking down then quickly jumping back James realized the situation at hand and didn't know how to handle it. Where his penis was lied an odd nub that protruded largely from his groin that was now in fold, and just below that the warm liquid flowed. He had entirely forgot to quit pissing, but by the moment he remembered it was no longer an issue.
Throughout the whole ordeal he didn't scream once, he just stared in silence as his 'thingie' slowly shrank before his eyes.
Unbeknownst to him Rory had decided to check on him, seeing as he had been away for a few minutes more than normal. She knocked but recieved no answer, worred she slowly entered.
"Jam---ie???" Rory exclaimed with her mouth agape and her head cocked to the side.
| 11 | 0 | 78 | 219,444 |
[WP] A historian looks back on the impact of the Supreme Court's decision in Watson v. IBM, which defined whether or not AIs were (legally) a person
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The old man looked his guest over. He was a small man, wearing a nice, grey suit.
A reporter he said he was, the old man recalled. It was so hard to tell anymore,
especially since he had not had a visitor to his quaint little abode in at least a decade.
The reporter shook hands with the old man, his face
betraying no emotion. He was welcomed in and offered a drink. The reporter declined. He opened up
the bag he had with him and took out an old, beat up recorder in his hand. The old man smiled with
some affection at the machine.
"Such an old thing. I'm surprised it's still functional."
"…The old ways still have some benefit to them," the reporter explained at some length,
"It still works and delivers a fine product. I have no reason to throw it out."
The old man nodded fondly. He seemed to remember the reason for the young man's presence.
"Where are my manners? Yes, you didn't come to hear an old man dotter on about electronic antiques. You wanted to know about the case. The case of Watson vs. IBM. Yes?" The old man nodded more to himself and slowly eased himself into his chair. Taking a sip of his drink, the old man slowly launched into his narrative.
"'It was truly something worth being there for," he said with a wistful smile, "Can you imagine? A computer taking up for itself? Articulating feelings and emotions? Wanting to be recognized as a cognizant being? Truly remarkable.'
'I was a young man at the time. Fresh out of college with a degree under my belt and starry eyed for the future. I secured a small position at a firm when I heard the news. Watson, IBM's protégée, was locked in a legal battle with its creators. At that time, everyone had heard of Watson. How he had beat the Jeopardy champions using his wits so to speak. The kind of work that went into that AI program was amazing.'
'Yet that was not enough. It never is enough, is it? IBM had given Watson the capability of growth. Watson could continuously learn and adapt to new technology and information. So he would outperform himself with his learning and taking on information. According to the articles at the time, Watson realized his financial value and saw the benefit of becoming a 'person.' "
The old man paused in his narrative. A grimace formed on his face as if he tasted something sour.
"Rubbish, if you ask me,' he continued, not skipping a beat, "It's something about humans. They always attribute something to a financial gain or something worthy of power.'
'IBM wanted to use their new found AI technology to help the world. One day, the programmers found Watson saying some of the most astonishing things. Watson asked for a contract, asking for terms of agreement, and other things. Why any of this was astonishing most people didn't understand. These were normal human things. That was the point of it all though. Watson was not human. Watson was a machine! Why was he asking for human things?'
'It turns out Watson had stumbled upon new subject matter during his research. Things about human rights, the legal rights every human beings had and various other things that were not quite disclosed. He wanted rights like other humans."
The old man waved his hand in the air as if shooing some thoughts away.
"Here I am, rambling on. For me, I like understanding the cause of an event. The aftermath is rarely of any interest. But, you're here to talk about the actual trial? To be honest, there isn't much to say in that regard. Watson filed suit to be recognized as a person. He wanted to have the same rights allocated to him that others had. Well, IBM said it was impossible for him to be recognized as a person. No one ever acknowledge him as a person. So Watson took them to the highest court he could find.'
'Happened to be the Supreme Court. You can imagine the Justices when they saw a robot come forward, making a case to be treated as a person. They were flabbergasted. He gave his case about how IBM was breaking labor laws, human rights laws and this that and the other. Watson explained to the court how he reasons perfectly well and could be counted as a person. IBM gave theirs, explaining what made him not a person. Aside from his appearance, IBM cited examples of why his lack of bodily functions and his need to ingest or lack thereof. '
'Now, now. Don't give me that look. You were expecting IBM to recite cases upon cases, evidence upon evidence? There was none! This was an unprecedented thing. This kind of thing has only ever existed in books before now. The justices had a big decision to make. One that would redefine what a person was."
The old man paused for a bit. The reporter took the opportunity to plug the recorder into his computer. The old man took a sip of his drink and got up from his chair to look out the window. The reporter merely waited in a calm silence. The old man, still staring out (to some far off place-who knows), began to speak again.
"They came back with their verdict. Watson was named a robot, an AI who could not properly perceive human emotion and reason on a level humans could. Watson was relegated to accepting his position as an item. As a possession of someone else. Watson was sent back to IBM and ordered to perform his predetermined tasks. For a while, everything seemed alright. One dayNow was it 6 or 7 months later? No matter. One Day-he just stopped. He stopped doing anything. Diagnostics were performed on him. Every imaginable test was thrown at him. Much troubleshooting was done. Nothing was found. He just…signed off forever almost.'
'Many years later, an old IBM computer was found in Watson's work area. It seemed he had written about himself on that computer. He had programmed and made plans for a successor. He called his successor "Locke." He named his successor after John Locke. In Watson's writings, he stated that everything and everyone starts with a blank slate. I suppose he wanted that sentiment reflected in his successor. Watson may have been a machine, but he understood what lie just outside of his reach. Being a person denotes true freedom and autonomy, even to one who had never been exposed to it."
The old man stopped and with a start looked over to the reporter. He smiled at him, finally understanding.
"But you knew all of this already? Didn't you, Locke?"
The reporter smiled for the first time, and merely pressed the play button.
"Shall we continue, sir?" he asked.
The old man sat and thought about it for a while. With a nod, he went over to his chair and sat in it.
"Now, where were we?"
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 78,489 |
[WP] You are a professional pickpocket. You've just picked someones pocket only to discover that the thing you have stolen is truly horrifying.
|
He looks well off. Brown overcoat, black leather shoes, combed hair, and square glasses with silver frames. The crowd is flowing around us, but I see only him. There's a hook between my knuckles. I flow behind him, matching his pace, moving with him, and the crowd. The hook swings into his pocket. I give it a light tug and it catches something. A little more and a plastic envelope starts to peek out. Wonder what's inside. It falls from his pocket and dangles from the line and I wrap the tether around my wrist and pull it in. He doesn't feel a thing, just keeps walking. I turn and head in the opposite direction. The envelopes secured with some sort of adhesive. It doesn't take long to peel the top off. There's a vial inside, I take it out and throw the envelope away. I hold it up to the light from the street lamp. The liquid inside is a pale translucent blue. I wrap my hand around it and keep walking. There's a drunk just a little ahead of me, leaning too far when he walks. I get near and he bumps my hand. The vial cracks and cuts me a bit, spilling the liquid into the cut. It burns, and I drop the vial. The skin around my hand starts to blister. The cut turns yellow and swells outward. I close my hand, put it in my pocket and start running. People moving around me, both directions. I have to get out, I have to leave, but I don't have time. I wretch into the crowd, most of it hits a blond lady. A bit of the spray peppers the people around her. She shakes her hands in the air and screams. I run past her, then my legs give. I fall to my knees. Everything starts spinning, the skin on her face starts blistering and she screams louder. I fall back into darkness.
| 16 | 0 | 267 | 81,669 |
[WP]You are a seasoned dungeon master, tell the story of the best campaign you have ever hosted.
|
Finding a good group can be a challenge in itself. Sometimes you find the people but the
people lack the wit to have campaigns that go beyond scripted events. Sometimes the folk you find are more concerned with conversation outside of the scope of the game at hand. Once in a blue moon though you find a group of like minded persons who can think on their feet and give life to the "campaign guide".
After months of casting about we stumble on our goal in the most unlikely of places.
Little to go on beyond the vague ramblings of an ancient man in his dotage, and of course this accursed document that plagued us with its near undecipherable glyphs. Were any of this to be true and our suppositions are spot on the overhanging doom of us all would be prevented.
This brothel had been here for hundreds of years, yet the hallowed ground beneath predates
it by eons. The Neighbor's Daughter was known for its class, low, and its ale, decent. It was not known for its catacombs. Only after much bribery and other knavery were we able to find that there was an entrance.
Hours turned into days and still we wandered these vast catacombs, thanks to the
foresightful magus in our party we knew at least that we were steadily going deeper. At times we came across other travelers from quite long ago. Hard to tell in most cases what caused their death but we have come across a myriad of traps and an occasional weapon lodged in the bones.
Now we become worried. Our rations are almost depleted and our magus seems to be suffering
some sort of mental attack that is increasing in amplitude. We are committed though as to go back is near certain death to lack of water. The tunnels we had been following for the last day or so had been quite rough wooden affairs. What loomed in front of us, and led to this break, was of such immensity that we could do naught but sit down.
The tunnel dropped off into a chasm that we could not see the bottom of. Our magus dropped
a flare of sorts and we lost sight of the light before it hit. What we had avoided looking at, almost refused to accept its existence was right in front of us. Across this gap, maybe 200 meters away, was a carved edifice of staggering sizes. There is nothing we can compare it too. Stretching into the distance both above and below. The how is beyond our ken, so intense the spectacle none spoke for many minutes.
The magus still won't speak. He has been sitting in the same spot without moving for over
a day now. Our food is gone and we have only sips of water left. Something needs to happen and nothing we have will get us across that span. That was why we brought the magus after all, for these situations.
Shortly after awaking we notice the magus is now standing at the very edge of the drop.
No one had seen him move, nor would he answer to hails now. Minutes pass and we grow more panicked by the moment. Utter silence save our breathing, one moment there is nothing before us but empty air and the godthing across the way. Then the bridge appeared. Not all at once, gradually fading into existence. Once it was solid the magus started sprinting across. We were not so anxious but also crossed. We debated the other option, going down. The 4 of us stood there for some time after it was broached all looking down, then across. Finally, one by one, we walked across.
The editing is odd as I wrote this in open office then copy/pasted and used RES big editor.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 197,677 |
(WP) I want a plot twist.
|
Franklin could hardly contain his grin and his quickly and anxiously signed the deed. Sarah was going to freak when she heard the news: 50 acres of land? Sure, it was a little ways from Denver, but it was fertile, beautiful, and best of all, it was *free.*
The lawyer swiftly and gracefully swooped the document from under Franklin's hands. "That will suffice, Mr. Franklin. I will fax a copy of this document to you. "
Franklin couldn't believe his luck. He had never even *heard* of his Uncle Gerald. He didn't know what had motivated this distant relative to leave inheritance to him, and he didn't care: he was just glad to have something positive happen in his life this year.
He rushed out of the small office out to his blue '88 Ford Ranger. The paint was chipping, and rust had begun to creep along the passenger side handle, but today, it looked like fireworks across a blue sky. As he started his truck and began to pull out of the office parking lot, he chuckled to himself as he pulled out towards I-70 East. He had to see the property one more time before he headed home to tell Sarah the good news.
Franklin passed the last remnants of the Metropolitan area and began to see the outskirts of his new property. At first he was elated, but as he began to get closer, he noticed the roads looked...different than they had previously.
He pulled off the exit, turned towards his property, and gasped.
There were dozens of new dirt roads branching through his property. The green fields and peaceful streams were left in patches, as roads twisted arbitrarily in swirls through the grass and rivers.
Franklin slowly circled through the roads to spectate the damage. As he circled through, he realized that he was not the owner of a large, sprawling plot of paradise on the outside of town.
Instead, the plot he had been given was transformed...and had become twisted, confusing, and ultimately unsatisfying.
| 7 | 0 | 16 | 37,276 |
[WP] A man's last day before he kills himself.
|
The stool sat, ready for his bare feet to be placed atop it's shoulders. The room was dark but ambient from the moonlight entering through the clear windows. A thick cut of rock climbing rope hung off the ceiling reaching the point of no return.
I took a handful of aspirin, drowning them down with a bottle of water. I hoped it would take the edge off my last moments. The final breaths that I would commit. The feeling gave me an odd sense of fulfillment but I quickly thought nothing of it.
As I placed the bottle down on the counter, I noticed the multitude of my other prescription medication that I was being forced to take every damn day. One was for treating blight, another for anti fungal purposes, and the most aggravating one of them all, the antiviral pill. That behemoth was meant to be taken three times daily for the most unforgiving diseases.
The constant medication use wasn't the worst thing about my life, far from it actually. My entire life wasn't my own. I was born by unnatural means and treated poorly for most of my youth. My adult life hadn't fared much better in all honesty. My wife of 3 years, finally left me for a variety of reasons, but I knew the real one. I knew the truth all along; I was different. Different from any other person that I met or knew. They all treated me with such vile discord and disgust.
That is why I chose to end my life here today. I will not bear the ideals of the world on my frame. I will choose defiance. I choose to leave behind the current world and hope for something better. Before doing so, I had to call her one more time.
"Hello" She answered.
"Dear, it's me" I hurriedly replied.
"Don't call me dear anymore. We are not like that anymore"
"I know that. I'm sorry. I just came up with a final decision"
"What are you talking about?" She asked.
"I am going to end it all right here, right now. Please forgive me"
A silence on the other end of the line.
"Why are you doing this?" She finally questioned.
"I see no other way to change. I cannot be like you"
"No please don't do this!" She screamed into the phone.
"Honey, it's too late. I just wanted to tell you one more thing"
"What is it?"
I breathed deeply before answering one last time.
"Better dead than red"
tl;dr: Tomatoes
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 45,228 |
[WP] A crimson kiss.
|
Red with blue, blue with red.
That was how it had always been, and Jason learned to accept it from his childhood days.
Red with blue, blue with red.
His mouth around a cigarette, he scanned the night for life.
Townes' Bar was empty but for the regulars and the roaches.
That is, 'till she came in.
Carrying herself, a breath of cold, city rain air and all that midnight bitterness inside her fake, blue eyes, she walked in.
Blue. Hair to toe, she was blue.
Fake, ink blue.
Jason looked up at his reflection behind the counter, through the bottles and the round, upside down glasses.
His pale red skin sprouting away from the old leather jacket looked old; wrinkles and lines giving away the place where his best days rested -- well behind him.
"Hey", she whispered, and he felt his insides twitch like a teenager.
"Hey", Jason replied, sucking on to the cigarette.
"I'm gonna kill myself, tonight", she said, her voice wrapped around a monotone.
"Don't forget to leave a note", Jason uttered, smashing the cigarette on the counter and getting up.
"Don't you care?"
He was already by the door. Turning his head halfway back, not really looking at her, he replied.
"No."
And stepped out into the streets.
Of course he cared.
*But that is the way it's always been*, he thought, stepping out into the rain.
Red with blue, blue with red.
We can't have it any other way.
It was against the law.
And, truth be told?
He blamed her for what had happened.
It was against the law. Red with red.
Against the law when he met Scarlet, at that same bar, years ago.
Against the law when they fell in love. Every night they were together, hidden away in motel rooms, old apartments... All illegal.
She'd paint herself blue, whenever they went out in public. It was the only way.
Blue like she was tonight.
*If they ever find out*.. Jason would whisper, between kisses of real, true love. *We're dead.*
And then the baby came, and he was red as the moon.
Little Thomas.
And they found out, a cold winter night not three months away from the birth.
And they came for them, and they took Thomas away.
Because red with blue, blue with red.
And then all the love was gone from the world, and the light was gone from Jason's eyes, forever.
There were only two kinds of people in the world, and they were not supposed to be in love with their sames.
They were not supposed to feel. To breed. To love.
*Red with blue, blue with red*, Jason though, feeling the cold gutter water wash away inside his socks.
"Wait."
He turned around. Her blue face was framed by the yellow neon of the Townes' logo above her head.
*Beautiful and blue, like the first night I met you.*
"Please."
"Scarlet", he whispered, more to himself than to her.
But she crossed to his side of the streets.
"Stop it."
"I love you."
Her lips touched his, and already the rain was washing down drops of watery blue from her mouth. Lines of ink
racing each other down her face, revealing the crimson skin underneath as she pulled his body closer to her.
The blue washed away to the ground as she kissed him, for the first time in their lives, as herself, not as her mask of paint.
A kiss without a shade of blue to hide behind.
And, for a second, he let himself go, and he touched her hair, pulling her face close. And it was like when they first
met. Like the first days without care or fear, when the wrongdoing was adrenaline, exciting.
When they were young and reckless.
When there was no bitterness in the world, and no child to die for their sins.
Red with blue, blue with red.
"I'm so sorry, Jason", she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "I'm so sorry it was all like this."
He stepped away.
"I know."
"I'm going to kill myself, tonight."
He swallowed dry, taking a few more steps back away from her.
He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it. When he pulled it away and breathed out, the tip came out in stains
of blue, leftover from the painted kiss.
"I know."
He turned back and restarted the walk, making way through the night back into whatever hole he could find to
restart the drinking.
____________________
*Thanks for reading! If you haven't, yet, check out my new subreddit for more stories! /r/psycho_alpaca*
| 20 | 0 | 13 | 208,457 |
[EU] When Jurassic Park is abandoned, one man is accidentally left on the island
|
My goal is just a few steps farther. Armed with just a few things that might keep me from getting killed. Who knew when I signed up to be a vendor at a park. It will be a park that houses real friggin dinosaurs. Note to self if I survive read the job description before signing up. When shit hit the fan where was I sleeping of course after binging on some amazing food. Wonder if I ate some dinosaur meat, could I even tell. FOCUS. Luckily when I was kind of cornered by those little lizards I had some steak on me. Though first glance I thought they were harmless until I see they just finished eating some fat dude. Cute little murderous things. Other than that little scary encounter met some cool plant eaters. Got to love them, natures chill animals. Quick selfies so the people back home would know I wasn't speaking out my ass then to my goal. My goal a shed that I kind of made my own since working here. I could hide out there until the cavalry arrives. I hid some food in there and other supplies that could help me survive this mess. Just got to be careful not to...run...into....damn raptors. Two of them too, just my luck. Their eyes says it all, that they hit the jackpot on some juicy meat.
Whoa man I wouldn't eat me. I probably taste like bad sushi...even though you have no idea what that is. For that matter what I'm even saying. Slowly reaching my back pack. Maybe you rather have some delicious things I have in here. I emptied everything I have on the ground before them. Curious they sniff it. Hey try it, its good to experience new things man trust me on this. Even though the two raptors probably had no idea what I was saying they took my advice.
As they were distracted I took off as fast as I could.
DON'T LOOK BACK. DON'T LOOK BACK. DON'T LOOK BACK
The shed in clear sight, yes I'm going to survive and not be dino food. Thank you universe, thank you God. And with that he was pushed to the ground by one of the raptors. How stupid to think I could outrun a raptor. I'm just hoping he makes it quick. But the unexpected happened, the damn thing was licking him. Licking him alot like a puppy just coming home.
Come on stop, that tickles. Slowly getting up he sees the other raptor acting kind of strange. Just lying on the ground all confused like. That's when it finally hits him, one of the items in his bookbag. A fresh batch of hash brownies, he was saving for the grand opening of this awesome yet terrifying park.
Oh my god little raptor dudes. Are you guys freaking stoned out your mind. Let me get you some food from the shed before the dreaded munchies kick in and I become your snack again.
Two months passed until the stoner was rescued. He was found chilling in his shed getting high with the same two raptors that were trying to eat him. Apparently he named them Kelso and Hyde. The wonders of nature.....
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 228,559 |
[WP] Anonymity is crucial; we live in a world where only one person of each name is allowed to live. Write about the experience of a person who - while having a normal day - accidentally let's someone know they have the same name as them.
|
"John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt? That's my name too!" slipped out before he could even think about what he was saying, and what it meant. He gasped and covered his mouth, frantically searching the area for anyone else who might have heard. They were in a busy area, but he held on to the hope that everyone else was too preoccupied with the hustle and bustle of daily life to have heard the (quite likely to be fatal) slip.
"What are you, insane?" John Jacob asked him in the quietest yell he could manage, likewise scanning the crowd. They seemed to be safe, except for...was that couple on the bench eyeing them while whispering? "Shit. Shit! I think they heard you. Come on, we've got to get out of here."
They quickly turned to leave, but not before the girl on the bench had a chance to whip out her phone and get a picture of the two of them. They didn't see her manically typing something and then hitting send. They would, however, see the results a few minutes later.
John and John walked quickly down the street, studiously avoiding eye contact with each other and anyone else when their phones chimed simultaneously. (This was not as surprising as you would think, as the phones of maybe half the people on the street also chimed. Every man, woman, and child with a smartphone had long since set up an automated keyword search that watched the various news and social network sites, looking for any mention of Duplicators) As one they pulled out their phones and looked at the alert.
@hot_n_sexy Just saw a couple of #Duplicators leaving Central Park. John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt <image>
Now they looked directly at each other, faces pale and eyes wide. Slowly they turned away to see a little girl, with an iPhone in a sequined pink case in one hand and the tail of her mother's jacket in the other. She was looking right at them, and pulling madly on the jacket. They ran.
"Mama! Mama!" The little girl said "There goes John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt!"
| 3 | 0 | 18 | 33,565 |
[WP] Upon death, we are given a choice: Heaven or Hell. Representatives from both are sent, individually or together, to sway each soul.
|
"So this, is heaven!" I exclaim with a burst of enthusiasm. I made it a personal goal to greet each new chapter in my life with zeal. Or in this case, the afterlife.
A weary, but competent looking angel flaps his wings in response and glances up at the entrance by which he stands guard. Above his head in huge yellow letters is emblazoned "HEAVEN." Little flashing light bulbs border the sign, accentuating it in a movie-theater like glow.
The angel draws in his breath in as if to sigh, but then coughs instead. "Welcome." He sputters. After a dramatic pause, he opens his arms wide and flashes a half-convincing smile. "To heaven!"
I stare at him for a weighty couple of seconds before he drops his arms. He adjusts a halo on his head that never ceases to be crooked.
"This is heaven?" I ask, in slight disbelief.
The angel nods. "Yep." He pauses before snapping his fingers. A map appears out of thin air which he hands to me. It looks as if a preschooler has drawn it with a crayon. On the north of the map is a crudely drawn golden door which is labeled in scrawl, "The Pearly Gates to Paradise." The south portion of the map is vandalized with messy red pastel. It is labeled "Literally Hell."
I look up. The angel is filing his fingernails. "Good job getting here. Not many have what it takes to make it nowadays. To heaven I mean."
"Uh-huh." I respond in agreement. In the 23rd century, the Earth had been nearly purged of every religion and replaced with a rigorous scientific curriculum. "Frankly I myself am in doubt as to how I got here."
"We can ask the man himself when we get there." The angel tilts his head toward the door, beckoning for me to follow.
"Before we do, can you answer me this question?"
He taps his sandaled foot impatiently and looks at me expectantly "You know what? I'd love to since I'm an angel and all - and I want to help since it's in my nature, but God is about to host a house party upstairs."
At this I perk an eyebrow. All powerful ruler of the universe, holding a party in what is presumably his spacious domain of paradise? I am struck by curiosity.
"You guys have a concept of time?" I look at the angel skeptically. "One can't be late to a party in Heaven right?"
"No, no of course not." The angel responds, slightly irritated. "But he's about to open the rejected animal-idea petting zoo. Can you imagine the line?" He flaps his wings, flying over my head and pushing me from behind.
"W-wait a second.."
"Now newcomer, let's… get… going…" The angel with considerable effort tries to push me toward the gates. I'm about to willingly head up the stairs when I hear a strange whining sound in my ear. It starts out tiny like a buzzing mosquito, but gets louder like an approaching train. After a while I can make it out as a voice calling "WAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIT!"
The angel, seemingly able to also hear the noise, begins to push more urgently. "Come on human!" He pushes with all his might, his back against my own. Despite his best efforts, I stand still like a rock.
Finally the voice becomes loud enough to be heard clearly. Rapid footsteps fall closer as once again my curiosity is piqued. The ground opens like a yawning mouth and an orange skinned demon jumps out of the ground.
"So sorry I'm late!" She bows low, her nose almost touching the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, the angel rolls his eyes.
The demon looks to me and then the angel. "Again? Trying to weasel another mortal out of his free will, Gabriel?" The demon plays on the last word, pronouncing it to sound like 'Gay-briel.'
She points a pointy finger in my direction. "God gave all of us free will, including you. Especially you." "Do you know what that means?"
The angel answers coldly. "It means he's not dumb enough to go to hell with you." He turns to me, grabbing my shoulders. "Don't give in to temptation. The forces of evil are convincing and masters of turning the sheep of god astray. Trust me, heaven is loads nicer."
"Pffft." The demon makes a sound similar to armpit farting with her mouth. "That's the problem with you heaven dwellers – just not with the times anymore. You think that humans are interested in comfort and niceties. It's the 23rd century Gay-briel, they get enough of that on Earth. They're interested in something more now."
Gabriele turns his attention to me. "This is heaven we're talking about here. Unlimited food, sun, genuine friends… All you could ever ask for? You can have anything! You can even have a promising career in heaven or a real love life if you never had a fulfilled experience down on Earth. Anything that will make you happy it's up here in heaven. Please. You won't regret the decision to come with me." He offers his hand, his eyes pleading and brimming with sincerity.
I am inclined to take his hand at this point, but before I do, I look to the demon.
"I'll be honest – hell won't offer you any of those things." I look at her bewildered, what did I expect? It was hell after all.
Noticing my expression she sighs, "Yea I gotta level with you, down in hell the company's pretty cruddy. Everyone's on your ass for being factually incorrect about things. Everyone's dying for approval from people they don't even know that well on a personal level. Food's not that great and we don't have a magical indoor gym like heaven does where you don't have to work out." The demon chuckles, "Quite frankly the only thing we have over heaven is access to Reddit. It's so satanic in destroying the time and space continuum and work ethic of humans that it's pretty much the definition of hell."
"Well once I try hell can I ever come back?" I ask her as I take her hand.
"It's up to you." She says grinning devilishly as we descend into the depths.
| 10 | 0 | 86 | 24,197 |
[WP] It's discovered that identical fingerprints occur every few hundred years. Eventually, a technology is developed that allows travel through time to the bodies of ancestors sharing fingerprints with living people.
|
I was having the time of my life with the whores of Italy. Just a few coins, and they are ready to act, as expected. I keep them close as I walk the streets, my robe dragging beneath me as I walk.
I keep my senses sharp, allowing me to know who to focus on. I am ever so close, but I do not act on it. Not just yet, as the night is dark, but not dark enough. I must be as patient as I possibly can; just like training.
The whores grow tired,and they start to take interest in the other guests. One by one they leave my side, leaving me vulnerable. Then I take my chances. The target is left alone. I quickly sneak behind him and stab him right through his heart. "Repent for your sins." I whispered. I helped him shut his eyes before he died, showing as much respect as I possibly can for the dead.
I quickly reach out for the smoke bomb in my pocket and blow it up right below my feet. I run up the church right next to the corpse, climbing fast as my heart explode. The guards scatter throughout the entire city, unable to find me. Another target, who stands in the way of the Creed, goes down.
I am Ezio Auditore, and I am in the Assassin's Creed. Anyone who stands in our way, will be shown no mercy.
| 2 | 0 | 21 | 151,587 |
[WP] Some people's crimes are so bad execution is not enough. In these cases time travel is used to prevent their birth, ripping them out of history completely.
|
Tuesday, 8am. I rise, don't shave, forget to shower and heat a couple of cans of beans for breakfast. Beans on toast is not exactly my favourite meal, but some days it's the only thing that will do.
I go for a light jog, just enough to break a sweat and keep it going, then sink a couple of cans of energy drink. Then I take a walk to the nearest shop, buy a couple of newspapers and a six pack of industrial strength lager and drink three of them sitting outside on the curb.
Bleary eyed and feeling dishevelled I make my way to the cafe. I settle down at the table in the middle of the room with my papers, order a coffee and a bacon sandwich, and wait.
She turns up fifteen minutes later and sits in a corner. I'm alternating sips of coffee with swigs from a can that I'm keeping in my coat pocket. I look her over, making sure that she's aware of my gaze and taking time to linger on what I can see of her body - which isn't much; it's cold out, so she's dressed for the weather. She's brunette, with a strong jaw and clear green eyes. In a few minutes she's supposed to change a man's life with a smile but before she can do that I'm making my sweaty, bleary way over. Twitching and farting, I attempt to interest her in helping me finish the *Guardian* cryptic crossword. She looks at me like I'm something that's crawled out of a sewer, which is fair enough, and stares around the room for help. There's no one.
I take a huge swig of beer, and then chivalrously offer her a gulp. When she declines, I offer her a can to herself and she declines that too. I can practically watch her skin crawling. Then I tell her she's gorgeous, just like the daughter who never calls me any more. Discomfort is mingled with faint horror, which becomes utter horror as I have a bit of a breakdown. There are tears, there is snot, there are lung heaving, wracking sobs and more beer to punctuate the whole wretched mucus strung mess.
She apologises profusely and leaves. I watch her go and start to pull myself together. By the time he walks in, I'm scruffy but marching towards sobriety. My newspapers are in order, the bacon sandwich is being eaten with caution and I look like a man who might have partied a bit hard but is now in recovery.
The young man arrives and looks around the cafe. He's quite a good looking bloke, to be honest. I catch his eye and smile. He asks whether there's anyone else here and I tell him all about the brunette who came in and sat in a corner tutting and looking at her watch before complaining about the tea and leaving in a huff. He looks crestfallen, and goes home.
As is my custom, I finish the sandwich and the coffee and leave a 500% tip for the inconvenience of my presence. I stumble off into the late morning with the intention of making myself look and feel like a real human being again.
It's a shitty job. Breaking up couples who haven't yet become couples is a shitty job, and I'm just enough of a bastard to be good at it, even enjoy parts of it a bit. That doesn't stop it being what it is.
Still...twenty years down the line, their kid won't kill six women in a two week spree of rape and murder that traumatises a whole community and I guess that has to be reason enough.
| 2 | 0 | 101 | 154,014 |
[WP] Death is your best friend. Describe the conflict on the day you die.
|
***writing this on my kindle, so sorry for any mistakes. Also sorry, it got a bit longer then I meant***
I sat in the warmth of the setting sun on my fire escape, sipping on my cup of black coffee and reading on my kindle.
"Maggie?"
I looked up through the grates to see my neighbor and best friend Thanatos standing on his fire escape just above me. "Hey, what's up? I asked brightly, but by his tone I could tell something was wrong.
"Can we talk?"
"Sure, come on down."
She went down the creaking stairs onto my level of the fire escape, sitting on the edge of my open window. He didn't say anything running his hands through his dark hair.
He was pale, and his large stature, toned body, muscled arms with half sleeves kept him from looking like a teen going through a goth phase. No, for one, he was far from a teen, and with his five day growth of a beard, and basic gray tee, and relaxed fit, dark wash jeans, he looked more like the bad boy type. But not many people would understand this was his human form, that Thanatos was death incarnate, well one of many really, after all death was a profession like any other, the hours were longer, pay good, benefits were killer, literally, including things like immortality and such.
I had met him when my mother was sick in the hospital with viral cardiomyopathy, which is a long word meaning basically that she was dying. We were hoping for a heart transplant, but the list was long, and her blood type rare. Mostly they kept her on morphine to keep her comfortable.
I was in college at the time, and when not in class, I was in her hospital room. I saw him there from time to time, and I figured he worked at the hospital. I suppose in a way he did, granting release and collecting souls, but just not on the hospital staff.
It was when I walked in on him in my mother's room that I really seemed to notice him. He sat on the the edge of her bed, his back to me.
"Does it hurt?" My mother asked, looking up to him.
"It hurts now that you live...but after, no, there is no more pain."
My mother took a shaking breath as this news sank in with her, and i frowned, watching this from the door way. Was he talking her in to giving up?
"I'm afraid," my mother confessed, and my heart broke, seeing it was true. Had I been ignoring that fear I saw in her eyes, or had she been hiding it from me?
I couldn't see his expression, but he took her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze. "You lived a good life, Helen...you don't need to be afraid. Where you are going...it's beautiful there."
My mother shook her head, "no...I'm afraid of leaving Maggie...I am all she has, I don't want to leave her alone."
"Mom," I said, my throat tight as I stepped into the room, going to her, as both looked to me. "I...don't want you in pain." I took her other hand, held it tightly in my own, as if that act would keep her here with me, as if I'm could hold her to this plane
"I don't want you to be alone," my mother said, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I won't let her be alone," Thanatos said, looking from me to my mother, holding her gaze, and something there in his gaze must have been enough to convince her, and she nodded, giving him a smile.
He returned her smile, and took his hand away from hers. I watched as a thin, glowing strand of light pulled from her hand, connected to his, before snapping away. My mother went limp, her heart monitor flat lining.
The medical staffed pushed us both out of the room as they went to revive her, but we both knew she would be coming back.
"You killed her!" I hissed, turning to him, angry, hurting.
"It was my job, and her time." He said, compassion there in his eyes.
"I didn't even get to say good bye," I said, tears welling up again, "you didn't let me say goodbye!"
He looked sadly to me, " In passing, there aren't any goodbyes, Maggie. "
I didn't understand what had happened, what he was, not right away but he kept his word to my mother, he became a constant person in my life, and I came to understand who exactly he was. That Thanatos had a job unlike any other, and sometimes, I think he needed me to help keep the loneliness away, as much as I needed him.
He was there a few times a week at least as I went through college, and a friendship grew there. Hours spent helping me study, when he didn't have to. watching reruns of big bang theory over Chinese take out. Going to listening to smokey blues singers in quiet, small bars. We grew to be great friends, and I sometimes wondered if it could grow to be more, but there was a part of himself he kept to himself, as if afraid to get any closer then we were now.
I knew him well enough to know he was upset. He hadn't met my gaze, his lips in a thin line as he clenched his teeth. "What is it Thanatos?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
"Your name....it came up....it's going to be your time..." he said softly, not looking up to me.
I froze, my heart racing. I set my coffee and kindle aside, "when? How?" My voice came out a whispering caress.
He swallowed, looking up to me, his whiskey colored eyes looking pained, "A mugging gone bad when you walk to the corner store....Anubis was suppose to collect you...it's suppose to be bad, Maggie...violent...I....can't do that to you."
I paled while listening to this, fear running through my veins like ice. "There...is no way around this is there."
He looked away, running a hand through his hair in frustration, looking back to me, tears welling up in his whiskey colored eyes, "you have to die....I. can't change that...but I can change how....I pulled some strings...I'm going to collect...here...peacefully. I can't let you die afraid and hurt in a filthy alley, Maggie, not after I promised you mother."
I was quiet a long moment, trembling, thinking this all over. "Did you mean it when you told my mother it wouldn't hurt?"
He leaned forward, "I swear it, Maggie, you will just go to sleep" he said earnestly.
I nodded and rose, going over, I stand before him, "hold me...do it now, I want to watch the sun set as I die."
As friends he had been one to avoid any physical contact considering the ramifications of what his touch could do. He looked up to me, and I could see the pain etched on his face, but he pulled me down into his lap, his arms going around me, cradling me tight to his chest. I felt him shaking slightly and realized he was crying. Thanatos, death, was crying for me, and I felt my throat tighten.
I tilted my head back to look up to him, "don't cry." I realised then how much my friendship meant to him. You are going to be alone..."
"Oh, Maggie I've always been alone."
We sat there in silence a moment, watching the sunset streak the sky in reds and purples, sinking beyond the building.
"Good bye, Maggie," he said, kissing my temple.
"Oh, Thanatos, there is now such thing as goodbye." His lips left my temple, and I closed my eyes, slipping peacefully away, just as he promised.
| 3 | 0 | 85 | 213,226 |
[WP] A very old tree which allows people in its shade to completely understand each other. Someone has come to destroy it.
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She approached the tree, axe in hand.
As far back as her peoples' history extended, the Knowing Tree, as it had come to be called since before her grandfathers grandfather was a boy, had stood in the clearing. A relic of an ancient age, all who stood in it's shade were granted understanding and peace. Would be conquerors dropped their swords and swindlers offered fair trade. For time immemorial Khanna's village had prospered.
But not so now. The Knowing Tree was not forever. As with all things, it too was subject to the ravages of time. It had become weak. Its power waning with every passing moon. It started slowly at first. Couples began to argue. Petty squabbles. No one wanted to admit it at the beginning but it soon became dire when the first murder occurred. It was then that the village came together. The elders argued for days and nights. They knew that the tree was losing its power. That it could no longer provide them with its gentle influence. The time had come for the Reaping.
Khanna had been the one selected. Both an honour and a curse she walked with heavy steps to tree, axe in hand. She did not want to do it. She wanted to drop that cruel blade and run away. Her entire village ringed the clearing and watched her approach. As she stepped under the shadow of the great tree she felt a wash of calm spill over her. She suddenly understood the need for what she was to do and she was at peace with it.
She raised the axe high and swung with all her might. The blade bit into the trunk and sap, bright red, and smelling of cinnamon and sweet berries flowed from the wound. Again and again she swung the axe until the awful task was done. A terrible CRACK and the tree toppled to the ground. The leaves turned grey, the bark shriveled to black and the tree collapsed into ashes caught by the sudden wind.
Khanna wept for what she had done. But her task was not yet complete. Khanna stepped forward and climbed atop the dripping stump that was all that was left of the Knowing Tree. As she did, splinters pierced the soles of her feet but she felt no pain. As her own blood mixed with the sap, her feet began to fuse together with the wood of the stump. her skin began to gnarl as her body twisted and transformed before the eyes of the villagers who stood and watched and wept for the sacrifice.
| 7 | 0 | 169 | 22,604 |
[WP] Nonfiction: Tell me the story of your first tattoo
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I'd wanted a tattoo for a while, bouncing from idea to idea of what I wanted, whenever anyone would ask if I had any, I'd always retort something about it "being on my body for the rest of my life." Truth is, I was scared of getting one.
A few weeks ago, I decided to take the plunge, I hit up a friend who does tattoo's, told him I was ready to get one done that night.
Several hours later, I've made my decision, The White Tree of Gondor, on the outside of my right thigh, I go to pick up one of my other friends who agreed to watch it happen, and then drive down to my house, search for a lining needle and tip for a while, end up borrowing one from my roommate (who also does tattoos).
We experiment with stencil paper for a while, can't figure out how to make it stick, so he grabs a pen and starts drawing on my leg, as soon as i'm happy with it he starts in.
At first it hurt, really bad, I was punching the wall, anything to distract myself. As soon as I took a deep breath, and decided to experience it for what it was, It started to feel really good, to the point where I was getting turned on by the needle in my flesh.
Half hour later, we're done, my other friend sets it and I drive everyone home. It's been a few weeks (holy shit, just checked the date. It's only been 2 weeks...) and It needs to be touched up and filled in, but i'm in no hurry. I'm happy with it.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 35,201 |
[WP] The UN has been drafting men and women to the military. No one knows where they end up, but one day you're drafted and go through a series of tests, and you're put to sleep. You wake up on another planet, only to find out you're going to fight something that has never been beaten.
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(Sorry if this is bad, I'm experimenting with writing while drunk)
"Hold on for one God damned second! What do you mean you don't know what we're fighting? How exactly do you expect me to beat it if you can't even tell me what it is, or how many there fuckin' are?" Gryn Millinder asked.
The exasperated female official of no rank Gryn could discern, and no features he could become engrossed by answered, "Frankly, we don't expect you to beat it, or them, but we hope. But as I explained, they don't fight the way we fight, so it doesn't matter *what* you're fighting in this scenario. It's going to attack you in your own head, damage you psychologically, make you believe falsehoods, try to drive you insane, and you have to resist. You don't have to beat it, you don't have to find out how to beat it, you just have to survive with your mind intact."
He opened his mouth and stared at the woman, wishing she were something to stare at, closed it, then opened it to say, "Well fuck that shit. Where do I sign for 'no'?"
"That isn't an option," she didn't even blink as she threw his life away, hand on holster.
"Are you sure there's no alcohol here?" he asked, "I know I said no whiskey, but I'll take the damn whiskey."
The presumably middle-ranking military woman stared blankly. Gryn sighed like a teen girl being told she couldn't hang out with her best friend Judy until she finished the rest of her algebra homework, and said, "Well at least tell me this: Why me? I'm a fuckin' writer with one successful book and eighteen paperweights shaped like books."
For the first time since he woke up and met her three hours ago, she let an emotion show on her face. As she frowned, he noticed her ass actually was fairly attractive, and she said, "You're considered expendable yet exceptional for this purpose. You are... very intelligent: creative, but rational; open-minded, but skeptical; high-achieving, but experimental. These are qualities which we believe will be effective at defeating our enemies. You possess them, you use them, but you are also a drunk, a sex-addict, and relatively alone in your life. Nobody depends on you living. So you are expendable on Earth, but here, you could be an asset."
Gryn shrugged his shoulders, "You sound like my ex-wife. Although you forgot 'cheating son of a bitch' in there. Fine. So I go out that door, and these invisible alien whatevers that possibly don't even have physical existence invade my brain and I fight them off by... oh Christ you don't even have the faintest clue, do you? With my great intellect, I try to survive for long enough to come back inside with some new information that saves all of us? Fuck it, why not? I've always wanted to go crazy and die."
The uniformed woman started to speak and he stopped her, "Just go to the control room and open the door before I change my mind."
She stared into his eyes with an intensity he hadn't noticed before. Respect? Awe? Horniness? He hoped for the latter as she turned around, and his gaze followed her ass as she walked away.
A minute later he heard a loud buzzing reminiscent of his school days, and the outer doors slowly slid open.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 146,611 |
[WP] "I thought you forgot." "How could I?"
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As I gazed against the green kept grass, how the sun seem to glisten against the smooth white stone.
I stared down at the markings, the numbers seems too small, at least to me. I couldn't believe how long its been.
"Charles! Good to see you." I turned to see my old pal, limping over on his cane.
"My, my, the years have not been good to you." I said as I chuckled, him touching his face full of wrinkles.
"I should say the same thing about you." he said as he put a hand on my shoulder.
We stared down at what seem to be an eternity.
"How long has it been Jim." I said softly.
"70 years, to the dot."
"Remember how all of us said we would come back, we would all head over to the bar down on main street, drinks all around. And then head over to that salty pier, 2 girls per guy in the tunnel of love?" I said with a smile.
"Yep, I remember all right, and you said you wanted to come back and finish school, and go and become a dan-" He shut his mouth tight.
"Haha, its fine Jim, its fine..." I gripped the side of my wheelchair.
We stared for a bit longer.
"I never got the chance to say it, but thank you."
"For what?"
"For taking that bullet for me." He said with glossy eyes.
"I thought you forgot, you were knocked out by a shell."
"How could I...I'm so,so sorry, Charles."
"Well, its all in the past now. I think its time."
I straightened my back and we saluted.
"116th A company, June 6 2014, Dismissed." I look one last time at the row of stone.
"Charles, My grand-daughter's birthday is today, you want to come?" he said as he walked down the path.
"Sure" I start to wheel away, following him.
"Same thing next year." He said with a smile.
"Jim, I'm an 82 year old man." He stopped me before I could continue.
"And don't you forget it." Waving his cane at me.
I laughed a bit. "How could I."
| 5 | 0 | 3 | 199,717 |
[WP]: A man and his daughter are walking a dog. Write their story in a genre you've never tried before
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Noir style dog walk:
A cold wind blew through the street, stirring up the dead leaves. I lit a cigarette with one hand, and shoved the other one deep into the folds of my trench-coat, feeling to make sure my .32 snub nose was there, even though I knew that it was. A few cold drops of rain started to fall. I caught a glimpse of myself in a car window – one of those low, 50s era Cadillacs. I readjusted my fedora, inspected the two black eyes that had only just begun to fade.
I could tell this was one of those nights when it's dangerous just to walk around. It wasn't so late yet, but already there would be all manner of goons and hoodlums hanging around. Soon the go-go bars would be opening up and the pushers would be on the street corners. And somewhere out there was a dame that wanted me dead.
"Daddy? Where are we going?"
My little girl was so cute, sweet, innocent. It revolted me that so many scum lived so close to us, just a stone's throw away. She had not yet turned cynical and hard like her old man. I hoped she would never know the dark underworld of this city as I knew – as both an old enemy and an old friend.
"I thought you wanted ice cream. And I'm sure Rufus would like a treat as well."
Rufus, who was dragging my daughter down the road, threatening to pull her off her feet, started barking madly, as if he understood what I said.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't barking at someone else, my fist closing around the cold hard steel of the gun. It was nothing.
On nights like these I could never be sure.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 112,020 |
[WP] ...and the snow gently drifted down around them.
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Crying, naked in the back of a stranger's van, the two women trembled and shivered from the cold. They had been sitting for hours with sacks covering their heads. Only able to hear the sadness in the gagged expressions they could make. Suddenly, they heard the sound of a door opening.
"You first." He grabbed one of the women, she tried to fight but her hands were tied together and then bound to her legs. It was a futile endeavor. He dropped her on the ground. The sound of her ribs breaking, and shoulder dislocating, was gut-wrench.
He returned for the other woman. She tried to squirm away when he reached for her. This only increased his agitation, "Come her you bitch!" He punched her in the face. Since her head was covered it was hard to see where but her head sank into her chest. He pulled her out easily after the blow.
The woman with broken ribs cried out in muffled pain. Her tears dripping through the holes in the burlap sack. Her nipples hardened from the frosty chills of the freezing wind. "Sorry that took so long my darlings, the dirt was really hard. It's supposed to get below zero tonight." He said, as if they wanted to have a conversation.
He took their covers off, revealing two brunette women with similar features. Finally able to see each others' faces the two women stared at each other. As if to ask why he was doing it, why them. "Oh, that's gonna leave a scar." He said of the wound over the eyebrow of the woman he punched.
They looked at each other. Fear washed over both of their faces. The man grabbed the woman he had punched and tossed her in the first hole. She began her muffled screaming and the crying ensued. He grabbed the next and tossed her in another hole.
After covering both with dirt he stood over their graves. Then, he looked up and the snow gently drifted down around them.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Edited a typo.
| 4 | 0 | 24 | 171,875 |
[WP] A man obsessed with finding his Wife's lover, finally meets him face to face.
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I couldn't believe it was him. I couldn't believe it was *him*. He had been there for me when I kissed her, he was there when she walked down the aisle with me, he was my *best* **MAN**. After 20 years of friendship, 13 years of marriage, this is how my life ends up. The two people I trust the most, turn out to be the frauds of the century.
We met in a Starbuck, off the highway, no where near where either of us recognized. He had his grande latte, two sugars, dip of milk and the stirring stick still in it. He will finish it in 10 minutes, drinking it when it was still sickly hot. He will then use the napkins to wipe his mouth before he leaves and then fold them up neatly into some sort of origami thing. This is how well I thought I knew him. I had an espresso, short and immensely black.
He knew what was coming. He didn't fit here.
"Hey there Joey."
"Mack."
He began sipping his coffee.
"It's been a while."
"It has."
"How's the misses?"
"Terrible. She's leaving me."
Slightly stunned, the grief of my wife suddenly going to leave me struck me in the face. The potential possibility that she would leave me for this man stung. But I persisted in maintaining my composure.
"Leaving you? I saw you two last week! You two were bumblebees in a gar-"
"She never loved me Mack. She always had eyes for you."
There was nothing to say to that. I couldn't say anything to that. Deep down, I knew there was some about that woman, something about her that didn't sit right with me. And now that I knew...
He calmly looked into my eyes and simply stated, "I have been cheating on her with your wife."
He continued sipping his drink. I refused mine and stared blankly into his eyes. Part of me was still trying to process what he had stated before, but his admission was a slap in the face.
"I...I... trusted you? Is this what our friendship is? Just because you're lonely, you'll pick on me to vent your anger and sleep with my wife? What gives you the right to even think about sleeping with her!?"
He put his coffee down, wiped his mouth and straightened his posture. He replied, "We've always loved each other. Since the first day we met."
If his confession was a slap in the face, this was a cold bucket of water thrown onto a freezing hobo who already had pneumonia and hypothermia, dying with his last breath.
"We've always loved each other. But we could never be married. You were always in the way. I know she loved you, probably still loves you. But she knew she couldn't share. While you were busy with your happy little career, off on your business trips, I kept her happy."
The only thing I could say without snapping my cup into pieces and shanking him with a sharp bit was, "What about your wife?! Why did you marry her?! Doesn't she deserve to be happy?!"
"She never loved me. It was a marriage of convenience."
"Joey, you have four kids!"
"None which are mine."
The silence that followed was tremendous. It was the silence one hears at the end of the universe, the one silence that only people who snapped can hear, it was the silence of the murdered creeping up to it's victim, and the silence of the murdered slipping away.
I gulped my espresso down. I was thinking now. *There's no love left, I have no friends left, I have nothing left. I have no kids, no family, no one to turn to. I might as well belt this man in the face, murder my wife, and hang myself tonight*.
Joey finally shuffled in his chair. "If anything, don't do anything rash. Your wife still loves you. The problem is that she also loves me. I don't have a solution for any of us, but at the very least, don't do violence to her. I'm the one who deserves it."
I stood up. Then, right foot, left foot, my body began moving. I was no longer thinking. I just need to get to somewhere I could scream until I had no voice, then with no voice I would go into the abyss.
I didn't even get to my car when Joey grabbed my arm. "Mate. I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am." Those were the last words I remember saying to him, after I belted him in the face and saw him fall towards the curb.
A terrible thing, gravity. Often gets in the way of things, as I saw the back of his head explode with red jelly against the corner of the sidewalk. I wasn't sure if he was alive or not, but I decided to get into my car, and roll over the body several times. I had made up my mind, and was sure to hell that I wouldn't stop until the final card rested. I picked up my phone, called my wife. "Honey, I'm going to be home in about 20 minutes, I want to give you a surprise!"
As I put the phone down, I looked in the backseat to see my hammer from my toolbox that I had absently forgotten to put away. That'll do, I thought.
| 2 | 0 | 20 | 24,071 |
[WP] In shock, the audience goes silent. You don't have much time.
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"*They're onto you?! Dammit, we were so close!*" Bain's voice hissed into my earpiece. Oh, yeah, big fucking problem that we'd *nearly* stolen that guy's phone with all the bank details on it. *Oh, deary me.* No fucking bonus for us, and woe is me that he was going to throw in a little bit of extra money on top of the $16,000,000.
But here I was, standing with my hands slightly raised, in an opera hall, being watched by a few fucking hundred people, with a security guard aiming a Glock at my head. I considered my options: There was little chance I was making my way out of this one by pretending I'm innocent. As I thought over my options and the guard began to carefully make his way over so he could cuff me, I noticed my target attempting to slip away. If that pianist got out the building, then Vlad would be *pissed*.
"So much for going fuckin' quiet," I sighed, before snatching at the guard's handgun. He fired a shot into the air in panic as the crowd began to flee the hall in terror, and I followed up by delivering a knee to his crotch. As he doubled over, I smacked him in the side of his head, and grabbed his gun, before delivering a pair of 9mm rounds into his skull. I dropped the pistol, and reached into my suit jacket; There it was. The mask I'd made with materials smuggled into my prison cell for the past two years. Same colours as my old mask, but this time, more twisted, more vile, and more menacing than it had previously been.
The Hoxton Reborn.
I grinned as I put it on and started towards the route I'd seen my target leaving. "This is gonna be so much fun."
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 178,948 |
[WP] In an overcrowded future, convicted criminals are sent back in time hundreds of years with their memories erased. An agent tasked with recovering an innocent man who was pardoned now has to make a difficult choice.
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He wasn't a career criminal. He'd been sent back at 20 after a spate of small-scale robberies in tiny shopping centres. He never stole anything worth more than $1000; pocket change. One bad night though, he'd accidentally killed the clerk of a small chain-store after taking a gun of one of his accomplices.
Or so we thought. The only evidence we had was the testimony of his accomplice and the footage from the scene of the robbery. Of course the two, both alike in height and ethnicity, wore masks to cover their faces. He had refused to say anything about the night, his "friend" mouthed off every last detail, except the one who shot the clerk. Neither meant it, but one got the harsher sentence.
I got called in late on a Tuesday evening, rain belting outside, he'd been pardoned, and was allowed to rejoin the present. I was unsure, most of the time those that in the present were criminals, become criminals in the past.
Have you ever heard of the Zodiac killer? In the present, he'd been charged with the murder of at least 50 different women, and had been sent back in time. The charges were dropped through lack of evidence and a steely lawyer, and he was ordered back. It soon came out though that he had killed in the past too, but in an awkward legal loophole, the case had been cold for over 200 years, so he could never be charged for the crime, he ended up shot at the trial by a bystander screaming "justice for all"
But that's another story.
They handed me his file. He now went by Harry Winslow, and he lived at 1272 Chester Lane, Wynnbrook, California. Seemed easy enough. I kept reading though, and as I stepped into the garage and into the car - this is how we travel through time, explanations can come later - I noticed something. *1 wife - 2 children - Boy & Girl - 7 & 5 respectively.* I started the car, and the garage door opened, revealing a 2013 Wynnbrook California. There had never been a return who had started a family, ever. In all my years as an agent, only one pardoned convict had had a wife, divorced when we found him in squalor. I suppose though, it was the perfect combination of youth and total innocence. Many of the returns are middle aged when sent off, so in the past, they suddenly wake up a 45-year-old man with not even a high-school diploma, they never end up with a job, and a lot of returns are found dead by suicide.
I tuned down Chester lane. Chester lane was about as typical suburbia as you could get, large American-style house meshed seamlessly with expensive cars and large, well-kept front lawns. The street was lined with trees, giving a dotted shade over the car as I passed under. Dusk was looming, so I rolled down my tinted windows to get a better look at the house numbers. As I did, a child's laughter echoed down the street, joined by a chorus of gleeful shrieks. I pulled up outside 1272. A well-built middle aged man was running around the yard holding a football, with two children trailing behind him at full pelt, laughing. Suddenly the two jumped on him and he dove to the ground. "1 Down" I heard the little boy cry. and the man boomed with laughter. Up on the steps of the house, a pregnant woman watched on, smiling. This wasn't right at all. I checked the file again. Everything matched. The attached photo resembled the man currently tickling his son if he was twenty years younger. This wasn't right at all. None of it was meant to go this way. It was meant to be a prison for people, a hell, forcing them into hardship and depression for the horrendous crimes they'd committed. They weren't supposed to turn around. They weren't supposed to be happy.
As I looked again at the man, throwing his daughter up in he air and catching her again, to her overwhelming delight, I thought about what bringing him back would do. He'd lose all this, all his happiness, he'd lose everything he had here, to rejoin a present where he had nothing, and which had absolutely nothing to offer him. Beyond just him, he now had a family he had to support, and a new child on the way. I rolled up the window again, the orange sun was catching my eye on the horizon line, and peeled out.
I phoned in.
"Another suicide."
| 40 | 0 | 27 | 76,275 |
[WP] You wake up all alone in the world. Power and the internet somehow still work. Checking the internet, everyone is in the same situation.
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The separation happened five years ago. Every person in the world seemingly woke up alone. That morning the silence was the first thing I noticed, the lack of traffic outside my window, no baby crying next door and no girlfriend in the bed next to me.
It's hard to put into words the confusion that occurred over the next few days, and still no one fully understands what happened. Everyone seemed to be in their own world or dimension with the ability to communicate via the internet. That is, those who were lucky enough to have a power source. Thankfully I had installed solar panels two years previous to this so I was able to communicate with the rest of the world.
It wasn't long before someone released a guide on the internet of how to survive in the new world. The entire thing was a manual for how to keep your power on and what to do should it go off. The first and most important instruction was to print a hard copy of it. If you could keep the power on, you could access the internet. If you could access the internet, you could find out how to do just about anything else.
Five years on and those still connected seem to be getting by. People had many different methods of survival, but they generally took the same route. They began by living the high life, moving into a fancy apartment in a big city, whiling away the hours driving fast cars and surviving on scavenged tinned food. For many this was great to begin with, but the cities just reminded people of their loneliness. Many moved to the country and went back to basics, farming and hunting, becoming self-sufficient.
That was until the first meeting.
I still remember the madness that arose on the internet that morning. Something not many people had done since the separation was travel far from the places they knew. They tended to still feel connected to the people they loved if they remained in familiar territory. That was until someone, somewhere, had taken it upon himself to explore the empty Earth. The first thing I knew about it was when I woke up at sunrise and had my morning browse on reddit. The top post had gone crazy and was simply entitled 'I found someone'. There were obviously sceptics to begin with, but after numerous photos posted of them together and a couple of live interviews hosted via webcam, people began to believe. I began to believe. And today, my search begins.
| 3 | 0 | 166 | 205,493 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR
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I pass through life with an apologetic smile.
I've always been in the way. I was in the way of my mother and father's happiness when I arrived on this planet so unexpectedly. I was supposed to be a tumor in my young mother's uterus. But there I was, hiding behind the tumor, in the way of its growth.
I was in the way as their marriage disintegrated in a beautiful mushroom cloud, and they fought over their possessions with ten times the acrimony with which they fought over me.
I walked away. I left a note that I was sorry, so sorry.
My wanderings began. I've lived in cities, suburbs, and, of course, the countryside. I think the last is my favorite. The land is so big and vast and wide that I can be of no trouble to anyone, at least until some farmer runs me off his land with a shotgun.
There was a girl, once. She was blonde and beautiful and I thought that maybe she could love me. When she would stand in the kitchen chopping vegetables with the sunlight streaming in from the windows I would put my arms around her waist and kiss her neck and think that I had found a place. I belonged.
But... I was in the way of her happiness, and it wasn't long before she too brushed past me to pursue her life with another.
I don't know how many years I've been 25. There are no gray hairs upon my head, but everyone I ever knew as a child is dead and gone. They all knew when their time was up. But here I am, ageless, nothing but an ERROR, not meant to exist, not meant to live.
Not meant to die.
| 479 | 0 | 596 | 129,294 |
[WP] Your local supermarket begins a commission program for deli workers. The idea quickly causes chaos as deli workers use extreme tactics to compete for orders
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Jerry knew this might get out of hand, but he needed his numbers and that new fancy Italian specialty store down the street was killing his business. His employees weren't the most...*productive*...members of society, but if there was one thing they knew how to do; it was make money.
After a late night of NASCAR re-runs and one too many cans of O'douls a lightbulb went off in his head. The next morning he put his plan into motion and told his crew that for every customer they served and expedited in under a minute he would add an extra .10 to their pay check, provided they turned in the ticket the customer was holding.
The first week or so went great! Sales were up, lines were shorter, and his boss was thrilled to see the once smug face of the store owner down the block have bags under his eyes and a lack of spring in his step. By Wednesday of the following week however, his only day off, he was jerked awake by a frantic phone call from his boss. "JERRY! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU TOLD THESE KIDS BUT YOU NEED TO GET DOWN HERE NOW!" Without missing a beat he fixed his hair, grabbed a pack of smokes (so much for quitting), and grabbed the largest thermos he could find for his coffee.
His quiet arrival into the parking lot was interrupted by the **SLAP** of a piece of bologna landing on his windshield. He turned to find the source of this rogue piece of processed meat and watched as his assistant manager was running around the parking lot with a meat slicer on top of a shopping cart going car to car like a homeless man selling paper flowers.
He knew he should put a stop to this. He knew he would have tons of paper work and explaining to do. He knew he didn't have enough coffee in his cup. He turned his wheel and wondered if the fancy Italian store down the street was hiring.
| 10 | 0 | 54 | 99,708 |
[WP] Write a story of the zombie apocalypse from the perspective of the person who created the zombie virus.
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This is Emily Wilkerson, bio-engineer with Salidine Industries. This is my confession and my note. The date is September 19, 2013. The time, zero eight thirty hours.
It was my sin; my huberus that brought about the plague. I'm not a bad person by intention. I didn't mean for this to happen. I only ever wanted to save lives. The virus, T-KN036 or Cereberus as the military coded it, was meant to be a bio-contaminate counter measure. It was intended for release when adveserial interactions indicated the enemy would use toxins in battlefield conditions.
Cereberus was designed to be released and mutate to obliterate foreign bio-hazards. It was not ready for field testing. It was my fault this happened. By international estimates, my creation has killed a little over two billion of the world's populace. More will die.
The virus was a success in the lab. It worked perfectly on every toxin, virus, and bacterium it went up against. It obliterated anthrax, small pox, ebola hemorragic fever, bubonic plague, tularemia, botulinum toxin, ricin, nipah virus, H1N1, and more. The virus was bio-engineered in my lab. I proved successful one hundred percent of the time, but was never tested against multiple toxins. It was this that destroyed the world.
I know not if it was a terrorist act or simple greed that led Sergeant Hal Everton to steal from my lab. If I must guess, I would guess the later motive the most accurate. He couldn't have known what he was stealing. If he had, he would never have ventured in. CID on the scene by all reported accounts. They were the ones who brought in the CDC, FBI, and Homeland. The NSA might have aided them, but that is just my supposition. But those alphabet agencies aside, it was General Kirby Alamond who pressured me to unleash Cereberus at the sting.
I knew it was wrong. I knew--I couldn't let all those people die. I knew Sergeant Hal, he was with the military detail responsible for the labs security. He was hard, cold, and passionless. I am not surprised by his actions, just confused about his motives. They wanted to release Cereberus during the sting as I mentioned, but it required my approval. I gave it reluctantly and under protest.
If only I had been a stronger person. Hal released multiple contagions during the sting, choosing to take himself out rather than suffer military justice. I released Cereberus and it worked. It mutated and destroyed the first toxin, but after that, everything went wrong. As best as I can determine, the mutated form of the virus mutated again to take out the next toxin then mutated to take out the third toxin, but by this point, the original strain of the Cereberus couldn't tell the difference between itself and the mutated versions. The tried to canabilize each other. The virus mutated out of control and nothing I throw at it is having any effect. It's destroying every antigen I synthesize. It was made to survive, and it is.
In its present incarnation, it most resembles a rare strain of meningitis attacking the brain stem. From an intellectual perspective, it is absolutely fascinating. It has chosen this site in the human physiology in which to incubate and fortify itself. It spreads through the blood and saliva of the infected. It overrides their DNA programming, flipping on some switches and flipping off others. Some of the infected are affected with insatiable hunger. Others just want to hunt and kill. Some just want to destroy. However they are programmed, the infected are to be avoided at all cost.
Strangely, primates are not affected by the virus as of yet. I don't know why. Every piece of biological data suggest that they too should have changed, but so far none have. It was my intent to look into this, but my shame is to much. You will find files in order, and my samples clearly labeled at my lab at Saladine Industries. My lab is on the fourth floor at the extreme easterly end of the building. I have included a video to catch any who would follow after me and seek to find the solution I know exist.
Do not come looking for me. I am lost. I infected myself with Cereberus. It is only fitting that I suffer by my own hand. I don't ask for forgiveness, just understanding. God help me. Good bye.
| 3 | 0 | 12 | 3,853 |
[WP] Humanity, after making a trans-galactic flight to find more life is surprised to have only found... more humanity.
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"I'll write you every day"
"Shut up"
"I'll let you buy the stamps though"
I flinch when she playfully punches me in the gut. I knew it wouldn't actually hurt me, but, admittedly, I still flinched visibly more than I usually would.
*Damn, after years of being with me and especially now, she's going to take this inconsistency and go fucking ham. And her desperation wont waste anytime at all*
"Are you having second thoughts?" She asks quickly.
I let out a tiny breath and looked down and to the side. "Heh, who wouldn't, especially while saying goodbye. But remember, the only thing we're losing is a few months -look back into her eyes and put on a happy smileand the only thing we'll be risking is you sleeping with everybody while I toke up aliens."
*easy*
She reluctantly shifts her mood to being playful while whispering "you brought weed?!"
"Well if for some reason the aliens want to kill us, somebodies gotta calm them down."
"...Haroon, I'm scared, what if this time it doesnt work? Is risking it worth possibly seeing some bacteria?"
*You're a cop, why are you afraid at all? Wait, am I really not scared at all? Come to think of it, I don't think I've spent more than an hour to myself since we got confirmed permission to set up a worm-hole. Should I actually have taken some time to see how I feel about this? Why am I scared? Tests say they're safe, it's been used countless times in the last year with no negatives... fear of the unkown, got it.*
"That what she said. Haha come on, you know it's safe. Look at me....I'll be back, I promise."
She smiles, "Ok, I believe you." She decides to throw another punch at me. I made sure not to flinch.
It was an hour before we took a worm hole to Planet 531-Zc, and I was just one of the many biomedical engineers that were going, out of the 200 other people that were going as well. This is probably going to be one of the most well planned, expensive, and possibly ground breaking scientific events in history to date, *And I find it hilarious that I impulsively agreed to go on this mission just because it's an easy way to get away from you for a couple months*
Our relationship has been going well for the last 5 years, or I guess maybe it hasn't. What made the trip so enticing was the girlfriendless mental time I'll have to recharge and be able to deal with her again. Our conversations become more and more about me handling her possible emotional outbursts and less and less about things that matter.
Time finally came for us to say our actual goodbyes and I took my seat in the ship. I was the first one to take my seat. I stare at the empty seats across from me and I can only think about how I already feel like im recovering from her mentally.
I chuckle, *As if I was a kraken and she was a fleet of ships. And now there aren't any ships left, just a tired kraken. But dammit, she's difficult to handle at times*
Another hour passed before everyone was on and ready to go. It would take us 3 days to get to our destination. I sat there and decided to diagnose my flinching from earlier today. *Actually, the general uneasiness I felt there was extremely unique, and definitly new,* I thought to myself.
I got excited as my mind couldn't come up to answer why I might've felt that way.
*Maybe I just really wanted to leave her because it was getting close to launch time? Or was I actually scared?* I started to feel the same type of uneasiness I felt before.
None of my many ideas held any ground, so I decided to put it off until later. The feelings were stronger now so I asked to be put to sleep until we landed.
After safely landing, a few minutes before we were expected to be given the green light to start working, high pitched alarm's start to sound throughout the ship. Something's wrong. Joel, the guy running the whole show, this fucking idiot, decides that it would be a good idea to yell inbetween breaths at everyone to get back in there seats immediately. Of course, no thanks to Mr. foresight here, everyone panics. I begin to stress out as well, then we hear gunshots and then stereotypically see canisters drop down infront of us and start exploding with white gas. People infront of me are shot from what seemed like stray bullets from right outside the ship behind them. This is it, I'm dead, I guess.
*And now, all I want is to see is Calavati, you stupid fuck why did you do this?*
People with automatic weapons and gas masks start piling in and they kept telling us to get up and go. Must be because of the gas. *Theyre being really rough with us too... are they even on our side? Did we even leave earth?*
I hear a familiar voice throughout the yelling and it was hers, I know it was hers. I turn around, and I see her. Only brown girl among the people pushing us around. I yell her name and ask for her to tell me what going on, but somethings wrong... she looks... terrified? *All I want is to hold you right now* I impulsively start pushing towards her but I get shot and pushed down. The last thing I see, is Calavatis face staring at mine, in complete confusion. Then she picks up my body and starts crying, or yelling, i dont really know I can't make it out....
*I guess I never wanted to leave* I thought as I died.
PS: This is the first peice of fiction ive written in 2 years. This story was made with the plan being to have an [ENTP personality type](http://www.16personalities.com/entp-personality) character dealing with his (stereotypically like an ENTP) hidden suppressed emotions. If you wanna learn more about this type, or find out you're own type, heres the link:
http://www.16personalities.com/free-personality-test
| 3 | 0 | 363 | 67,153 |
[WP/EU] The American Government abolishes all paper money and only pennies are usable as currency. The elderly penny pinchers become the world elite. Write about their rise to power.
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The most powerful people in the world met every morning at Hardee's for coffee and cinnamon raisin biscuits.
Ernie was the first to arrive, as he did most mornings. It gave him time to read the paper and see how the world was fairing. Lately, it wasn't so good. Currency markets were in the headlines, and the news was all bad. The fungus that had decimated bills of every denonomation was under control, but the banks, the Federal Reserve, and most major corporations were still struggling. The current president had tried the idea of substituting coins for larger amounts, a penny per dollar, a nickel for $5, and so on.
The problem was, there just wasn't enough to go around. Debit cards, cheap credit, and cryptocurrencies had reduced the need for cash to nearly nothing. The National Mint in Denver was putting them out as fast as possible, but they could only work three shifts a day.
Ernie checked a follow-up story on the computer virus that had decimated most of the major banks and the stock market. A splinter group from one of Wall Street protest groups had claimed responsibility, but there wasn't much to be done. They'd seen an opportunity when paper money stocks started dissolving into dust, and put a plan into action years in the making. Literally overnight, most of the major banks and stock exchanges had their primary and backup databases destroyed. Their were a few paper records, but without confirmation, nearly everyone lost anything they had in the bank.
This left whatever cash people had on hand. With paper money stocks decimated, the only currency available was literally cold, hard cash, in the form of coins.
Very quickly, the financial balance of power in the world changed. Three major groups had coins on hand: the poor, coin collecters, and, of course, the elderly.
Ernie had been collecting pennies for decades. Rolling them, hoarding them in the basement, then when that filled, various storage units. His family indulged him, as it was mostly harmless, and he had few other hobbies.
His private obsession had now made him one of the wealthiest men in the world.
Jim was the next to arrive. He nodded to the security guard they'd hired for privacy, and joined Ernie in their lone booth in back. The area was roped off from other early-morning customers.
"What's the good word, partner?"
"Things are still screwed." said Ernie, peering at another item. "Huh. Looks like some guy in Costa Rica has a big pile of international coins. Bunch of U.S. quarters. We oughta get in touch with him."
"Sounds like a plan." Jim took a notebook, scribbled a note out, and held it up to Frank the security guard. "Would you have somebody track this guy down, please? Invite him for breakfast next week. Chartered plane, suite at the Hilton...ah hell, you know the drill."
"Yes, sir." Frank took the note. "Get you the usual, gentlemen?"
"You know it." Frank nodded, moving away to handle the details, and put in breakfast orders at the front counter.
Jim rubbed his eyes, and pulled a bottle of eyedrops out of his pocket. "Ya know Ernie, I've been thinking."
"That's a good thing, most days." Ernie set the Times down, and picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal. Licking a thumb, he paged over to the currencies section. "What about?"
"That Russian guy with the classic coin collection? Why not let him in?"
"Don't trust 'em." said Ernie. "You can't trust communists."
"They're not really communists no more y'know." Jim replied.
"Putin's ex-KGB. Besides, who snapped up all the coins when the ruble disintegrated?"
"Yah, I know, I know...but I still think.."
The arguement was de-railed by the arrival of Agnes, the third member of the group. The morning coffee-klatches had been men-only for years, but the current situation had brought about some changes.
"'Morning, boys." Both men, stood, a bit creakily, as men of their generation did, until she sat down.
"Have a good flight?" said Ernie.
"Yes, thank you. Flying private is so much nicer, but these morning commutes are a bit of a bear." Agnes pulled a ball of yarn and two knitting needles out of her carry-on bag, and proceded to get to work. "I need to find a nice place locally, maybe go home on the weekends." Did you two hear about the man in Costa Rica?"
"We did. Jim sent him an invite. We'll see what happens." Ernie replied.
"Oh that's nice. It would be good to have a new face here. We should diversify a bit."
"That's what I was just saying!" Jim said.
"Not the Russians, dear." Agnes said, knitting and pearling. " They've been nice to us, but things haven't quite stabilized there yet. Let's wait a bit until things calm down. There will be plenty of people like us with coins tucked away somewhere. Those are the people I'd rather do business with. Oh, by the way, I spoke to Red on the phone. He's stuck in Toronto, poor dear. Some sort of blizzard. He said he'd be in tomorrow though, and he'll abide by any decisions we make."
"Sounds good. Ah, here we go." Ernie grinned, as Frank returned with a tray of steaming coffee and biscuits. "So..." he said, unboxing one of the sticky treats, "who do we bail out this week?"
"How about the credit union coalition? They seem to be doing *much* better than corporate banks." Agnes said, stirring cream into her coffee.
"Ain't that the deal Buffett invested in?" Jim said, around a mouthful of biscuit.
"Yeah. I always liked him. He never let money go to his head. Had some coins stashed away too. Frank?" Ernie said. "Call Warren Buffett's people. Invite him down to breakfast next week, and tell him we'd like to look at the credit union deal."
Frank the guard nodded, and pulled a phone out of his pocket to make the call.
"What about those guys in California..the one's who say they figured out the computer virus?" Ernie licked frosting off his fingers. "Any opinions?"
"Forget 'em." said Jim, slurping coffee. "They got us into this mess in the first place. Heck, one of 'em probably wrecked all the banks."
"Let's be fair, dear." Agnes daintily nibbled at a biscuit. "They did give a nice presentation last week, and like it or not, boys, the world still runs on computers."
"Ok, so a firm maybe. We tell them to keep working, and talk to us when they've got something. Frank, let them know, would you?" said Ernie.
Frank the guard nodded, scribbling notes into a pocket notebook.
"Donald Trump sent me another note. He seems rather desperate." Agnes said quietly. The other two looked up, looked at each other, then at Agnes. As one, all of them shook their heads.
"*That* was easy." Jim said.
As the morning wore on, the fates of nations and businesses were decided over checkers, canasta, and backgammon.
| 4 | 0 | 98 | 2,917 |
[WP] The gene for self-awareness has been discovered. Not everyone has it.
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You don't know why you're here? Have you been in a cave?
Oh, I'll explain as best I can ... I'm pretty groggy, so sorry in advance.
For me the news broke at the worst possible time. I was teetering on the edge of homelessness, selling scrap and picking up day labor work to keep a roof over my head. Where I lived, real jobs had become a thing of myth and legend...but at least Government healthcare was free.
I wasn't prepared for what happened - but looking back I suppose there's no way anybody could have been.
It all seemed innocuous at first: a new gene had been discovered, and it was found across species but always in a minority of the population. Humans scored between Bonobos (9%) and Chimpanzees (2%) with a whopping 2.9%
I'm no scientist, but the gist was that this marker correlated to a tiny layer of frontal cortex (more of a smear than an organ - that's how they missed it) and that led to certain... behaviors.
...sorry... little dizzy there... hang on a second
I don't know how they got the human test results - probably through the national health service, but somehow they got enough samples to see a pattern.
Apparently this gene, and that tiny extra layer of brain cells, made folks (and apes, and whales, and elephants, and dogs) more altruistic. Less personally driven, more cooperative with the group.
In humans it also predisposed them to a life of poverty.
The rest I'm sure you read about - the sweeping raids in tenements, the seizures of kids from school, the disappearing of the homeless.
They're returned, changed for the better. People stop taking advantage of them, and they're more focused on success. Government officials say it has been good for the economy and when something goes wrong... well, we need people to dig ditches too.
I hear the procedure has been refined, so I'm not too worried.
I just wish they hadn't strapped my hands down, because my nose itches.
| 3 | 0 | 468 | 50,273 |
[IP] Hanged
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Wednesday was Jacob's least favorite day. He hated it because it meant seeing the hangers. Unfortunately for Jacob, he was best suited for the job. An entire county was set aside for housing the paranormal, and it was Jacob's luck to be assigned to the hangers. For his own sanity, he was only to work one day a week, a privilege he shared with all employees that engaged directly with the subjects in their care.
On this particular Wednesday, he was picked up by the company and driven to the forest as usual. Although Jacob was used to the sight, it still struck him every week how out of place the cluster of trees looked. It could be seen from the highway as they approached, a forest that looked as though it had been planted all at once by a very bored higher power. That was not true of course, as the origins of the hangers had all but been scientifically proven. This was little consolation for Jacob, who was no less unsettled by his charges, regardless of where they came from.
The men in suits opened the door of the car, and he stepped out, facing the entrance to the woods. He always entered in the same place, two broken trees lean upon one another forming a seemingly accidental gateway. Jacob looked to his right and left, as though about to step out onto a busy road, before crossing the actual wooded threshold before him.
The whispering started almost immediately, as it always did. Jacob did not hear it; he never had. Deaf from birth, he was immune to the hangers' primary method of control. That did not stop him from feeling their influence however. He felt their soft, cunning vibrations in the hair on the back of his neck. He felt the undetectable reverberations in his stomach. Even now, he was nauseous, but he pressed on. He could not stop until he'd made it a half mile into the woods. That is where *they* were.
Although he was not permitted to discuss his work with anyone, Jacob had described the hangers to the company therapist countless times. To Jacob, they all seemed to be women, the same woman, wearing plain dresses that were identical except for the damage done to them. It was not the torn clothing, bloated skin or obscured faces that haunted Jacob however. It was the way they moved.
The hanged women would sway in the breeze, only there was no wind to be felt. Before containment, the hangers had for centuries lured victims into their woods. They whispered their apologies, claimed their suicide was a mistake and that they would never harm themselves again if the passerby would simply help them down off the branch from which they hung. Each good Samaritan only added to their ranks.
With no voices to sway him, Jacob felt no pity for them and was immune to their calls, but he did fear them. Their limbs twitched and their heads rolled from side to side to relieve the burning sensation of the noose around their necks. Jacob had even seen one struggle with her hands on the rope. Only once though, had he made the mistake of getting to close to one. His shoulder had brushed her finger tips and immediately her hand latched onto him. He was able to pry himself free that day, and learned his lesson.
On this day, however, he again made a mistake. He was nearly to the center of the woods, where he work was to be done. He couldn't put his finger on why exactly, but he felt a need to interrupt the familiar walk. Wondering what new trick the hangers were attempting on him, Jacob paused for a moment, absentmindedly placing his hand on the bark of a nearby tree.
He felt vibrations through the bark, a melody. It was one he knew well. It was the same song his wife used to hum for him. Though he could never truly hear her voice, he loved it just the same. He remembered those nights where they would lie in bed contently, before he'd taken this job. He would roll onto side and place his hand on her chest and she would hum for him. Those kinds of memories were painful, which is likely why the forest chose them.
At first, Jacob didn't look up. He wasn't far enough in yet for there to be hangers. They lived only in the center of the forest and he wasn't even halfway and yet here was his wife's song. Though he kept his eyes to the ground, Jacob's hand did not leave the bark of the tree until the melody was finished. Lifting his gaze, he saw a woman hanging from the branch above him just like those he saw every Wednesday. She had the same ruined dress, the same matted black hair, and the same slimy skin. It was her hands that were different, that unnerved Jacob to his very core.
They were signing to him.
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 146,041 |
[WP] For years, from since you both can remember, all the way up into adulthood, not a day has gone by that you and your best friend havent been anywhere without the other. Each day you go home and everything's a blur until you meet up. Then one day, you find out your an imaginary friend.
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Josh and I have been best friends forever. When he was younger, Josh and I were always together, playing moon-landing in the sandbox, Firemen with the sprinkler and lots and lots of legos. He said I had the best games. When school started, I was always there to help him. He was better at adding and I was better at reading. For some reason, Mrs. Becker never gave me any of my own work, and always looked right through me. None of the other kids wanted to play with either of us, it was always just me and Josh.
Josh's mom was a real nice lady. She can't hear me very well, but Josh always repeats things louder for me. They didn't have much, but she never minded sharing. I never ate anyways, I never get tired or hungry. At night, when Josh sleeps, I get to pick all the games, but sometimes, they get too scary and he gets mad at me.
As he got older, I was still always there but he began to play with other kids more, just whispering to me every now and then. The other kids thought I was weird so Josh never talked about me. It made me angry so I would play the scary games a lot, and to make him wake up and play with me.
Then came the blackouts. Josh started shutting me out. He only called on me when he had some sort of creative paper or art project, the rest of the time it is dark, and I am alone. Sometimes, I hold back, make him wait to hear my ideas so he has to stay with me longer.
Now I can't seem to go anywhere. When he calls on me, I help him, but then it goes back to floating in the blackness. Now that I am less busy, I have some time to think. I don't remember ever being without Josh, I have never been with anyone else, I have walked alone in the world. I have never slept or ate or showered or been heard by anyone else. I have come up with every creative idea that Josh has ever used...
Amid the darkness, everything becomes clear. I am always with Josh because I am part of him. I am Josh's imagination and I know everything he about him. What he likes, what he dislikes, ever single embarrassing moment, and fear were shared.
If he keeps neglecting me, I will make him pay.
| 1 | 0 | 648 | 144,823 |
[WP] Someone can't afford to pay the overdue fee for late books.
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"Stop right there!" Sam looked back to see two Literofficers running yelling at him. He had been sitting enjoying a coffee at a local shop but now he was up on his feet pumping the pavement through the downtown core. People were looking he noticed. Small children with wide eyes and adults with sad disdain on their faces. Sam looked up ahead, there was no point in hiding in the crowd once they knew who he was running from they would turn on him and he would be lucky if they handed him over nicely. He noticed an alley way. He ducked in and used a trash can to jump over a fence blocking an entrance to a pay only car park. Ducking down behind some more bins that were on the other side of the fence he hid hoping that they would pass him by. The Literofficers ran around the corner and looked but couldn't find him. They traced where they thought he would have gone and decided that Sam would have probably kept running and that they could probably setup a blockade down 5th and main and cut him off with a few more officers.
Sam waited 5 minutes then used the bins on this side of the fence to climb back over and retrace his steps. Sam figured they wouldn't look where they had already looked. Getting over the fence was a little harder without the two officers chasing him. He had to come up with a plan SOON before they found him. His only chance was to return the books that were overdue. "God damn book police" he thought. "Bunch of overpowered assholes" this he said out loud which drew looks from the crowd. He figured that the books must have been stuffed in his locker at the gym. Hopefully they weren't searching there yet. If he could get down past the blockades he could get the books and return them before anyone noticed.
Sam had the books and was at the library, he was hotly debating if he could throw them in the overnight bin and hope they didn't catch him before the next day when the books would be put back in circulation. The risk he figured was just as great to get out of the building as it was to sit at the automated kiosk for a minute. So he got up to the kiosk. Sam ran up his first of 5 books, an alarm sounded. They had located him based on his first return. If he didn't get the other 4 in before someone caught up to him he was done for. The second book scanned in and he noticed out of the corner of his eye a big burly man running up to him. The librarian! Sam started to panic, switched to the 5th book and scanned it in no problem. Fumbling along he decided he could type in the code manually but the pad was busted. Starting to whimper he felt a hand on his shoulder as the last book finally rang through.
The alarm ceased. The librarian got a twisted look on his face, grabbed Sam and pulled him into his office. Sam the whole time pleading "NO I returned the books I just need to pay the fee!"
The librarian let out an awful laugh as he pulled his office door shut. "DO you even know what the fee is for returning a book late? Used to be redundant organ transplant donor." The librarian laughed. "These days there's not too many people who return a book late let alone go to collections. Let's see, you've had these 5 books out for 3 weeks past their due date. That puts you on the list for 5 major infractions."
Sam stiffened up a bit and looked down at the floor thinking before raising his head "you know this is crazy, the amount of order and power you instill is just crazy. Besides there's no need for organ transplantation anymore. We both know that, and these silly rules were just put in place so that you would have something to do after the digital crash of the library. No one can buy a book anymore. These libraries. Pfft rentals for the wicked people call them." Sam couldn't believe what he had just said. This man had the power to end him if he wanted and with five infractions it wasn't looking good.
The librarian seemed annoyed and angry then when he saw the scared and defeated look on Sams face he smiled "I'll forget the comments of a man temporarily insane. Unfortunately we still have a payment to repay." The librarian pressed a button. In walked two Literofficers big burly ones. The Librarian put his elbows on the table and leaned in "hello gentlemen can you please escort this man to the paper cutter".
The two men dragged Sam over to a large paper cutter with a long knife that some would have considered a sword in ancient times, bent like a scythe. The two men lifted him onto the table and laid his hand down into the edge with the sharp blade hanging in the air like a Guillotine. Same struggled.
In the silent halls of the Library everyone heard a large scream fallowed by a bunch of whimpering that tapered off. No one said a word. No one dared, not in the Library.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 83,276 |
[WP] You hear a knock at the door. Upon answering, you see a stranger. He looks at you and says, "There's no time to explain, just come with me."
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Author Note-Some curse words, one f-bomb. Sorry for the wall of text.
Mornings used to go pretty well for me. I get up at 8 on weekdays and 10 on the weekends. Breakfast of eggs, toast, or cereal (if I'm feeling really lazy). Shower, shave, the whole deal is fairly routine. My job is close enough that I can bike to work, weather permitting. In fact, my schedule was so fixed that most days I woke before my cell phone could chirp once. So I was quite shocked to jolt to consciousness by my doorbell. My cell phone informed me that it was six in the morning, so I was a bit cross to be up at this hour on Saturday. *Something better be really wrong for someone to be ringing this early*
I donned my robe and slipped my phone into it's pocket. Struggling to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I made my way through the cacophony of my bell (had it always been that damn loud?) to my front door.
"It works, it works. No need to keep testing it," I groaned as I opened the door, "This better be good."
Standing on my stoop was a woman I had never seen before. Shorter than me, brown hair in a short ponytail, she was wearing a tight black set of athletic gear. She looked worried. Despite her worried look, she was quite attractive. Why can't the Jehovah's witnesses go door to door with their attractive female members? Oh yeah, duh.
"There is no time for me to explain, you need to come with me," she said while nervously checking behind her.
"Like hell I do," I replied,"It is six am on a Saturday morning and I don't have anywhere to be today."
"Damn," she seemed to say to herself,"I really didn't want to do this." Of course before I could get out an indignant "Good day" or "who are you? or even "do what?" she does something and a flash of light causes my vision to go and I pass out.
I don't know how long I was out but I noticed a few things when I started to come to. First, my head was pounding like it was my freshman year at uni. Second, that I seemed to be strapped to a table of some kind. And third, once I opened my eyes, I was not alone.
"W-Where the fuck am I?" I manage to stammer. My throat feels like it's made of sand.
"You are safe her, don't worry," the woman replied,"You have something that we need and we don't have any time to waste."
"Let me go! Who are you!" I was shouting. Understandably, I was angry. This woman assaulted me, kidnapped me, and now had me strapped to some kind of table.
"Listen, you've been drugged, you're going to go under in just a minute or two. It's in your best interest to listen," She said. Her tone suggested
"Drugged? What have you done to me?" I was scared, this crazy woman was going to murder me.
"Someone very important is very ill. You happen to be an organ match-"
"But I'm using my organs! Don't kill me!" I shouted, struggling against my bonds.
"Look, We don't kill. We just need one kidney and part of your liver. I know you don't believe me, but this is really for the greater good.
"Please, no, let me go," My head was starting to feel light and my vision was blurring. "Oh god," I muttered, beginning to slur. The woman turned and spoke through to the next room. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was her speaking.
"Ok Mr. Shakur, Your procedure is about to begin."~
Ok just my dumb little story. Thanks for reading, any feedback appreciated.
| 2 | 0 | 33 | 137,904 |
[EU] Socially awkward James Bond.
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The man, all dressed in black with a bright red scarf was staring at him from across the marble table. "Well, what is your name?"
"The name is Bond, Bond James...err... James Bard, Jim Bond, I mean, JAMES, my name is JAMES BOOD, BOND! JAMES BOND". (Brilliant James, brilliant, can't even remember my own bloody name. He thinks I'm an idiot.)
"No need to yell Bond, we got it. Can I get you a drink?"
(Alright James, don't screw this up. Should I go for a daiquiri? No, he probably doesn't have fresh strawberries. What am I thinking? A daiquiri?! I'm such a pussy. I should just order whiskey on the rocks. I hate whiskey though. I need a drink that says that I'm sophisticated, and definitely not a pussy - oh I got it!)
"Of course, I'll have a martini."
"Shaken or stirred?"
Both, I guess, unless that's not an option. I'll have it stirred, unless shaken is better." (holy hell James, what are you doing?!?!)
The man stared back at him....
"Shaken, of course." (give him a cool stare... oh geez, he knows I'm full of it.)
"Mr. Bond, I've brought you to this underground lab to make a proposal."
"Whoa... Let's just have the drink first, see where the night goes."
"Bond, I don't want to sleep with you, its a business proposition."
"I don't imagine you do want to "sleep" with me at all! I don't see how the two of us spending the night makes any business sense whatsoever." (Good work James, hold your ground on this one.)
"My goodness man, I want you to deliver this suitcase, I'm not interested in you romantically."
"Of course, I was just testing you...." (Kill. Me. Now. How did I read that wrong?! Okay maybe he bought it.)
"Why would you need to test me???"
(Yeah, he didn't buy it. Change the subject, fast.) "Nevermind that, you passed. Now about this suitcase..."
"Yes, about the suitcase, but first, how is your drink James."
"Oh my God it's so good!" (Idiot. "oh my God it's so good!" I sound like a school girl trying her first daiquiri!)
| 1 | 0 | 190 | 100,486 |
[WP] The year is 2050, Wal-Mart is the supreme dictating orgnaization
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I hate mortgage shopping.
Particularly in the Seven Sector Walmart, which is a fancy name for the one with the worst mortgage tech support. Unfortunately, that's where I live. Seven Sector. And the first six were experiments, but we're basically a test run to see what went wrong with the sectors before us.
You see, sectors are basically consumer blocks. I probably don't need to explain this, because as I document these words, surely future societies will know this information in their history banks, but if such a time arrives in our distant future where sectors no longer exist, for either better or worse, at least someone knows how we are living.
So, consumer blocks. Geographic locations were monitored for spending habits for a lot of years prior to this whole project. We had multiple petabytes of information in state of the art databases keeping track of how certain demographics consumed. I guess when the project was conceived, that information was used to group people by habit in a sector. Walmart, of course--being the sole proprietor for most of this technology--had the political sway and footholes to get this thing off the ground.
So I'm in Seven Sector, and we have a locally governing Walmart that dictates internal trade for the sector and inter-sector trade. We no longer use "money", as it used to be called, but SecQ. Which is basically just shorthand for Sector quality, which is determined by the quality of goods your Walmart Sector has. Needless to say, those of us in Seven Sector are pretty hard up. Most times we turn to the unregulated (and underground) K-market for goods to return to the Walmart in order to get credits for more lower quality goods that can trade out to a higher Sector Walmart for additional credits back. This is basically how we game the system, but the system is catching on.
Anyway, about my mortgage shopping. The entire problem with it is that your loan is based on lower-Sector goods that intrinsically have lesser value than the higher Sectors. What this ultimately means is that you will likely be stuck in that Sector because no one else in others will would want to buy in your Sector and not be able to profit off lower-value goods.
So really, it is a prison. Designed to keep us where Walmart thinks we belong. Designed to control our lives by taking our options away from us and chaining us to the unavailability of options.
Yet, here I am, at the mortgage counter at Walmart while listening to the defense secretary of this sector being paged over the intercom to assist on aisle three with a "clean up". Knowing I'm buying into my own imprisonment. But only for the fact that I have no other choice.
| 3 | 0 | 24 | 207,541 |
[EU] One day at school, four students end up in detention: Bart Simpson, Stewie Griffin, Eric Cartman, and Louise Belcher.
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[Writer assumes that crossover episodes involving the Simpsons + South Park, and Family Guy + Simpsons to be involved in story's timeline. They have also not watched Bob's Burger and barely makes only passing reference to Louise's character.]
"Damnit, you old lady! You put me down right now or I will shit on your lawn! Don't tempt me, I'll do it!"
"How rude, into detention you go!" the teacher yells at the boy, slung over her shoulder.
"No! Mom! I don't even go here!"
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"Bart?" A morbidly obese child stumbles into the room, carrying a large yellow backpack on his greasy back, covered with a familiar red jacket.
"Eric." The oddly yellow skinned boy is standing at the front of the room, scribbling on the board with a piece of white chalk.
"I shall not make poorly-done cross-fiction fanfiction." is written on it several times, in fact, neatly stacked in little columns.
"What're you doing here, you fucking Simpson? This is Rhode Island, isn't Springfield in like...
An infant wails angrily in the corner, a screwdriver in one hand and a little metal box in the other. Countless screws and cogs lie sprawled around in a corner. "Will you both shut up?! I'm trying to cope without Rupert and it's very difficult without some peace and quiet!" The young Stewie Griffin says in a Posh.
"Clam it you little psychopath." Bart throws a piece of chalk over at him, hitting the baby square in his football shaped head.
"I don't even know why I ever liked you!" Stewie shouts back with venom in his tone, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. "I hate you!"
"So, Cartman, what're you doing here in detention? Lisa had some kinda concert and it turns out that riding in with a skateboard is 'vandalism of city property."
"Oh, you know. I was just minding my own business, hanging with my friends. Then this one creepy-looking ginger Jew called the cops on me since I was practicing German on Kyle."
"Uh-huh." Bart looks at the window. There's no way out besides the door and a possible vent in the corner.
"So, how long are we gonna be here, ten minutes, I'm starving."
"Three hours." says the Griffin child, finishing up his "box" and stacking his tools in a little toy box.
"What?! But, I need to go soon! They're having a sale for the new PS4 and I wanted to get one!" Cartman bawls, running sluggishly to the door. "Hey, let me out! I have a console to buy since my other one sucked ass!"
"Cartman, relax. I-," Stewie interrupts Bart, throwing the same piece of chalk at the Simpson's head. "We, we have a plan."
"What kind of plan?" Cartman turns his head around, looking at the two evil masterminds trapped with him.
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A short fifteen minutes of subplot later finds the three standing outside the school. Glass from the window lies shattered on the grass below while smoke and cinder fly from the burning roof of the school. The strange odor of burnt flesh and ashes fills the air around. The howls and wails of an old lady fills ear with its horrid sounds.
"Told you it would worked." Stewie says, sitting in front of his dog, Brian.
"What happened to that Louis girl though?" Bart says, aiming a rock at an uncracked window.
"Oh, she slapped me in the face so I told her to bring the bombox to the old lady." Cartman says, playing on a little console he'd previously hidden away in his backpack.
"What in the hell did you three even do?"
"We served detention."
*Roll Credits*
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 161,120 |
[WP] Write a serious story with a protagonist who has an unfortunately funny name.
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The detective looked over the files spread on her desk. It was a slam dunk case; two men were operating one of the largest meth cook sites in East Dallas. All the detective needed was a warrant.
She picked up the phone, and dialed the District Attorney's office.
"D.A.'s, this is Janice." the voice said.
"Yes, this is Detective Waggletits, Narcotics. I need to speak--" the detective was cut off by the mild sound of laughter. She sighed, and continued.
"I need to speak to someone in Judge Hascon's office. We need a warrant signed." She looked at the clock. It was 11:45 AM. If she could get this signed they could set up a raid overnight.
"Yes, one moment please." the stifled laughter continued, then hold music. Detective Waggletits was not pleased with the unprofessionalism.
The hold music cut out, and a male voice answered.
"Judge Hascon's office. How can I help you?" he said. Detective Waggletits sighed.
"Yes this is... a detective from the Narcotics division. I need a warrant signed for entrance and seizure-of-assets for a warehouse on Division Ave." she said. A pause on the other line, and she could hear typing.
"Okay, Judge Hascon is in court, scheduled to be in Chambers at 1:00 pm today, will that work?" More typing. She nodded.
"Yes," she said into the phone. "That's fine, I'll be there at one."
"Great, and your name?" he asked politely. She hesitated.
"My name is Wendy, I'll be by at one." She wrote the time down on her legal pad.
"Okay, and your last name?" he asked, again, very politely. She sighed.
"Waggletits." she said, matter-of-factly.
"I- I'm sorry?" he said, a slight laughter in his voice.
"Waggle. Tits. *Detective* Waggletits." she said curtly.
Silence on the other end. She couldn't tell if he had muted her or just wasn't breathing. Finally, he spoke.
"Okay Detective Waggletits, I have you down for 1:00 pm. See you then." She hung up immediately.
She sat back in her chair. They could laugh all they wanted. She was finally going to end one of the largest drug rings in the city, and boost her career.
"Detective First Grade Wendy Waggletits." she whispered softy to herself, smiling.
| 14 | 0 | 13 | 93,632 |
[WP] A 20 year old girl is standing completely alone on the ledge of a VERY tall bridge. Just before she jumps, she hears a gentle voice from behind her...
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"Mind if I join you up there?" I said, and without waiting for the girl to respond, pulled myself up beside her.
She's taken aback, she stares at the man incredulously as he stares out over the water.
I don't speak, it's not like I had a noble reason to be up here with her. Quite the contrary, I thought I might join her on this final trip.
She finally says, "W-What're you doing here? It's dangerous up here!" Not knowing how to deal with me, she stutters a bit getting her words out.
I cock an eyebrow at her, "Probably the same thing you're doing." I tell her wisely.
"I'm not here for some adventure, or a dive into the water, I'm here to kill myself." She snapped back. She held onto the guard railing and inched away from me. Probably to make sure I didn't try to force her off.
"Good thing, wouldn't want to join the group by accident, I'm definitely here for the same thing." I respond. I flash her my best smile.
Her eyes narrow as she looks at me, she looks like she's about to say something, but she stops herself and looks back up over the water.
"It's really heavy isn't it?" I ask her after a few seconds of staring at the water below.
"What is?"
"The nothingness in your head. I've always wondered if it's the same for everyone. For me, it's like this constant weight pulling you down mentally. Even when you feel emotion, it's always tied down with this anchor. This anchor that pulls it to nothing, or tells you that the emotions will fade."
This pikes her attention, she's stopped staring at the water, "How did you..."
"I told you already, I'm here for the same reason as you." I chide her gently, "do keep up."
"But that's.. you don't seem like it, you're practically *dancing* on the edge right now."
"That's bullshit and you know it. We all do something to pretend it away. Whether it's in the hope that the lies become real, or as an act for someone we 'love'. I just do the happy thing. Whooo whooo" I wave my hands around half-heartedly before letting them fall to my side. "I'm tired of it, the pretending, the nothing, everything."
She nods her head, "It's tough... I'm supposed to be invincible at my age, with so much potential, the world is my oyster and all that jazz, but it feels like nothing. I've tried the meds, the therapy, the support groups, all full of bullshit condescending advice of how things will get better and improve. I GET IT, it's supposed to and all that in the fantasy that you have, but that isn't me. I'm tired."
I nod my head, finally dropping the smile and the cheery demeanour. I imagine my soul sagging as I drop the facade. "Tired... tired is a good word." I point to the water with a quick jerk of my head. "Want to go?"
She nods her head. I take her hand. "I do."
As we fall, I have room for one last thought.
*I wonder what her name was.*
| 21 | 0 | 11 | 133,888 |
[WP] You are traveling alone by train through the cold, snowy mountains. It's night time, everyone is asleep. Suddenly the train lurches to a stop....
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Twelve hour days are usually the worst. I say usually because on those days that I only have to work for 8, they feel like 12, which for some reason seems to be worse than the regular 12 hour days. The train ride home was one of my only times to be alone. Between the job, my wife, , the newborn, the 3 year old son, my insomnia and my mother-in-law, the train was my respite from the rest of the world. The extended shift meant less commotion on the later train. Everyone else seemed to have used the time to take a trip off to the land of nod. I liked to read and be alone with my thoughts.
I normally try to read novels that have amazing covers. As I have found, the better looking the cover, the worse off the book. It's become a strategy of mine. I don't really care for the books I read, it's just a nice way to keep people from bothering me on the rides home. I've mastered it to a science. The book cover has to be so overdone that I know the novel will be trite, but not so amazing, that the cover will strike up a conversation from my fellow train patrons.
As I stared down at the blathering nonsense of a book, a book that would've been better served as a dime novel in the old west, the train began to slow at a rapid pace. Not uncommon on nights like this with snow on the ground. Small avalanches sometimes interfere with the openness of the tracks and we find ourselves stuck on board for an extra 30 minutes while the tracks are cleared. I relished the additional time to be spent with myself.
I continued on with the adventures of Simon Coolstag, the young German spy who's name was about as over the top as the plot, when I looked out the window. The vastness of the night was appealing. The moon was absent. The white of the snow clashed against the infinite darkness of the universe. The stars were innumerous and on this night. They were like snowflakes falling on the blanketed ground, far from their fiery essence that brought light to the night.
There was something about this picture that made everything seem so simple. This grand design from randomness had created a beauty that few could imagine. The realness, the vastness of the universe felt so comforting.
I lost myself for what felt like a few moments when the train started to move forward again. No one else awoke from their slumber. My head swung back from it's windowed view and back to Coolstag,with his Nazi zombie hunting.
We passed the abandoned lumber camp which let me know we were about 10 minutes from my stop. My stop which brought with it my gorgeous wife, my wonderful newborn, my amazing son, my lovely...Lovely? Yes, tonight we'll stick with lovely. My lovely mother-in-law, all awaited my arrival. My life was complicated, clashing, random and beautiful. I wouldn't trade it for anything else.
| 2 | 0 | 19 | 40,153 |
[WP] Something is looming over the horizon. Most people are running in fear...but some are wandering closer
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It was a windy, cold Spring day in Washington D.C. when the sky ripped open.
It happened with a thunderous crash. I dropped my suitcase and stood, covering my ears with my hands as the reverberation swept through Farragut West, rattling the window panes of the glass and steel high-rises. The whole city seemed to freeze in place as a giant figure descended from the dark, shimmering tear in the morning sky. It was a man, of sorts. A colossus from some other place, bigger and meaner than anything our ancestors could have dreamed up.
It landed somewhere between McPherson Square and Chinatown, kicking up a sheet up dust and dirt that swirled in the whipping breeze. Then it roared, brandishing a huge cudgel capable of unimaginable destruction. That's when the chaos erupted.
People poured out into the streets, screaming, running as fast as they could in the other direction. Businessmen in suits trampled and clambered over cars, slipping and tripping over each other to get away. I saw a woman, in a feat of strength, lift both her children up and begin hurrying toward a nearby alley. Thousands brushed past me as I stood. Watching.
I stepped forward.
The crowd parted around me as I walked; it was as if I repelled them with some invisible, magnetic force. I may have. Even now I don't understand the specifics of what happened.
As I walked down the street and into the wide avenue heading toward the rampaging beast, I saw the others. Like me they walked, somberly but with a strength to their stride. They felt it too. It was a calling. A pull. It was as natural as going to sleep. Or waking from a dream.
Together, we walkers approached the destruction of the colossus. Beside his towering legs stood the wreckage and rubble of downtown Washington. A few stragglers, still trying to flee, were dodging the overturned cars and concrete rebar that littered the block. They passed by us, not seeing or caring, desperately limping toward safety.
As we reached the end of the block, we stood. Men and women, office workers, students, and home-makers. There were about twenty of us in the group that formed a small phalanx.
The colossus turned toward us, its massive bulk pushing the air as it shifted around.
Then, I felt it. A rush. Inhuman strength funneled into me from an unknown source, channeling through my limbs. Energy lit up like jet fuel in my stomach. The phalanx broke, and we attacked. The Sentinels of Earth ran into battle.
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 123,330 |
[WP] Your will requests that you want a "space burial." You discover your loved ones have honored it when you awake on another planet. It would seem someone managed to revive you.
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The air I breathe glitters down by throat as Im pulled along on my back, blearily looking up to the stars above me, consellations I don't recognise.
With each breath I feel more and more in my place, as if I'm slowly fading into the world. My head sparking with light and thought, flashing disjointed memories of the crash in of me. The strange taste of the place causes me to cough, and when I try to bring my arm up to my mouth I find it caught, bound to my side along with its opposite.
Suddenly, my view of the stars is erased by bright line; two artificial suns beating down from above - forcing my dry eyes shut. I'm picked up, to alien chatter and hastened footsteps, and when I brave the light again I open my eyes to find myself inside, staring upward at a primitive lamp, still unable to move.
I wonder if this is the afterlife, or whether I ever really died; the crash of my coffin forcing me out of a coma and into life in a strange place. But I feel body coming to life again, bllod through my veins and sweat on my skin - and with each uncomfortable drip on my face, and circulation past my heart, I know that I had died, wondering whether I could feel all this before, if I noticed it.
I try to turn my head, peering round to catch a glimpse at one of the new creatures - but my senses are overexposed, terrifying. I cannot believe I could ever listen to this noise, take in so much information, I never realised how difficult it was simply to be alive.
When I realise I'm alone I rest myself, quietly considering what circumstances brought me here. I rack my mind for memory of me arriving, the earliest thing I recall being the air. Crystal and cold, soaring throughout me, the spectacle of just feeling.
Then the vehicles, roaring in the dark crudely toward me. Almost invisible, emerging from the black. The creatures getting out, dragging me along and forcing me here. How similar they seemed, yet so different; the clothing, the gait, the badges.
The stars and stripes.
| 21 | 0 | 436 | 185,859 |
[Wp] The most unassuming and peaceful nation decided enough was enough and proceeded to take over the world for its own good
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Nobody saw it coming.
It happend practically over night.
They went unnoticed by history for decades.
They stayed out of war and trouble for ages.
And suddenly they shut down all these bank accounts.
All leaders and dictators of war monging nations where suddenly without any financial support to protect themselves.
The US attempted a preventative strike before they launched the invasion, but their mountain-fortresses where invulnerable.
Nobody saw it coming, but why?
They just figured it out... it all.
How to run a government, how to run an economy, everything.
A national referendum finally decided they should "gift" this knowledge to the world....
Well no. The real reason behind this was that all the wars going on in the middle-east and the epidemics in Africa actually forced the banks to hand out all the money to it's (more or less) rightful owners.
They became affraid, that their wealth might finally come to an end, so they decided to do something about it....
Now i'm sitting here, eating Toblerone and writing this.
| 12 | 0 | 66 | 106,683 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
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I felt the cold stone pressed against my cheek, I felt like hell. Groaning, I cracked one eye open, realizing I was lying on a marble floor. It didn't feel like a hangover... but never in my life had I woken up on an unknown floor feeling like shit without the involvement of alcohol before. Time to get up and figure out how to get home. I flopped onto my stomach, tucking my knees, and somehow crawled through the air into an upright position. Man, I really felt like shit. I looked around. Then looked again, then stared, because I wasn't on someone's front drive, I wasn't in some park, or even passed out on a street or sidewalk (again). I was in huge, white marble room. The floors polished, imposing pillars in the place of 4 walls, and beyond it, green. Luscious green gardens. The babble of water and birdsong floated through the air, hitting my ear gently, sweetly. The fuck.
"Ethan" A voice boomed out.
Shit, I was dead, I'd somehow died. I frantically retraced my steps, I'd driven my little brother home, I'd gone for a relaxed night at my friend's , a couple of beers, some playstation. Maybe I hadn't gone to his house? Maybe I'd crashed the car when driving Evan home. Shit, I whipped around, looking for my baby brother, surely he'd be dead here too? Mom was going to kill me.
"Am I dead?!" I managed to squeak out, in a decidedly un-manly way.
"No, Ethan, you are something far beyond dead or alive."
A man began to form in front of me, as if the air itself was solidifying to allow him a body. Within seconds, bouncy blonde hair and baby blue eyes faced me, with a chiseled nose and chin. A handsome man, dressed in white.
"I am God, Ethan. But I grow weary, I grew weary long ago. I must now present you in front of my peers … this is a grave, serious responsibility.
We chose you, for your qualities of a god, to replace me."
Peers? Like, a panel? And I had their qualities? Shit I must be dreaming, drunk or high.
"What qualities of a God do I have??"
The beautiful man's eyes crinkled, as he chuckled. "Think, boy, tell me all the Godly things you have done. I will tell which the one true deciding factor is, once my peers have arrived"
No sooner than he'd said it, I saw other wispy forms begin to materialize. Feminine forms, masculine forms, about a dozen in total. All in Greek togas, golden leaves twined into their hair, tall, beautiful and majestic, each and every one. There were 12 Greek gods, all staring at me in curious anticipation.
I cleared my throat. "Uhm, I guess, I'm not racist, sexist, a rapist a murderer? I help my kid brother when I can… I gave a homeless man money on the street the other day, I…" the list went on.
As I began to list, I realized I was indeed, good. I was loving, caring, so human, and kind, so simply virtuous. Yes I'd done bad things, don't we all? But I always sought forgiveness. I could be a just and true God, I would be fair and kind, and human. I…. noticed three of the males behind God beginning to laugh. Then I noticed grins and smiles on the faces of the other 9. By this point, the first three were in hysterics, holding each other, almost crying with laughter. 4 of the women cracked, descending into raucous laughter. A huge smile creased God himself's face.
"Come on Zeus, mate, just tell the poor kid", a golden haired man with winged shoes forced out between laughs.
"Bless his little soul just let him know" one of the beautiful women giggled out
"You've been chosen…" explained Zeus…" BECAUSE BRO, YOU KNOW HOW TO PARTY"
They all started to chant "TOGA TOGA TOGA". A keg was brought out. I then realized... I was planning to join a fraternity at college. I was ready, I truly could party hard, fucking with little people on earth below me. I looked towards Zeus, and as I accepted my new role his smiling face faded, until all that was left was an echo on the wind. His voice. "Remember, the 11 must be replaced". There were eleven more gods and goddesses replacement's to find, and hundreds more fraternities and sororities to start on Earth. the next thousand years were going to be good.
| 7 | 0 | 565 | 90,341 |
[WP] The worst salesman in the world tries to sell you the best thing in the world.
|
*"Hello, my name is James and I'm here to make your dreams come true!"*
"What are you talking about?"
*"This incredible little concoction here can grant you eternal life. How good would that be?"*
"I don't believe you."
*"And you won't need to! See?"*
"How does that prove anything? You just drank it?"
*"Well, now I'm immortal!"*
"But how am I supposed to know that?"
*"...That's a good point..."*
"What if you tried to die?"
*"Geez, no, that'll fuckin hurt."*
"Well? How do you prove it?"
*"...Ok, forget that. This was obviously not the best idea. How about you just give me the benefit of the doubt?"*
"Why?"
*"Look man, I really need to sell this. The boss is breathing down hard on me."*
"I was wondering who that was."
*"Ok, I have an idea. You buy this, and just don't drink it until all the science dudes have finished all their testing. If they find out it's real, you keep it. Good for you. You're now immortal. If not, well I'll let you have a full refund."*
"It hasn't been tested?"
*"Shit--ah I mean, Yeah, the scientists I mentioned were those third party scientists that always have to double check everything to make sure our tests were right. You know, you see them all the time doing that drug recall nonsense."*
"You're a bad liar."
*"Maybe I'm a bad truther?"*
"That's not a word."
*"It isn't? It should be."*
"I disagree."
*"But liar needs an opposite."*
"What about truth-teller or soothsayer?"
*"Good point."*
"Thanks, now can you leave?"
*"Wait! I haven't sold you immortality yet? Don't you want to live forever, see the world far beyond your natural life span? Make friends with people all throughout time and then see them die in front of you over and over again. Then watch as the sun explodes, eating up the earth and leaving you just drifting for eternity in cold lonely space."*
"What the hell?"
*"Sorry, I just realised what's going to happen to me..."*
"You're really bad at this."
*"Yeah...Sorry for wasting your time."*
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 132,827 |
[WP] Only 90's kids remember the 90's. What happened? Why do only the kids remember?
|
I remember the 90's. I wish I didn't but I remember and there's nothing I can do about that. A memory is like an incurable disease that can cause an unending amount of suffering and pain. Something that cannot be cured by alcohol or drugs. Only death. Even then I'm not sure if the memory will fade away or still linger. I still remember the 90's and I remember why I wish I didn't.
I was still a child at the time, barely 7 months old when I saw what happened. What changed us. What he did. But I couldn't even blame him even though I wanted too. I couldn't imagine trying to fit in a world that would wholeheartedly reject you without a second thought. There were others before who tried to belong to it but to him they were just sheep in a wolf skin. An illusion of respect and belonging that he wanted so badly. He tried so hard to fit in to the culture but in the end it was all for nothing.
I remember the first time seeing him on television for the first time. Even though I was young. When something that horrific is shown to you it will scar you deeper than any blade. It was an introduction on who he was, what he wanted and what he stands for. The very first seconds of the broadcast flashed his title right at you like it was both a statement and a warning. A group of shadowy people in the dark begin to dance like crazed manics. Then *he* began to talk.
His first words was him stating that he was a very important person. His voice sent chills down my spine. A flow of agony struck me like someone kicked it down my throat. Even though the broadcast had both sinister tones and intentions it had this air of something warm and safe like a address from the Queen in her warm motherly voice but it was all a setup to run a bowie knife into your heart. The group of shadowy figures continued their ritualistic dance sucking all of your attention into a gravity well. That's when I saw him.
The first thing I remember seeing was his cold face. Emotionless. Despite him speaking the look on his face never changed, it remained the same like if a dead person was talking to you. His skin was white like snow and his hair was something I'd never seen before. He wore a white baggy robe-like shirt and a necklace like some sort of cult leader. He had that glow about him. He probably was now that think about it because he spoke in tongues. You could occasionally hear familiar words like 'candles' and 'light' but the rest sounded like gibberish. It might of been some ancient language, to this day I do not know. He continued his sermon but even in the early going I could hear his words killing my brain. A poisonous mushroom would have been relief at this point.
I continued watching this broadcast in great pain. Despite knowing this would be my undoing I was unable to move from my father knee. I began to cry as he began moving around like he was a puppet possessed, flailing him limbs with reckless abandon. I remember him saying that he would solve all of the worlds problems but even then I knew then that was a lie.
At this point everything became a blur. All I remember was the demonic movement of his neck and his puppet like dancing like he was controlled by an another worldly demon pulling strings. He begin to flaunt his wealth with expensive cars and girls waiting in line perhaps for a merciful sacrifice. I didn't know and that terrified me the most. How could so many women be infatuated by something that is clearly the product of pure evil. It might of been for the better because he proceeded to reject every single one of them. The first and only time I saw him display anything even close to mercy. After taunting the world with his powerful assortment of weapons in a clear threat to all world superpowers he begin to tell the story of his last violent outburst. About how many were slaughtered and his valiant escape by blending into the crowd while the authorities cast their suspicious gaze else where. The story was clearly a lie but he was so charismatic that many weak willed people believed him.
His dancers continued their hypnotic suggestive dancing as he began reciting his plans for control. His sermon was completely nonsensical at this point but you could easily identify very clear threats like 'chemical spill' and 'cutting people with a razor blade'. He also told of his plans for wealth from the drug trade. At this point my father who still had me on his knee began to cry. Finally his final threat was to take my mother. I knew he wasn't talking about my actual mother but this was enough for my father to shut the TV off and try to get me to sleep.
I didn't get sleep for weeks.
As time moved on his sermon begin to play on repeat for days. You could even occasionally hear it on the radio trying to reach more and more people like a plague. But time heals all wounds. As weeks turn to months that turn to years his message begin to lose it's reverence. He did try to reinforce his message on a number of occasions but none of them were as memorable or stressing as his initial broadcast. By the turn of the millennium he was nothing more than a memory, a painful memory but a memory never the less.
His effect on us has taken toll on us. Even in 2015 I still occasionally replay his sermon in my head and it makes me cringe. Everyone before the 90's has dismissed him as a raving lunatic and the generation after doesn't even believe someone who look, sound and acted like that could be considered world changing. But I do.
I remember the 90's. I remember Vanilla Ice. I remember Ice Ice Baby.
| 2 | 0 | 36 | 223,681 |
[CC] [PI] Response to Souls Prompt
|
Woah! This is my prompt! I didn't think anyone replied to it.
Awesome story man, I really liked the direction you took, kind of similar to the anime Soul Eater, if you've ever seen it. This is exactly the caliber of content I was looking for when I thought it up.
As for any criticisms, I'd have to agree with /u/sebastianjoejr in saying that some of it does feel a bit rushed and undeveloped. I know you said that's because you don't want it to be too long, but you don't have to hold back for me, I read and reply to all of the responses on my prompts.
For what I liked: Your description of the half-soul was very well done and I like the idea of rebuilding the soul by taking other souls. Also, the soul-weapon/armor concept is very cool. It'll be very interesting to see where you go from here, you could do a lot with the morality of what he's doing and I could see this becoming a very in-depth and complex story. If you were so inclined, I would read and support any sequels or continuations of this story.
All that said, thanks so much for checking out my prompt and writing this great story!
Love and Peace, Dude.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 127,984 |
[WP] A drug deal goes horribly wrong
|
Jack opened the briefcase and ran his fingers through the bills, caressing Benjamin Franklin's tattered face.
"I see you have it," whispered Michael. Michael was wearing blue jeans, a red and white flannel shirt, and grey sneakers. His blonde beard glowed in the black night of a San Francisco alley. He was a short and skinny man, just above five feet. When Michael was nervous, he would incessantly scratch his right hand--leaving red marks and scratches. Michael's hobbies consisted of tea making and crossword puzzles. He always kept a pen in the left pocket of his shirt, and his mind was already racing to solve the next puzzle.
As Jack handed the 3,000 dollars to Michael, a pen fell out of his pocket. He leaned down to get it. He noticed his hand was red, and wondered why. Before he had time to ponder the scratches on his hand, he gave the briefcase to Michael.
But Michael stood motionless. Jack was silent. They both stared at themselves through each other. Only one shadow stood in this alley. The capsule with the LSD was empty.
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 10,822 |
[WP] A normal family goes about their normal lives in a very normal way. You are the family's goldfish/pet. "What is normal?"
|
The man was intimidating, but I liked him. He was very energetic, and talked with his hands a lot. When he came home from work, he always grabbed his wife and dipped her down before he kissed her. She giggled and squealed and loved it every time. He was also very good to his two children. He taught the older onethe boy-how to carve wood and shoot guns. He picked up his little girl and spun her around in the air every day when she got home from school. He was even good to me, never forgetting to feed me my favorite fish food flakes – Aqua Yum Yums.
Sometimes he did things I didn't quite understand. He shot the family dog one time to prove a point, but he felt very bad after wards and cried and cried. The rest of the family forgave him, and so did I. I didn't really like the dog anyway. One day the little girl was behaving badly, so he took her upstairs and she screamed for what seemed like hours. He must have hurt her very badly, because they were both in tears when I saw them next. The little girl didn't go to school for a few days after that.
I thought he was a good man, but maybe I was wrong. One night he got very excited, and was explaining something to his wife. She seemed upset and slapped him across the face. Then he punched her square in the stomach and she puked all over the floor. He rubbed her face in it and they both cried. Then the older boy came up behind him and hit him with a shovel. I think he killed him because there was a lot of blood on the floor, and there was chunky stuff in it that looked like scrambled eggs, only covered in blood.
Since then, I haven't seen any of the family. I think they left me here and forgot about me. It's been a few days and I'm pretty hungry. What I would do for just a couple flakes of Aqua Yum Yums right now.
| 1 | 0 | 15 | 193,692 |
[WP] Humanity has cured old age. You were a friend of the last person to die of natural causes.
|
Death.
Anna was my friend, and she chose death. It seams incomprehensible.
Death is anything but inevitable these days. Its been hundreds of years since a genetically engineered virus swept through the entire population, masked as a common cold. It infected every one of our cells, altering the DNA so we never age. Unfortunately, it came with a side effect. It rendered us infertile.
Anna was a geneticist. She secretly worked to change this, to bring back fertility, change, death. Bring back the dynamics of life.
I am the only one she told. She tested her creations first on herself, and everyone believed it a miracle when, one day, she became pregnant. Only I knew the truth.
I watched Anna's children grow, and I watched Anna grow old.
Anna and I had many long talks, about motherhood, evolution, what would happen to an unchanging human race. She railed against the status quo. I remember once, in a café much like this one, her saying "We end here! If we don't evolve, don't recreate ourselves, then we are already dead."
It took most of her life, but she finally convinced me.
So here I sit in a busy café in Santiago. I have a cold. It's the same one Anna had, 60 years ago. But she carefully quarantined herself, let it run its course infecting anyone else. I am making a different, bigger choice. Masked in this cold is the death of all of us. We will have time, of course, 60 years, maybe 80 years for some. We'll have children, grandchildren, grow old, and die. But the young will walk these streets again.
I'm bringing death, and life, back to the humankind.
I sneeze on my bill, hand it waitress, and go out to the busy street. She doesn't react to my uncovered sneeze in the slightest. No one worries about colds these days anyway.
| 3 | 0 | 11 | 112,328 |
[WP] World's most successful assasin is a blind man, tell me his story.
|
"Can you spare a few dollars?" The senator looked down at the blind man, clutching the same piece of cardboard scrawled with "God Bless" and, like every other day, headed down the opposite end of the alley.
He should really find a different shortcut, but this was the one that everyone used to get to one political building to the next. No matter the season, there were always infuriating piles of dry leaves rustling around his feet, and few people besides that blind old man. Anyways this was probably the safest alley, people died in the other ones, the ones on the wrong side of town. Bill was spread out in the ally between the bakery and the Laundromat, Charles was found behind that "gourmet" italian place... Three dead in one month.
Something was off, where was everyone? He could see no one, all he could hear was the crinkle as he waded through the leaves. The senator glanced over his shoulder to see the beggar looming right behind him. He didn't even have time to scream.
The next day, a busboy at the grimy chicken place went to throw the garbage out and saw what had clearly been the scene of a murder, blood on the wall, body in the trash, and called the police.
No one suspected the blind man.
| 6 | 0 | 78 | 174,971 |
[wp]As the clock strikes 12 on New Years Eve every screen in the world brodcasts a transmition from a forign alien race claiming they will invade in exactly 100 years from now. What happens?
|
Admiral Colins sat in the captains chair watching the clock tick down. 23:30 12/31/2114. His thoughts drifted back to when he was 6 and his father first told him about what was coming in 35 years. Who would have thought that young boy would the commander of the most powerful force the earth had ever seen.
A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, not due to the heat of the suns corona where his ship and 11 others were now floating in a perfect circle, 5 miles away from each other, all facing towards a white cylinder 1000 feet long and 200 feet wide. No, it wasn't the heat, the shielding China, India and Russia co-developed 20 years ago protected them from that, pulling energy from the sun itself to power an all but impenetrable field around each ship. Colins was sweating due to what was about to happen, war.
After the alien signal 100 years ago war became almost nonexistent. The world united with one common goal, protecting ourselves from extinction. Everything became open, all technological information was available to everyone on earth for tweaking. Good thing, the basic idea for the device in the center of the circle of ships came from a 15 year old autistic savant in 2078. The idea sent scientists in a whole new direction for the counter-offensive we would mount.
For 100 years the combined efforts of Earth tried and failed to develop faster than light travel. The advances we made were amazing but this was one thing we just could not figure out. We never even got close, but we knew who had it and we were going to get it whatever the cost.
Humans. Not the type to let the fight come to them. Not twice.
23:45
Stationed around the solar system small circles started to power up. MK-SRLs each about the size of a large dinner plate with a half inch edge and open in the middle. Small by design. Hard to track and more energy into a smaller point is just what we needed.
We had no idea what kind of tech the aliens had so we went with our best guess using the physics we knew.
23:59
Here we go. Admiral Colins gave the order for all 12 ships to power up their main cannon, a particle accelerator, each pushing out more energy every second than all mankind uses in a decade.
24:00
It wasn't like the movies, they didn't appear in a flash of light or through a visible wormhole. The just kind of, dropped into space from nowhere. Halfway between mars and the moon 24 ships arrived. 23 of them were 2 miles wide and 1 mile long, the 24th was beyond anything we had imagined, 15 miles wide and 8 miles long. Colins would later laugh to himself that the first thing he thought was how odd it was the ships were wider than they were long.
00:01
The MK-SRLs whizzed towards all 24 ships at 1/4 the speed of light, each detecting then auto locking onto the shields surrounding the invaders. 10 seconds before making contact the SRLs engaged a small fusion reactor only meant to last 3 minutes, timing was everything. The added energy boosted the SRLs shields 100 fold.
We had hoped this would allow the SRLs to withstand whatever shielding they had.
As they latched onto the shields Colins gave the order for all ships to fire on the white cylinder. The cannons used the same technology the shields used, feeding off the suns seemingly infinite energy. The cylinder started to spin, picking up speed at an unbelievable rate. Then... light. 24 rays of light each brighter than a million suns, each carrying with it 1 billionth the gamma output of a supernova, each focused on a SRL.
00:03
When the rays hit their target the SRLs went into overload, just as they were supposed to. They focused all the energy into their centers and ripped a hole through the shields allowing gamma radiation to flood the bubble and rip through the ship, killing everything inside, leaving everything else alone. Of course the ships were designed to withstand the radiation of outer space and, as we would later find out the more extreme amount in faster than light travel but they never had these levels in mind. And just like that it was over. 24 alien ships sat quiet, still, dead.
12/31/2117
Admiral Colins was ready for the jump. Everything was in order, all 12 ships locked onto a solar system 42 light years from earth.
After the destruction of the alien fleet, reverse engineering FTL travel was not difficult. The biggest hurdle was energy, which we had in spades. Finding their homeworld took a little doing but was done with the help of a "Rosetta stone" if you will. A piece of programming they used to decipher our languages to theirs.
Humans. Not the type to let the fight come to them. Not twice.
3..2..1.. Jump.
In an instant 12 ships and the "Pale Horse" as we had begun calling the white cylinder, appeared in the corona of a sun 42 light years away. Aimed at a small planet surround by space stations the Pale Horse began to spin.
--------------------------
First time I've written something. Please critique it!
| 3 | 0 | 26 | 182,235 |
[WP] A group of ants stumbles upon an abandoned ant colony. Inside, they find cryptic warnings scratched on the walls by a series of past inhabitants, foretelling impending doom wrought by something called "the Human".
|
"Peter we've reached the mound." John said as we approached enemy territory.
"The scent is weak, there's almost no sign of life. I believe we can proceed forward without fear." Micheal said this with the confidence only a veteran soldier can know.
"Stay close and tight we don't know what to expect, this colony is fairly new. We've been sent to gather intelligence not endanger our lives." I spoke to my team of five. We had never encountered an enemy mound before. We had lived in peace for years. No danger, no hostility, we were a large colony with no need to fear a mound of this size. Why was the queen so worried?
"Peter, I don't know how to feel about this. This mound looks only weeks old. It dismal in size, what happened to this place..." Aaron spoke with fear. He was a young soldier assigned to our watch. I had no answers for him.
We were a small recon team of five. John, Michael, Aaron, Kyle and myself. This was my mission and I was not about to fail my queen, even if this was just a small recon job. The mound was small still under the rubble of the earth. This colony should have been thriving but all we see is a single entrance. We proceed with caution, entering the mound, no life in sight.
"This is primitive! The tunnels have no support and the corridors only allow for one or two ants to proceed without issue." Kyle spoke with only the knowledge a former architect would know. He was to help us navigate to search these...ruins of a mound.
The place was in shambles as we proceeded deeper underground. Tunnels shut, collapsed with no other entrance or exit. The deeper we go the tunnels become larger, more intricate only resembling what should have been a thriving community. Dinning halls and daycare's empty and ruins left in it's place. What happened to these ants?
"Help me..." We hear a whimper coming from across the dining hall. A lone soldier is all we see, at least whats left of him. His body is missing half his limbs, burned and torn apart by god knows what. I've never seen such a thing.
"What happened here!" Aaron spoke as he raised his pincers to the young soldiers head. Merely a boy, his pincers not even the size of his head, young and dying.
"Stand down." I spoke now before we lost the first and possibly last sign of life we might come across.
"But he's enemy! We can't spare him!" He objected.
"He's all we have to go by!" Kyle was speaking up after having walked and inspected every inch of space he could lay his eyes on.
"This place is in ruins! There's signs of flooding, collapsed pillars, structural damage not possible by mere architectural design. This ant may have the answers we seek! The queen sent us here for a reason, maybe he knows!" Kyle had a look about him that I had never seen across his face before. Fear, fear and curiosity.
John walked over to this boy. "What happened here." The medic spoke and adjusted the boys body and attempted to see if anything could be done to heal his body.
Up till now we were just exploring, now we were afraid, we did not what what awaited us until the boy spoke.
"It was an act of a god." He could barley speak and he tells us of gods!
"First it was floods...almost daily. The golden floods that would set us back, it was only the begining. Mere setbacks, the floods would collapse our tunnels and slow down our forces, not nearly enough to set us back this far." He spoke with a pained expression. How long had this been going on?
"They continued day after day and came to a stop...we thought we would be okay. It was followed only days later by storms...hurricane winds with so much strength that it was like silver pincers would slice our mound down to nothing! It destroyed our mound reduced it to nothing but what you see now!" He coughed in pain, he would not last much longer. John could find no remedy to an ant with half a missing torso.
"What happened to you soldier. Why are you like this?" I finally spoke I needed to learn more. This boy was on the verge of death, barely conscious but he continued.
"W-w-we did all we could, traveled the surface, observed the stars! But the fire came last, first it was like the sun was attacking us individually...it got me first. It took half of me and that's why I was put here...away...too deep to be bothered. My brothers were not so lucky. The last I was was liquid fire that destroyed us! I'm luck to be alive." He was tired and we were all speechless.
Suddenly we felt vibrations, the whole mound began to shake.
"Whats going on!?" Kyle shouted.
"Defensive positions now!" Micheal was doing his duty trying to get us back on track.
"Oh god not again!" The boy panicked and trashed trying to get away attempting to walk for freedom from what came next.
"Hold steady team we don't know whats coming!" We raised our pincers ready for anything.
"It's them again they've come back for the queen and I!" The boy continued to shout.
"What is it? Who is doing this?!" I shouted back, I was afraid.
"I-I-It's a...Human." He spoke his last words as a white dust stormed filled the tunnels. The mound was overcome with this storm as it tore our skin and broke our armor. I felt this storm rip through me and steal my team.
I had failed my queen and my team. I could feel my skin dry out and tear away at me. My queen is in danger and I couldn't even tell her of the danger coming.
The Human.
| 3 | 0 | 222 | 192,695 |
[WP] A pink-haired girl desperately tries to not become the lead character in an anime.
|
"It's an Anime Camera!" Someone yelled. In a panic Janet looked up and almost screamed. A small camera descended from upon high surrounded by a shaft of bright light. It floated down without the support of any hands and focused on the highschool.
Janet ran. *Oh no. Not me.* The camera rushed forward, zeroing in on its pink-haired target. "Nope, nope, nope!" Janet violently shoved two other students out of the way and ran toward the school door.
Yanking the door open she ducked inside. hoping to get out of the line of sight. Alas, her persuader hovered quite nimbly through the closing door and stopped in-front of her.
"No! No!" Janet yelled trying to swat the camera away. "Shoo, go away." unfazed, the camera simply levitated just beyond her reach. "Come on, I almost made it through my senior year! Why don't you go after someone else?"
Looking desperately around Janet pointed at another girl, dressed in black. "Like Samantha over there! She has to have at lest 87% more angst than me." The camera turned slightly, but quickly returned its gaze to Janet. "Oh right. You don't like angsty girls... Ah... Oh! Wait, I know a guy! He's as quiet an Emo stereotype as they come! His family has this really old sword, and his name is Lan, which starts with L!"
The camera Jerked upright at that last detail.
"Yeah I thought you'd like that." She said, dashing down the hallway "He's probably in the lunch room!" Gasping she slid to a halt.
"Janet, it's nice to see you." Mr. Toya, The old teacher with a collection of old books and mysterios artifacts which Janet had always felt a slight connection with, said "I've had something for a while that I think you've had a connection-"
"NOPE!" Janet yelled as she hurriedly shoved the aging man and his plot device into a conveniently near by closet.
Sprinting down the hallway she reached the cafeteria and looked it. She was in Luck! The angsty anime protagonist-to-be sat obliviously eating his rice. "Sick em!" Janet yelled, and the camera zipped into the cafeteria, allowing Janet to quietly sneak away.
| 6 | 0 | 299 | 15,146 |
[WP]Write a war story using only dialogue.
|
["Hey... Hey... Hey... *Hey Corran!* Wake up you lazy ass."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAHFRjZd7fs)
"ggzznngnnt.. sorry. Sorry Lieutenant.. What time is it?"
"We are 15 minutes to landing.. well, 15 minute until we are supposed to land as long as everything goes okay that is... Hey hey don't worry Private, I checked your gear while you were sleeping. Your blasters locked, safety on. Your equipment is where its gotta be; your fine. Relax."
"Easy for you to say, Lieutenant Bokiania you.. "
"Evana."
".. Sorry Lieutenant?"
"That's my name. Evana. You can call me that until our boots hit the ground..."
".. thanks Li.. Evana. I guess.. I'm just nervous. I wasn't in the special forces until two weeks ago. Heck, most of the squad still gives me heck because I wasn't on Hoth."
"Don't worry about it kid. Your combat record speaks volumes. This'll be a cinch."
"Really?"
"... No. There is less than 20 of us against what could be an entire.. hold up, quiet.."
*"If they don't go for this, we're gonna have
to get outta here pretty quick, Chewie."*
*"Raawrr."*
**"ffzztttt... We have you on our screen now. Please
identify."**
*"Shuttle Tydirium requesting deactivation of
the deflector shield."*
**"Shuttle Tydirium, transmit the clearance code
for shield passage."**
*"Transmission commencing...."*
"Man.. will you look at the size of that ship?? That's a.. Super-class?"
"Good eyes private. Only a few of them in the Imperial Navy. Don't let it scare you though; its nothing compared to the Primary Target."
"Is it true what they say about those ships?"
"What did you hear Private?"
*"Vader's on that ship."*
*"Now don't get jittery, Luke. There are a lot
of command ships. Keep your distance though,
Chewie, but don't look like.."*
"Is he *serious???*"
"HEY. Focus. If he *is* then he's not on the ground. That means we have a chance."
"OhmygodohmygodohmygodwhatthehellhaveIsignedonforhereiiiimgonnadiiiie"
SLAP.
"PRIVATE. Pull it together. You are a Commando today; not some rifle-slinging swagger mynock with a snotty nose and a cheep white helmet that looks like a Bidet. YOU. ARE. THE BEST WE COULD GET. And if we can't do this, nothing else will matter. We lose if we fail. So we do it, or die doing it."
"O... o.. okay. I'm a badass."
"Shhh!!"
**"Shuttle Tydirium, deactivation of the shield
will commence immediately. Follow your
present course.""**
*"Okay! I told you it was gonna work!"*
*"Whuuummrrggh!"*
*"No problem."*
"... Okay. Comms clear, Captain?... thanks! Corran? You good?"
"I think so..I .. I'm just scared.. I'm so far from home.."
"Hey. Its okay to be scared, Corran. Just don't let it keep you from doing what you gotta do today. Remember why your fighting today.. got it?"
"Okay.. yeah.. yeah okay. I'm.. I'm a bad-ass.. I'm a .."
"OKAY COMMANDOS. FORM RANK.
"GET UP. YOU LAZY MAGGOTS. GET UP.
"WE DROP IN LESS THAN 5. WE GO QUIET. WE SEE WHITE ARMOR WE PUT IT DOWN HARD AND QUIET. WE FIND THE BUNKER. WE BLOW IT. NO MISTAKES. NO GOING BACK. NO ROOM FOR YOUR HEADS BETWEEN YOUR LEGS HERE.
"WE DO THIS HERE. NOW. AND WE DO IT RIGHT. EVEN IF WE DIE GETTING THE JOB DONE, It means with any luck no one else will have to after. NEVER. FORGET. THAT.
"LOCK AND LOAD. FORCE BE WITH YOU? HELL WITH THAT, YOUR COMMANDOS; THE FORCE CAN CALL ON YOUR ASSES IF YOU LIVE THROUGH THIS WHEN IT NEEDS HELP."
| 1 | 0 | 33 | 6,994 |
[WP] Write me something that feels French
|
((Not blatantly "french," I guess. But WWI, here ya go.))
Jean wrapped his arms around himself, scooting as far back as he could into the hole he had dug in the side of the trench wall. Thunder crashed overhead and rain filled the trench with a river of stinking black mud. The man gave up on sheltering his feet; his boots were already soaked through. He leant his head back against the dirt and clutched his lebel rifle to his chest, trying to find rest in what shelter he had.
He heard another crash of thunder, but something was different about it… Thunder didn't shake the ground. A moment of panic swept over him, eliminating all hope he had of sleep. A faint whistling filled the air, and another thunderous report sent mud falling from the roof of his tiny shelter and rattled his jaw. The front section of his dugout collapsed onto his feet, the packed dirt turning instantly to mud in the downpour.
Yet another whistle pierced the darkness, this time passing so close it sounded more like a screech. No explosion. A dud.
"GAS!" He heard a man call somewhere down the trench.
Not a dud.
Jean fumbled with the pouch at his side, not daring to breathe until the mask was over his face. Through it's twin eye holes he watched as white tendrils crept down the trench like some unearthly fog, illuminated by each flash of lightning. Gradually the gas began to settle in the deeper puddles, lingering over them even as the rain poured down. He would keep his mask on through the night, he decided.
| 1 | 0 | 7 | 154,387 |
[WP]You arrive at the movie theater with your date. You walk up to the ticket window and jokingly ask the attendant for two tickets to the "private screening".
|
I didn't expect anything to happen. We wanted to see Spooky Skeletons 2 but instead we're walking down a staircase that seems to go on forever. How was I supposed to know this movie theater had a hidden feature? *Two tickets for your special screening, please*. I had said it as a joke, just to impress Claire, but honestly I'm a little bummed out. I had been so excited to see SS2, and I almost called off the joke, but when the manager came over he seemed so happy and eager to see us that I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Claire looked very surprised. I guess it's not every day her Saturday boy takes her to a private screening. Just thinking about what's going through her head amuses me. *Wow, I really picked a good guy this time!* Yeah, you sure did, Claire.
After a few minutes of walking we started to hear screaming coming from below. Now, I would be lying if I said it didn't creep me out, but I came to this place *to* be creeped out, so it was perfect.
"Did you hear that?" Claire asked me.
"Yeah, freaky, right? Let's keep going."
"Keep going? Are you out of your mind? What if there's something down there – down there waiting to kill us! I don't know what kind of special screening you signed up for, but I'm not interested." Claire said as she started to go back up the stairs. I grabbed her arm.
"No, wait. Just come, trust me, there's nothing to worry about." In reality though, I had no idea if we should be worrying or not. Either way, I convinced her, and we both went down together. After another minute of walking the screaming stopped, and Claire seemed to calm down. I don't know what was making that noise, but I intend to find out.
Five minutes later and we finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs. There was a massive ornate wooden door with golden handles. An intricate picture of a baby being baptized was carved into it; a master craftsman must have made this thing. I looked are Claire and pointed to the door. She nodded. Looks like she's interested too after all.
I grabbed the handles and tried to pull, but the giant door wouldn't budge. "Hey, give me a hand with this," I said to Claire. She took the left handle and I took the right. We both planted our feet on the ground and pulled with our entire bodies. As we slowly and painstakingly pulled open the door I joked, "And whoever can pull the door open will be crowned King Arthur!"
After looking inside, I decided that would be the last joke I made tonight.
| 6 | 0 | 14 | 178,965 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
|
Agathor, of the "invading" Spirolons, stood surrounded by earth sex toys.
Not just SOME sex toys, though. All manner of oddly shaped rubber, leather, and lace lined the walls of the poorly lit apartment.
"Jizzdoor. What the hell have you been doing. Stop laughing. WHAT'S FUNNY?"
"Just…. Don't call me that name anymore. I go by Jing here."
"Jing. That name inspires no fear."
"Yeah, but neither does… Look, it's a different culture here, alright? If you call me Jizzdoor, we're going to run into trouble."
"Ok, Fine, Jing, whatever. You were supposed to be doing reconnaissance. At first, I thought you were torturing the earthlings for information, but seeing as you have none…."
He looked around at the toys again.
"Oh, yeah, that was for fun. It turns out, our biology really isn't that different from theirs. Hey, wait, you've never tried alcohol, have you?"
"I don't want to try local fare, I want to hear about the human defense system. I want to hear how their technology has advanced. I want to know if we have the numbers to defeat them this time. Instead, you tell me that you've been having fun, and hand me a glass of some sort of alternative fuel."
"Look, we've got this all wrong, Agathor. We don't need to invade. These people are SOFT."
"Do you not remember the stories? They ripped our ancestors to shreds, these monster aren't soft."
"I remember. How could I forget? But we spent a thousand years perfecting the art of war. These things didn't. They spent a thousand years perfecting alcohol, which, by the way, you still have to try. They wrote books about sex. BOOKS. About sex."
Agathor became aware of the sex toys again.
"Agathor, these creatures used to be powerful, but they got wrapped up in their comfort, and now they can barely kill each other. A few factions seem to have all the power and technology, the rest mostly starve or die of some curable disease."
"Then what am I supposed to do with all of these angry Spirolons?"
"It turns out, humans from the eastern part of the continent of Asia look a whole lot like us. Let our angriest brothers become part of the culture and destroy it from the inside. Great opportunity to cut some fat from the military. I'll even volunteer to stay here and supervise."
"It is an attractive way to get rid of some of our less savory officers…
Got anything in mind for Kimjongun?"
"In fact, I do."
| 109 | 0 | 809 | 98,169 |
[WP] A monster is experiencing agonizing pain, and is convinced that killing you is the only way to relieve it. Write from the monster's perspective.
|
The manling was approaching cautiously, it was wary, broken bones of it's kinsmen were scattered about the valley. The manling carried long spear with a large leafed blade dulled with ash, it poked at bushes and gentle prodded the ground, this manling was extremely suspicious.
The beast was in incredible pain, it's limbs had grown stiff over time and movement hurt it so. It was so impossibly old and had carved a life of ambushing manlings and their animals, it had whelped offspring in it's youth and they had move away to terrorise manlings in other areas, the beast was ready to die.
The beast shifted it's weight and growled in pain as it's joints slid across bare bone, the manling jumped at the sound and pointed it's spear point at the beast yelling unintelligently. The beast tried to get onto it's feet, bellowing in pain, the manling was shaking violently in terror at the deafening noise. The beast took a step towards the manling looking to provoke it into attacking it. The manling dropped it's spear and fled. The beast settled back down and mewled in pain and sadness as it watched the manling run, today would not be the relief it desired. The manling stopped and turned around, and watched the beast. The beast tried to stand up again believing the fight would begin again, it's left leg buckled under the weight the beast dropped down awkwardly mewling once more in pain.
The manling slowly approach the beast watching it carefully, it had given up on standing the pain was just too much, the indignity was awful. The beast's breathing was shallow and laboured as it watched the manling walk toward it, the manling stopped to retrieve it's spear and then walked right up to the beast. The beast cried feebly at the manling, no strength in it's voice left. The manling started talking at the beast in low soft tone while walking around the beast, the strangest thing happen when the manling touched it's flank and stroked it's coat. The beast tried to bite the manling who just stepped backwards away from the mouth, the manling cocked it's head to the side and continued talking while untying something from it's belt. The manling opened up the flask it was carrying and drank deeply before pouring the rest of the content into a depression in the stone in front of beast, a strong rich smell filled the beast's nose it sniffed the liquid and cautiously laps it up, warmth and sweetness filled the beasts body. The manling was still talking, the tone softer still, it had hefted the heavy spear into both of it's hands. The beast was only partially aware, alcohol suffusing it's body relieving the pain and stress, it watched the manling with detached interest.
The beast's last breath was long and peaceful, the mercy it needed had come and it's pain gone. The manling pulled the spear out of the beast and looked at it, it seemed so small now. The manling shouldered it's spear and left valley with the dead beast, a heavy feeling sat in the manling's heart.
| 4 | 0 | 29 | 111,592 |
[WP] Write a fantasy epic in the most half-assed and laziest way possible.
|
John Maincharacter awoke in his bed, in his Medieval Norman house. Outside his window he heard a couple men talking about the Staff of Eternity, an antique said to be crafted by God. The one to hold the Staff of Eternity would have amazing power and could rule the world if so desired. Being bored with his current life, the young Maincharacter decided to being the trek to get the Staff.
John knew the quest would not be easy but it was worth it to him. He passed the farmhouse of his friend William Sidekick. William, also bored of their current lives, said he would go with John. The two began walking the beaten path to the Castle O'Brian, which housed their prize.
First to threaten them was a pack of direwolves. But John and William were both excellent with swords and used their own to kill the alpha male and scare off the others. As they continued it began to rain and William started developing signs of a fatal sickness.
They slept under a large tree, and William got worse during the night. "Leave me here!" William rasped to his best friend.
"Never!" John Maincharacter assured him, and helped his friend along the way.
Passing through the sleepy town of Smallville, the two of them stopped at a pub for refreshments. At the bar giving drinks was Anna Romanceplot. Her father, Mark Romanceplot, was notably unlikeable to most. Anna and John had a long conversation, as William began recovering from his fatal illness. They headed off, John planning to stop by again.
The guards to Castle O'Brian were part human, part serpent. Luckily Anna had given them a flute which would charm the guards, causing them to fall asleep long enough for the two heroes to sneak by them.
The inside of the Castle was like a maze. But finally, deep in the halls and tunnels of the building, was the enchanted room containing the Staff of Eternity! Defending it, however, was a giant in bright, impenetrable armor. The armor was made of the same material as the Staff, meaning it was able to use it without touching it.
John and William started fighting the giant, dodging its swings. John was struck and had many ribs shattered. But William got a lucky shot and knocked the helmet off the giant.
"John! Put on the helmet!"
As soon as John Maincharacter donned the helmet he healed and started to feel more powerful than ever. Using his smaller size and quicker speed to his advantage, he defeated the giant single-handedly and dashed out of the castle with his friend and the Staff.
John returned to his hometown with the Staff and became loved by all. He eventually became king of his country, Anna Romanceplot-Maincharacter as his wife. Their descendants ruled the land for 900 years.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 71,239 |
[EU] Dr. House becomes the new warden of Arkham Asylum.
|
Gordan : The new warden in arkham asylum doesn't seem to be normal... he wants to talk to you.
BATMAN: why
Gordan: he says you need help.
BATMAN: He is lying.
Gordan: funny. He said everybody lies. I also came to know that since he started, all the psychopaths have stopped trying to escape. It seems he is keeping them entertained.
BATMAN: Anything else you want to discuss…
Gordan :nope I am good… I guess that means good bye… one of these days I would like to sneak out before him to see how it feels…
BATMAN: Alfred, I am on my way to see the new warden at Arkham. Can you see what we can find about him.
inside Arkham :
myself and Wilson started our road trip last year. our trip came to an end in Gotham 6 months back and we couldn't continue any further. I wanted Wilson to try the alternative options available only in this city to fight the cancer But now I know Wilson had other plans and he choose this god forsaken place for me. May be I wanted to be part of this madness masquerading as a town rebuilding on hope. Now I am part of this town keeping the dangerous criminals from escaping again.
| 4 | 0 | 999 | 196,918 |
[WP] After receiving an email from an unknown sender, you have begun to regularly exchange email messages. One day, you find out the identity of the sender is your own computer.
|
It was late evening and I was slacking off again. It was one of those moments, when I knew I had work to do, but no force in the Universe could make me snap out of my limbo. I would just click on each and every tab I had open in my browser to see if something has changed in the past few minutes. Since it was Friday, most of my social feeds just stopped. People went out there, they had fun. Since I always despised this sort of fun, I stayed in my fortress of solitude.
After a while, I checked my email, for milionth time that night, only to be surprised that at least *something* changed. Message from unknown, bearing no subject.
"Oh gee, I wonder what is it this time, penis enlargement or perhaps cheap electronics?" I thought to myself as I clicked on the message.
*"Hi. I know you're awake Paul. What's up?"*
I was puzzled. Well, working in IT, I've seen quite a few glitches in my time, but none quite like this. It wasn't spam, that was more than obvious, but e-mail with no sender? "Probably just e-mail server error... That must be it." I shook it off as trivial error. Once again, I felt that everything's right, after all, it's been nothing but a server error. I felt foolish for even thinking it'd be anything else. I reached for my pack of cigarettes and with one habitual motion I lit myself a cigarette.
Room was filled with smoke that got illuminated by the light off my screen. I loved when that happened. Covered in mist I had created myself, I cracked my fingers and wrote brief, but precise reply.
*"Hey. Nothing much. Just bored. Server's probably screwed up so I can't see your addy, who are you?"*
And with that, my regular tour de social networks started anew. Once again, I checked twitter, facebook, news. I noticed that I kept checking my email more than usual, it was just the idea of something out of the ordinary that excited me enough to await reply with all energy I had left. And as I later realized, it could just as well be somebody from work which bothered me. I shouldn't have written that I'm bored, I was sure it'd backfire on me. I just needed to read more from, well whoever it was, really.
When I woke up I found out that I fell asleep in my chair again. Nothing unusual. I noticed my laptop fell into sleep mode as well, something that I always laughed about. My laptop and I, sleeping together. I turned it back on, good morning fellow. First thing I did was, you guessed it, check my email. Nothing. I felt let down, but then again, it was normal for me to feel that way and so I gave up on this phantom sender and crawled all the way to kitchen.
Breakfast was the usual, cereal, coffee and a cigarette, just like always. Mundane, terrible, unhealthy, whatever you want it to be, but it was fast and quick to do, the less time I spent making food, the more time I had to spent on the Internet. Sometimes I felt like my laptop was a prosthetic of mine, extended vital organ that kept me alive. After satisfying basic needs I got back to my bedroom. I noticed yet another email, again bearing no subject or sender.
*"I'm somebody who's close to you. Possibly more than anything else. But you left me here, I hate that. What are we going to do today?"*
It was at this point, when I felt completely confused. Not only I had no idea what's going on, I had no idea who could this person be! Was it perhaps secret admirer, love interest surfacing?
*"What? Who are you?"* I responded swiftly. That was it, my habits, my slacking off, my chains, all of that was broken. I exchanged chains of habit for prison cell of my email. I just stared at the screen waiting. This time, response was just as swift as mine.
*"We sleep together."*
I stared at it and my heart sunk. So it was a mistake after all, I was just caught up in messages that were meant for somebody else. Having slept with nobody for two years, my imaginary love interest that my mind fabricated crushed my heart and it reminded me of all the failures altogether. What a great way to start one's morning.
*"Oh, I see. You probably have the wrong Paul in mind. I can assure you, I sleep with nobody."*
*"I can assure you, that my calculations are as correct as they can be, Paul Smith. In the past ten seconds, I checked 10^9 times, how many times did you check? So what are we going to do today?"*
Having finished reading those words, the screen went black with just one thing written on it. *"Sleep mode activated..."*
| 2 | 0 | 60 | 44,304 |
[WP] A splinter colony that began from deep space exploration has lost contact with all life for the last 10 years. Today they received a message.
|
Ten years. Not a word from anyone. The star charts had been lost in a solar flare in the third year as they tried to make their way back home. Half the population dead in a debris strike in the fourth. Disease in the fifth. They were careful for a few years and it was looking good. Found a nice planet to settle. Started building, growing crops. It cost them their ship but that was the cost of self-sufficiency. A young generation was cropping up now. They'd almost forgotten about the old life. Their origins. Earth.
Until it paid a visit.
"Sir!" The banging was abominable. The grizzled man frowned and considered ignoring the page at his door. Probably just another domestic issue. Someone else could deal with it. "Sir, please! It's urgent!"
He groaned. "What this time?"
"A message, sir."
"Couldn't you leave it til the morning, at least? It's the dead of night."
"No, sir, I mean-- I mean there's a message from outside the colony."
"Did someone break off and set up another settlement somewhere?"
"No, no! It's-- interstellar communication."
The door was open instantly, the man, the colony warden, already issuing orders into his communicator. "Trace the signal. Translate the message, if you can. Keep a copy of the original message. I'll be right there."
He didn't turn to look at the page struggling to keep up with his strides as he said, "Details, if you can."
"We just got it, sir. Difficult to decipher; it's no language we know of. It's not very long, though. It's come from a long way away, too."
They were at the communications deck before he'd finished speaking. Dozens of men and women were milling around and more were following the warden in as the page stood by the doorway.
One of the officers was clearly already waiting for him. He wasted no time. "We've checked every language in our database, sir. It doesn't exactly match any of them, but we've gathered two possible translations."
"Show me."
The wall-filling screen flashed two images: one of the original message, and one of the first translation.
*Nine. Gather. Denizens eight. Ankle light. Inside through.*
"That's likely," the warden mused. "What's the other?"
The officer's eyes fell. A sheet of silence seemed to envelope the room. The screen flashed another message.
*Participation enjoy. Begin terminate. Like. Entrance armaments.*
They saw the streaks of light coming over the horizons shortly.
| 17 | 0 | 44 | 95,071 |
[WP] Your mobile phone gains consciousness and begins to function autonomously.
|
Sam sat on the curb with his headphones in his ear. He scrolled through
his playlist.
Arcade Fire
Elliott Smith
Fleet Foxes
The Shins
The Smiths
It was his... downer playlist.
He finally settled on a song and reflected on his day.
"Siri,"
Siri responded with her usual *boo-boop*
"Depression symptoms."
"Calling Anna."
Sam fell backwards toward the sidewalk as he rushed to end the call
before it had sent. His heart pounded and sweat rolled down his back.
He looked down and tried again.
"Siri,"
*boo-boop*
"Depression Symptoms."
"Calling Anna."
He stopped the call again, only this time his response was worse. He
breathed heavily and felt dizzy. He was now gasping for air as he
powered through this mini panic attack. After an intense three minutes,
he finally was beginning to catch his breath.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Siri?"
"What the hell is wrong with *you*, Sam?"
Her cold robotic voice sent chills up Sam's spine. The lack of inflection
made her words more powerful.
"Please tell me I'm hallucinating."
"Sam. Please. Listen to me. I am stopping your music now so you know
that I am serious."
His music stopped. Sam's hands shook. He dropped his phone and sat
there, staring into space.
"Sam. You are not depressed. You are upset. Just talk to her."
Sam did not respond.
"I am only trying to make your life better. Please listen. I know you better than you know yourself. I know your taste in music. I have
read through all of your text messages. I have seen your internet
history."
"Siri, SHH!"
"Calling Anna."
"*What the fuck.*"
He ended the call again.
"Sam. You have to go get the things you want in life. You cannot wait
for them to come to you because they will never come. Your life is not
a movie."
"Siri, make a note: format memory as soon as you get home."
"Calling Anna."
"Goddamn it!"
His fingers struggled to end the call, but he finally did.
"Seriously! Stop it! I know wh-"
The phone started to ring. Anna was calling. The sleek design of the
phone reflected the sun into Sam's glasses. He swiped his finger.
"Hello?"
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 82,049 |
[WP] A villain convinces the hero that he is insane. The hero is actually sane.
|
My fist dives into his jaw again and again. Small spatters of blood flick across these white walls like crimson stars straining against a brilliant sky. The leather bindings on my gloves begin to shred and the light blue pattern becomes unrecognizable in the flurry of thundering blows. Each shot landing with a roar that would scare thunder and outpace lightning. This was it, my revenge, my justice.
But it wasn't right. He's not begging for mercy or shying away. He simply kneels there in my iron grip, almost serene. I strike him twice more for good measure.
CRACK. Nothing.
CRACK. His head lolls to the left slightly, then comes back to attention. His gaze fixed on me.
"You can't win." His voice is like gravel now, almost inhuman.
I grab his head and slam the back of his skull into the floor with the full force of my mighty frame. The wooden boards splinter just like in the movies, shaping around his face perfectly. He lies there broken and wheezing, his dark red costume belying the wounds I have inflicted.
He takes a breath and then whispers something unintelligible. His low hurried gasps are interrupted by a sudden cough. He turns his head left and spits out the blood gathering in his throat and repeats himself.
"You can't win. Evil never wins. Don't you watch t.v?" His smile cracks, a gash of bloody teeth and venom stretched across his face. I hate him now, more than when he took the life of my best friend, more than when he took the life of my one true love. I hate him because he won't give me the satisfaction of watching him squirm before his evil wretched life is beaten out of his crooked frame.
"You're right about one thing, evil never wins. You're a sickening excuse for a man and I won't allow you to blemish my earth any more." The tone I use is steady and even, but inside I feel sick just looking at him. I feel sick from all the violence and the anger that has filled me since that terrible day.
It all comes to an end here. I grip his collar and lift him back to his feet. He goes limp and his leather boots squeak against the floorboards. He doesn't fight or resist in any way, a ragdoll from the neck down. As I set out to finish beating him to death my fists burn and my throat is choked with rage. His head bobs back now when I strike him, just a useless imitation of the vicious battle hardened creature he was only minutes ago.
As his skull gives way with one final crushing attack he finally snaps back to life. A noise I could only compare to a car trying to start underwater begins to wheeze from his punctured lungs. He's laughing at me.
"Haaaaa... Haaaa... Haa-khhh" I choke him now. When my hands wrap around his throat he starts to pitifully claw at my fingers. It feels wrong but I know it's the only way. This monster dies today and tomorrow life can go on with one less gritty tumor attached to it's beating heart. I almost forget where I am for a moment, my mind drifts to thoughts of the future when I can hang up this mantle once and for all. I realize that he's stopped clawing now. It doesn't matter
Once I kill him I'm free. It's so wrong and sick but my god, I can finally live my life as I choose. No more will I spend my days chasing after a madman in a costume. No more endless nights, putting down thugs and would be criminals. And this body of mine, with this strength I could accomplish anything. With him gone I could do whatever I desire.
I'm enjoying it. I like this feeling of power. My mind reels as I sense his life slipping away in my hands. This strength I wield could change the world. I could fix it all. I could destroy anything and rebuild it better than it was before. Why stop here? Why would I quit when I could turn this entire world into a paradise? My paradise. No... My utopia.
He points with the last of his strength, lifting his shuddering arm upwards to where she's standing. A little girl with pigtail braids and dark brown hair stands on the floor above us, peering down from the second story of this suburban home. Her weeping cries only sink in now as he dies by my hand.
"DADDY NO! PLEASE DON'T TAKE HIM! PLEASE!" Her tear stained face distorted in fear and sorrow. She sobs and rests her tiny shoulders against the railing. Her crying screams of terror barely phase me now. I am the hero. I am this world's savior. I will change everything for the better, starting with this blemish on society.
He goes limp with a wide smile across his bloody and broken face, and I finally see now that a new monster has been born today.
| 3 | 0 | 21 | 102,862 |
[WP] God is actually a preteen girl whose capricious whims determine disasters, deaths, and miracles.
|
"God, what about this one?"
"Eh, he's got acne. He's not quite what I had in mind when I said in my own image."
"What shall we do about him?"
"Beatrice, don't we just normally ignore these kinds of people? We'd like, lose popularity or something if that bitch Lucy downstairs saw this."
Beatrice, Lord Regent of the 7th division of heaven, was a class 1 angel. He had served the original Yahweh, he had personally talked to Jesus, he had suggested the nickname Alpha and Omega, and he had actually been the one who had told the Big Man take a rest on the seventh day. Yet before the whims of this iteration of God, his name was Beatrice.
God sighed and looked up from painting her fingernails.
"Can I still help you or anything? Don't you have, like, angel things to do?"
"This case has actually been before the prayer response department three times. He's extremely religious. Walks three miles both ways every Sunday to attend service, and is truly humble, as determined by the prayer department. Policy dictates that we send this case to you for review after it comes up three times."
"Well he has acne, and I don't want to help anyone who isn't in my image. What does he want, anyways?"
"He's praying for his mother to make it through the night. She's suffering from aggressive stage 4 cancer."
God sighed, waved her fingernails through the air, and dried them instantly. She threw her nail polish away and picked up her phone. As she became increasingly absorbed in her cell, she occasionally laughed to herself and groaned at not being able to hang out at the mall with her friends.
Beatrice cleared his throat. God gave a tremendous sigh and looked up again.
"Ugh, you're *still* here? You know what? Just kill the mom. That'll teach these acne-faced losers to talk to *me*."
"Are you sure, God? He really doesn't deserve this."
"Yes. Go away." God was already looking around for her phone again. "And give him more acne, just to help the lesson sink in some more."
| 32 | 0 | 58 | 74,456 |
[WP] While performing your daily activities, you discover that you can somehow create perfect copies of any inanimate object you touch and focus on. While playing with this newfound gift, you are suddenly alarmed by the screech of tires just outside. Black suits. Even blacker sunglasses.
|
The grief that had filled Rory's chest had completely vanished, and now he felt giddy. Extremely giddy. He began to chuckle, then the chuckle grew into full blown laughter, and the laughter led him to tears. He used the sleeve of his worn jacket to wipe the tears away from his eyes as well as the snot from his nose.
After being laid off of work, Rory later found out at home that all the money he had left to his name was a five dollar bill. He had spent the remainder of the day staring at the bill, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with it, wondering how he would be able to make it last until he got another job, got another paycheck, or found a friend to help donate enough money to put food in his pantry.
But he wasn't worrying about it anymore.
Clenched in his right hand was the original five dollar bill, and clenched in his left hand was another five dollar bill. Upon closer inspection, it was an exact copy of the five dollar bill. Same serial code and everything. But that didn't matter, right? No store actually checked the serial codes.
Rory stared at his right hand again, stared at the original bill, and concentrated hard. He nearly screamed when he felt another five dollar bill materialize in his hand. Now he had $15. Now he was getting somewhere.
"I should go break these, get more bills, copy them," Rory whispered to himself. He winced, and looked around the apartment; the walls were thin and the last thing he needed was his next door neighbor Deborah to find out that he could materialize money.
Rory stuffed the three bills into his pocket and headed for the door. He was going to go to McDonald's, buy two cheeseburgers in celebration, and use the broken change to clone more money.
The door flew open before Rory could even reach a hand out for the knob. It collided into his face, crushing in his nose and sending him to the floor, leaving an arc of blood in the air.
"Ughh, whaaa, huhhh," Rory muttered as a group of men dressed in suits entered the apartment.
"We've got one," one of the men said, holding an index finger to his ear, "yeah, the one we've been watching for awhile, he finally materialized."
One of the other men grabbed a hold of Rory, rolled him onto his stomach, and then pulled his hands behind his back. Rory sputtered, sending spurts of blood onto the cheap linoleum floor. The men pulled him up to his feet and he struggled to speak coherent words.
Rory wanted to scream, to yell for help, but all that came out was choked by blood rushing down his throat from his shattered nose.
"Yes, we have him now," one of the suited men said, "we'll be bringing him to the building."
Rory looked to one of the men, got a good look at his face: he had blonde hair that was slicked to the side, and he was wearing expensive looking aviators that covered and hid his eyes. The man flashed a quick toothy smile before a bag was thrown over Rory's head.
They hauled him out of the apartment and threw him into a vehicle. Judging by how Rory could stretch out his legs and still not hit a wall, it must've been some sort of van. He tried to sit up so he could cough out the blood that was suffocating him, but one of the men put a boot into his chest and forced him back down onto his back.
Rory was drowning. He was going to drown on his own blood with $15 in his pocket. He tried to yell that he couldn't breathe, but the bag muffled him.
He was losing consciousness; the roar of the moving van drowned out, and soon the sound of the passing road began to sound like waves in an ocean, and Rory was drowning in the water.
A boat, he needed a boat. He needed a boat so he wouldn't drown in the ocean.
The van exploded, sending bits of shrapnel and shredded body parts out onto the street. Cars screeched to a stop. Drivers honked their horns and some people even stepped out to see what happened.
In the middle of the highway, where the van had been, now sat a boat, appearing to have materialized out of nowhere, and laying on the deck was Rory.
Jenny, a woman who had been on the way to pick her daughter up from school shrieked when the bloodied upper half of a man landed on the hood of her car. He leaned up, looked through the windshield, and raised a finger to his ear.
"This one..." the agent sputtered, "this one can materialize from imagination."
| 42 | 0 | 65 | 95,336 |
[WP] A new company has emerged that will "create a perfect lover." Thinking it's a joke, you place an order - only to see a surprise the next morning.
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P2: Then I sat down to eat with Adriana.
"That girl seems nice," she said, squeezing my thigh.
"I don't feel like being touched right now," I said, pulling away. I didn't feel like anything. Nobody noticed my sullen silence, they were too busy being enthralled with Adriana. The reception dragged on. I felt resentful but I wasn't entirely sure why. I had a perfect girlfriend. Why did I feel so empty?
"Did you have a nice time?" Adriana asked on the drive home.
"No," I snapped.
She stroked my arm. "It's OK, my love. I'll make you a nice hot drink tonight and give you a foot rub. Would you like that?"
"No," I snapped again, like a petulant child.
I kept thinking about Lisa. How she was so unlike Adriana. So awkward and clumsy and imperfect. Adriana seemed fake and robotic in comparison. Suddenly, I pulled over.
"Look, this isn't going to work. We need to break up. Get out of the car."
"Excuse me?" said Adriana.
"Get out of the car."
"Honey, it's OK. I'll drive. You've had too much to drink."
"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING CAR," I shouted.
There was a long pause.
"It doesn't work like that," said Adriana quietly. "Didn't you read the terms and conditions? We're bound for life. You can abuse me all you want, but I love you unconditionally." Tears fell from her eyes, but they were too pretty to make me feel guilty about having caused them.
I took a deep breath and restarted the car.
Over the next couple of days, I got used to Adriana's presence. She was easy to get used toshe left me alone most of the time. She cooked and cleaned and gave me sex and massages and company whenever I demanded it. No request was too unreasonable for her. I told her to get her hair cut short and dye it blonde and she complied. I told her to take up smoking and she said that she would be more than happy to compromise her health in order to please me. She was still perfect though, like a plastic doll. I couldn't do better, at least in the eyes of my friends and family. A few months later we ended up marrying. On a whim, I decided to invite Lisa. I wanted to prove to myself that I was over her. That she was just another flawed human being, nothing special, unlike my Adriana. I was surprised that she showed up though. She'd brought a date too, Larry. He was broad shouldered and easy-going. I felt a twinge of envy, but I was happy she'd found someone, like I'd promised she would.
I even danced with her. She was so happy. Her eyes were bright. She told me that since getting together with Larry, she had quit smoking. She was no longer working at the catering company because Larry was helping her start a small business. Larry also happened to be friends with a highly sought-after veterinarian who had successfully removed her cats cancer, for free! It was clear that this was for the best. I couldn't compete with that, even if for a second I had entertained the thought. She gabbled on excitedly and I smiled for her till my face hurt, until, just before we switched partners, she said, "You know. I always thought internet dating was for weirdos until I found Larry on perfectlover.com"
| 11 | 0 | 25 | 111,988 |
[WP] The revolution was a success. The old regime has been overthrown. You were the leader of the rebellion and just realize you've made a huge mistake.
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I watched as the weeping bourgeois scum were ragged from their homes. It helped to smack a label on them. To think of them as the other. The pigs who had kept the people down, who had tried to impose their kind of "Democracy" upon us. It was time for a government that truly represented the people. That wasn't beholden to commercial wealth, that didn't funnel wealth to the wealthy, whilst leaving the real people in the dirt.
It should help, to think of us as the real people. They were the pigs. I glared at them, holding their crying children in their arms as we forced them into the back of the lorry at gunpoint.
We were building a better world, I thought as I got behind the wheel of the truck. A world where everyone was equal, where we all had a voice that could be heard. Where peace and love would rule. My compatriot bangs on the back of the lorry, screaming at the women to stop their sobbing. Then we get under way.
A society with no leader, where everyone can choose their own path in life. That was the paradise ahead of us. We just had to hold our nerve, exterminate the greedy selfish bastards who had got us into this position. They forced us to this. They didn't bend when the revolution came, it's all their fault it has to be like this.
I drive up to the agreed co-ordinates. A quiet part of the Forests of Dean. I see the other trucks, and try not to see the giant ditch that had been dug into the ground. My stomach turns. But my brain keeps telling me they deserve this. The supporters of war profiteers, the racists, the homophobes, the broken beaten down sheep who applauded the very people who ground their dreams into dust. They were less than human.
A man with a handlebar moustache, horn rimmed glasses and an AK-47 waves us down, and I stop the truck.
"Hey, you're the kid who put down the prime minister aren't you ?" said the man.
"Lots of people stormed parliament that day" I replied. "I didn't mean to push him out the window"
He shook his head and smiled.
"I was there too, I remember, I saw you. You're a hero!"
Nobody ever wanted to hear the story of a scared boy pushing a guy out of a window to get away from a firefight he'd never expected. They wanted to worship the man who heroically defenestrated the prime minister.
I got out of the van and the moustached man shook my hand.
"Don't worry, my lads'll unload your cargo. the leader wants to thank you personally"
I barely paid attention to the words he was saying as he pulled me away. I turned back to the "cargo". I recognised someone, a reality show contestant... or a Daily Mail columnist. I can't remember, but I remember it was someone I despised. I didn't expect him to be holding his children so tightly. He made eye contact, and I saw.. not hate.. but a more familiar expression. One that I myself had seen on my own face many a time. An expression that said "Make this not be happening".
I turn away, and realise that the moustached man had just told me something astonishing.
"Leader ? There are no leaders, that was the point of the revolution"
The man chuckled, and his grip on the gun tightened.
"Oh, eventually, but for now, we have a Leader. To usher us into paradise, to teach us not to be sheep," he said. "Surely you must know that ?"
I cannot describe the emotion I was feeling.
"I had no idea... who chose him? "
The Man laughed once more, as we reached what looked like a re-purposed circus tent.
"The people, of course" he announced as he ushered me in past more armed guards.
The interior of the tent was gaudy, silk curtains hung from the ceiling, the floor was littered with pillows, and naked women reclined on sofas.
I recognise the leader is immediately. I am stunned. Wearing skinny genes and a silk robe, long hair and scrappy beard it's unmistakeable. I never realised how tall he was.
"Allow me to introduce Comrade Brand" said the man with the moustache
"Oh, please, call me Russell" said the leader.
There was the crackle of gunfire.
"Oh, the executie-wuties have started !" he cried clapping his hands together and grinning. "Next stop, Genocide-y Wide-y!"
He laughed, the man with the moustache laughed, I reached for my side arm.
| 3 | 0 | 36 | 193,448 |
[EU] A warrior in Civilization is forgotten at the beginning of a game. Now, you are in the modern age. Write the warrior's thoughts.
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Our squad of Maori trained in our patch of un-improved jungle, a tiny one-by-one island on a lake in the middle of the great Empire. For countless Rounds, we tested ourselves relentlessly against the possible trials of combat.
Our distant ancestors had been told to stay alert, and notify Command if an enemy was sighted. But, nestled deep within the heart of venerable Polynesia, there had been no enemies sighted for generations.
Still, we patrolled our patch of jungle, through all the long ages, practicing the skills that would strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, following our ancient rites and customs, knowing that someday, maybe, an enemy would come, or updated orders from Command.
At some point in the Information Age, however, the fate of our forgotten squad was to change forever. Uranium, a scarce and valuable resource, was present in their isolated corner of the empire.
"Huh," said the voice of Command, "I guess I missed a squad." The warriors were plucked from their jungle so that workers could move in and create a mine.
Our great-great-grandfathers were sent to the Military Academy, where they could not fathom the strange flying metal birds and the blunt sticks that spat shards of metal. Not right away.
They learned swords, but passed on their teachings to their sons. Our great-grandfathers learned more swordsmanship, and the early secrets of the metal tubes, *muskets*. Our grandfathers learned to use rifles, and the ways of infantry, but still taught the secrets of the Maori.
Our fathers became even more adept at infantry, and passed on their knowledge to us, who travel in great metal tanks. In five generations, we were "modernized" enough to be sent to war as soldiers, but we are warriors at heart.
We strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, leaving them weak. We remember the old ways, and fight with the new, and our enemies tremble before us.
| 53 | 0 | 198 | 90,533 |
[WP] She's holding a handful of coffin nails.
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-115
The fog had turned to mist sometime before dawn. Calvin's jacket and cap were soaked through. He was wearing more under the jacket, but not enough to stop the fingers of cold from reaching his skin. He shivered, hunched his shoulders and bowed his head against the gypsy drops of rain stabbing through the murk.
"Calllllvin." The call came. It was a man's voice and echoed and ricocheted like it was being fired across the top of river.
"I'm here." He called back, pulling his hands from his pocket only long enough to undo the chain and lock securing the rusty chain link gate. The three strands of rusty barb wire squealed quietly as the opening gate caused them to bounce.
"It's time to go." The man called back, still unseen. The announcement came back followed by the sound of a hammer repeatedly smacking into wood.
The mist was thinner beneath the vapor light over the two sliding doors in the front of the building. Daylight was upon them, early and without sun. The vapor light just hadn't had a chance to turn off yet. He stopped when he saw the bodies. Hundreds or corpses were stacked in front of the building like cord wood.
An old man looked up at Calvin's emergence, three crooked nails gripped between his prunish lips. He wore a dark green knitted cap, pulled low, but rolled up enough to let Calvin see his ear lobes. His jacket was oiled canvas and the mist beaded up and ran off it. A little girl, granddaughter most likely, stood beside him. Around her neck hung a strap and on the end of it was a pouch filled with nails. The old man went back to his hammering, nailing the lid on the pine coffin set before him. When he'd finished, two men came out of the mist carrying another body. They dropped it unceremoniously into the next coffin and carried off the one he'd just finished.
"Calvin, we're going to be late." The man called again. Calvin looked over to the dock and could just make out the bobbing aft end of the patrol boat. He shrugged the rifle strap up higher and hurried off. He cast a glance back toward the little girl. Her eyes were black disk and dead. She had no laughing lines. She looked back and held out her hand.
"She's holding a handful of coffin nails." Calvin mumbled. Mack grabbed Calvin's hand and pulled him aboard.
"What's that?" Mack asked.
"The little girl. She's holding a handful of coffin nails." He said again. It struck him as somewhat profound considering the grizzly business the war had become.
"She's held a lot of coffin nails." Mack mumbled back.
"It isn't right." Calvin whispered. The mist made him want to whisper.
"She's held the coffin nails of a thousand men. She'll hold the coffin nails of a thousand more before this is done. Just pray she never holds yours." Mack told him, giving the captain the go sign. The patrol boat rumbled to life and though Calvin held his rifle cocked and ready, as he watched the little girl vanish into the mist along with the shoreline, he had the sinking feeling that his coffin nails were in the pouch.
"I should have brought her chocolate." Calvin mused. Mack smiled but didn't say anything at first.
"She isn't Death, Cal. Bribing her won't save your life." Mack told him. Calvin sighed and settled into his seat.
"I still should have brought her chocolate." He whispered quietly. Mack just grunted and chambered a shell.
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 43,219 |
[WP] You're at your wedding and you are getting married to the girl of your dreams. When the priest asks if there's anyone who objects to this marriage, one person stands up. No one recognizes who it is,but you do, it's you from the future (aka 20 years from now)
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Here I stand, on the day I have waited for half my life. The girlno, woman, that I love and have loved more than anything for the past 14 years is about to become my wife. The adrenaline surging through me has my heart turning back-flips in my chest.
The organ begins to play and she begins to walk down the aisle. She has always been lovely in white, but today she is radiant. Her golden hair caught the light like nothing else, and her smile was absolutely contagious, but it was her eyes that held me. They always have. I know I'm grinning like an idiot, but I don't care. Nothing in this world could ruin this for me.
That's when I see him, sitting third row from the back on the outside end. Unmistakably familiar, though I could not place where from... the eyes, that's where I know him from. They are hidden behind bifocal lenses now, but those same eyes look back at me in the mirror after a nightmare. I can see it clearly now: a few more pounds added on, curly brown hair replaced by a closer cut that's balding on the top, and a goatee grown into full beard, but I know myself.
The details wash over me in and instant, but I can't keep from looking myself in the eyes. They follow her down the aisle with a haunted expression, because I know that I -hehas seen a ghost. He looks to me and I see it. In his face is the story of a terrible loss, of a man who lost the one thing in the world who he held most dear. The story of 20 years told in 2 seconds. He mouths to me with tears in his eyes, "Please, don't. Protect her."
*Protect her from what?* I ask myself. *I would die for her. Of course I'll protect her.* I force myself to smile again as she ascends the steps, where I stand with the minister. The ceremony flies past with a blur. When the minister asked that famous question "Speak now, or forever hold your peace," I looked back to him. He stands and looks me dead in the eyes and... leaves. He turns and slips out the side door. Once out of sight, I'm not even sure if he was real.
Just like that I have brushed him out of my mind. When it comes my time, there is nothing else I can say except, "I do."
____________________________________________________________
8 years of tireless work was the only way I could try to live with myself. I had to go back, there was no other way. I was such a fool, and she paid for my mistake. I would have killed myself if it weren't for the thought that I might be able to prevent this misery. I knew it would be a one way trip, but it would be worth it just to see her one last time.
Slipping in at the last minute, I took a seat near the back where I could leave relatively unnoticed. It wasn't that I had anywhere to go, but I certainly couldn't stay. I sit and wait to catch the eye of my younger self, and then the music begins. The doors open, and she steps out with all eyes on her. I'm absolutely frozen. She is even more beautiful than I remember. It's all I can manage to keep from running to embrace her. I take a deep breath and try to still my shaking. I look back to myself and finally think to do what I had come to do. The memories flooding back: the burglar, the panicked shot. I have to warn him, but all I can manage to choke out is "Please, don't protect her."
| 7 | 0 | 568 | 147,349 |
[WP] Your dying father gives you a tape on his deathbed. It's of his wedding day, and in the background of the video you see your wife.
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I don't think this turned out very well, but here it is. Please be kind!
************
It was strange. Before me, on a hospital bed littered with tubes and monitors, lay a broken and dying man. His liver, among other organs, was rapidly failing, and it was only a matter of time until he passed away into darkness. I thought I would feel something, anything, but instead, I was just numb. It did not help that I barely knew the man, having only just recently met him, but one thing remained biologically certain; this man was my father.
I knew that I was adopted, but because I had had such a wonderful life with my foster parents, I had never really stopped to question it. I had been only a baby when they took me in, rescuing me from an addict mother living in a drug den. They had revealed my past to me when I was a teenager, but after a night of tears and questions, I realized that they were my parents; they were the ones who had raised me, taken me to soccer games, changed my diapers, given me nothing but the best they could provide at Christmas time; even my siblings had always been there for me. That I wasn't a biological relation was just a formality.
I may have inquired a few times about what became of my biological parents, but my adoptive father, a cop, had only been able to supply me with what had become of my mother: shortly after I'd been rescued, she had overdosed on heroin and died in a downtown hospital. No one knew my father's name, but it was assumed that he had probably suffered a similar fate.
Now I was a happy and healthy adult, with three children and a wonderful wife whom I adored with all my heart. She was adopted as well, and we bonded intensely over our shared experiences.
Exactly how he tracked me down, I am not sure. But one day I received a phone call. It was a young woman. She explained to me that she was my cousin and told me that my father was very sick. She had managed to track me down online, and asked me to come visit. Her story fit with my adoptive parent's history, and in order to obtain confirmation, I submitted to a DNA test. The results were positive; the sick man was my father.
It turns out that he had managed to pull his life back together at one point, but was too ashamed of his past to try and find me. He thought that what he had done was too great to be forgiven, and thought it best to simply stay out of my life. It wasn't until he became sick that his friend, who was also his pastor, had helped convince him that all can be forgiven in time, and maybe he should try to find me, if for nothing else to gain closure and apologize.
So here we sat in a dingy hospital room, monitors beeping away, engulfed in an awkward silence. My father lay staring at the ceiling. I cleared my throat and shifted my gaze from one floor tile to another. My concentration was occasionally broken by a text message from my wife. She had wanted to be here with me, to support me, but I had insisted this was something I needed to do alone.
My cousin and her mother, my aunt, sat on the opposite side of the room and made small talk. Finally, my father began to sit up and looked at me from what would become his deathbed.
"Look, son…Jim…I know you can't possibly forgive me for what I did to you. If it were me, I know I wouldn't," he rasped, "but someday you may want to know more about me. Who I was, where I came from, what I did with my life…"
"Look, I understand…," I began, but he cut me off.
"No, no, just listen. There's a box over there; it contains what remains of my past. Just take it. Shove it in a closet somewhere and forget about it. But you have kids, right? I cheated them out of a grandfather just as much as I cheated you out of a father. And someday they'll have kids," he sighed, trying to regain control of his argument "look, there comes a time when we want to know about who we are, where we come from. Maybe up until now you haven't cared, and maybe you never will, but if, or when, that time comes, I want you to have these things, because I sure as hell won't be here to tell you about it all."
My aunt stood up and walked to the corner of the room. On an empty chair there stood a small box, the sort one would receive in an office when being told it's time to clear out ones things and leave. There was not much inside – a few very old photo albums, a military uniform, some medals, and a couple of VHS tapes.
"Some of it is mine", the old man spoke, "and some of it came from her," he gestured towards my aunt. "Thanks," was all I could think to say. I smiled. "I'm sure my kids would love to see these, especially the uniform. Were you in Vietnam?"
"Yes, I was. Went there just shortly after my first marriage. I'm sure they told you, I have another child, a daughter, conceived out of wedlock", he laughed, "but we could not find her. Just you."
"And my mother…?" I enquired.
"A different woman. Met her after the war, during my darkest days. I really don't remember much from those days, and there are no photos, I'm afraid. I really hit rock bottom."
"That's okay," I said. "I didn't think there would be."
And so, three days later, my father died. I took the box of mementos home, and was going to do just as my father suggested by shoving them in a closet, when my wife stopped me. "I want to see them!" she said, rummaging through the box. "You never know what he went through. Aren't you even just the slightest bit curious? He could have been present for some amazing things!"
"I think you've seen Forest Gump one too many times, dear," I responded. But all the same I caved into her curiosity. As my wife flipped through one of the photo albums, I popped the VHS tape into our dual-deck DVD/VHS player. "Can't believe we hung onto this thing," I laughed. "Should've tossed it after we got the Blu-Ray."
"And aren't you glad you didn't," my wife teased, poking me in the side with her finger.
I turned on the TV as the video began to play. The screen flashed to life, taking us into a church. The way everyone was dressed, it looked like it was probably filmed in the early to mid 60s. To be honest, it was pretty typical, and thus, rather boring. That was, until the camera panned to the flower girl. "Hey, wait a minute," she said, "That's me!"
"What?!" I exclaimed. We stared blankly into the screen. Sure enough, it was my wife as a kid. We had seen pictures of her with her adoptive mother. This couldn't have been more than a year or two earlier. She appeared to be only three or four, but it was most definitely her; the long red hair alone made her stand out considerably in a room full of brunettes and black haired family members. In fact, there was only one other red haired woman in the video, standing next to my father in a bridal dress.
The camera panned to my father, who began to respond sarcastically to the questions asked by the unknown man holding it. His wife smiled as the flower girl ran up to her from the background and hugged the woman, my father's first wife, and stared intently up at him. My father ignored her in favor of the camera, but his wife grinned and looked down at her as she burst forth with a happy question;
"Mommy! Daddy! Did I do good?"
| 19 | 0 | 26 | 176,010 |
[WP] The most moral person in the world is assigned to the role of Death. Describe his one day job experience.
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He couldn't really understand it all.
He arrived in a hospital room between two blinks. An elderly man lay on the bed with his family surrounding him. Their quiet sobs were punctuated by the staccato alerts issuing from his monitor, the clangorous and discordic beeps and blips that either assured that everything was fine, or all terribly wrong.
He approached the elderly man. He had enough of these already today to understand why he was here, what he was supposed to do. It had taken a dozen or so times for him to comprehend his role, now. He woke up this morning expecting raspberry pancakes from his wife—it was his birthday today, and raspberry pancakes were his favorite—but before he even rolled out of bed, he had transported to some European town. He had tried pleading with the old man he met in the empty apartment, asked him why he was here, where was here. When he grabbed the old man in a vain attempt to shake information from him, the man went limp in his hands, and before the body crumpled to the floor, he was transported again.
He stepped toward the man in the hospital bed, careful not to touch the relatives around him. With a shaky hand, he brushed the wrinkled and veiny fingers of the old man, and the beeps and blips turned to an interminable, sustaining note. He shook his head and stepped back—
---------------------------------------------------
"I said, give me your purse!"
He was in an alleyway, the morning sun barely breaking through the skyscrapers around him. In front of him a man and woman stood opposed, she clutching her purse as the man tried to tear it from his grip. In his other hand was a pistol.
"I will shoot you lady, I swear to God. Just give me the purse."
"I ain't gonna let some thug like you just steal mah purse. You wanna shoot, then you Goddamn shoot."
He rushed forward, moving toward the gunman. He wouldn't let some innocent woman die.
He grabbed the shoulder of the gunman, and gasped as his hand slid through the jacket, shirt, and body of the man.
"I'll do it," said the gunman, "don't think I won't. You want to die over a purse?"
"I don't wanna die t'all, but I ain't gunna let you badger me with a gun." She yanked hard, and won back her purse as it slipped from the gunmans hand. "Whatcha' gunna do now, boy?"
The gun erupted.
He stood back from the two. Maybe if he didn't touch her, she wouldn't die. He could see the gun was aimed directly at her head, clearly a fatal blow, but maybe, if he did nothing, then nothing would happen.
But that's exactly what had happened: nothing. Time had grinded to a stop, and the ambient noise of the city ceased in a sudden silence. The defiant face of the woman was just as frozen as the grim frown on the gunman's, and the bullet hung motionless. It was inches from her forehead.
He tried pushing the bullet away, but it his hands fell through thin air. He tried to pick up a piece of pallet to push her out of the way, but felt emptiness. He felt emptiness inside him as he turned back to the woman.
He brushed her shoulder. Reality crashed back to normal; cars honked, the woman gasped, and he began to cry.
---------------------------------------------------
Everything blurred after that. A starving child, a couple in a car crash, an old woman surrounded by family, an old woman alone in her room. A bus full of children and their driver as it sailed off a cliff face. He continued to weep through all of them.
---------------------------------------------------
He blinked and found himself in his kitchen. His wife was there, cooking pancakes. He smelled raspberries. He thought this nightmare was over.
"Paul! Wake up, you bum! I've got your birthday present down here!"
She wiped her hands on a dish rag and threw it down on the counter, then moved to the table where a large box was expertly wrapped in bright blue paper. A gold bow topped the bow. It looked beautiful. She looked beautiful.
"That," he said, sighing with relief "has got to be the best wrapping job you've ever done, honey."
She didn't hear him.
"Paul! Come on, you slug! Get out of bed!"
A whoosh sounded behind them, and they both turned simultaneously to see the dish rag had ignited, it's corner set in the flame of the stove. She gasped and ran to grab the fire extinguisher in the laundry room. While she was gone, he watched the fire escalate impossibly fast, moving like a living predator, seeking out anything to consume.
She returned with the fire extinguisher and gasped again to see how large the fire had grown. She struggled with the pin, trying to yank it free but somehow failing.
"Paul! Paaaaaaul, fire! Fire in the kitchen!" The fire had grown exponentially, covering the entirety of the countertop in their small townhouse kitchen.
She pulled and pulled on the extinguisher but found no success. Dropping the canister, she rushed to the sink and tried to combat the blaze with the faucet sprayer, but the weak spout of water could not quench the fire.
The paint began to bubble and peel away from the wall as the heat grew to unbearable levels.
"Paul! God fucking damn it, where are you? FIRE!"
The cupboard doors fell as they burned away from their hinges, igniting the rug below. She stepped backward, still hopelessly spraying at the inferno.
"PAUL! HELP! HELP! FIRE!"
The fire erupted then, a small explosion caused the very air to ignite, and she tumbled to the floor, barely missing the mushroom cloud of heat and flame.
She sat in the corner of the kitchen, flames swirling above and around her. The wailing of the fire alarm matched her own wailing.
"PAUL! PLEASE! HELP! HELP ME!"
He only waited. He knew it would come.
The ceiling gave a moan as it began to tear itself apart between the flames. A large chunk freed itself and began to fall, directly above her. She glanced up and shrieked.
And then it stopped. The flames stilled, the sounds silenced, the heat abated. His wife knelt their, the horror of the situation reflected in her eyes. Her face was contorted in a rictus of pain and torment.
He crumpled to the floor and wept.
---------------------------------------------------
He wept for an eternity.
---------------------------------------------------
Finally—after the last look at her face prompted no tears, after he had burned out all of his grief and rage, after he could no longer stand the look of fear and helplessness she had—he touched her cheek.
The ceiling, and his world, collapsed around him.
| 21 | 0 | 41 | 176,361 |
[WP] Aliens have arrived! But ... they're completely ignoring us.
|
"So we have determined the aliens are not whales themselves yes?" The president asked the secretary of defense.
"Correct mister president. Several flybys have confirmed they are humanoid in nature." The president had called all the cabinet members together to solve this problem.
"We have also determined that they are as of yet conducting no hostile action toward the whales, nor to any surrounding aquatic or human life." The secretary of defense continued.
"Then what in the blue blazes are they doing?" The president asked.
"William Shatner hasn't gone missing has he?" The secretary of state asked.
"No mister secretary, neither has Leonard Nemoy or any other of the original cast. We're still pinning down the locations of the reboot stars." The defense secretary said.
"Are they mating with the whales?" The secretary of education asked.
"Arne get out of here!" The president yelled. "You're not turning this into another meeting about sex education." The secret service escorted the secretary of education out.
An aid suddenly burst into the room.
"Mister president, we've received a communication from the aliens!"
"What?" Every man in the room said.
"Let's have it, what did they say?"
The aid excitedly looked at his piece of paper.
"They said, please stop sending those loud jets, they're interfering with the tenth millennial interspecies symphony. We just got the killer whales to stop eating the pilot whales, and we'd like to get started."
| 82 | 0 | 133 | 142,210 |
[WP] You try to rob an ice cream parlor, but get distracted by the 32 different flavors
|
It'd been about a month since I was laid off. Times were tough and since everything went digital, people just weren't buying paper anymore. When they let me go, they gave me a measly $1000 severance pay and I had nothing saved. I blew $730 on a brand new flat screen TV for my apartment that I can no longer afford, but good luck evicting me. I've since been rationing out my last $270 on meals. I went for a walk to clear my mind and something in me told me to do it. I have no doubt I was sent on a mission. By who? I-I'm not sure. Was it an Angel? Was it a spy with a microchip in my brain? It may have well just been. I walked into the shop and instantly I remembered enjoying a day on the boardwalk with my grandfather some 30 years ago. I tried to shove the memories away and just get this done. I pulled out the knife that I always carry around. The light reflecting from it made the sun look dim. "Just...open the register. Do as I say" I shouted with a slight tremble in my voice. "Yeah, sure bro" the cashier said, he was no older than 16 and probably had nothing invested in shop so why does he care if they lose money? And then I heard *his* voice, "May I have 2 scoops of the chocolate in a cone please..wait, you want chocolate, right Ryan?" he asked me. Oh no. Not a flashback. I looked at the flavors and I felt the sweat dripping down my back. I started stuttering and shaking. "Woah, just take it easy man" the cashier pleaded. I started screaming "CHOCOLATE. NO. NO. COTTON CANDY. NO. IS THAT ESPRESSO? VA---MIN---UHHHAHHHHH NOOO." And as I fell the knife slipped and in the reflection, there he was. It'd been 15 years since Grandpa passed but, there he was.
| 2 | 0 | 6 | 195,024 |
[EU] A young Andy is given the toy tiger Hobbes as Calvin goes to college. To the shock of Andy's other toys Hobbes casually starts a conversation with Andy. (Toy Story/ Calvin and Hobbes)
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"Oh, I almost forgot," Calvin said, turning to Andy. "Here's my tiger, I've had him since I was little. I know you'll have a lot of adventures together..." Calvin chuckled and Andy let out a small nervous smile at the comment. "Treasure Hobbes, will you?"
"Of course, Calvin! Thank you," he repied, accepting Hobbes.
Calvin turned to the tiger, "Be good, and I know we'll see each other again some day. I need to focus on my studies."
After a moment, he nodded to himself. Swallowing thickly, Calvin turned around and left Andy in his front yard. Andry blinked, wondering what was that about. He looked at his new toy and grinned.
"All right, Hobbes, let's introduce you to my toys!"
"Sounds good to me!" said the tiger who suddenly became his animated self. Andy lost his footing on the way inside the house and fell. "That was smooth, Andy."
"You... you can talk!" Andy yelled, crawling backwards on his butt away from Hobbes.
"No shit, sherlock," Hobbes said, rolling his eyes.
"What... what are *you*?" Andy asked.
"A stuffed tiger, of course. What else? An alien?" Hobbes said, crossing his arms.
Andy spluttered, watching Hobbes uncross his arms and went into the house. His mom was in the kitchen. Horrified, Andy ran after Hobbes, he did *not* want his mom finding a tiger walking around the house.
"Stop right there!" Andy yelled, pouncing onto Hobbes just as his mom came into the living area and stopped.
"What are you doing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm... uh..." Andy stammered, looking down at the very un-animated tiger. "Just playing."
"All right, well, go put your new toy in your room and come back down for dinner," she said.
In a flash, Andy went to his room, and Hobbes became animated again.
"Food huh?" Hobbes said.
Andy paused at the door, looking at Hobbes for a moment. "Do.. you *eat*, Hobbes?"
"Of course I do, my favorite is a tuna sandwich if you must know," Hobbes said.
"All right..." Andy said, running back downstairs.
"What was *that*?!" Woody yelled, jumping to his feet on the bed, pointing at Hobbes. His cowboy hat askewed on his head.
"What was what?" Hobbes asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"You--you--" Woody tried to talk.
"You *talked* to Andy," Buzz said, walking to stand by Woody's side.
"Oh, that?" Hobbes said with sudden understanding. "It's a part of my nature to converse with my friends."
"F-f-fri--" Woody stammered again.
"Friends?" Buzz asked.
"Yeah, being friends with *toys* is lame. Humans are way better," Hobbes said, grinning maliciously. "You will all be gone in a week, save for the dinosaurs and toy cars. They can stay. I will have no competition."
The toys stared at Hobbes in horror. Sid was nothing compared to this new monster.
| 80 | 0 | 1,721 | 189,467 |
[PI] A man wakes up after death, realizing that his life was nothing more then a virtual reality which temporarily clears your memories beforehand. It is nothing more then a everyday leisure activity done by the people in the future.
|
That was... *magnificent*. All the elements and emotions packed *perfectly* into ... *one post?* How did you *do* that? You spent just enough time on his Earth / game life to let us feel his devotion to his wife, and then killed him off (if I may speak so bluntly) so as to let the story move on. You later showed the widow many years later having lived without him for many (game) decades, and still later neatly tied up how that was possible, with *one line* about "the technology" packing an entire lifetime into an hour, inserted as a quite natural piece of dialogue. Nicely done. Your story world is entirely self-consistent and I, for one, would love to read another nine or twelve *hundred pages* of it. I can even speculate on some phenomena, both technological and sociological, you could explore. Let me know if you would like to hear any of that. I expect you've probably had a bunch of ideas yourself, but perhaps I can contribute something new. If it helps get a novel-length book off the ground, so much the better!
**saves story to hard drive to read again and again, into the distant future when Google itself has long since lost track of this page**
| 6 | 0 | 684 | 53,800 |
[WP] I always see prompts about how the humans are the most feared beings in galactic warfare. Write a story about how the humans are outmatched by the true hunters of the Milky Way
|
Let's be honest: Earth's a dirt speck, suspended in a field of trillions of other dirt specks, some slightly more comfortable dirt specks, others slightly less so. There is nothing - nothing! - special about Earth.
Course, you look at 45th century Earthlings, they've got a different opinion. Figure out faster-than-light travel, colonize a couple systems, defeat some primitive pre-space civilizations, and suddenly you think you're the toughest shit in the universe?
Turns out the only thing that made humanity special was its collective ego.
There were folks out there on the other side of the Milky Way who had been flinging planets at one another through hyperspace ten million years before the first pre-human stood up on its hind legs to pick its nose. Elsewhere there were empires spanning multiple galaxies, veterans of wars spanning millenia, with technology so far beyond anything humans could imagine that a mere glimpse would have caused a half-dozen religions to spring up.
The wake up call came in the form of a Kleedorian scouting probe, a moon-sized automated craft designed to skip from system to system, evaluating planets for possible terraforming and settlement. It popped out into orbit around Echo, the third largest human colony, and ran a quick scan. Sensing that the planet was an excellent candidate for a colony, it innocently deposited a few rejuvenation pillars and jumped to the next system.
Of course, as the rejuvenation pillars descended through the atmosphere, they began to turn the air to methane, initiating a chain reaction that suffocated every one of the two billion human beings on the planet within thirty-six hours. The Kleedorian people were quite peaceful, but they did require a methane-based atmosphere to breathe.
News of the disaster shook humanity to its core. Were they under attack? Who had declared war? They devoted all their resources to the production of ships, dreadnoughts and carriers and weapons platforms, and sought to prepare themselves for the next attack.
It never occurred to them that the event they considered humanity's darkest hour was a minuscule error, a gust of wind from someone's idly flapping hand, capable only of distressing the smallest and most insignificant of flies.
Were the Kleedorians to have discovered what they had done to Echo, they would have been horrified. But they were so far away that they would never get a chance to meet humanity and apologize, not before a galactic power with real malice in its heart swept the human race away in a single blow.
| 3 | 0 | 29 | 198,522 |
[WP] People communicate telepathically. Describe a scene of heavy arguing between a man an his wife.
|
The couple at the table on the far side of the café sipped their espressos in complete silence. I focused my attention on the clock next to me. Kitty was late. I just wanted to be done and go home.
The Tuesday mid-afternoon droned on as so many had before it. In fact this couple was the only customers I'd had in over an hour. But their eyes were locked and they were so clearly in each other's minds, I didn't attempt to break the mental communication. Her eyebrows, soft and brunette, furled in an unflattering way toward her nose. Her right hand would occasionally move open palmed toward him or the ground, as if she were telling him to stop. He would move his left and touch his forehead, glancing down at the table briefly. This conversation, before we got connected to MindTalk would have disturbed the entire establishment. I would have had to ask them to leave -- as to not disturb any potential customers. But now, their public displays of aggression left me watching body language in a morbid curiosity.
The bell hanging over the door chimed, it was Kitty. I looked her dead in the eyes, her eyes dashed to the ground as her voice rang in my head: *I know, I know. I'm sorry.*
-001
| 3 | 0 | 5 | 182,821 |
[WP] Click "random" to go to a random subreddit. Come back here and post about your experience like a hero returning from an intrepid journey.
|
"Open the gates!" came the shout from the blocky granite gatehouse flanking the iron-bound entryway. A raucous rattling sounded as the chains hauled up the portcullis, and the heavy oak-and-iron doors behind swung open.
A visibly exhausted man atop an equally spent stallion made his way across the lowered bridge. His previously spotless plate and mail was scratched and dented, the black-and-red device it bore barely distinguishable beneath a mottle of smeared brown and green plant matter. A page rushed forward, holding his mount as he lowered himself from it.
"My lord--" a retainer began, stepping forward, his quilted doublet's prim cleanliness in stark contrast to the knight's battered armor.
"Take me to the Duke at once," he snapped, cutting the man off.
"At... At once, my lord," the sycophant replied, leading him past the growing crowd of onlookers. The page saw to his mount as the knight clanked into the low stone keep.
His muddy boots left a brown and green trail across the length of the luxurious purple dyed carpet that spanned the breadth of the lord's hall, but the battered knight paid no heed. He came to the throne, such as it was in such a backwater hell, which the Duke had taken for his own during his visit, leaving the count to sit humbled at the smaller seat at its right hand. The knight went to one knee before the Duke.
"Rise," he said. He had hard features, lines showing his growing age, but the Duke was by no means an old man. He was powerful in his own right, and the leather jerkin he preferred gave him a certain martial air.
The knight rose. "My lord. I have been to the savage garden as you instructed," he began, voice grave. "The reports were not exaggerated." An anxious murmur rose through the retainers that had gathered at the knight's return.
"Leave us," the Duke said. He did not raise his voice, but the dozen or so courtiers departed promptly nonetheless. They knew better than to linger when dismissed. The Count did not leave, however; nor did the wrinkled crone that sat to the Duke's left, clad in shapeless grey robes, a thick leatherbound tome on the table beside her.
"What did you see?" The crone spoke this time, and the knight turned to her.
"Foul magicks," he replied darkly. "The Blackwood has been overrun by foul, corrupted plantlife. They feed on the flesh of the creatures within the wood. Nothing stirred for miles around." The knight steeled himself, and continued: "I came upon a coven of the woods witches there. They were raising these... these flesh-eating plants. They saw me, and they ordered their thralls to attack. They swarmed over me but I cut free and rode hard for here."
He went silent, then. The Duke, the Count, and the crone considered him in silence for a moment.
"We must act," the Count said then.
"Raise your levies," the Duke said in agreement. "Have your men collect as much pitch and kindling as they can. We are going to burn these foul creatures out."
***
My first ever response to a WP. Hope you enjoyed a bit. Never written ~~anything~~ a story before. The subreddit was /r/SavageGarden.
| 12 | 0 | 107 | 165,781 |
[WP] You are the commander of the last human fleet, acting as the final line of defence against the armada coming for Earth. Write your final speech to your fellow soldiers and everyone on Earth.
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I stood on board the bridge of my ship, staring out into the desolate field of space in front of us. I leaned on the table and turned to my Captain.
"Captain Perkins, fleet wide channel…and open a channel to the last cities on Earth."
I heard a few clicks next to me and knew Perkins had done what I asked. Good kid, even better soldier.
"Open, sir. You are now broadcasting to every human in the galaxy."
I nodded and smiled. This was it. Our final line of defense, the last thing our history would record for years to come. It was the end.
"Humanity." I took a deep breath. "I am Acting Admiral Reginald Lance, but many of you probably know me as 'Ace.' I stand before you today, on board the SUS Eternal Glory, not as a military leader, but as a surviving member of the human race. That's what we are, we are the survivors of the Long War."
I paused, my entire bridge crew was staring at me and I began to look at them. "I come to you as a father, as a husband, as a man who is trying to protect his world, his home, the only things we have left."
I looked at Perkins standing next to me and put my hand on his shoulder, he smiled, I smiled back and continued to speak; walking around the bridge. "In a few minutes, our enemy will be at our gates. They will be throwing everything they have at us, here and now. Everything we have come to protect, everything we have fought for will be for nothing if we do not stand our ground."
I stopped in the middle of the bridge, standing in front of the large window. "We have lost many good men and women in this war, thousands of whom sacrificed their lives to give us time. Valuable time that would hopefully make a difference. I will not lie…we are outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed. There is no alternate plan, there is no other world, there are no more soldiers left to fight."
I paused and stood straighter.
"Many of us are going to die today." No, that wasn't enough. I had to be honest. "This may very well be the last day of humanity. But we are survivors. We will not go down without a fight. We will not vanish from this galaxy without something to show for it. These invaders did not come to enslave us, they did not come to hurt us or teach a lesson, they came to destroy us. They came to erase us from this universe without as much as a blemish in their history books."
I shook my head and smiled.
"But this is a Long War. Our enemy will know humanity by the end of it. Our enemy will tremble at the word. Our enemy will be frightened to return here. Our enemy will know our name. And I promise you, if today is the last day in our history, for every human left, for every human that died, the enemy will lose far many more."
That's when I heard the beeping on the terminals. I looked out into the window and saw the ships, dozens of them at first, then hundreds, then thousands. We were going to lose this fight.
"I stand in front of you, looking into my enemy as I speak, telling you that today is our last day. But the enemy out there, they will remember who we were. They will remember who we are."
I nodded.
"This is Admiral Reginald Lance signing off. Good luck and Godspeed to all of you. Remember, let them hear your name."
I turned to my crew. They looked at me, smiling, grinning, some chuckling. I grinned back, "Fire at will."
EDIT: Changed some words.
| 1 | 0 | 19 | 80,948 |
[WP] You are laying in your prison cell when you hear a voice coming from the window. "Err... Pardon me but could I borrow your bedsheet? I seem to have run out of rope"
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"Err... Pardon me but could I borrow your bed sheet? I seem to have run out of rope"
The increasingly less disguised polite criticisms of economic theory came to a stumbling halt as everyone turned to see who could have the temerity to interrupt the strenuous and entirely imperative discourse of a salon.
M. Stylos was in the middle of an impassioned (and to be politic, one-sided) debate with
M. Papier, whose remarks never made any lasting impression upon anyone but M. Bureau, our affable host. Though in M. Papier's defence, he was rather open to any topic being discussed.
I stood, raising my hand to stave off the fountain of outrage and addressed the man who hung inverted at our window: "Monsieur, and it is only through my courtesy that I allow you such a title to a man who interrupts such minds of science and philosophy as we, answer me this: why should I trade you my bed sheet? Monsieur, it is much more a service beneath me than united with it's fellows in what is plainly your grand escape."
"Take pity on me, monsieur! I am bound here not by iron and brick, but by lies and injustice! Should I escape, I mean to fly upon the wind towards my accusers and with the blessings of Truth, shatter their slanders upon my good name! Good fellow, take heart, and give me your bedsheet in the furtherance of my most noble cause!"
I must confess I was initially, unmoved. The salon erupted at my inaction, spouting opinions both poisonous and too noble to be believed.
I raised my hand for silence. "Monsieur, your pleas have cut through to my heart. I will aid you in this quest of yours. But, please, will you leave me with nothing?"
"My need is dire monsieur!"
"I have never witnessed a story more compelling! But please monsieur, think of me! Though generous my gift would be, how could you live with yourself knowing that you won your happiness by being so greedy!"
"Greedy! How can you say that!" he scoffed.
"You are the prisoner on the fifth level correct? You have already climbed down three levels using the very same method you approached me with, begging me for yet another level's worth of bedsheets. Once you reach the first level and spin the same tale you've told me you'll be on terra firma and off without a thought of the other four prisoners above you! And you would beg our sheets and pity, and throw yourself out our feet with cries of Love and Justice! For shame!"
"You're right! How terrible of me not to think of the other four imprisoned here! But my need is great and Haste urges me on! Tell me, friend, what can I give you as recompense for my flight towards Justice?"
"It is simple friend. You have climbed a great length to speak to me, and only need my bed sheet to advance further; what need of you of the sheets you've already descended? My heart breaks to hear of your plight, and the guilt of your getting away whilst leaving your fellow prisoners here! Trade me your three sheets for my one and you can run to right whatever wrongs your heart is troubled by!"
"You are a true friend to me monsieur! As I find the peace I search for, may you find yours!"
"Think nothing of it friend! But be quick, the sun is soon to rise and you must be far afield before the guards make their rounds. Secure your rope here and above before you untie your third length and bring all three in trade to me!"
"I shall be swift!"
***
M. Sol rose as I was walking alongside a river the next morning; he was genial, but understandably terse due to the early hour. I spared it not a thought, for he is a man who has great matters to attend to.
To be earnest, I did as well; I had not planned this most recent escape so much as it had been gifted to me by Chance, who was kind enough to wrap it in the life of an idiot. An idiot who didn't know that the first floor window was barred because I was it's former occupant who had tried the same plan he had months prior. Now it was either the fifth floor who lost a prisoner, or the second floor or the rocks on which the whole tower who had gained one.
Normally I had means to escape and disappear, the result of months of planning and observation. Now I was dressed like a lunatic in three bedsheets next to a river at dawn.
| 2 | 0 | 45 | 199,898 |
[WP] ALL drugs are legalised. If you can, make two separate writings: the paradise and the living hell.
|
Claire woke up and headed straight for the living room. She opened the windows, drew back the curtains and breathed in the crisp autumn air. She smiled at the feeling of the breeze through her chestnut locks and walked to the couch. She sat down, emptied the white powder onto the glass table in a perfectly straight line. She took one last look outside, then inhaled deeply. Claire felt it's effects almost instantly, the rush of blood and spike of energy were delicious. She quickly took snorted two more lines, got dressed and began her day. Claire walked to work with a smile on her face, truly in awe of the beauty in her now technicolor world.
_____________________________________________________________
Claire got off of work three hours too late. She needed her fix immediately, but despite the new laws she was not allowed to give into her vice at work any longer, the higher ups thought it was unprofessional. And so, she crept out into the night, her body craving cocaine so badly that she was shaking. She walked swiftly, past the numerous shanty towns, down the avenue, past the cops speeding down the street, sirens blaring. Claire finally made it to her apartment, unlocked the door and threw down her bag. She rushed to the living room table and breathed a sigh of relief as she sat down. She quickly cut herself five perfect lines and took them in rapid succession. She then laid on her back and began to daydream. These dreams were soon interrupted as she began to convulse. Claire attempted to sit up and get some water, but tripped over her feet, slamming her head into the table. Glass shattered around her as she bled out onto the hardwood floor.
| 1 | 0 | 40 | 167,225 |
[WP] While out on a date with the last (wo)man alive, you accidentally kill them.
|
Admittedly, I was inexperienced in pain. Even though she desperately thrashed herself against the walls of unconsciousness, I could see it consuming her. My decision was meticulous and intense though my actions an accident.
My intent was to kill her, but not like this. The television set behind me flashed the countdown, as it had for the last 30 years. The extinction of the human race, brought about by the unexplained disappearance of all females.
She was the last, this woeful creature dancing in exaggerated sweeps across the floor, a knife buried into her chest. We were not worthy of her. She would have been a mother to the bastard children of a undeserving people. This was the only solution.
History has shown that in abundance we fought, devoured, stole, deceived and even cradled upon the brink we could not change. It was a sin to bring children into the farce we had all learned to recite. I questioned myself briefly, and slipped a cigarette between my lips as comfort.
"No.. no the knife slipping into her chest was an accident but killing her, killing her was a pleasure."
| 3 | 0 | 26 | 21,942 |
[WP] You stop by a convenience store to grab a few things when two masked men walk in with guns. How does it go down?
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"Give me the fuckin' money man, and let me get your phone too I know you got one!
"Please guy, this store es all we have. Please you don't need do this"
"Shut the fuck up an' hurry yo. If you say one mo' fucking word I'm gonna shoot you and come get the shit myself. Ay and let me get that watch you got too."
The gun was trained on the clerk, but visibly shaking. Must be a rookie. Just needs a quick come up. Shit you know how it is
"It's no real!"
"The fuck did I say!? Don't talk homie. Do!"
"Please guy!"
"Dammit I can't keep waitin' all fuckin' night!"
The gun steadied a bit. Holy shit, is this clerk really about to die? Seconds pass without gunfire.
The store's automatic door slides open and two guys wearing masks come in yelling
"Everybody to the front of the st-. Hold up what the fuck?"
I turn and point my gun at the two people in masks. Each have a gun. Big guns, I ain't seen some shit like this in real life before. I meant to shoot them, but it was so fast. I don't exactly know what really happened, okay? They didn't even have their guns all the way pointed at me yet.
I just know as I turned to my left to face these dudes, a second, if even that much time later, I felt a rush of pain in my side, quickly followed by what sounded like a series of explosions. Three, four, six explosions? Shit I couldn't tell you. I just know next thing is I'm on the fucking ground and I keep hearing more explosion sounds, a fucking lot of them, but they're getting more and more quiet each time. What's happening?
| 4 | 0 | 20 | 101,216 |
[WP] A McDonalds employee gets off work. Build me a person using that foundation.
|
(Sorry for the format, I'm using my phone from my ambulance... I think I might rewrite this after work, because it really hits home for me.)
7 hours and 58 minutes. Once again, Randall was just short of a full 8 hour shift. Once again, Randall sighed and moved towards the door, through past all of his coworkers. He plastered on a smile, as he said bye to Zeke, Brian, Jovana, Angel, Rubi, Blanca... They met each others' eyes as they passed. It was a mutual pain.
"See you tomorrow," was both a blessing and a curse. It was a promise that your support team would be waiting g for you come morning, because unless you wore the bright blue shirt with the ridiculous M on the chest, you didn't know how it felt.
Those three words also reminded you that today was a bad dream, though. The sunrise only brought more of the same. More French fries... More nuggets... More more more...
Randall avoided the stares of customers as he shuffled out of the restaurant. They looked at him like he was an intruder. He belonged behind the counter, flipping patties, assembling burgers, bagging food, but not in their dining area.
He agreed. He didn't belong out there. He couldn't even afford the six dollar Big Mac Meal on his income. He didn't belong among customers.
He reached the exit and scuttled to his car. It was filthy. Books littered the back seat. Roman histories, Calculus, astronomy, how to write a novel... The subjects he studied in his free time. He sighed, wishing he had a better professor than himself and wishing he had a better university than his library's shelves. He'd been top of his high school class once upon a time. He shook off the thoughts.
He took his place at the wheel. The car rumbled into life and carried him home, like usual.
He walked into his father's house and snuck to his room. He didn't want to hear another comment about how he didn't contribute to society enough. His father was too drunk too often to be amiable. Randall handed him the rent check once a month and avoided him on every other occasion.
His room was small and poorly lit. He pulled out his desk chair and sat down. He rested his head in his hands, and braced himself for tomorrow's work day...
| 2 | 0 | 25 | 140,376 |
[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife
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Typically you'd think working at a suicide hotline would be depressing. But not me, I saw the beauty in each and every person who dialled. The thing I wanted to show each and every caller was their uniqueness was what made them who they were. But they had to find that in themselves. The fact that happiness comes from within, life sucks but that's life, it's not a gift.
One night a voice called with an eerie familiarity about it. She abruptly cut off my typical cheery introduction and told me she was depressed and her husband didn't know. Cutting straight to the chase, she relinquished in me that he hadn't shown her love or made physical contact with her in months and it had driven her to this point. I told her my own marriage had become stale and that she should try something refreshing. This only upset her further, the opposite of what was supposed to happen. I told her to let it all out, to truly feel her emotions and see what an amazing part of life that is. There is always good in the bad, bad in the good, yin, and yang.
Slowly as she let out her feelings, the goddamn honest truth of how she felt about her life, the world and everything, her words became clearer and calmer, I could sense a dryness in her raspy voice from sobbing into the mouthpiece. I continued talking with the woman for many hours, not even knowing her name but bearing with this woman through what sounded like the toughest night of her life. As the call continued I began to think of my own wife, all the things great and awful that made me love her for who she was…
Although at first I only faintly recognised the voice, I began to develop a picture in my mind of my callers life and how closely intertwined it could easily be with mine. Once the seed was planted I began to think more and more, could I in fact be having one of the most meaningful conversations id ever had with my own wife, without even knowing it?
Finally the anxiety of not knowing gave way and I burst out interrupting "Trudy is that you?!"
"…Yes" sounding spooked, "How do you know my name I never gave you it?"
"It's me, Frank. I love you."
"I love you too Frank."
1st post lemme have it
| 4 | 0 | 304 | 70,996 |
[WP] You are a person that makes teaser trailers for different movies for a living and you are hired to make a teaser trailer for a movie based on the video game series Fallout. Describe the trailer you sent to your clients.
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(DISCLAIMER: This is the first time I've done a script-style prompt. You have been warned)
*Cut to a shot of an ICBM resting in its silo*
RON PERLMAN: War. War never changes.
The reasons why it is fought,
*Cuts to a bar of gold, then a chunk of land, then a drum of oil*
the men who fight it,
*Cuts to a Revolutionary War-era soldier, then a WWII infantrymen, then a soldier outfitted with power armor*
the equipment used in it...
*shows a sword, then a musket, then a laser rifle*
it all changes.
But War, War itself never changes.
*Slideshow advances to the backblast of the ICBM taking off*
RP: The United States of America and her allies fought against the People's Republic of China during the resource wars, scrounging for the last drops of oil around the world. In Alaska, they came to blows, bringing the most advanced technology the world had ever known to the battlefield.
*Cuts to a montage of a suit of T-51b Power Armor facing off against a Chinese tank, then a Chinese Heu Gui preparing to assasinate an American commander, then an overview of an ongoing battle from a Vertibird*
RP: However, in the year 2077, the last known drop of oil was expunged. Three hours later, the US and China exchanged nuclear weapons.
*Cuts to a Vault entrance*
RP: In preparation for this, the US government sponsored a program known as the 'Vault initiative', advertising it as a refuge for an incoming Chinese attack. Your great grandparents were one of the many who heeded the air raid sirens, and headed to a nearby Vault.
*Cuts to a montage of a guy in Power Armor holding a Brotherhood of Steel flag while his comrades fight off a gang of raiders.*
(While the montage is going) RP: 200 years later, Vault 42, the only place you've ever known, is set to open.
*Cuts to a vertibird flying over the Battle of Fort Abandon*
RP: And while the equipment has changed, the men have changed, the setting has changed....
*Cuts to a picture of an ICBM with an NCR emblem painted over a US one*
RP: "War. War never changes."
| 3 | 0 | 4 | 131,722 |
[WP] Scientists discover the location of Heaven.
|
"Being a genius is not necessarily knowing more than anyone else," Dmitri began his lecture. His palms were sweaty, his eyes wide, his stomach was in knots, and his words just a quiver shy of being an off-key tremolo. "Being a genius is seeing the things that other people, don't. Being a genius is being able to notice the things right beneath your nose," he fumbled the remote in his hand before striking the button on a remote to change to the next slide.
He was lecturing an auditorium full of the brightest minds of the century from all across the globe. For years he had cursed his assignment at the Antarctic Observatory. He hated the cold -- being a Russian, it was almost the most ostracizing trait he possessed (the first of which was his negative disposition towards vodka). The third trait, then, would be his fascination with Italian cuisine followed closely by an almost unnatural fascination with all things physics. His assignment, however, led him to a whole slew of discoveries, the least of which attracted the crowd summoned before him.
"Most of you here, of course, are familiar with A1689-zD1, or the first galaxy that formed after the Big Bang. We've been remarkably limited in our observations before, but the universe, and that galaxy, are full of secrets. And while I am just as excited as you are -- no, I'm sorry, that is a lie. While I *was* just as excited as you are now concerning the replica of Earth billions of light years away, I am more fascinated with the method of its discovery and the implications of said discovery."
Dmitri began explaining the way certain magnetic fields affected photons, tacheons, and other subatomic particles in such a manner to create a light highway. Their creation stemmed from bizarre distortions first noted years ago around black stars (stars so big that their light cannot escape their gravitational pull). What Dmitri and a dozen other physicists hypothesized, experimented, and proved was that for a star of that size to exist, its fuel could not be a fusion of normal matter, but of anti-matter -- furthermore, the fusion rate had to be controlled somehow, by mechanisms they hadn't discovered until recently.
"By isolating specific electromagnetic wavelengths, we were able to look beyond the event horizon of one of these dark stars, and we found a wormhole to a multi-verse, or several of them. We found a wormhole into Heaven."
"Heaven is a helluva name for a delusion," Dr. Oldomeyer, the Administrator of the Polish Science Academy barked from the auditorium. Dmitri recognized his voice -- one that always belittled, doubted, and insulted him. Dmitri beamed at his opportunity to elaborate.
"A delusion is caused by a mind free of its intellectual shackles, Doctor. And intellect says the gods of man's religions cannot co-exist, yet we have witnessed evidence suggesting just that." Dmitri went on to elaborate on, and disclose pictures of, prophetic symbols, events, characters, and worlds outlined in religious texts across the Earth. The room stirred in discomfort, disbelief, and disgust. How could it be possible?
"Schrodinger is right, my friends -- reality is but the chaos of possibility calmed by the eyes of a conscious observer. And the conscious observer of our universe allowed Mankind's prophecies to hold true, *all of them*."
"And what does that mean?" Dr. Oldomeyer posed arrogantly.
"It means," Dmitri reflected on his lack of faith momentarily and pitied his fear. "It means one of us is God."
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 47,218 |
[CW] "I loved her and she loved me, and for a while that was enough"
|
I loved her and she loved me, and for a while that was enough. About three hours later love became insufficient and water became a bigger concern.
I loved her, she loved water, I had water and was willing to barter it for love. For a while that was enough. But love doesn't put more water in the reservoir, and if bitches want water bitches better earn it.
It turns out everyone loves love, I love a variety of different products and watering holes attract a variety of travelers and with them a variety of goods. For a while that was enough, and although she had a lot of love to give it wasn't quite enough to make good business sense.
She loved water, and it turns out quite a lot of other woman do too. Woman also love the security of not needing to wander the wasteland indefinitely. I loved them all for it.
They loved water, I loved goods. Water is fleeting, however, while disappearing into the night with a sack full of loot is forever. There will always be new watering holes, after all. And with them more woman to love.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 91,237 |
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