post_title
stringlengths 4
310
| body
stringlengths 1k
8k
| score
int64 -6
4.95k
| gilded
int64 0
38
| post_score
int64 0
4.41k
| __index_level_0__
int64 0
232k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Every person in the world was created to complete one specific part of a master plan, when we die, we get to see what that one task had been. What was yours?
|
I had no fucking idea. You don't go through life with such ideas of grandeur you know? My mom and dad had always told me I was special but I'd always just passed it off as, well, you know, Jewish parents.
Things really just fell into place to be honest, one day I was having a deep philosophical conversation about how the Romans were treating us and the next thing you know I'm traveling as sort of this inspirational speaker. Things didn't get out of hand until people started making up stories about me. One day everything was norma and the next day was all prophecy this and prophecy that. Although things probably wouldn't have really kicked off otherwise but, between you and me, I think that'd caused too much pain. Some of my friends tell me that it wasn't my fault but those words are hardly comforting when they too, are running for their lives, because of me! Me!
In the end, I can't say I achieved much in life. Most of the credit, I think, should go to those who lived after me. I met a guy up here who told me once that everything he achieved in life he achieved because "he stood on the shoulders of giants". I'm certainly no giant but I am so proud to have been a foothold for the giants that followed my steps.
| 2 | 0 | 46 | 28,957 |
[WP] Describe a regular person's day as if it was in a fantasy world.
|
Jason the Restless tossed and turned in the final throes of his fitful sleep, chased by the demons of the previous day.
Fragments of his twisted dreams haunted him as he stirred awake and looked out the glass portal of the steel and stone tower in which he dwelt. Massive fortresses of melted sand and liquid granite sprawled out beneath the window, a maddening chaos of twisting pathways strung through them and screaming, roaring metal beasts, vying for dominance of avenues soaked in flickering, eldritch light.
The demonic crimson glare of his lightning-powered timepiece showed that he was late for his rendezvous with his fellow party members and he hurriedly donned his panoply and gnawed on a leg of spiced fowl to quell his ravening hunger.
Shouldering his travelling pack he turned the key in the brass lock to his tower chamber and hurried down the thousands of winding stairs that would lead him into the moiling chaos of the city below.
"YOU'RE LATE!" Roared Brent the Boardroom Baron, curious diagrams of colour and unintelligible runes crawling across the wall of his domain. In his hand he clutched a potion of vitality, still steaming hot and black as night, fresh from the bottomless cauldron deeper inside the dungeon complex.
Jason decided not to challenge the Baron, instead biding his time and glancing at Anneke the Angry, noting her fist clenched in rage around a painted wand of writing - her brawny digits liable to snap any second.
"I fucking *hate* these 7am meetings," she growled so that only Jason could hear her, "One of these days I'm going to backstab Brent when he least expects it."
Nodding quiet assent, Jason remained silent and they both braced themselves to endure the relentless assault of Brent's commercial conjury, waiting for their moment to strike.
"You were fucking awesome in there!" Cheered Thomas the Taxman, "You really took the sword to his figures and slew his salespitch!"
Jason had to admit, he had been pretty magnificent; dominating the Baron and destroying his carefully built financial fetches. It had been a hard battle however and Brent had invoked the Ritual of Recess to escape Jason's coup de grâce, leaving the party unsatisfied and itching for further conflict.
Trudging through the twisting maze of corridors, furtively glancing around for danger, they eventually stumbled into the Bountiful Breakroom, blissfully free of enemies.
"Alright! There's still provisions in the fruitbowl!" exclaimed Anneke and the tired and hungry party began to feast.
| 16 | 0 | 34 | 214,611 |
[WP] Write a horror story from the perspective of the antagonist. Make them as sympathetic as possible.
|
**(**This story is set in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, aboard a ship travelling through The Warp**)**
"GELLAR FIELD BREACHED!" the vox boomed, the cadence of the voice distorted by static, "INCURSIONS ON DECKS THREE, SIX, EIGHT, SEVENTEEN, TE... TEN.. I.. THE LIGHT OF THE EMPEROR IS OUR SHIELD, THROUGH HIS GRACE SH-"
The sobbing voice is finally silenced. I feel their bodies tighten and their hearts sink, as clearly as if the sensations were felt under my own hands. The thousands of voices that were so far away and muffled before, as frantic and fearful as they could be, are so much more clear and distinct as I slip inside the ship. All parts of my form shudder with excitement and anticipation, and the great sucking void of my hunger is obscured for a moment. I gladly embrace the temporary relief.
These dirty walls and arched ceilings are pitifully dull, but their stability and cohesion are a welcomed change, completely at ends with my home that now floods in behind me with others of my kind. This will only be a short relief from the chaos and hunger, but every moment is as sweet as anything I had ever experienced, despite the nature of this reality. I pass along the walls, letting myself become a part of them to indulge a desperate need to taste their stability. All around me burn the straining soul fires of the humans, stained a pulsing red and yellow in terror. I cannot help but lick all of my lips and teeth at the thought of what will come next.
These bodies are such poor and pathetic shells, they are a mockery of the essence that blazes within them. So many soul fires burn around me, moving in mortal forms so quickly in every direction, making so many loud sounds. I manifest, melting out from the metal hull as easily as the humans would move through foliage. Their shells around me flare with terror and panic for a moment, but only for a moment; I am quick to come over them, and soon they are broken, letting their essence come into me. Such poor, pitiful creatures.. I feel a stir of pride knowing I have made them a part of something so much greater than themselves. The gift of their nourishment and assimilation, however, pales in comparison the the freedom I am granting them. I swallow with a loud, wet gag, and the warmth of their fires fill me. The hunger immediately lessens, it is rapture and bliss personified.
I am not used to the restraints of such clumsy physicality. I lumber forwards, limbs slapping and kneading at the cold, metal floor as I go. Cold. Yet another new, torturous sensation of this material plane. Liquid streams down from all of my eyes, no doubt another physical manifestation of my feelings, as I am reminded of the horrors of this place. Despite the cohesion and stability, there is such coldness here inside this material place. I quicken my pace, unable to restrain my weeping as I go on to hunt. Such pain and torment is written on their faces, the cruelty of an imperfect shell housing something so much more beautiful. Hurriedly I take them, stuffing their bodies into me to eat, to silence their cries and the panicked thrumming of their cardiovascular organ. Be quiet and close your eyes poor men, women, and children, it will all be over soon. Please, just let me save you. Let me hold you in my arms, far away from the horrors and injustice of physicality.
*Please let me show you how much better you can be.*
| 6 | 0 | 25 | 196,666 |
[EU] Write about a quest giving npc in an mmo who is disgusted by the adventurers who come his way and take the slightest joy in killing anything, even small animals.
|
**Lar's Needs Wollen**
Lar's needs you to return some of his lost sheep to his land and deal with the wolf problem.
*Wolves Slain: 0/8*
*Sheep Found: 0/10*
**Description**
"Oh, hey! Thanks for coming by again *<charname>*! As you can see we have trouble here on the Lar's farmstead. Few of my sheep have gotten out and the wolves have gotten to them! Be a sport and round of the whole lot will yah?"
**Rewards:**
*50g xp 125,000
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Lar's Needs Wollen**
Lar's needs you to return some of his lost sheep to his land and deal with the wolf problem.
*Wolves Slain: 0/8*
*Sheep Found: 0/10*
*Description*
"Oh, hey. Thanks for coming by again, uh, **<charname>**. Lost some of my sheep you see. They are around here somewhere. Wolves too. Not that it's important. Uh… I've give you 50g… Which is a lot actually… I could actually buy a lot of sheep with that… Hmmm."
Rewards:
50g xp 125,000
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Lar's Needs Booze (Daily)**
Lar's blah, blah, blah.
*Wolves B%$#n: 0/800*
*Sheep F$%@#d: 0/1000*
*Bring Lar's Ale: 0/6*
*Retrieve Your Dignity 0/0*
**Description**
"You aren't going to read this so, whatever. Seems I've found out that with 50g I can buy an inordinate amount of sheep. I think I'll bump up the experience on this one too. Just enough that I know you are going to give it a go, **<charname>**. I've got all day."
Rewards:
50g xp 5,000,000
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 104,330 |
[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife
|
The phone rang. Alex looked up to the sky, asking God for help with another case. He picks up the phone.
"Suicide hotline, this is Steve. I'm here to help you."
"Oh that god," the woman on the phone said. "I was so scared that my husband would answer the phone."
Alex knew the voice immediately, and knew that his worst fear was coming to light. His wife was suicidal...again.
"No ma'am," he quickly replied. No one's husband am I. What's going on? How can I help?"
"Well, my marriage is in crumbles, my kids hate me, my husband doesn't pay attention to me, I'm pretty sure that he is having an affair with the neighbor, and I just want to end everything."
She knew. She knew about Tracy. This was my fault. I really did love her, and I never wanted her to know about Tracy. It was time to confess to her.
"Look, Nance, I'm sorry."
"YOU SON OF A BITCH. I KNEW IT WAS YOU."
"I am so sorry about everything. Let's talk about it when I get home tonight, okay?"
"When you get home? Take this you bastard!"
I heard the shot. Time stopped immediately. I felt everything go numb.
"NANCY!!! NANCE!! ANSWER ME."
I know it's hopeless. I jump up from my desk and speed home.
I throw open the door, and Nance is there, sitting on the chair, Tracy dead in front of her. She looks to me and says, "Alex, you piece of shit, I want a divorce."
| 3 | 0 | 304 | 71,004 |
[WP] The lottery is an Institution designed to catch Time Travelers.
|
The first thing to flash through my mind was the man just an hour earlier who had offered to buy my lottery ticket off of me for a hundred thousand dollars, cash.
Not a small sum of money, I had declined only because of stubbornness and irritability after a rough day at work. Plus, with the way he was dressed, I suspected he was some sort of eccentric criminal hobo who would just take the ticket and run. And yes, I reflectively could admit, I was so addicted to gambling that I'd rather take an infinitely small chance at winning big than a guarantee of winning slightly less big.
Now, as the television repeated itself - "3, 4, 14, 26, 29, bonus number 18!" - I stared down numbly at my ticket.
I was a millionaire. No, scratch that, a millionaire was someone with just a million dollars. I was a multi-millionaire. A $17,300,000aire, to be exact, payed either in a lump sum or over twenty years as I pleased.
Thank God I hadn't accepted the money, although now I wondered how the man had known I was going to win tonight...
"Excuse me." A melodious and whispery voice spoke into my small flat's living room.
I jumped, screamed, crumpled the ticket in a sudden iron fist, nearly bolted towards the door. The only thing blocking my escape was the muscle bound man standing in front of it.
"Excuse me." He repeated, and I marveled briefly at such a feminine voice coming from such a slab of masculinity. "I just need a moment of your time."
He - she? - stepped into my flat, allowing me to see that curiously, the door was still shut and deadbolted behind him.
"Twentieth century andorless one, low income, New York skylight behind. Acceptatious." It looked at me, then suddenly barked out at me in a rough, deep, raspy voice.
"I'm Detective Samuels with the US FBI IRS! We're dispatched to investigate your suspicious lottery winnings!"
He glowered at me, took another step forward. "My first question, curmudgeon. Who is the current president?"
I stammered, my mind completely blank, and I spoke the first presidential name I could think of. "Uh... Nixon?"
He stopped, tilted his head at me. "Next question, lucky punk. Name an unforgettable celebrity that just had their first minute of fame, whom history shant forget."
What sort of question was that... again, I spoke immediately, in a panic. "Justin... Bieber, I think? Maybe?"
His arm lowered to his side, rippling against the black fabric ominously. "Last chance, Beaver Cleaver. What is the current stock value of Wal-Mart Incorporated?"
I backed away, protesting. "How the hell would I know? Who the hell are you?!"
The pain spiked in a strange way, as first my feet dissolved, then my legs... slowly, up to my head, then the pain stopped at last. I wondered if I were dead, but slowly realized I could still see, and move even, somewhat. I spotted the ticket fluttering down and latched onto it, rolling over to try and intercept it before it hit the ground.
A jar slammed over me, blocking my route. The man grabbed the ticket before it could touch my dingy carpet, put it perfunctorily into a small case at his side. I could read the word 'Evidence' on it in flowery script... then I couldn't... then a moment later, I could again.
"Suspected Time Exploiter captured." He murmured out loud, once again using the fluttery voice. "The suspect failed the Tripled Time Situational Awareness Confirmation Quiz, as was predicted, and has been reduced to the standard prisoner transportation mode for his trial. He will be permitted to speak at his trial, and no sooner than then, per protocol to avoid further temporal contamination. A trace has been initiated to determine the extent of all quantum fallout from his activities."
He hefted the jar - my jar, I suppose - and began carrying me towards the door. As we passed my mirror, I saw myself.
An eyeball in a jar looked back at me, looking as though it wished to scream.
We vanished.
| 8 | 0 | 2,442 | 145,585 |
[WP]"I'm frozen by the fear in me. Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me."
|
### A link to the song, since it was not in the prompt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49tpIMDy9BE
------
*I pirouette in the dark.*
*I see the stars through a mirror.*
It's harder all the time. Days and nights blur together in a haze. I sit alone, every day the same routine. Wake up. Hit the alarm. Shower. Coffee.
I feel like I'm trapped in a bubble of routine. No one notices. No one cares. Trapped in their own bubbles, they spin and twirl around me.
A wall of glass between us ensures we never touch. No contact.
The world is a pale reflection of what I know it could be.
Alone.
I sleep. I eat. I'm living but I'm not alive. There is nothing keeping me here. Why do I go through the motions.
I drive to the store and our song plays on the radio. Love songs. *What is the appeal?* I wonder. *Why do we torment ourselves?*
The road flashes past, a blur of gold lines on black asphalt. The thrum of the engine resonates through my body.
------
*Tired mechanical heart*
*Beats 'til the song disappears.*
The lyrics meant something, once. I feel a tugging, deep in my chest. They mean something still. I wince at the sudden, sharp pain. We spoke those words. They were true. They had to be true.
Where did it all go? How did I let it slip away? I clamp down on the emotion. Bury it deep inside. I am immune. Untouchable. I hide in the dark places in the recesses of my mind. The pain stops.
------
*Somebody shine a light!*
*I'm frozen by the fear in me.*
I'm afraid of the pain. I've been there before, and it will eat you alive if you allow it. I know this through experience. I can't bear to feel that pain again.
I can't act. I can't reach out. If I do, I will be rejected, and the pain will come again. I can't risk it. It's too much. The dark is miserable, and I am alone; but I am safe.
I don't even remember how to reach the light again.
I am dead inside.
------
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me.*
I thought I was alive once. A gentle laugh, a smile. A word; a touch. They threatened to reach through the glass and pull me out into the light.
It was too bright. Too beautiful. My eyes could not adjust.
I pushed the hand away.
I'm not alive, but I am safe.
------
*So cut me from the line.*
*Dizzy, spinning endlessly...*
I saw a movie once. Children ringed a smaller child, laughing; taunting. The child looked up at them and their faces whirled around him, spinning faster and faster until they became a blur of color and sound. Meaningless, but cruel.
This is life. The world spins around me. It's a sickening feeling. So dizzy... I know I will fall, must fall, at any moment. My gut clenches. Wrenches. But I hold my feet.
The darkness holds me up. I am a puppet on its string, going through the motions of life.
There is no joy, no light. But there is no pain.
I am safe.
I am dead inside.
------
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me!*
Nothing is worth the pain. I've been there. I know. A voice in my mind whispers, *No one ever won anything they didn't fight for.*
I know this too. I don't need to win. I don't need to be happy.
I don't need anything to *live* for. I simply need to survive. One more day. Then one more.
Then again, what is the point?
Why do I bother to go on, day after day, without a purpose?
I thought I had a purpose once. Unfortunately, with joy comes pain. I don't want to risk that pain again: Lying shattered. Broken on the ground, my heart in sharp, tiny shards all around me, wondering where I went wrong.
It is better not to feel. Not to try.
Even if I must remain alone.
Even if I remain alone in the dark forever.
------
*If only the clockwork could speak*
*I wouldn't be so alone.*
The voice screams at me again. I thought it was in my mind, but it is coming from my heart. My cold mechanical heart that insists on beating even when I beg it to stop.
*Stop shouting at me!*
I clamp down again. I refuse to reach out. Love be damned. I prefer the dark.
------
*We'd burn every magnet and spring*
*And spiral into the unknown.*
There was a time when I believed anything was possible, as long as we were together. All we needed was love, and we had each other.
The possibilities were endless. My love waved a hand and showed me the stars. Their vastness frightened me.
Better to cower in the dark.
It's safer here, in my blackened bubble.
------
*Somebody shine a light!*
*I'm frozen by the fear in me.*
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me!*
*So cut me from the line.*
*Dizzy, spinning endlessly.*
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me!*
There was a time when I believed. I thought my love would catch me when I fell.
I had a vision. I threw myself backward, into the void. I fell.
The drop was endless and no arms reached to save me from the cold hard ground.
The impact nearly killed me.
I shook my head and the vision cleared. I bit my tongue. There is no way I can ever take that leap.
------
*If I break the glass, then I'll have to fly.*
*There's no one to catch me if I take a dive.*
I could shove the darkness away. Leap into the unknown. I could escape the blackness of my soul with a word. A touch. A glance.
What if I am wrong? If I were rejected...
No. It isn't worth the risk. I strangle the shrieking voice in my heart. It gasps. Sobs. *I don't want to be alone.*
But alone is safe.
------
*I'm scared of change, and the days stay the same.*
*The world is spinning but only in gray.*
I have my routine, and it holds no fear. It was comforting once, but that voice won't let me rest.
*You don't have to settle,* it says. *You don't have to settle for being alone.*
I silence it with an angry word. A hostile glare. It cowers again in that small warm corner which makes the rest of my blood feel cold.
It's too cold. Cold as death. I need to break out of this rut.
------
*If I break the glass, then I'll have to fly.*
*There's no one to catch me if I take a dive.*
*I'm scared of change, and the days stay the same.*
*The world is spinning but only in gray.*
*Only...*
Only, I don't want to be alone.
*Only...*
Only, I am tired of being afraid.
*Only...*
Only I know that those arms will catch me. All I need to do is speak.
------
*Somebody shine a light.*
*I'm frozen by the fear in me.*
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me.*
*So cut me from the line.*
*Dizzy, spinning endlessly.*
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me!*
Someone calls my name. A hand reaches out. Reaches in. Through my bubble. Through the glass.
Can I take it? Can I?
Who am I, anyway? I don't know if I've done anything to deserve happiness. The universe won't let it be real.
I want it so badly, but I can't risk it. Not me.
------
*Me...!*
Who am I? I have so little to offer.
But I am screaming inside. The voice is screaming in my heart, and I take my hands from its throat.
The voice is... me.
------
*Shatter me!*
*Somebody make me feel alive*
*And shatter me!*
The dark is safe. But.
The world is frightening. But.
*Smash the glass,* a voice whispers. *Take the hand.*
I waver.
---
####
new year's challenge:
-057
| 3 | 0 | 1 | 86,869 |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die
|
When he was twenty-four, Robert Gander died. Three minutes later he came back to life. There was no supernatural or religious reason for this. He simply was immortal. Robert did not accept this until he was 97 and didn't look a day over 24. He then became a traveler. A citizen of the world as he once told me. He would go town to town helping people out for a thousand years. He then decided to retire for a while and continue later on in his never ending life.
He simply could not do this. He had spent so much time helping people that he felt guilty not doing so. Thus he left his home and went back out into the fray. He spent another 700 years doing this. I met him on his 1824 birthday. He told me it had been exactly 1800 years since he became immortal. I asked him, "Do you ever think about dying?" This was too quickly after meeting him to ask such a personal question, but I didn't know how long he would be in my village. He told me that he thought about dying everyday, but never wanted it. He just wondered about what it would be like to suddenly stop living after such a long life. He did not care for that. I asked him why he was still alive after all this time and he told me, "I do not why I live, but when I see the smiles on the faces of the people I help, I know what I live for."
| 3 | 0 | 81 | 11,530 |
[WP] The Island of Chains
|
The Warden chuckled to himself as he played with the key around his neck. Whilst deranged elderly farmers chased phantoms in the skies above their crops, he held the key to the biggest and most dangerous facility ever created, hidden in the depths of the ocean's abyss. Whether a lost monument of some unknown civilization, or the work of an ancient God overcome by hubris, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that what was contained in the facilities below his quarters remained in containment.
The facility itself was pyramidal - the containment chambers at the deepest recesses holding the most unimaginable evil beings in creation. Or so the Warden had been told. He didn't actually know what was down there, or why, or how it had been trapped. That knowledge had disappeared through countless generations. Whatever it was, it called out to be released. The Warden frequently had to update his colleagues in the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and tell them to skew the research into any mysterious aquatic noises, just in case the facility was identified as the source.
Standing up from his desk, the Warden strode out of his quarters and down the long and lonely corridors that winded around the facility. The cold broke through his woolen defense to spite him, and the silence echoed cruelly. He often toured the containment cells under the pretence of risk assessment, but none was needed. Nothing had ever broken out of its assigned containment cell. It lent a feeling of power and control to the lonely Warden.
Some of the containment cells for lesser beings on the upper levels had one way viewpoints into the cells, though most had become blackened and dirty from eons of wear. After a creaky and excruciatingly long elevator ride, the metal frame door slid open and the Warden walked towards the first viewpoint. The engraved information above the viewpoint was in a forgotten language - so the Warden had taken it upon himself to name those he was able to see. Peering into the viewpoint, he found Medusa - at least that's what the Warden had named her - due to 'her' head being formed almost entirely of snakes. Though 'she' could not see him, it seemed as though 'she' sensed him. Medusa remained huddled in a corner, appearing ragged and alone other than the snakes that hissed and seemed to try and bite at one another in anger. The Warden felt pangs of sadness and forced himself to walk on, further down the corridor.
Past what felt like an endless amount of blackened windows (Three hundred and eighty two in total, he had counted many times before) he came to the second of his inmates. A raggedy old man at first glance, who sometimes transformed into a great lion and roared at the ceiling before returning to his impoverished state. The Warden had always sworn that he'd seen the Old Man transform into a giant spider, and other times into a Velociraptor. After waiting for the Old Man to transform for about 15 minutes, the Warden carried on down the corridor disappointed.
There were some viewpoints that the Warden simply ignored despite them being crystal clear. He shuddered as he walked past one of them, the one he'd labelled Nightmare. From what he remembered, it was the size of a brown bear, and sat on the floor staring emptily at the viewpoint. It had never seemed to have moved even slightly. The few times the Warden had gazed into its eyes, he'd felt an unshakable darkness grow inside him that felt like a thirst he could never quench, and had distressing, horrific nightmares of battle scenes, brutal murders, and tortures for weeks. He'd learnt to leave it alone.
The final containment cell the Warden stopped at held two prisoners. One was a woman who stood naked, occasionally smiling peacefully. The Warden felt wrong admiring her without her consent but couldn't help himself - she was beauty incarnate. She often danced around the cell, her long hair a mixture of curly and straight locks that swung across her supple frame like leaves on the wind. Sometimes when she spun, the Warden noticed that all the way down the middle of her back, a green scaly highlight appeared that played with the light. Tearing his sight away from her, he laid eyes on the other prisoner. A hulking mass of muscle, he punched the wall with reckless disregard for himself. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and the skin was worn off of his hands. The sight of the two together in relative peace always left the Warden confused, and he stepped back and gave up on trying to comprehend the two of them.
The Warden had made it back to the elevator and slid open the door and was close to pressing the button to the floor below when he felt a very slight vibration shake the elevator. It was calling again. With a shaky hand, the Warden pressed the final button on the elevator keypad, and headed down to the very bottom of the facility.
He'd been there only once before. That was enough. Voices screamed in his mind, begging for mercy and release. His body temperature had dropped and he'd turned deathly white. He'd run out and back into the elevator and swore to never return, yet here he was, in an iron box hurtling him quickly back. After what felt like a lifetime, the metal frame door opened, and the Warden braced for the mental assault, but none came. Nothing happened for a good few minutes, and so he stepped out the elevator timidly. Everything was as he remembered it. There was no hallway. The elevator opened to a small area with a high roof, and a magnificent metal door with ornate, mysterious symbols cast into the metal. The keyhole too was ornate, and was surrounded with gears and other cogs.
The Warden grasped the key around his neck and tore it off the chain. He felt the power chime in his hands as whatever lay behind the door roared to be let loose, shaking the Warden to the core. His mind jolted between good and evil thoughts, wrestling with his own morality. He heard his own voice cry out in dismay... it cried for freedom and a release from the facility. His hands shaking, he lifted the key to the lock and turned it.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 58,760 |
[EU] The Grinch turns his eye to another holiday...
|
Once again the Grinch sat, on the eve of new year.
Ensconced by his fire, scritching Max's soft ear.
"It just is no use!" Said the Grinch with sad voice.
No matter my efforts, they always rejoice.
In the wind and snow, with fires so bright.
Without even gifts, in friends they delight.
What ever can I do, to foil their day?
If they love each other, then what can I say?
.
Then Max rose his head, and said in voice deep,
"Can you be quiet, I'm trying to sleep."
And the Grinch sat shocked, with eyes open wide.
That the first thought, which his dog would confide.
Would be an expression of tolerance thin.
But then as he sat, he developed a grin.
A grin that was wide, both villainous and deep.
He had his solution, at once, in one sweep!
.
His grin grew wider, as he plotted his course.
A new holiday that would carry the force,
Of sadness and fear, and loneliness too well known,
From being a nobody, a no one -- alone.
And to top it all off, to set it above,.
He would market it as a day of true love
And turn against them, their own hearts true and fine.
A day of misery -- a real valentine.
| 2 | 0 | 23 | 166,511 |
[WP] An obnoxious tumblr-tween manages to find an actual vampire and demands him to turn her
|
"You're still reading that crap? Could you at least turn the light down a little? I'm trying to sleep here."
"You just don't understand." She answers as she adjusts her bedside lamp to illuminate only her side of the room.
"You're right. I don't understand how you find a creepy, obssessive, abusive relationship with a hundred year-old vampire romantic. I've seen the movies"
"It's romantic that despite their differences, and their struggles with how the world sees their relationship as wrong, he still wants to be with her. And they're both willing to give up everything for each other just to be with each other forever. Besides, age doesn't matter. And you know what? I find it a lot creepier that you have posters of half-naked women in the room you're sharing with your sister."
"Are you saying that you want someone exactly like him?"
"If only." She gave out a sigh as she stared at the open book in her lap. She thought of all the guys that had asked her out in school and how she had turned them down because she found them ordinary and boring.
Her brother sat up on his bed and gave her a scathing look, not being subtle about how ridiculous he found her desire. "If you're so desperate, you could try the catacombs in that old cemetery. I've heard stories of vampires, werewolves and whatnot crawling around in there at night."
She grimaced at him as he turned his back on her, mumbling to himself. She tried to get back to reading but couldn't focus. She couldn't take her brother's offhand suggestion out of her mind. *What if there's really someone there, just waiting, for me even.* She tried to dismiss the thought as crazy and decided to retire for the night. *If it were me, I'd want him to take the chance.* She couldn't sleep. *If there was even the slightest chance that there's someone there...* She hugged her book tightly while staring at the ceiling. She always kept it on her bed when she slept ever since she was hooked by the book's first chapter, finding some kind of comfort sleeping beside it. The alarm clock on her bedside table showed 11:30 P.M. *If there's one thing that this book thought me, it's that you have to take chances to find your true love.* She got up and got dressed. She opened the door of their room slowly as to not wake up her brother, and just enough to see if their parents' room across the hall was closed. *It's closed so they're probably asleep.* She used her phone as a flashlight and made her way to the front door, avoiding to bump on anything that might make a loud noise. She let out a huge breath after she got out of the house.
Living in the suburbs, the street was dark and quiet with no car or person in sight. She started walking toward the cemetery, debating to herself whether this idea was crazy good or crazy bad. She gazed at the book which she had brought along, still hugging and holding on to it. *I'm taking a chance. This is good.*
She stared at the darkness of the catacombs, shaking. Whether it's from the cold weather or the fear of being around graves afterdark, she didn't know. She tried calling out a few times to see if someone was there but there were no answers. *This is stupid.* Before she could take a step away from the passageway, she heard a whoosh. Again, she stared at the darkness. *There's someone in there. Maybe he's just shy. I have to be brave for him.* She made her way down the steps, once again using her phone as a light. She felt the damp stony walls and cobwebs tangling in her fingers as she held out her hand to guide her way down, the book and phone on the other hand. She wandered around aimlessly in the darkness, calling out, hoping to hear someone answer. She tried to listen for any kind of movement, but it was dead silent.
"Please come out. You don't have to be scared. I want to be just like you. You don't have to be alone anymore" She cried out, failing at her efforts to sound confident and fearless.
*What am I doing here? This is stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.* She started to cry, walking faster, now trying to find the way out. While she stopped to compose herself and figure out where she was, she heard someone breathing behind her, or something. She turned around slowly, her light moving along with her and little by little revealing something crouched down to her level. She saw a hairless head with red nerves and veins protruding ready to explode, pale white eyes staring at her, razor sharp teeth, and a long, pointed tongue sticking out of it's large mouth wriggling towards her face. She dropped her phone along with the book, and in that moment, there were nothing but screams.
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 72,650 |
[WP] The Allies have lost the Third World War.
|
War is a funny thing. Not funny, mind you, as in humor; rather war was funny in the kinds of changes it made throughout history. The technological advances, the new methods of doing things, the geopolitical landscape changingwar brought about change.
The surviving people of the world had no idea just how much change would come about because of what was eventually deemed the Third World War. America had fallen, but more from decay within than any conflict her military was involved with, and was now busy tearing herself to pieces in the 2nd American Civil War. No one knew exactly what had triggered the conflict, but now traditional enemies and former friends had taken advantage of this and conflict erupted around the globe. Major cities throughout America were completely devastated and resembled the landscape of the moon. Although states had joined forces, they were also busy with the conflict of ideals within their own borders. Mexico was flooded with refugees from the United States and their economy was tanking severely. Canada was overwhelmed by the conflict and although they still existed as a sovereign nation, was a shadow of its former self. Cities by the border of the States were flooded with spillover conflict from major cities such as Seattle, Detroit, and even Chicago.
Europe was once again a wasted derelict of land; wrecks of exploded tanks and aircraft littered the landscape in every country. Several countries had completely collapsed and simply ceased to be, and NATO no longer existed as a geopolitical entity. Poland, Sweden, and Norway somehow managed to avoid the war; it was revealed after the war that Russia and Poland had come to a secret agreement.
Russia, surprisingly, remained neutral. Their border with Europe was secure with the non-aggression pact with Poland, and with their previous cautiously neutral relationships with the surrounding countries let them sit back and watch.
Turkey had taken advantage of the disintegration of Europe and had taken over most of Iraq; negotiations with Iran were ongoing about how the remaining territory was going to be split up. To everyone's surprise, the Middle East avoided much of the conflict. The tribal conflicts still continued in Afghanistan and the religious conflicts still took place throughout the Middle East, but not on the scale of the rest of the world.
Southeast Asia was fairly quiet, but they had bided their time since China and North Korea had gone to war with South Korea and Japan. The Koreas were now one, but Seoul and Pyongyang lay in ruins, as were many towns and cities throughout the area. The loss of life was tremendous on both sides; assassinations were rampant and once both governments were effectively destroyed, a treaty had been signed by the people and Josean existed once more. Japan had unsurprisingly been treated badly by this conflict; many major cities had been assaulted and destroyed by Chinese missiles and air strikes. Taiwan had ceased to existin a lightning strike China had taken over before anyone could react. China didn't escape damage, however... the nuclear dragon had bitten Beijing and had left millions dead. (Some suspected that this was a nuclear weapon delivered by the US from remnants of their forces left in Japan.)
South America had somehow avoided major involvement in war once again; the geographical isolation worked in their favor. However, the economies of South America took a hit as refugees from around the planet found their way towards massive settlements in Brazil, Argentina, and Venezuela. Another interesting side effect of the war was that Africa's population expanded rapidly as well with refugees. Suddenly the conflicts in Africa took a back seat as these countries found themselves forced to deal with the massive influx of different cultures.
Technologies such as UAVs, lasers, and rail guns ultimately became par for the course as countries fine-tuned their gear after combat. This led to dramatic swings in conflict area and mobility became the necessary focus in order to take advantage of any initial momentum such technology brought to the fight. The poorer countries took advantage of the leftovers from more advanced powers and quickly armed up at the massively cheap influx of military equipment.
War is funny. What you don't think will happen, will. Maybe what you think will happen, won't.
(***This probably isn't a smooth read- I was trying to throw something together in the space of half an hour. But I hope you enjoy this somewhat quick and dry synopsis of World War 3!)
| 1 | 0 | 28 | 134,742 |
[WP] A person in a coma is trapped in a dream world of their own creation. They're aware that a way out exists and as they try and find it, the people in the dream world try to make them stay (by any means you like, force, coercion, pleading etc)
|
I feel like there's a heavy weight on my chest. I've got a knife gripped in my left hand and a torch in my right. It flickers between flame and duracell powered as my mind wavers but eventually settles down to a solid silver barrelled thing with a rubber grip. I was walking through a forest two steps ago but now it's an aquarium. The walls are made of glass and blue green fish flash at the corners of my eyes. They're in the tank, but I'm the one that's being watched.
My brain fogs and before I know it I'm in a mirror maze at a carnival. It's dark, except for the pattern of glow in the dark stars dotted over the ceiling in the same way I arranged them in a fervour of excitement one rainy afternoon when I was nine. It's comforting in a nostalgic kind of way, so I slide to the floor and turn the torch off. I sit in the darkness and stare upwards for hours, remembering the things my brain forgot.
But a flick switches or a switch flickses and now I'm in my year ten classroom and Clara is smiling at me in a way she never did in real life.
"Stay." She says, orange freckles dotting her shoulders. "Stay." She says, and pats the chair next to her.
I could slide in but I turn away and walk on.
I'm on a walk in a wood. It's chilly and my breath comes out in great dragon-puffs. Pine needles crunch under my feet. I know this place. I hear a panting at my elbow and drop down as Sandy, my old golden retriever, headbutts me and whines in joy.
"Hey girl, hey." I say softly, and bury my head in her warm fur. Sandy, who was hit by a car when she was three and lived for ten desperate days in miserable pain before the vet told us she would be better off dead. I'll never forget her eyes. She'd look at you like she was more worried about you than herself.
She whines and paws at me, but I have to go.
"I'm sorry girl, I am."
I can feel her eyes on me as I go.
And suddenly I'm in front of a fire and it's snowing outside. Christmas, 2006. My mother sits down next to me and hands me a cup of hot chocolate.
"Hello dear." She says. The tree is sumptuously decorated and presents pile high underneath it. Stockings line the mantlepiece and my mother's cushions and throws fill the room.
"Hello, mum." I say miserably.
"What's up, poppet?" I sip the hot chocolate and it's just as good as I remember, creamy and warm, utterly soothing.
"I can't stay mum."
"Course you can! It's Christmas!"
"No, i can't. This is all stuff I'm not supposed to have. You, Sandy... Clara."
My mother, my dear mother, whose brain clot was discovered two days after this snowy dream. My mother, who died cold and confused in a hospital, eyes already clouded with regret of a lifetime's dreams left unfulfilled.
"Darling, you can stay..."
"I can't stay."
"You can. You can have this sweetie. Sandy, Clara... This." She gestures around the room. Snow is piling up outside.
"Not like this, mum. Not like this."
She nods and the fog rolls in. The snow falls faster and everything goes white.
I am alone.
| 10 | 0 | 10 | 21,827 |
[EU] Clarke's third law states "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." That time has come, and an aged Harry Potter, leader of the Wizarding world, must now decide whether or not magical society should rejoin the Muggles.
|
"We don't want you."
Harry, flanked as always by Hermione and Ron, decrepit and aged as they were, (Ron, after an accident with his grandchildren's toys scattered on the floor of a hallway, heavily leaning on a cane) felt a bit like he'd been dunked in icewater.
"But-"
"**-No.** We don't want you."
After months of internal struggle and debate, conferences with heads of wizarding governments and innumberable late nights spent awake, dreading the moment to come, it came to this? A flat refusal?
Behind the desk sat the Secretary General of the UN, Milton Otenbe, his Nigerian heritage and the grim cast of his brow giving the effect of having been carved from rough basalt. Behind him buzzed and whirred tiny arial drones, holding minute cameras and projectors, their electronic eyes dulled for the moment. He stared at the three with a disconcerting clarity, and, to them, with what felt like a fair amount of contempt. But, then, a grin cracked his craggy face.
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound.
"*Unbelievable.* You never thought about what *we* would say, did you? Did you come here just as *a courtesy?!* We don't want you. We don't need you. And the idea that we are *equals* now…" He laughed, a booming, mean-spirited laugh.
"*Ridiculous!*"
Hermione, the first to recover (she had become quite a formidable woman, then matron and stateswoman in the intervening years, a firebrand known for her campaign for the rights of intelligent beings) shot back an astonished "Why are you laughing?! Think of all the good we could do!"
At that, the grin flew from his face as if it were never there, and was replaced by barely-constrained anger. "We? *WE?!* **I**, and *my people*, have been doing good work! You have been *hiding*!"
He stood up so suddenly, the chair could do nothing but topple over. His entire body thrummed with the wrath of kings.
"Where were *you* during the progroms?! The food riots! The bombs and plagues and the terrible rising tide of humanity?! NOWHERE! HIDING! We buried our dead, for want of you! You stood there and stared as we drowned! WHY?! So you would not be asked to save another drowned?! WAS THAT WHY?!"
He hammered the polished acrylic of his desk with a fist like a thunderbolt, *CRACK!*, shooting a hairline split straight down the middle.
At the noise, armored troops popped out from, seemingly, every bookcase and doorway, their bodyarmor, black and shiny as beetle carapace, carrying a gun of odd, but unmistakably lethal design.
"Stand down!" Milton said, the formidable command in his voice dissipating the security team like smoke.
He leaned heavily on the desk, and it creaked ominously, but held.
"We are handling the world. We know what we are doing. And we *earned* our power. We don't need you. We don't need your entitlement. Your…lack of reason. We *don't need you now*. Why would we take you? Because, make no mistake, it is *our world*. Not yours. And we fought for it."
Harry bristled at this. "Like you're the only one who fought! I lost *everything* to kill Voldemort! To protect everyone I cared about!"
Milton was unimpressed. "Yes. I know. I also know he killed far more '*muggles*' than he did your people. And you told us *nothing of him*."
Harry looked taken aback at this, and looked at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded, downcast.
"*Slaves.* He took us as slaves. Millions, under Death Eaters, laboring in secret, under the *Imperius* curse, a thing we could not defend against, because we *knew nothing about it*. And you wondered how the Death Eaters could have such resources?! You didn't even *think to ask!*"
And here he pulled a thick file from the cabinet behind him, and threw it on the desk, a sheaf of glossy pictures spilling out. Some of them, they realized with a shock, were of *Diagon Alley.*
"*Unbelievable.* You wizards are *children*. What would have happened if he had controlled the captain of a *Nautilus* class nuclear submarine?! They carry *twenty* *Minuteman* thermonuclear ICBMs each! One man is all it would have taken, to kill 200 million! And the only reason, hah, the *only reason* it did not happen was that *he was too shortsighted to think of it, too!"
He shoved aside a mass of the photos, revealing, to Harry's shock, a photo of a room in the Ministry of Secrets. A room he wished he could forget, but the memory had not dulled in six decades.
"And then there is this. *This.* You monsters built a *door for Death*. Do you have the slightest idea, the *faintest clue* what madness news like this will cause? An actual way to the afterlife? After millennia of religious war, no, I will not allow that to happen. I had to liquidate the spy I had take this. He had no idea what he was looking at. *He was my best man.* I am *that serious*. And that's to say nothing of those … *Hallows* of yours."
The three shared a look. Was there anything he didn't know?
"And, most of all, I know why you are here. Why you are *really* here."
He pressed a button, and up came a video, projected in mid air by those same tiny drones.
It was silent, but the action was clear. A man with a wand, pointing it at a man without one.
The first man said something, and some kind of light shot out of the tip of it. He was clearly smiling.
"Yes. Singapore. Four months ago. 12:46 in the PM. *Jong Saingh* shopping district, along the Johor-Singapor causeway. A fight over a gambling debt. This man is a wizard. He doesn't know his opponent is PFC John Gaines of the SAS special tech team. Here he tries *Imperius*."
The cloud of sparks struck the second man, but instead of surrounding him in a fading nebula of gold, as it was supposed to, it *bounced*.
"PFC Gaines has a cerebral implant, which speeds nerve transmissions. It also makes him immune to that…*spell.*"
The man's face fell, and, with a distinctly more worried impression, shouted something else. The tip of his wand throbbed a dark red.
"This is *Cruciatus*, I believe."
Instead of curling into a tight ball, rocking in agony, the man in the foreground advanced on the hapless wizard deliberately. The wizard now looked downright panicked.
"The same implant disregards false pain nervous transmissions."
Clearly desperate, he brought his wand to bare once more, and screamed something. There was a swell of vile green. They all knew this curse.
The rush of green flew forward, sweeping over John. It then fled. He was still standing.
"…PFC Gaines also, due to an injury received in the line of duty, has an *artificial heart*."
They turned away from the video. They all knew what came next: the young, fit soldier, beat the cowering wizard nearly to death.
"This video is why you are here. You, Harry, are a warrior. I will recognize that much of you, and your companions." He spread his hands wide, a declamatory gesture.
"But you *fail to realize!*"
" The reason why the rest of your leaders agreed with you is not because, as you think, we can now *hold our own*, but because they, for the first time, *are scared of us*. No matter what, they always thought, in the back of their heads, well, they had the *Unforgivable Curses*. If they had to, they were certain, *victory was assured*. We have *destroyed that comfort*."
"And we have done it without meaning to. We destroyed your ultimate weapon *accidentally!*"
He swept the room expansively, indicating the wealth of artifice, the countless readouts and small, blinking lights, winking in the corners, the kingdom of reason. "And we did it on our own. And now you… *pitiful sorcerers* deign to come from your tower, already *toppled*, and come to speak to us."
"No, we will not speak to you. We will not welcome you. And we do not need you. You damned millions of us through inaction, *knowingly*."
He looked once, at a picture hanging on a far wall. It was taken in a village filled with crude huts, of a smiling girl. The frame was black.
"*Fuck you.*"
He turned on the trio, showing them his back, and looked out his impressive window at the spires of New York.
"Get out of my office."
| 28 | 0 | 87 | 224,636 |
If God was human [WP]
|
Father McGonagle slowly worked his way between the pews, straightening out the hymn books and plumping up the cushions. He'd done this three times a day for nearly thirty years and knew the pews so well that as a younger man he'd even done it with his eyes closed, as a small challenge to himself. He filed his days this way, small challenges to work up to the bigger ones.
He'd given his whole life to the Church and now, as he reached his fifty third year, he was no closer to understanding the questions that had always vexed him. It was these questions that had led him to the seminary all those years ago, these questions that had led him to this difficult city centre parish and these questions that had kept him from moving up in the ecclesiastical organisation.
Why did God allow bad to happen to the good?
Why was the world so unfair when with just a little effort things could be so much better for everyone?
What was the plan and how could good people shape the world in his image?
These were daily queries but the one which had been keeping him up lately was why could a priest not marry? His vows were strong and he was firm, but every time he saw Mary, his knees buckled. Her husband had died ten years ago and she had come to him for help and counselling and he had gladly welcomed her, counselled her and been confidant and slowly she had recovered her life, but what she had found, what they both had found was that they had filled a gap in each other that they had not known was missing.
They had begun to spend more time together, first still talking about her loss and her life but slowly more about books and music and life. Meetings at the church had moved to their homes and then to walks on the beach and visits to the cinema. It was after such a visit that he had walked her home and gone in for coffee. The movie had been terrible and they laughed at it and discussed their favourite directors. As the hours rolled on he at last had decided to leave but as he stood she caught his sleeve and then had stood with him and they had kissed.
It had been a mistake, taking advantage of her and her vulnerability and he had left and refused to see her again. The feeling he had were wrong and he had refused to see or speak to her. She had tried for a week or two and then stopped, smiling at him in church but never pressing to talk to him, see him, be with him. Each smile she gave broke his heart and he refused to even think of her.
Three times a day, he cleaned and tidied the pews and then walked to the front and knelt in front of the alter and prayed. It was only in his prayers he opened his heart and let out his hurt, his pain, his confusion, his anger, his love and his loss. He poured these out to God and then twenty minutes later, three times a day he stood, felt no better and went to prepare his sermon for evening mass.
Today he knelt and began to pray. The pain and anger washed out of him and he purged his feelings. After a few minutes there was a small popping noise, which he ignored, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was odd to be interrupted while praying but he snapped back into his normal mode quickly and blinked back the tears that had formed.
Slowly he raised himself and turned and began to welcome this stranger "Hello my son how can I…" It was an older man, maybe early sixties but looking extremely well preserved, barely a wrinkle on his face. He Was dressed neatly in a white suit and carried a short white stick which he passed from hand to hand as he sat. it was the eyes though, his eyes were black but deep, like the ocean is deep. As Father McGonagle looked into them he felt himself sinking into those eyes and in the depths he could see all of creation. There was no missing that this was not another child but this was the Father.
He stood with his mouth open and gaped at the man who simply smiled back. "You're… you're…"
"Yes I am." The man's voice seemed to move from his lips into Father McGonagle's ears without moving through the space in between. It was a strange and unsettling experience. "And you, Joe, are angry." It was said simply, as a matter of fact, a statement of undeniable truth.
"Yes Father," Father McGonagle slowly moved and sat down next to him. "I am confused and do not understand some of your decisions, especially in regards to my own feelings."
God let out a deep breath of air and tapped his stick on the pew. "It's tricky Joe. I hear your prayers every day and I feel your pain but there are considerations which are impossible to explain. The decisions I make are complex and I know they must seem unfathomable sometimes but they are done for good."
Father McGonagle sat in silence, the words slowly working their way through his brain. It was more or less the same thing he had been told as a child by Priests, as a Priest by Bishops and now by God himself. At last he steeled himself to say what was truly in his heart. "Yeah, but that's kind of crap isn't it." He realised what he had said and added "Sir".
God looked a little taken aback but before he could speak Father McGonagle pushed on. "You say that as if bigger decisions excused the litany of pain and suffering that goes on around the world. As if me loving someone would or could take away from the lifetime of service and devotion I have offered you. As if by explaining your reasoning could someone unmake the reasons when in fact it seems more like you don't want to say them as they do not excuse the terrible pain."
Father McGonagle felt light headed, sitting here telling off God for his mistakes in creation. Several thought crossed his mind, he'd gone insane, he'd died or maybe was asleep. If those were the options he figured he might as well push on. "I think that you have forgotten what it is to be a man. I think that you once came down to earth and lived among us, experiencing what we did so that you could know what to be a man was. I think it has been so long since Jesus walked among us that now you have forgotten." He stopped, out of breath and out of anger. Embarrassment began to creep in and he flushed red.
God continued to pass his small stick from hand to hand, almost nervously now and then stood. Father McGonagle stood as well, unsure as to what was happening and then God turned and walked away, taking several steps before passing through thin air and stepping into nothing. Father McGonagle once more gaped and then adrenaline rushed his body.
Had that been real? Had that happened? If so was God angry with him? He felt as if his heart would explode and stepped backwards and began to sit down. As he lowered himself he felt something below him and jumped almost out of his skin in fright.
Whirling round he saw, sat in the bench God's reply. A baby, sitting happily, naked and peaceful, on the bench and looking at him. Was this still a dream? Father McGonagle reached down and picked the baby up. It smiled at him and cooed gently as he held it.
From the end of the aisle he heard a noise and the door opened. He looked up and saw Mary enter the church.
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 122,108 |
[WP] In the end, Earth gets destroyed somehow.
|
Typical Hollywood event. MTV something-or-other. Glittering dresses, glittering camera flashes, glittering smiles. Grauman's Chinese Theatre (I'll always call it that) loomed above the lights. My name wasn't on IMDb, so no-one noticed me. Perfect.
I had a mission, you see.
The stars were making their way down the red carpet, pausing for photos in front of the "event wall" before heading into the theatre.
Gwen Stefani and that Gavin person had just gone in. Chad Kroeger, the singer from Nickelback, and his wife, Avril something, stopped in front of the wall, smiling like blank androids. Fangirl screaming reached a fever pitch when Justin Bieber walked up, started chatting with them. A Canadian connection, of course. The flashbulbs intensified.
I just had to time it right --
There! A new limo rolled up. A door opened. The media turned and gasped. A daring dress, probably, or a baby bump.
I didn't care. I knew that limo. I knew who was in it. I knew that now was the time.
I slipped under the velvet rope, walked up to Kroeger and Bieber. Their faces slipped into shock. Beyond then, just stepping out of the limo, Kanye West's mask of sullen self-absorption fell off; he glanced at the assembled cameras, then started shoving his way towards me. Time to be a hero, I guess. Kim Kardashian clutched the limo door, hiding a visibly pregnant belly behind it.
It didn't matter. My iPhone was already out. I spun on my heel, clicked the screen, and bolted.
The security was no match. I'd studied Grauman's, I knew the layout, the crowd. I was around the corner and inside a maintenance door before they knew what was happening.
I pressed the little arrow icon and started changing into janitor's coveralls. Relief slid down my veins like melting ice.
I had done it. A selfie with Bieber, Kanye, Kim, and the Nickelback guy. And they looked dumb as *fuck*. The kind of thing their handlers would want banned from the Internet, hashtagged properly, with my army of Chinese social media farmers retweeting it to hell and Trending. *Perfect.*
I had done it. The numbers were launching like a Saturn V. My connection to Twitter was shaky, their servers clearly groaning under the stress.
I had forced the world into a state of Peak Selfie.
Surely, this would kill selfies, and my Instagram timeline could finally return to showing me lunch shots and sunrises. Surely, I wouldn't have to hear about the damn things on CNN anymore. Surely --
There was rumbling. Screams. Of fear, now, not love. An earthquake? I ducked underneath a doorway that led deeper into Grauman's and zipped up the coverall.
It didn't matter. The walls and ceiling ripped out of their foundation and lifted away. Beyond them was an archangel.
I shit you not, that's what it was. Fifty feet tall, six mighty wings, holy light like a tiny sun on the Boulevard. No gender, holding half of Grauman's in one hand. People were staring upward, silent, or praying, and weeping.
**JASON MALDONADO.**
"Yes?"
**WE ARE THE METATRON. WE ARE THE BLESSED MOUTH OF [JHVH].**
I could hear Kanye sobbing in the corner.
**YOUR PHOTOGRAPH IS THE APEX OF BLASPHEMY FOR YOU AND ALL OF YOUR RACE. YOU ARE ALL ENGAGED IN THE WORSHIP OF GRAVEN IDOLS, DESPITE THE COMMANDMENTS GIVEN TO THE PROPHET MOSES.**
The paparazzi looked at each other.
**ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. THE LORD YOUR GOD [JHVH] HAS DECREED THAT THIS WORLD SHALL BE DESTROYED FOR YOUR SINS. IT IS TIME TO START OVER.**
The Metatron burst in a great fountain of light. Beneath where it was, a fiery rent ripped through the Boulevard, sucking in Ferraris, paparazzi, and the most famous of Hollywood glitterati. Angels the size of skyscrapers descended from the clouds like a meteor shower, smiting whole city blocks. The earth heaved.
"Worth it," I whispered, as the flames reached for me.
| 3 | 0 | 16 | 38,762 |
[WP] Years after a nuclear war which destroyed nations and landscapes, a man departs from a ship after crossing from England to America to document mutated and dangerous wildlife. (Comedic)
|
Our watch-captain had called for sights of land an hour ago, and as I now breached the hangar and into the fresh of air, I was hit by a disgusting stench. All around me my crew mates had gas masks, shirt tails, any thing to block the smell. I too pulled up mine, and checked my RistRatch for the current radiation levels.
"Bless the Three-Armed Queen, Radcliffe look, radiation is through the charts here!" I cried, and soon my right hand man was at my left.
Radcliffe was certainly as astonished as I was at these records levels, but we decided to press on, the world needed to know what became of this once great nation. And so at landfall Radcliffe, a hired gun, and I departed the ship and walked across the perilous ruins of the Eastern Seaboard.
Journals in hand, Radcliffe and I took all afternoon documenting, billing, declaring, and constituting all information we could about this new world. Buildings had crumbled, roads were halfway to being just piles of gravel (though Radcliffe told me they were always like that). There was some life, much to our joy, neon green plants had exploded out of the ground, with metre high tendrils. A few hours in, a rodent, with a tint of violet in it's fur, skittered across a vacant lawn. I slammed the button on my RistRatch in time, and the poor creature brought up high radiation and a 76% mutation. We spent a good time documenting that, actual mammal life!
The day was thinning, and determined to get back before night, we were just turning back when the most extraordinary sight befell us. We stood on a battered sidewalk, and in a diagonal line across the road, was a creature of our high. It appeaered full and bulbous, bipedal, and staggering. It's skin was a sickly pale white, and tufts of grey hour sprouted everywhere.
"Radcliffe, by the Queen, what is that thing?"
I thought I had whispered, but the creature turned and bore it's grotesque face. Drooping guys, a wide mouth with crooked teeth. It didn't look unlike a human size version of the rodent before! It's back was hunched, and upon my whispering, it shouted a garbled language I could only get fragments of.
"GITAAAAHT OO ALEEENS"
We were terrified, I turned to the hired gun we had, but he had sprinted away, while me and Radcliffe were frozen in place. I begged again.
"Radcliffe what is that thing!?"
His fingers were a blur on his RistRatch, and he turned to me with a shocked complexion.
"Daniel, that thing, that's not mutated, absolute 0%!" he choked. We turned back to beast, as it began it's crooked charge towards us.
"It's a monster!" I shouted, and I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. But my fate was not today. A buckshot rang across my ears, leaving only a ringing. The hired gun! He came back!
Me and Radcliffe both turned to thank our mercenary, but what we were greeted by was shocking.
A tall man stood, wearing straps and jackets of leather. His dark skin reflected the wavering light of the dying sun. His massive sawed-off shotgun wore a large American flag off the side, and his posse behind him had guns with the same decorations. He stepped forward to the downed beast as he stuck a lit blunt in his mouth.
"Not a monster," he spoke roughly, as he raised a pair of sunglasses to his eyes. He turned to me, his bald head and large ears silhouetted in the sunset. "Just another Republican."
| 32 | 0 | 75 | 106,788 |
[WP] Everything is naturally monochrome. Color is obtained through finding and harvesting rainbows.
|
"Jessie, you need to secure that line."
Rain spattered across the deck of the ship as they hovered in the storm. Lightning streaked across the distant sky, but did not reach them on the edge of the clouds. Even on the edge of the storm the wind gusted around them and blew their sails and anything loose. The three-grey rope snapping across the deck was a danger to the two of them.
"Sorry, Dad," the young boy apologized as he fought to grab hold of the whipping cord.
His father stared after him, worried for his son. This was only his third time in a storm, but he was still having trouble with the basics. Color harvesting wasn't meant for everyone, in fact very few people were willing to risk their lives for it, but it was something that ran in the family. The boy had always shown an interest in the work of his ancestors until he actually got into the skies. Grabbing the line, Jessie secured it to a one-grey cleat on the side of the ship.
"Dad, do we know what color it will be?"
"We can take a good guess. You remember your color wheel?" The boy nodded fervently. "Well, each numbered grey corresponds to certain sides of the color wheel. Think of it like a clock," he thought back to how simply his own father had made it sound. "You line up three-grey where the number three would be, four-grey where four would be, and so on. Just look at the color wheel and line it up to where that grey should be and you'll be in the general area."
The boy reached into the yellow toolbox in the center of the ship. Color wasn't wasted on anything frivolous, but they made sure to use some on anything important. Inside the toolbox was their color wheel, as well as a first aid kit, various repair implements, and emergency supplies. Taking the color wheel, Jessie grabbed the small toy next to him held them next to each other.
"It's an eight-grey so it'll be...blue?"
"That's what I'm thinking."
"Good, she likes blue."
The ship turned as they spotted a rainbow beginning to form. Light began to refract and dance through the clouds, illuminating the harsh greys.
"This was a good idea for your sisters birthday present, Jessie. I'm proud of you." The boy looked back at his father and smiled, showing several missing teeth. Praise was something Jessie had not heard much of since he had started coming up to harvest and he relished it. They each secured themselves to the ship (Jessie putting the color wheel and toy in the toolbox) as they began to accelerate. Light bounced off the ship, throwing small patches into color as they rushed towards the rainbow.
| 2 | 0 | 33 | 220,003 |
[WP] The popular MMO Outside releases it's first update since it was initially released. The update fixes numerous bugs and balance issues. Players react accordingly.
|
Patch Notes
At first there was panic.
A beam of light cast from the sky, the clouds a swirling maelstrom about it. The beam was centered on a corn field of a hapless farmer in rural Missouri, and upon this beam descended a being clad in the purest garment any had ever seen.
Many wept at the sight, others trembled in fear, and within the hour the field was filled with reporters from every station, frequency, magazine and website.
He, if it was a he, did not speak, did not react. No movement was observed for hours, days, weeks, but still the reporters remained. Speculation ran rampant, some claimed the being was a harbinger of end times, others believed it was a sign, a miracle. Companies fought direly for the mineral rights to the property, and the previously hapless farmer rapidly found himself with a trust fund on the order of eleven digits. USD of course.
And then it spoke in a thousand booming voices, somehow beautiful and terrible at the same. The words were recorded carefully, unerringly but thousands of cameras. Those who watched the playback all claimed the messenger, as it came to be known, all spoke in their native language. Those reporters in America recorded the event as follows:
"Following the unanticipated success of Outside, we at Divine Entertainment and Universe have developed a new patch, slated to be applied January First, 2015, at exactly midnight, local time. The following fixes are to be applied:
-Eyelashes will no longer fall into eyeballs and become irretrievable
-Bugs in the karma system have been fixed. Unfortunate events will now occur more frequently to people who deserve them. Due to the random nature of Outside, unfortunate events will still occur to everyone regardless of moral standing. Events caused by freewill of fellow man will remain largely unaffected by the bug fixes to the karma system.
-A bug has been fixed that caused a decrease in the sex drives of couples as they have been together for longer periods of time. Sex drives in a monogamous romantic relationships shall now increase logarithmically as time progresses.
-The bug that caused colic has been corrected
-Green house gasses no longer cause a global warming.
-A bug that caused "innie" belly buttons to occur has been corrected. All belly buttons will now be "outie" belly buttons. Surgically altered belly buttons will be unaffected.
-Rounding errors in plate tectonics have been corrected. Tectonic plates should now show the correct level of drift.
-Rounding error in handedness has been corrected, handedness shall new players shall now have equal probability to be right or left handed. This change will not affect existing players.
-Bacon is now poisonous as originally intended.
We at Divine Entertainment and Universe Productions would like to remind all players that there is no official religion to Outside, but that Islam is the most right."
And with that the glowing form ascended into the heavens, never to be seen again in our lifetimes.
The world accepted the words calmly, skeptically, nearly everyone believed it had been some kind of joke, some mistake. Until the first of January.
When the dust cleared, above the broken bodies, the burned cities, and salted fields, there was only one nation that remained. Human kind had banded together under a common banner, one mission that stood above all others. Into the heavens they cried shaking their spears. They wrote it in blood, tattooed it upon their skin, burned it into their cities. One message to whatever gods came from above.
"Give us back our belly buttons and bacon."
| 34 | 0 | 36 | 159,853 |
[WP] Atheist demon hunters
|
The priest burst out of the room panting, dishevelled and wild eyed. 'I cannot banish the beast!' He wailed, 'My… My faith isn't strong enough.' He looked to the gathered sisters of the convent and held up his bible, 'These words are nothing unless they are spoken by one who truly believes in them!' His fingers went limp and the Bible thumped to the floor, 'The beast is growing stronger, soon it will leave the host and walk the Earth… Nothing can stop it.'
A gasp went through the room like a zephyr of dismay.
Suddenly, three knocks struck the front door of the convent, a young nun hesitantly walked over and opened the door.
There in the graveyard quiet of the night stood a stranger. The priest stepped forward, 'Who… are you? What brings you to this cursed place?' The stranger grunted, 'I'm the exorcist' and stepped through the threshold.
The priest regarded the stranger sceptically, the newcomer certainly didn't look like a member of clergy. He wore navy board shorts and a black button down shirt with garish flames printed around the hem. Despite the heat he also wore an ill fitting trench coat and atop the strangers scruffy head perched an oddly small fedora.
'The demon is too powerful, I trained in the Vatican for decades and still I could not banish it, what makes you think you can?'
The newcomer snorted derisively, stepped around the priest and strode purposely into the room where the demon was being held.
The stranger stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. The room was sparse, empty save for a large hardwood bed in its centre. Tied to the bed was a young boy, corpse white, body tense and straining against the thick leather straps that tied him to the bed. A black, greasy miasma spewed from the boys mouth and eyes and condensed above him into a cloud of ethereal smog.
'Another preacher?' spoke an infernal voice that came from every corner of the room at once and made every syllable sound like the blackest profanity, 'Someone should tell the Christ that his representatives are hypocrites, there is no true belief on this world anymore'
The stranger said nothing, he simply produced a dogeared book from his coat, opened it and started reading. 'The Basal principle, which was the pivot of all our previous considerations, was the special principle of relativity.'
He read in an authoritative voice, the demon screeched as though each word was a spear piercing its flesh!
'...It was at all times clear that, from the point of view of the idea it conveys to us, every motion must only be considered as a relative motion…' Continued the newcomer his voice rising to a shout, the black smoke above the bed wavered in and out of nothingness, the demonic howling grew louder and more grating, and an unearthly wind tore through the room.
'If it is simply a question of detecting or of describing the motion involved, it is in principle immaterial to what reference-body we refer the motion!' screamed the stranger, his eyes afire with zeal, frothed spittles flecking his neckbeard. Every word pried at the demon's grip on the world, every word empowered with true and total belief lanced through the beasts very being.
'...In contrast to this we wish to understand by the "general principle of relativity" the following statement: All bodies of reference K, K', etc., are equivalent for the description of natural phenomena, whatever may be their state of motion!'
The demon wavered, deep in the black fog a pair of spiteful eyes stared daggers at the stranger before it smoky mass stretched until it was like a pane of glass and shattered. Destroyed by the sheer conviction the stranger put in every word he spat at it.
The stranger closed his book, its creased cover read 'Special theory of relativity', tucked it back into his coat, and headed for the door.
The priest and all of the sisters of the convent stared in shock and disbelief. The young sister who had let the stranger in stepped forward to open the door for him.
He looked at her with steely eyes and tipped his fedora, 'M'lady.'
| 9 | 0 | 4 | 85,217 |
[WP] You have a reputation for never telling a secret, no matter what the circumstances. People come to you to tell you their most hidden secrets. After countless times, you've finally gotten one that you can't keep to yourself.
|
His name was, well his name does not matter, especially to be pronounced by a deity, he was just a simple peasant, of a poor family whose name, aswell, did not matter. Since he was a little child he was a bit more special than his brothers or sisters, of which he had many. Which was expected as Rihnu, god of gifts, had given him an odd gift, an outstanding ability to keep secrets, in fact Rihnu made it so that if he told a secret he would die.
This child was grateful for everything and helped as much as he could, he would go to the temples as often as he could and would pray to all of the gods. He would always ask the same things: that his family be kept safe, out of hunger and dry. Useless to ask for such things as he knew the gods only listened to the rich and powerful or those that had proven themselves worthy. Apart from those prayers, he had another, he even prayed apart from the temples (which was considered sin), he asked for his crippled brother to be healed.
Now he just lies there. I told Rihnu not to give this child this gift, I knew it would tempt Yenu to do something. Yenu always meddling with the mortals more than he should, tempting them, making them start wars, he makes famines out of nothing. Yenu is the god that handles the punishment of mortals who misbehave, of which he does, but doesn't limit to only the misbehaving ones.
The child was one day alone in his father's fishing boat, but Yenu made the boat start wondering farther from the coast, into deep sea. This is when I told Yenu to stop, not to do this, as this was not his duty, he simply responded with "you are just a guardian, and am just trying to have fun". I kept close watch of what happened.
Once the boat was far away from the coast Yenu made fog fall around the boat, a thick fog that could drown anyone walking around in it. The child started to fear, but there was no time for this as Yenu quickly appeared before the child. "Child, you have a very special gift in you" Yenu said "you can keep a secret better than anyone else". "Y-yes I h-have been known to do that" the child responded. "Could you do me a favor and keep a secret for me?" I could see Yenu's eyes fill with a perverse joy, just like before he killed many. "Yes, are you a god?"the child said. "Yes, and one of the most powerful" Yenu had a laugh in his god voice, this the child could not hear. "Yenu stop" I told him in god voice, "Don't make me kill you" he replied. He then told the child "I can grant any wish to anyone, but you, they just have to come to this spot" he then laughed hard, the child was shocked, and continued "but no one will ever get their wish because you can't tell them to come here, or you will die".
After that Yenu sent the child back to the coast with a big fish. The child was in a battle with his inner-self should he tell his brother to go to the ocean to be healed or keep the secret and not die?
| 3 | 0 | 23 | 166,717 |
[WP] You've contracted a horrendous virus, but along with the coughing, aches and fever you receive the last 48 hours of vivid memory from its previous host, as will anyone you infect.
|
It was dark in his Manhattan room, but Scott suffered from surges of light in the form of memories that occasionally washed over his eyes. He could see a life that was not his own.
It was a woman, he thought. He saw through the eyes of a woman, her petite hands stumbling across a bedroom in the morning sun.
"God, someone help me," the woman said in a soft tone, unable to speak loudly due to the illness.
It was apparent she had the same symptoms he was suffering from now: The chills, the weakness of body and the god-awful flashes of light.
But Scott didn't realize how far the rabbit hole went. When she had the flashes, he could feel them too. He could see them too.
Scott saw person after person being afflicted, as if he was them. He lost track of how many people were in the chain of suffering until he saw a scrawny man looking into a body-length mirror.
The man was clearly balding and was wearing a white lab coat with splatters of red on it. His blue eyes standing out from the dinginess of the room.
From the surroundings, Scott could tell this was deep into the past. There was a telephone, one of the staples in antique shops, that hung on a green-painted wall. Besides it were posters World War II propaganda, and notices to ration certain types of food.
Scott saw into the eyes of a man still entrapped in the '40s. Then the man began to speak.
"If my experiment succeeds, then someone should be able to hear what I am saying now," the scrawny man said in a shrilly voice. "Man's greatest weakness is being able to die - obvious, right? But I've thrown the rest of my life away for what I predict will be close to 50 hours of life left."
Scott stared into the mirror as if they were having a conversation, though it was one-sided. He pondered what sort of hallucinations was his illness causing him to see now. But he couldn't just close his eyes. He couldn't turn his head away. Though his eyelids were shut, the visions played in his mind without care to Scott.
"The reason..." the man began, "was to obtain a form of immortality. Though I could have lived a few more years in this body, I can instead live forever in the bodies and minds of others. One-by-one, I will be able to cheat death and go on into the future where I may continue my experiments to better mankind."
Scott had his hands over his eyes and slammed his body against everything in his unlit apartment, but nothing he did could stop the visions. He pleaded to just let him go in peace and to be able to just fall asleep.
"Do not fear," the scrawny man continued, still staring deadpan into the mirror. "What you will become and what you will know will be a collective of ages that even I can't begin to estimate. You will be a part of a force that will benefit a species too lazy or brutish to help itself."
Scott could feel the man's voice getting louder and louder. He moved his hands away from his eyes and over his ears instead.
"You may feel pain and weakness, but that will be gone once I'm in control," the man said.
"Go fuck yourself!" Scott screamed as loudly as he could, though the illness was still holding him back.
"You may feel pain and weakness, but that will be gone once I'm in control," the man repeated.
"Just... leave me alone. Find someone else!" Scott said, still trying to comprehend what was going on in his mind.
"You may feel pain and weakness, but that will be gone once I'm in control," the man said a third time.
Scott, still covering his ears, laid quietly on the floor of his apartment. His body shivered at how acute that pain had gotten. His aches made sure his feeble body couldn't stay still. He was tired of the pain, tired of the flashes. And then he simply let go.
A few moments passed, but Scott finally removed his hands away from his ears. He picked himself up with no signs of shaking or shivering. His eyes opened and stared at his surroundings, like a newborn seeing for the first time.
"Let's begin," Scott said, breaking the silence.
| 3 | 0 | 4 | 80,674 |
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community.
|
When I was twelve, I remember we used to go to my grandpa's home in the country, where we could play in the fields and have fun, far from anything remotely resembling civilization, unless your concept of civilization included a kerosene lamp. We used to love playing in the little forest he had just a few feet from his house, imagining that the twigs we found were guns and swords.
One day, I was barefoot (as usual), running around, trying to take cover behind a tree while my cousin was "shooting" acorns at me. It was then that I squatted behind the tree, trying to find some branch to "defend" myself.
Lo and behold, my hand brushed right over a snake, a venomous one, as I gathered from the shape of its head.
I immediately removed my hand, but the snake had set its sight onto me, and my jumping and trying to get away didn't help, as I was yelling hoping my cousin would do something. The snake stood quiet, but the fear was real enough for me.
My shouts alarmed my 17-year old cousin, who was in the kitchen playing with the machete, a coincidence I'll never be grateful enough to anyone up there for happening. As he ran into the forest, he caught full sight of the viper, and the animal started opening its mouth, but before it jumped onto my feet, my older cousin chopped its head off.
I'll never be grateful enough for it.
And then he should have filled the paperwork, presented the witnesses, as it's the law of one who saves a life to get the right to take one, but he never did.
That is an act of true love, I believe. To save someone's life without thinking of what you can gain from it.
And I learned my lesson: I no longer go barefoot.
| 1 | 0 | 2,331 | 189,163 |
[WP] a man's seemingly innocuous habit causes trouble on a national (or greater) scale
|
Felip Manzel walked along 127th street, chewing his gum and thinking about the day. The sky was a beautiful blue, as though the Earth were announcing a newborn baby boy. Birds chirped in the air, and the sounds of the city rose to a comfortable buzz. Felip loved New York in the summer.
He casually strolled past a flower stand, stopping to be cliche and smell the roses. Today was perfect, a balmy 72 degrees, the sun beginning to peak above the city-scape. He continued across the street, waving to the postman walking the opposite direction.
As he did every day, Felip purchased a newspaper from Charlie at the Daily News stand. As he did every day, he purchased a coffee from Meagan at the Human Bean. As he did every day, he spat out his gum on the street.
The gum sat, as gum would, sweating in the sun. It was solid when he spat it out, but the heat softened it to the texture of glue. A cab passed, and the gum stuck to the tire as if hailing the cab itself. It sank into the warm treads, effortlessly gripping the rubber, massaging the asphalt every time the tire turned.
As the cab moved into downtown, it splashed through a small puddle. The gum, still gooey from the warmth of the tire and the ground, was now wet with water. It decided, at long last, to drop to the ground, right as the cab passed through an intersection.
Senator Holly Carol crossed the intersection, waving away the exhaust from the cab that just passed. As she walked, her brand new Manolo aligned itself perfectly with the gum. Having had time to sit, the gum had stiffened a bit but was still pliable. It adhered nicely to the bottom of her shoe.
She got in her car, and the driver began navigating to the airport. The gum sat, on the bottom of her most expensive pair, as she spoke on the phone. She had a very important meeting soon with the President, to accept a nomination of Secretary of State. The announcement would be made in the morning.
The gum sat, cooling now, as Senator Carol was driven to the airport. It stuck solid to her shoe as she removed her bags and walked through the terminal. It remained fixed as she got in line behind other weary travelers.
The gum left small traces of itself on the carpet, although it remained mostly in position on her shoe. The Manolo had a slight tread on the bottom, probably mostly for appearances, and this allowed the gum to cool and harden on it's surface.
Senator Carol removed her shoes as she neared the front of the line. The TSA agent, a tired-looking 40 something father of two with thinning grey hair, waved her over. She placed her shoes in the bin, as well as her personal effects. She stood patiently waiting to walk through the body scanner. Without her phone on her, she had time to appreciate her position, and that she rarely had to fly commercial.
And after this trip, she would never have to fly commercial again.
And this is the beginning of the story about how Felip Manzel caused the largest airport shut-down in United States history.
| 4 | 0 | 12 | 91,382 |
[WP] Every person is cloned on the day they are born and they grow up together with their clone. At the age of 21 the better one is selected and the other one is put to death.
|
I whispered in his ear in his last moments, brought forth all of it. Ten years of cultivated rage, ever since I knew he would be the one. "I knew it would be you, living in your shadow, eating the crumbs from your plate." I wrenched the knife in further, his sternum crunching under the pressure, "guess you weren't smart enough to see this coming, no friends to protect you, no perfect girlfriend to see you throughthis time." I could feel the wetness and thick fluidity of his life-force smearing on the palms of my hands. I was salivating, spitting in his face as I forced the angry whispers of fury, and staring daggers of seething hatred through his eyes and one through his chest. Speaking through clenched teeth I mutter to him, "see you in your perfect hell, big brother." as I follow his gaze down to the floor he slides down the wall of the corridor to the docking bay and slumps over, spilling his last breath. I sneer over his body as I flay the freshly branded barcode from his arm. I work my way to bay 12, wiping the blood on my hands over what was presumably meant to be my funeral attire. I arrive at the docking bay door and slide the scanner beam over his barcode. Within the bay lies my brother's personal shuttle down to New Earth.
"Welcome, Jonathan," the pleasant female voice comes over the speaker of the bay door, "we hope you enjoyed your existence on Nexus 7, please prepare for launch. Your wonderful life on New Earth awaits."
I hastily make my way to the shuttle, swiping the barcode again, I enter and the shuttle door slides closed behind me. Up at the front I don my suit and strap myself in. Through the shuttle window I can see security running through the bay doors, my mother following close behind, screaming at the top of her lungs something I cannot understand. Security makes it to the shuttle doors but it's no use because the shuttle is already on the grav-lift and the air lock doors are opening, the vacuum of space already beginning to take hold. Security drags my mother back, barely making it to safety behind the bay doors. I don't know what to expect when I get down there, but after everything that's happened I just want to lean back in the seat and pass out.
The ship's panel alarms-out and I wake up, a short trip but a long journey. I make my way to the back of the ship after she docks, I open the compression bay and step in, and that's when I notice the charring. I turn to the closing bay door but it's now sealed. I can hear a loud thrumming sound on the other side of the compression bay door and I turn slowly, and before the blast furnace ignites, I realize I was perfect all along.
| 3 | 0 | 68 | 204,462 |
[WP] It is the year 2043, and due to pollution, people buy potato chips not for the chips themselves but for the excessive amount of clean air in the bag.
|
It's short and pointless, but...
As we grinded across the desolate fallout, I could hear Fat Larry in the back seat of my Toyota Hover Car^TM huffing out the last of the fresh air in a Cool Ranch Doritos bag. Son of a bitch, his dependency has grown too strong and soon we will be forced to throw him overboard or else jeopardize our supply. It's a shame, he was actually starting to grow on me and he had become a perfectly marketable source of comedic relief, the kind formerly portrayed by Seth Rogens and Jonah Hills, but now left to the likes of the Dan Foglers and Josh Gads of the world. We called him Fat Larry, specifically for the mere fact that he was fat and well his name was Larry. I admit it, it isn't original or clever, but hell we need something short and sweet to call you by when we only so much oxygen to say it. For fuck's sake, our Demolition experts name is R. His old name was Reginald VelJohnson, but I sure as hell wasn't going waste a Funions bag to call him that. Not by a long shot. Since I am introducing the crew, I should mention Tits, again not very smart of a pet name, but she does have a sweet rack. She serves no purpose besides sex appeal and the eventual repopulation of Earth, but is that not enough.
As I made a turn around the wreckage of a nuclear power plant, I overheard the sound of Fat Larry going at another bag, this time Fritos. Sure the lost was less significant, I fucking hate Fritos, but I still felt betrayed. I stopped the car, dragged his fat ass out of the back seat, and threw him on the ground. The way he fell was rather Chaplinesque and had the rest of the crew and the audience in stitches. I thought for a second that it would suck losing our comedic edge, but then I recalled a knock-knock joke that was a knee-slapper and thusly unloaded my firearm upon him . His thick, purplish blood painted the brown barren landscape as his face drained of all happiness and humanity. I climbed in the car forgetting all about him, realizing I knew him only by the moniker Fat Larry. I turned to my two last remaining crew members, who surely felt the loss and had looks of grief upon their faces, and said, "Knock-Knock."
"Who's there?" said Tits forcing herself through her tears.
"Not Fat Larry." And we drove off.
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 147,424 |
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop.
|
"So... You want to fuck a demon?" Laza'k scratched his forehead. "This is a stupid request, even by human standards."
"Hey, I've seen some pretty hot demon babes in my time."
"Anime is not realistic. You spend far to much time jerking it in your mom's basement, Jay."
"Well it's my soul. I can trade it for anything, right? So I wanna trade it to fuck a demon."
"You do realize you could be eaten alive."
"No, not one of those demons. I want a cute little succubus." Jay demonstrated the curves with his hands.
"That... that's not a thing. Succubi devour men's souls. They only look pretty. Then they show their true form-" Laza'k shuddered "And tear your soul from your body. You don't wanna fuck one, trust me."
"Yes I do." Jay sat back in his swivel chair. "If you can't deliver, then go away. I've got like two terabytes of hentai waiting."
"You're a fucking idiot!"
"Do I have to go to upper management?" Jay asked calmly. "I'm sure Satan would love to hear that you turned down a soul."
"Upper management?! Are you-" Laza'k ran a hand through his hair. "You know what, fuck it." There was a flash of light and the rank smell of sulfur filled the room. Scorched parchment and a demonic looking quill were presented to Jay. "One fuck with a succubus in exchange for one soul."
"Thank you." Jay said with a grin, and signed the parchment.
"Goddamn kids." Laza'k mumbled as he rolled up the parchment and dissipated into noxious fumes.
A few months later, Laza'k saw a familiar face mopping blood, feces and piss off the brimstone streets. "Kid."
"Demon."
"Was it worth it?"
"Yep. See, since you already took my soul, she couldn't agonizingly steal it from my body. So I just ended up having the greatest fuck in the history of ever. Did you know you can browse 4chan down here?"
"Un-fucking-believeable."
| 390 | 0 | 268 | 48,604 |
[WP]: Waking up with a massive hangover and no memory of the previous night, you get up to find the elaborate, detailed blueprints of a fully functional spaceship drawn on your wall. They've been done with your handwriting.
|
"Hello Darkness, my old friend," I greet the ceiling fan, the morning (afternoon?) sunlight and my typical morning misery.
I feel the sogginess in the carpet underneath my back and judge last night's party a six out of ten. I gather my strength and sit up, closing my eyes as waves of nausea pulsate through my body. I send out my left hand to scout for relief to this hell and misery. Lefty closes upon the glass surface of a bottle, lifting it slightly to feel the weight of the liquid within and returns it to my lips.
"Good boy," I congratulate my left hand as I take a swig of last night's beer. My tongue catches something in my mouth and I open my eyes to examine it.
"This isn't mine," I say, examining the cigarette butt. "Smoking's for losers."
I suck the beer out of the filter and flick it to the side, hoisting myself up from the comfort of the floor. My eyes travel around the room and take in the mural now occupying the formerly blank living room wall.
The sound of a door opening somewhere behind me says that my former friend and roommate Michael has awoken. Footsteps pad to a stop behind me, the sudden silence telling me Michael is unhappy with something.
"What...the fuck...is that?" Michael's voice asks.
"Well," I say, taking another swig of warm, flat beer. "That particular squiggle looks a lot like a dick."
Michael steps into my field of vision, arms out and jaw open, dressed for work in khakis and a checked button up shirt. I believe he's about to be furious with me.
"What did I tell you about drawing on the walls?" he asks me.
I contemplate his question while refilling my empty bottle with the dregs of several other bottles of varying labels from the coffee table.
"I believe you told me not to," I say, the guess sounding fairly accurate from what I know of Michael.
"Yes, I told you-" he cuts off as he continues to examine the new mural. I use this blessed moment of silence to continue feeding my hangover, already feeling it retreating from my alcoholic onslaught.
"Did you...you drew this?" he asks.
I examine the drawing. My familiar illegible handwriting covers the diagrams of the massive dick.
"Yes," I finally say, chugging my beer, trying not to taste it.
"Do...do you know what this is?" Michael asks me.
I again examine the wall. "Not a dick?"
"It's...did you draw part of this in shit?"
I smell my fingers. "Possibly," I say, recoiling from Lefty.
"It's...this is...do you know what I do for a living?" Michael asks me.
I open my mouth, hoping the answer escapes my lips before I say something stupid.
"You don't know what I...we've been friends for ten..." Michael rubs his curly brown hair. "I'm an engineer at NASA, and you've just given me...us-the answer to faster-than-light travel, if I'm reading that same fucking scribble you use to write those bad checks for your rent. How?"
I again contemplate the drawing and try to remember the events of last night. A flash of light, a voice in my ear, no, in my head. A voice so loud and so beautiful it made me cry. A voice that sent out a call, a plea through time and space searching for help. A name they called out into the dark, and a way to come to the rescue like Seth Bullock riding into Deadwood.
I examine my roommate and landlord, the last human being who has so far never given up on me despite my best efforts, the man who graduated top of his class at an age far younger than any of his peers, who turned an internship at NASA into an administrative position (I think).
"Michael," I say, putting my left arm around his shoulders. "I think I took a message meant for you last night. It's alright, though, I wrote it down."
"I have to go," Michael says. He pauses, looking down on me. "Why are you naked? Nevermind, I have to go to work. We. We have to go to work. Find your clothes, now."
As I look down upon my naked body I rethink my earlier judgement on the previous night.
"Eight out of ten," I say, setting the bottle down and beginning the quest for my pants.
| 12 | 0 | 115 | 87,434 |
[WP] Write the best story you can using only the suggestions given to you by your phone's keyboard.
|
The appartments are usually good. I'm sure that you stay in touch. I'm not sure about the new year and the other side.
The only reason you are looking at the clouds ripping to the right direction and the desire of the seven days of our lives and the rest is up and running.
I am a little less expensive.
If you are looking into this issue... Those are the ones that you can get.
I'm sure. I'll try to get to the next day. I'm not sure if you can see that.
I'll let you go through this. The least amount of information about this topic is the same as the new year.
I'm not going to do this in error. Unless you can see it. I'll try to do this in the next day. The last two years of experience in this case is that you are not the intended recipient. If you can see, I am going to, and you should come. The only reason you can't see it... That never ended. It can take advantage of our lives. It is not the same thing as the one that you are.
I'm not going anywhere. I'm not sure. I'll try again. The only reason you can't see it: 00 I don't smoke a lot about it is not the only thing I did you see it ---
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 123,420 |
[WP]A new breed of soldier is here. That breed is gamers.
|
"Hey Tips, get a load of this program!" was Murray's hook to get me interested in his dossier on the Boston Dynamics beat.
It was a new government program to replace front-line soldiers with robotic proxies. Boston Dynamic's new Big Man was a natural progression from earlier robotic prototypes, accompanied regularly by Big Dogs and Little Bird UAVs. The future was bright, and the advertising offensive was equally upbeat.
*Taking a bullet for you!*
A cartoon Big Man takes an RPG to the torso, yet resolutely continues to fire his weapon, free of pain and mortal concern.
Of course, the only thing that took a real bullet was the actual training process. You see, the trick to staff the new 'bots was to rely on a massive, mainstream industry. Videogamers had, for generations, been social outcasts. That changed in the early 2000's with the sudden upthrust of gaming into the public's consciousness. What had once been a highly insular, fringe pursuit became a multi-billion dollar industry, with the sudden acceptance of E-sports driving the development of increasingly professional players.
Professionals that would, with the help of robots, becomes the fighting force of the future. Or so the brochures said. Murray's research had been thorough on the performance of the proxies overseas. Two things became immediately apparent in the studies - despite being mostly redacted. The first was that the robots' operators tendency to isolate action from consequence resulted in a disastrously low degree of discipline. Many "green" Big Men tended to shoot first and never ask questions, and also tended to demonstrate a flagrant disregard for military order and discipline. The second truth was, however, by far the most damning.
The robots themselves were never tied to their operators. In fact, numerous operators could exchange multiple Big Men throughout the day. Initially, this wasn't a problem, especially to the Army brass that initially fell in love with the Big Man's legendary endurance. Little to no down-time meant that the soldiers never had to sleep. As soon as one gamer signed off for the night, another would log in and take over. It was only after the deployment in Syria that the problem became clear. A squad of five robots was dropped into a Damascus suburb, and then systematically tore the neighborhood apart. No one was spared. The rampage only ended when the five operators signed off for the night, and the next crew logged in.
Reports were filed, and an investigation was launched. Unsurprisingly, nobody was held accountable for the massacre. Murray's research showed a heavily redacted MP report that implied that the encryption used to control the Big Men ensured that only the highest level of brass could know who operated what, and when. Furthermore, his research included common chatboard files, including one that had been posted the day after the massacre. It's file-name was big, bold, and bragging: **RAMPAGE**. It turned out that it had been kind of an in-challenge with a group of the more sadistic gamers. It was never made public, but it was an ongoing theme - every time a mysterious massacre occurred, a new chatboard post would pop up, demonstrating accuracy percentages, number of dead, headshots, and notably gruesome kills.
Murray's attempts to have his research published had led to a Washington-led campaign to have him demonized and marginalized. His whistleblower status was revoked by shadowy forces in the government, and he was practically ostracized politically for continuing to make noise about the Big Man fiasco. Frustrated, he'd called me with a hook I couldn't ignore. He'd dropped the dossier in my lap before catching a flight to *anywhere-but-here*.
| 1 | 0 | 22 | 54,721 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to the world, a barrier is erected by Lucifer that encompasses the Earth and blocks prayers from reaching Heaven. God believes the world has completely lost faith. Decades pass before finally a single prayer is powerful enough to pierce the barrier.
|
I sat there depressed. Faith in my creation has waned into nothingness. I was about to let the rapture happen, until I finally got a call.
"God, we did it, we got one." Doris said while breathing heavy.
"Send it my way then." I said excitedly.
Doris walked in with a big smile plastered on her face. She gave me the paper and I read it aloud.
*Dear God, can you please bring Firefly back to its rightful owner? I will do anything to have at least one more season be produced. Please dear lord, amen.* -Your friend, Joss
I sat there stunned, it's been 10 years and all I get is a sad man who wants his show back. Doris was excited though, she loves Human television.
"What should we do?" Doris asked while being very bubbly.
"Mmmm, eh, let's do it. Get the papers." I said.
"Dammit, how does Joss Whedon get a prayer through? Of all people, it's Joss motherfuckin Whedon?" Lucifer yelled while appearing.
"Lucifer, what are you doing here?" I asked.
"Ugh, well it's too late to not tell you. Over the last 10 years, I kinda put a prayer barrier over Earth." He said.
"Now why would you do that?" I asked.
"So you'd be bored and kill all the humans. But goodness, is 10 years a long time." He responded.
"Well, I think you should tell me next time you do that." I said.
"But, I like being free, it's fun." He said.
"Well you can't handle it you child. So bye." I said while snapping him out.
"So, Doris. Let's get this done." I said.
Doris ran out of the room like a child running to the candy store.
*You have 99,956 new messages* Ugh, I'm going to have a late night.
| 3 | 0 | 2 | 94,875 |
[WP] A great Empire is about to fall. A single remaining bodyguard is left alone with the Emperor as the enemy approaches the throne room.
|
The undulating profiles of the warmth-hued pillars shook terribly as several muffled thuds, forming with a cacophony of distant screams and the ever-present roar of wailfire, echoed within the vast chamber.
In the center of the room, placing themselves in ranks five deep alongside the first pair of columns before the large brass doors - shaking more and more with each eternal minute. The Shields stood ready, plumed silver helmets gleaming in the sunset light poring into the room from the
crystal dome above.
Their armor, sleek and curved, powerful and steadfast, made each and every one of them resemble the tailed beasts that had forged the empire and that each and every one of them tamed for use. It too, gleamed in the setting light.
But each and every man had cuts, some deep, some shallow, somewhere on their body. They had bruises, they limped when they shifted their stance, their grips on their weapons sometimes slackened. They panted for breath, hoping that none of their comrades or their Lord-Commander would hear. But they refused to shirk from standing before the shaking door.
Behind them, Ranil squared his shoulders as the door began to shake with much more violence. He glanced at the men and women standing in a line in between the last pair of columns before the chuted flanges of the Penumbral Throne. "What's moving out there?"
One of them - a Guider - glanced over his shoulder at Ranis, moving his hands from his temples and taking a deep breath before coming over. "The Archguard detects several hundred souls moving throughout the interior. A large portion of them are heading this way."
"Right." Ranil gave the man a nod as he threw a look at the huge white throne behind him, catching a glimpse of a woman's tangled black hair and a pair of small grey eyes staring at him before shuffling out of sight.
He looked forward. "Men! Lock shields and pull away from the doors!"
Ranil's arm tensed as his fingers brushed against the hilt of the blade hanging from his hip. He took a moment to look behind him at the Throne again.
"You probably won't get another chance, Ran." Ranil narrowed his eyes as he shook off the man's hand, turning to him. He stared at the thin man, dressed in a simple leather tunic with a pair of slitknives hanging from his chest and hips. He brushed his wild hair from his eyes. "There won't be much time."
Ranil's eyes softened as he nodded. Silently he turned away, walking towards the throne. He stopped at the base of the steps leading to the throne itself for a moment before shaking his head and moving past it, skirting the steps until he came to the shadowy high backed slab the Penumbral Throne leapt from like a physical shadow.
A boy sat crouched, his knees tucked up and his back against the harsh black stone as he turned over the gleaming white band of metal in his hands.
The boy's shoulders gently shook as tears streamed down his cheeks, his little breaths shuddering in fright each time a massive boom echoed throughout the chamber.
Ranil knelt next to him, reaching a rough hand to cup the boy's cheek. "Hush, little one."
The boy's sobs continued as he dropped the circlet to the polished marble floor with a echoing clatter and wrapped his arms around the man's sides, pressing his face into his chest. "I'm scared - they're coming and-"
Ranil gave a gentle smile as he placed his hand on the boy's head, ruffling his black hair. "You must remain strong. For you and her." He jerked his chin at the woman, cradling a baby in her arms.
The doors pounded, and the massive hinges squealed in protest. The Shields tensed up, readying their spears.
Near the columns one of the Guiders cried out and fell to the floor, clutching at his head as his eyes started to bleed as hoarse strangled words of a strange tongue tumbled out amid his dying breaths.
"Ran! Time's up! The shimmerwall is about to fail!" The wild-haired man yelled, striding over as the Guiders dragged away their dead comrade and closed ranks again, grabbing each other's hands as the gems embedded in their palms began to shine with burning light.
The boy's breaths began to quicken as his hands started to shake. He stared up at Ranil, tears brimming. Ranil continued to hold him close, before pulling away and hoisting the boy to his feet, picking up the circlet and placing it in his hands.
"I failed your mother. I will not fail you."
He looked over at the woman as she came over, clutching the baby in her arms. "Ranil-"
"You need to get him out of here, Isha. Hide yourselves away."
"But-"
"I need to stay. You need to go."
"Ranis-"
"I won't forget you. And I'll be damned if you forget me." Ranil pulled her into a quick embrace, giving her a gentle peck on the head before.
"Never, big brother." Isha whispered, grinding her teeth as she fought against the tears welling in her eyes, shifting her grip on the baby as she grabbed the boy's hand.
Ranil turned sidelong, narrowing his eyes as the doors continued to shake with more and more violence as several pure white cracks began to widen in the sheer brass surface. He exhaled as he drew the slender sword at his hip, keeping his grip light but firm. "I will see you in the next world."
As he said this white cracks began to snake out across the huge doors, joining together as a ear-splitting screech began to fill the room, forcing some of the Shields to their knees and downing a few Guiders.
"The shimmerwall!"
The doors blasted inward with a explosive flash, metal screaming, men shouting, a huge spindly black beast screeching in triumph as its bladed claws sank into the pulverized brass slabs hanging off their hinges, ripping them free and tossing them through the air.
The Shields moved backwards as one force, avoiding the slabs as dark shapes began to appear in the dust surrounding the throne room entry.
Ranil beckoned to the wild-haired man. "Malir! Take them away from here! Use your slipways!"
The smuggler nodded, jogging over to Isha and guiding her, the baby and the boy to a small door hidden in the shadowy corners behind the Penumbral Throne. "Consider my debt done!"
Ranil smirked. "Definitely, old friend."
The boy struggled and tugged against Isha and Malir, grunting and screaming the entire way before the four of them disappeared through the little door.
Ranil made sure they were gone before glancing at a nearby mage. "Seal it behind them!"
The young woman nodded, pointing at the door. The wood splintered and cracked, crumpling inwards and leaving behind only a twisted wooden hulk.
The Shields shouted as one as a dark figure deftly moved through the doorway amidst the screeches of the black beast, his icy eyes landing on Ranil in a instant.
"Lord-Commander. You've failed in your duties."
| 2 | 0 | 113 | 57,186 |
[WP] At night, the Unread rise and devour their checked-out brethren. The zombie Apocryphalypse has begun.
|
Cassie woke with a jolt, sat bolt upright in bed and threw the duvet off. There came a thud from downstairs, it sounded like it was coming from the back door.
"Tom?" she hissed, reaching out to knock his shoulder,
"Tom! I think there is someone outside!"
"Muuu...Huh? Cas?" He rolled towards her.
"Listen" Helen breathed, "I think they are trying to get in the back door." She slipped out of bed and started rummaging in the bedside drawers for something, anything which had some weight to it.
Tom jumped to his feet. "Cas, stay here. Get your phone ready to call the police."
He moved toward the door and gently opened it, wincing as the hinge whined.There was a second thud and rattle against the glass of the garden doors, it sounded like someone was flinging their arms against it.
Casey, phone in hand crossed the room to stand by the door, "I don't think they are inside" she whispered.
Tom crept down the stairs, avoiding his rucksack and the books that lay to the side of the treads. He cast about for anything he could use as a weapon, eventually settling for a statue that they had bought back from Thailand last year. He stepped into the hall, the lounge door was open as were the curtains of the rear glass doors leading to the lawn.
There was someone in the garden, they were stumbling into the glass repeatedly, their head twisting against the glass. Tom rushed forwards assuming that whoever it was was hurt or confused. He dropped the statue, it clattered to the floor and rolled away from him
"Shit!" He rushed forward, banging into the sofa in the blackness. "Cas" he called urgently, "I think he's been injured."
Cassie clattered down the stairs, stealth forgotten.
at the sound of Tom's call the figure jerked to attention and renewed his hammering on the glass.
Tom and Cassie rushed forward, finally up close to the man, separated only by the glass.
the left side of his face had been shredded and blood glistened in the slight light of the moon. His left shoulder was cricked back at a painful angle and his arm hung uselessly to the side. On spotting them he bashed his dangling arm against the glass, seemingly oblivious to pain.
"We have to help him." Tom reached for the key in the lock.
"Wait! Look at his eyes, I don't think we should let him in. He looks deranged."
The fence at the bottom of their small garden shuddered and as they glanced toward it one of the panels fell inwards. Two more figures stood in the gap, they seemed to catch sight of the first and crossed the lawn with a shambling but determined gait.
Cassie tugged at Tom's arm, "Tom we need to go back upstairs, Now! I'm scared" her voice broke as she spoke.
He nodded, not taking his eyes off the figures in their garden. They backed out of the room and closed the mdf door to the lounge, blocking the figures from view, though the sound of them flailing against the glass followed them into the hall.
Tom ducked right into their kitchen and reached for the knife block. There was nothing else in the house which could be used as a weapon.
Kitchen knives in hand they headed upstairs and into the spare room at the front of the house.
"Cas, help me with the wardrobe."
They manhandled the antique wardrobe in front of the door.
Cassie pulled her mobile from her pajama pocket and dialed 999. Someone answered on the fifth attempt,
"Hello you have reached the Devon Police emergency line, how can I.."
There was a sound of scuffling feet and a clatter down the phone, 2 seconds later the screaming started.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 206,594 |
[WP] The tragic life and death of a balloon animal.
|
Too late condoms. That what we used to call ourselves. You know? Because, we're also made of rubber? You get it? Yo-.. Yeh you got it. Okay so. Here we are all fresh in a bag waiting to be made into fantastic creations. We were all speculating on what we were going to be. Probably a lot of giraffes and those sausage dogs. Maybe a dolphin if we were lucky.
The bag was opened. Fresh air rushed in. We were told about this by the elders. This day would come. The day that we went from shapeless colourful forms of rubber to glorious everlasting creatures. We all were piled upon a table. Left and right fellow comrades were pulled away.
''There sure are a lot of balloon artists here'' I thought. Suddenly I felt a jerk. I was lifted up into the air. I hardly could contain my excitement. I really hope I am going to be an elephant!
A wet mouth formed around my opening. Air mixed with a lot of saliva entered me. Strange, the elders never said anything about this amount of moisture. Nevertheless I soon was all full. I noticed I changed hands, my opening was closed by much more rough hands than the ones that were holding me. A moment later I found myself back in those soft hands. Why would a balloon artist make someone else tie my end? Maybe he is too good for such a low task. Yes. That must be it I thought.
And so began the twisting and the knotting of me. It was excruciating, the pain was unbearable. But I held. Others around me couldn't take it anymore and popped. Sweet relief.
It would soon be over. I shut myself off from the forming.
Suddenly there was no more movement. I looked about, I was put down on the floor next to a piece of cake and a broken balloon. What have I become? I looked at myself....I was still.. just a balloon?! What is this?!
Suddenly I heard a voice ''Eddy! Come show us what balloon animal you made!''. I was picked up by those soft hands again. ''Wonderful Eddy! What animal is that?'' ''It's uh.. a.. uhhw...Worm! Yes! I made a worm!''
This is not what I imagined. The elders lied.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 111,256 |
[WP] You're tripping on a new drug dubbed "Memory lane." It allows you to relive anything that has ever happened in your life with 100% clarity. The only catch is that the memory is random.
|
It's mid afternoon and I'm at my kitchen table thinking about how good life used to be. I've been living in a trailer with some pet roaches since the divorce and just barely escaped homelessness. I don't have money for anything. Damn, I don't even have money for drugs. I know I should sell this shit. Memory Lane, it's got a good name. I could sell this for a a good amount, if it works like that man explained.
"Take a trip on Memory Lane, it will be something you'll never forget. First time user's are on me" He reassured.
I know I should just go to the corner store. Lonnie is usually hanging around there with his damn beers. He would buy this in a minute, but what memories does that shit head have? It would be equivalent to sharing caviar with a man with no taste buds. No, I've been places. I've seen a lot in my life. I'm experienced. I'll take it.
Man this doesn't taste good at all. What is that? Rotten egg? Something definitely rotten but I feel it already. My body is getting heavy. I feel like I'm falling back but I can't really see that well. I think it's dark outside. I wonder what great memory I've been brought back to. My vision is coming back. Oh fuck, this is last week. I'm still in my fucking trailer and I'm fucking sleeping. Just great. It's about 11:00 pm so I'll be sleeping for a good amount of time. What am I supposed to do now? Wait till I wake up to take a piss? The man said the memories would be random, but I thought I would at least experience something different than being in this godforsaken trailer.
Wait a second. What was that? I swear I just saw someone at the window. It could have been Lonnie though. He likes to bother me at night to see if I want to go drinking. Maybe he was just checking to see if I was awake. No, Lonnie is an asshole. If he was coming over to drink he would have been making all sorts of noise. Who the hell is looking in my trailer? Fuck, fuck, and fuck. I'm gonna have to look. I take I step forward and I get startled after my sleeping self howls out a snore. I'm at the window now but I don't see anything so I stick my head out. I get a horrible feeling in my stomach from what I see. To my right is the man looking through my bedroom window. The man who gave me this shit was looking inside my trailer last week while I was sleeping!? What an asshole.
"Get the fuck away from my window you asshole!" I yell.
He doesn't move. Not even a flinch. Of course, I'm tripping. He can't see what I'm seeing. I'm not even sure I'm in his reality. This isn't good, not good at all. My heart is fucking punching me in the throat. My chest feels so tight I'm not even sure I'm even breathing. Calm down. Breathe for a fucking second. I'm alive right? So this means that this fucker didn't kill me yet. He just starred me while I was sleeping like an insane creep, that's all. That's the good news. The bad news is that this guy might come back and right now I'm sitting at my kitchen table passed out.
So my best plan is to wake up. How do I wake up from this trip? Maybe if I run around? Splash some water on my face? Jump off a building? Yes, that should work. There's a four story parking garage a few blocks from here but I wonder if I can even leave this memory? As soon as I leave the trailer I'm disappointed. Everything in my vision becomes blurry and then I end up back in my trailer. What is this some sort of Groundhog Day drug too? Oh, but that didn't feel good. I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my chest. I look down and I'm bleeding.
I begin to yell "Wake up. Oh god...allah...vishna... if any of you are real please wake me up!"
My vision begins to blur again. I'm waking up but I think I'd rather be back in memory lane. He's won. I'm on the kitchen floor and my blood is all over the place. Prayers aren't always answered like you'd wish they'd be. What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?
edit: My grammar likes to pretend it's a five year old sometimes. Also, my writing gears are a little rusty. Great prompt, thanks!
edit 2: Correction, it's a four year old. I spotted some more errors. I speaky the englash.
| 1 | 0 | 863 | 115,098 |
[WP] A man picks up a pair of glasses that allow him to see 30 minutes into the future. He sees his own body on the floor.
|
Blood flowed out of my head head staining the wooden floors. I put the glasses down and paced around the room. I had been using these glasses for the past week. Every thing I had seen in these glasses had come true in around 30 minutes or so. Because of this I only put them on for short bursts of time.
I sat on the ground, I could not fall if I was already sitting down. Ha, bet the future at its own game. I looked up and realized that there was a hammer on the bench just a mere thirty centimeters away from my head. I jumped up and moved the hammer away from the edge of the bench.
Looking at my watch I wondered how long it had been since I saw the prediction of my future. Thinking on my feet I called an ambulance. "We are experiencing high demand please hold and we will be with you in as little as *thirty minutes*" No good, I would be out by that time, putting the phone down, I glanced over the room to search for any dangerous items.
Nothing struck me as dangerous so I took a peak at the time. I didn't know when I had put on the glasses but it had been fifteen minutes since I had called the ambulance. I needed a hint at why I was on the floor. Hmm, what could it be. The glasses, yes, I just needed to see what was on the floor around me. Putting on the glasses I was surprised when I was no longer on the floor.
Bright lights flashed from the window, medics rushing off carrying a man on a stretcher. I started running to see who they were taking but tripped smashing the glasses I was wearing. The ambulance must have already left. As I lost consciousness I heard "911 whats your emergency"
EDIT [Oh and by the way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDU0CTDMk2g)
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 196,001 |
[WP] Story must end with, "Well, I didn't expect THAT to happen..."
|
Today was a good day. I woke up, took a shower, trimmed my beard and got my axe ready. It was time go to cut some trees!
I walked out of my house, loaded up my truck, made sure my dog was comfy in the cab and took off towards the forest. My mom wanted a Christmas tree so I told her I would cut one for her. This should be fun.
Everything so far to this point in the day was normal. Everything was calm, happy and relaxing. My dog was cheerful to go out into the forest again.
We got there and decided to play fetch for a bit. He really loves chasing for sticks. I found a good one and threw it as far as I could.
He found it brought it back and we went again it again. This string of events just kept going on and on til one throw…
What happened next is something that threw me and my dog off. Sticks started compiling themselves into a being not unlike an Ent from Lord of the Rings. It stood up and lets out a massive roar towards us. Both my dog and I took off towards our truck.
We hopped in and drove off. A massive thump hits the back of our truck and I turn back to see a Christmas tree in my bed. I am surprised.
Behind us, I can see the Ent falling apart.
My whole world then goes black. I wake up look at the pipe in my hands, look at my dog and look in the bed of my truck. The Christmas tree is there.
I look back at the pipe in my hands and look at the bag of weed in my other hand. It reads "Narnia." I look back to my dog to see him smiling.
The dog says, "well, I didn't expect THAT to happen."
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 169,734 |
[WP] You find out that whenever you are killed, you are revived with an immunity to whatever killed you. Document your experiences
|
They were calling him the world's first superhero.
His was the only story on all the news channels for over a week. Everyone seemed to fall into one of two camps; those who would let him be, and those wanting to hand him over to the military for analysis and testing.
Arthur himself was still struggling to make sense of the whole thing. He kept going back to that day as a child. The day that bus crashed through the flimsy metal barrier and tumbled off the bridge into the river below. He remembered it all, something the doctors told him was strange. Most of the other children had been knocked unconscious by the crash, their bodies floating with an eerie grace. They made futile attempts to escape. Cruelly, the windows on the old bus had been stuck in a half-open position for years. Large enough to flood the bus in under a minute, too small for escape. The last thing he remembered was watching a classmate open his mouth and scream in silent terror.
When he woke up in the hospital, he was confused. It didn't make sense. He remembered his drowning peer and the blackness that washed over him soon after. Apparently a volunteer fireman had been on the bridge when it happened and immediately dived after the bus. The brave man had been too late for the rest of them but was able to pull a lifeless Arthur Curry from the wreckage. The doctors were puzzled at his survival but said such "miracles" were more common than people think. Arthur always had a strange feeling that something more happened that day. That something was missing.
That was years ago. Since then he'd avoided deep bodies of water but taken up swimming, almost never missing a day. He was walking to his nearby gym for one such a swim when it happened. He always hated having to walk over the bridge that had nearly killed him, but loved his hometown dearly and so he stayed close to home. It happened in slow motion. The texting man crossing the median, the woman swerving to avoid him, the crash through the patch-worked barrier. As he dived in he wondered how it hadn't been replaced in the last twenty years. He got the driver out first, she was able to swim to the surface. Her friend was unconscious and buckled into the passenger seat. His mind flashed back to that day as a child as he tried to free her. As soon as he did the car hit the bottom, hard. It lodged in the mud and the driver door slammed shut, trapping his ankle, dooming the still unconscious passenger.
There was no brave fireman to save him this time. He sat there in pain, waiting to die. He felt the tightness in his chest that signalled the end was near. When he could resist no more, he embraced his fate and swallowed the dirty river water. It was like a breath of fresh air. Though the water couldn't kill him, the shock nearly did. When the rescuers finally arrived ten minutes later, they found a panicked, injured, but alive Arthur Curry. It took three trips before the divers were able to free his leg. After that everything was a blur. Police and reporters yelling over each other with the same questions. "Who are you?" "How are you still alive?" *What* are you?" It was all too much and when he spotted a friend in the traffic jam it had caused, he jumped in and told him to drive.
He looked out at the Pacific Ocean. Water far as the eye could see. He didn't know why it felt so right, but he knew it did. He walked slowly into the waves. It felt different in his lungs than the muddy river water, refreshing. Then, he knew it was right. Then, he knew he was home.
So began the second life of Arthur Curry. A life as the Marine Marvel, King of the Seven Seas.
A life as...AQUAMAN.
| 11 | 0 | 166 | 49,671 |
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
|
I remember the first night, as terrible as it was, it is one of those memories that never leaves you. My mother had come home late, she worked hard in a small salon in the city, it wasn't much to get us by, but she always smiled when she saw me, always walked a little happier when she was reminded of why she did it. I had forgotten to hang out the clothes, like she had asked me, silly I know, but it's always the little things I suppose. She went out, in the cold, I kept saying sorry, tears welling up, I knew she was tired...but she leant down, like she always did and spoke in a quiet voice "hush now my little angel, go and pray, the days are long and the future waits little one, go to bed, I'll be okay."
The house rocked with steel and fire, I heard screaming, it was my mothers, dazed as I was, I can still feel the flames licking in the darkness and ripped curtains muddied on the floors. My father grabbed me, hands wet with blood. It was not until years had past, that my father spoke of the event, one morning in the ragged refugee tent that we had come to claim as our own.
My father said they came to deliver us from evil, I....I am not sure. He said it was a sign from god, and so I took it upon myself to walk the path that every boy must walk eventually I took my courage and used it. I must become a man to see it through.
Much has changed since that fateful night, and perhaps now, I can put meaning to my life. I shall set everything right. Allah Akbar. I cry. I am coming home.
| 24 | 0 | 402 | 77,153 |
[WP] You're on your death bed, and the personification of your greatest regret has come to say goodbye.
|
The lone reader wept a tear as the mourning stories about regret turned one after another in the screen: Lost lovers, unborn children and underachievers paraded with their miseries and, though he identified himself with most of them, he felt more pity by watching the scanty numbers in his Facebook's notifications. It was his birthday but very few people bothered to greet him and most of them were old high school friends who weren't very close even when they shared classrooms, now tied only by unwritten rules he despised long ago. "I touched so few lives and care about people who doesn't care about me" thought disappointed, "But I can't blame anyone for letting me down, I did first"
The parade was stopped by a ringing phone, the reader doubt for a moment if picking it up, fearing it was a dun again, but the voice at the other side was familiar, if somehow feigned:
_ Hi, Al, happy birthday!
_ Meg? Hi, sis! Thank you! -He answered with a little less feigning-
_ How's things going? Have you enjoyed your birthday? -There wasn't mock in her words and he knew it. It was just her trying to say and do the right thing always, even if she failed miserably and unknowingly, and he knew it, too.
Maybe it was a good moment to patch up, Al was about to ask, when a baby's cry interrupted:
_ Sorry, the baby is learning to walk and tripped over, one minute please.
He could hear as Meg walked away and started talking to her baby. "What happened?", "It was nothing, com'on, stand again, I won't help you" with tenderness, but the same lack of empathy he knew all his life. "I couldn't do the same, I would have carried my daughter immediately and covered her in kisses" and the tears came back as her daughter's memory did.
_ Al, are you there?
_ Yes -Al put himself together, now decided not to display any weaknessThe conversation continued cordially for a few minutes and when they were saying goodbyes, Al stung her deliberately:
_ I hope that now I'm older, you'll stop nagging me
_ You're older but still a child in many ways. I'd rather stay away but now I'm a mom myself and I understand how much our mother suffers because of you.
_ At least I hope you'll learn from me that nagging doesn't help before you'll start doing the same with your own daughter
_ Ok, Want me to stay away? Granted
_ Fine, bye
_ Bye
A furious Al came back to his subreddit, tasting each submission, looking for a tale that was worth of his last gold. Finally, he found a story that expressed the same he wanted to say, but never would be able to.
"Take my gold, friend, I hope you use it better than I would" wrote in the comments, and opened the last drawer, where he kept the gun...
| 1 | 0 | 860 | 127,435 |
[WP] You have, in your possession, the most dreaded of cookbooks: The Nomnomnomicon.
|
"Good evening, sir. Here's our menu, for our evening specials -- "
"No need for the menu, just bring me your chef's finest food for tonight.", Ben's customer cut him short.
"Wine sir?", Ben asked him.
"Your finest.", Ben went over to the kitchen.
It was a usual night at the restaurant. Full house. The ringing sound of cutlery hitting against plates. A place where memories are being built, where people laugh and talk. A happy place.
The waiting line isn't about to get shorter, the red carpet and wooden tables weren't going to get some rest anytime soon. Ben's co-workers were walking around, figures of white and black skimming across the floor.
Kitchen doors swung open, wine in hand, a glass on the other. Steve trailed Ben with a silver platter.
Ben placed the glass and poured some wine. "You know, I've been hearing a lot about this restaurant. 3 Michelin stars.", the customer sipped softly.
Steve placed the platter in front of the customer, "Sir, dinner is served". The food looked scrumptious. The smell was not overpowering, but it was enough to capture interest.
The customer held a fork on one hand and plunged it into a piece of meat. It was tender and full. He swabbed the small piece of meat unto the lightly drizzled sauce across the platter. He laid his food unto his mouth and chewed on it, slowly.
The customer smiled.
"Exquisite, just as I imagined it, I want to meet the chef.", the customer requested. Ben noticed a hint of frustration from the customer, Steve went back inside the kitchen and talked with the chef. Peeking at the circular windows of the kitchen door, Steve gave a nod of affirmation.
"Sir, the chef will be with you momentarily", Ben relayed.
The kitchen doors swung open, and the chef, walked towards the customer's table.
"Sir, this is Godfrey, our chef"
"Nice to meet you Godfrey. Thank you Ben", Ben left.
Godfrey sat at the table, looked at the customer and smirked.
"Hello old friend", Godfrey said.
The customer laughed, "Godfrey. What a name.".
Followed by a stern look, the customer began to look infuriated. "I expected more of you, Llaram. A restaurant?! That book can do so much more than be stuck in som —"
"Listen Druindar, the Nomnomicon doesn't have to be that same book. It can be used to do this", Godfrey waving his hand, showing the restaurant.
A shadow grew around the table, the forks began to tremble, Druindar spoke coldly, "You could conquer a universe with that book Llaram. Immortality is yours. Worlds will bow to what you can create from that book, empires will fall and rise. You are wasting it's potential! The Council should have chosen another tomekeeper instead of you! The very food you served me gave me enough to destroy this city!"
Calmly, Llaram softly spoke to his friend, "Druindar, we've come a long way. Do not let the book corrupt you."
Druindar's mood instantly changed, the shadow has gone.
"We've come a long way, Druindar. I know you, you are a strong and wise council member. I understand that the battle is still fresh, the struggle for this book is still in recent memory. Peace has just settled. Let your mind rest for now.", Llaram added.
Druindar stood up, trembling "I..I think I needed to hear that. I just needed to see you, I apologize that this is how my visit started". Druindar looked concerned, "The voices Llaram, the voices in my head. They seem to have more power over me, Llaram. It's haunting me even more that I'm not the tomekeeper anymore."
Llaram stood up and walked with Druindar towards the exit. "You know Llaram, all I wanted was for us to have the power to protect our people". Druindar looked at the long line of people waiting for their turn to get a table. Druindar smiled, "but for now, I guess you've got people to feed."
"It was nice for you to drop by, Druindar". As Druindar bid goodbye, Llaram was feeling uneasy as he saw Druindar walk away.
"This isn't over yet.", Llaram thought to himself.
| 2 | 0 | 277 | 204,432 |
[WP] It starts snowing, but the snow doesn't stop. Provide journal entries for the 1st, 10th, and 100th day
|
August 12 - Well. This is a surprise. Snow in August. Funny. Especially cause Arizona doesn't usually get any snow. Mittens has been mewing at the window all morning. I think she wants to get out there and see what all the fuss is about. I think she's got the right idea!
August 22 - I'm beginning to think there may be something to this "climate change" we've been hearing about. Pop pop called wanting to know if I'd put the car in the garage. I told him yes. Truth is I didn't feel like sweeping it off. That stuff is wet and heavy! They say the stuff coming down near Flagstaff is the whispy fluffy kind. Down here we're getting the real deal. Mittens is over it. Where is that darn cat? Probably stalking one of our new roommates. The snow seems to have driven a couple of rodents inside. Well at least Mittens has something to keep her busy. lol.
October 21 - too weak to write much. finished the last of the food two weeks ago. held out as long as i could. mittens was delicious. i miss her already.
| 1 | 0 | 109 | 219,019 |
[IP] show-off
|
They had told Harold that the condition was hereditary, beyond that his doctors didn't have any more answers. His great grandfather had been born the same way, broken at birth and had died unceremoniously during WWI.
Despite graduating at the top of his class at West Point, and being the youngest lieutenant since the civil war, he had been eaten alive by his own troops.
When times were good and his troops won victories at Normandy and Lyon they had seen him as a brave leader. As they sat in a fox hole surrounded by the Germans, starving for nearly a week, all they saw was a man whose face was made out of bread.
Harold had long ago given up on trying to make sense of it, there were simply strange medical oddities from time to time, two headed snakes, people with extra limbs, and his face was made out of bread.
It looked real enough from a distance, the structure was all there, eyes and nose that functioned just like they should, the lips themselves were real skin, and the hair of his beard was the same as anybodies, though he never dared to shave with a straight razor, but his skin, his skin was like a fresh baked pita. Warm and smooth to the touch, with just enough of a papery texture and comforting yeasty aroma that let you know something just wasn't quite right.
Growing up hadn't been easy, his parents themselves had been popular in high school, had lived the life people had expected of them, they were supportive, but they could never understand what it was like.
How the kids would throw lunch meat at him at recess, the girls who would pretend to kiss him in class only to take a small bite of his cheek, then scream in disgust as they ran back to their friends.
"OMG, it really is BREAD, eeewwwwwwww!!!!!" The dare completed, and the joke on him. His lone consolation being that his bread didn't scar, he often wished his heart could have been made of bread as well.
College was easier as it often is, he might not have been the most popular kid, but he learned to fit in. Self-deprecation became a weapon, nobody could make fun of him better than he could do it himself, so people stopped trying. He made some good friends, and left with some great memories, but he hadn't so much as been kissed. His overwhelming insecurities and a lingering fear of being tricked playing no lesser part than his genetic handicap.
Then he met Tilly and everything changed.
Tilly said he was Handsome, and not the usual, "you're really handsome for a guy's whose face is made out of bread, but we're such great friends, why risk that."
NO, there were no qualifiers, no implied rejection!
He was just handsome as he was, bread and all.
He thought Tilly was just the most beautiful girl in the world, blonde hair and a slim figure. Some might have commented on the ears that stuck out a little too much, her slightly crooked teeth or the freckles sprinkled over her nose, but to him, they were her best features.
What made her unique, what made her beautiful, what made her perfect.
It was as if the happiness went up through his toes, knees, chest and out the top of his head, only to travel around the world and enter back in his toes, an endless cycle of bliss.
The problem with happiness of this magnitude is it often leads to tunnel vision, the switching off of the cerebral cortex, pure emotion taking the place of rational thought. This state rarely leads to good decisions.
And so it was that day. They had been together for almost a month, she thought he smelled delicious, she joked that she had a bread fetish and he was the only one who could give her a fix. She had been so many firsts for him, first date, first kiss, first love. She had also been the one who suggested they take a walk on the beach, a first he had chosen not to admit to.
He had never really understood why his parents had never taken him to the beach, they were most likely afraid the humid air would make his face soggy, or that he might fall in, the damage possibly irreversible. But he was an adult now, he wouldn't fall in, his face had gotten soggy before and had always dried out. He was no longer going to let his face stand in the way of his happiness.
They were holding hands, talking about where they wanted to travel, all the places they'd never been. The cool air felt refreshing against his bread, he marveled at how big the ocean truly was, and how powerful it was when you came so close. He had suggested they walk out on the pier, he didn't want this day to ever end.
Tilly smiled at the old woman, a slightly crooked tooth glinting in the strong sun, ears peeking ever so slightly from under her blonde hair. The old woman smiled back, as she tore off bits of stale bread and flung them to the waiting seagulls, Harold saw nothing but the beautiful freckles on her nose.
Tilly's smile fell, her eye's turned to the seagulls, their heads cocked slightly askew every last one of them now staring at Harold.
"Honey, I think we should go back." Her voice a whisper, as if the birds could hear her.
It was too late, all Harold heard was the war cry of an attacking Seagull, he looked up just as it tore a piece of bread from his left cheek. Before he could react another bird took off a piece of his ear. Tilly didn't even have a chance to scream before she was swallowed in the beating darkness of a thousand wings.
| 3 | 0 | 4 | 62,862 |
[CW] Detail someone's first romantic experience (a kiss; sex; or even holding hands or something) in the second person.
|
You walk outside. Alone, but together. You toil with that. Why are you alone, when the guy you want so dearly is with you right now? You two are alone together. So which one is it? He seems more alone than together. Nerves? Maybe it's nerves.
You try to grab his hand. It's cold. He squeezes. You squeeze back. Calming, maybe he doesn't feel so alone. His hand is still cold though.
You walk down the boardwalk. Your heels are clicking loudly against the wood. Too loudly? Loudly anyway. Why did you wear heels? You can't even walk in them. He didn't dress up, you are overdressed. He must think you're vain. Attention seeking and it turns him off. Maybe that's why he isn't talking. He is riding this one out.
The wood transitions into cracked concrete and you steer his path away from a sewer grate so your heels don't fall in. He jerks. Just say something.
"I thought maybe, we could sit down on the bench over there." You blush. This isn't how you planned it. Your first date was supposed to be perfect, just like the movies. Now you just want him to like you, just so he gives you another chance to be magnificent. You quickly picture him telling all of his football buddies about how much of a bore you are. And why is he so cold? You always pictured holding hands as a warm, comforting embrace... He walks with you to the bench, silent still.
You sit down on the bench. It's wet. Your dress is wet. Should you say something? You better say something, he's going to notice that.
"Ah crap! I got my dress wet! Ha h-HA!" Your stammering laugh could only be described as schizophrenic. At least you didn't snort. You feel small. Ugly and small.
"I-it's okay Bellanie. Switch me spots." You do it without thinking. You're just thankful he responded. Does he like you? Maybe he does like you. Is he trying to be chivalrous? Still, it's pretty dumb of him to get his own pants wet when you could just find another bench. Your first date so far is a hiccup of awkward moments and stuttering feelings.
"Bellanie. I uh, I have. I am having a great time. I wish I could just do more stuff with you." Awww. But ugh. Is that a romantic gesture? You picture that scene from your favorite romantic comedy again. The waving hair, the profound exclamation of devoted love. It took the whole movie to set a up grand display, and it gets summarized in a passionately romantic one liner, a one-liner you watched 6 times last month hugging your heart-shaped pillow and using up a whole box of tissues. And then they always kiss... You try mentally substituting the perfect characters one-liner for 'I wish I could do more stuff with you.' and you grimace. But he's still the guy that is making your heartbeat right now.
"I like you too, Jacob."
He smiles. Not a half smile, but a full hearty smile. He looks down, then back at you.
"Hey, Bellanie. You have something in your hair." He touches your hair gently. It is beautiful in its own way. His roughened, wood-shop calloused hands are so timid as their nervous shake gently vibrates its way through your hair, ruining the styling you spent an hour doing. His finger catches and accidentally pulls a bit. You wince, but luckily he doesn't notice. You glance at his lips and then back at his eyes.
He moves in. You get goosebumps. This is it. He approaches, eyes closed. Should you be closing your eyes?
You bump foreheads.
"Ouch! Jacob." You frustratedly exclaim. He grabs your shoulder.
"Oh my God! Sorry! I'm sorry!" He lets go, scoots over a touch and looks down.
There is a pause... This isn't how it is going to be, go ahead girl, this is your moment. You put your hand on his.
"Let's try again." You move in, eyes closed this time, and your lips touch his.. Nose. Eww. But you quickly move down to his lips. They are chapped, but they don't feel so bad. Neither of you move. Kissing is a little more boring than you thought it would be. But nice still. You both hold. You open your eyes, looking for a clue of when to let go, and your eyes go cross-eyed as they try focusing on something besides the obnoxious black-head on his nose. You pull away.
He smiles. He must be happy. Did he win? Is this a success? An awkward kiss, with an overdressed, short little, awkward teenage girl who stumbled around all night in her unpracticed high-heel technique? Oh my god. You are the prize. You're heart-stopping prize of this boys night. It took a night's worth of stammered one-word anxiety ridden quips, but in his own way, he made you feel beautiful.
The two of you stare at each other a second longer.
"You want to continue our walk Jacob?" You say rubbing his knee with a smile.
"OKAY!" He said in an uncontrolled excitedly adorable way.
It wasn't the first date you were hoping for. And he wasn't the prince charming you thought him to be. His grand romantic gestures were shy little actions, and your first date played out like a high-school horror film. But it was yours, and you know that you are still going to gush about this story to all your friends tomorrow. With an ear-to-ear grin you grabbed his hand and you both walked away, together... Soaking wet bottoms and all.
| 5 | 0 | 6 | 34,749 |
[WP] The card game of Mafia has now become a real life in your town. How does it play out for the 16 players?
|
"Got a few words for ya: Don't. Trust. Anyone."
Uncle Ted has experienced what I am going through now. Thank heavens there is someone I could talk to. "Seriously, lock your doors at night. Heck, ya might want to stay awake the entire night. Kill anyone who enters your house, Sam!"
"No way unc, what if I'm visited by a doctor or something? I'll be a murderer!"
"Lissen 'ere, lad. I survived *my* Mafia game, now it's your turn. And I'm telling you, don't trust anyone."
I look at my alarm clock. 21:37. I should get some sleep. It's Night 1, the first night. Town meeting had ended two hours ago. We didn't lynch anyone. We thought it wouldn't be smart to lynch without any evidence. I'm glad we didn't lynch anyone. I have friends there, playing in this godforsaken game with me.
Like Luke. I can trust Luke. He's always helping me out. When there's something I don't get, Luke's there to patiently explain it to me. We made a deal, Luke and I: we'd win this game together by catching the scum who're doing this to us.
I don't have any cool role or power or whatever they are called, but I know Luke's the detective. He goes to people's houses and finds out who they are. He said he visited me last night, on Night 0 when the detective acts, and found out I'm innocent. I'm so glad Luke knows what he's doing.
I go to sleep and when I wake up, I'm glad to be alive. I put on my coat and walk outside. Another dead body has been found. Mary's. I don't personally know Mary that well, but she seems nice. Or seemed.
Luke gives me a signal. Rick is innocent. There are 15 alive, out of which Luke, Ricky and myself are innocent. While I'm quiet others start to argue. I heard this guy do that last night, they are shouting at one another. In the end we lynch Todd. Todd was furious and melodramatic. Todd was also innocent. We go to sleep, mourning the innocent life we had taken.
This goes on for a few day-night cycles. One day, we finally hang a mafioso, thanks to Luke's research. Luke didn't outright say he was detective, he "softened it", as he told me later. Anyway, I'd never seen our town that blissful. We keep playing to honor our dead allies.
I don't know how, but I survive all the way to what Luke calls "the endgame". It's just three left now. Pete, Luke and I. Pete had claimed to be the doctor, but last night the real doctor was killed. Now he's telling us he tried to get mafia target him instead of the real doctor so that doctor might live.
"You're pathetic, Pete" Luke says, determined. He then looks at me and continues, "Come on, Sam. One more lynch and we've won. Let's nail this guy."
I'm smiling. And crying a little as well. I cast my vote and so does Luke. Finally it's over. We've won. All the mafias are dead now, I can finally go home and meet my friends again and not have fear every night andLuke is grinning. It is not the kind of grin I would expect. That's not the Luke I know. He chuckles a bit in a low pitch. Pete's autopsy is revealed. He was innocent.
The truth dawns to me as I notice Luke slowly raising his handgun at my face.
"We won, Sam."
| 5 | 0 | 7 | 162,958 |
[WP] Cannibalism cures cancer
|
"Cancer." The one word no one ever hopes to hear from their doctor. Why me? What to do? Will I *die?*
Once I found out that my cancer was, in fact, terminal, I became somewhat resigned from life. Death was imminent, life was ephemeral, my consciousness would cease to exist. With the shadowy figure of Death constantly pervading the background of my thoughts, what was I to do? My family was estranged, I had no close friends to speak of, no girlfriend and no one to care. Life is a party and, soon, I'd have to leave. I may as well party while I still can.
I decided to empty my savings and spend my last days in a drunken, orgiastic stupor in Beirut. Why not die somewhere I'd never been? As I took up my apartment residence in West Beirut, I was able to glean some happiness from the fact that the nearby Civil War made death a commonality among the Lebanese people. My death would not be some tragedy meriting a footnote in the local paper, no. I would just be another figure.
At night, the party scene of Beirut is wild. Exactly why I came here. The clubs were incredible, the people enjoyable, the women beautiful. The alcohol, forbidden under Islam and, thereby, for most of the Lebanese, flowed joyfully. The alcohol was the only thing that numbed the blunt headache of my brain tumor. I bought drinks for random strangers and they in turn bought for me. This is the closest I've come to having a friend in years.
After several weeks of enjoying the Mediterranean coast and blustering alcoholism, something different happened. I ventured into a neighborhood further east than usual for my nightly drinking. The neighborhood held more refugees from neighboring Syria but, nonetheless, the nightclub opened. I got particularly inebriated this evening with a group of young Syrians who, amazingly, were enjoying their first taste of alcohol. Perhaps beginning with vodka was unwise, but no matter.
As we left the club in a small group, we walked into an alley and bumped into a clearly wealthy young man. He was fat, red-faced, adorned with designer clothing. He was also a foreigner, but very rude. He made a derisive comment about "Arab filth" - unwise given the location - and pushed one of my young companions. There were five of us, but he was much larger and far less drunk than we. We fought briefly, punches and kicks flying as much into each other as our adversary.
The fight went to the ground with me and my friends in a poorly organized dogpile of strikes against the foreigner. I ended up wrapped in his arm, he choked me close to his chest, my face compressed against it with my arms caught under one of my young friends. I opened my mouth and bit *hard*.
He screamed. I bit again, drawing blood. I bit again, near his throat. I felt warm blood on my chin and tasted iron, salt, rust. The foreigner gurgled a choking scream. I was drunk and numb. I kept biting and felt tears of flesh in my mouth. What's it matter, I'll be dead soon anyhow? I swallowed and continued to gnash the foreigner into silence.
When he became completely still, I looked up and saw my young comrades. Their faces were shocked, horrified. The admiration they felt toward me earlier in the night had seemingly evaporated into something else. "*Yella, bisoorah*" one said in Arabic, "Let's go, fast." They ran, I did as well. Police presence in this neighborhood was negligible, but surely someone would alert the authorities to a dead foreigner with his throat chewed out.
I covered myself as much as possible and went home to my apartment through the darkest alleys. At home, I vomited profusely from all the alcohol and blood. I remember it being distinctly liquid; no solid expulsion. No matter, I'll be dead soon anyhow...
I woke the next morning in disgust. Surely last night was an awful dream. For once I might be thankful for this brain tumor and impending death, I won't have to live with this memory for much longer. I rolled from my bed and went to the kitchen for my morning ritual: a hangover cure perfected by experience. Breakfast ordered for delivery, 2000 milligrams of ibuprofen, and chugging Pedialyte to the morning news. Of course, the dead foreigner turned up in the headlines; the police report no leads. That's comforting. They attribute the grisly murder to sectarian violence; not so uncommon in Lebanon, especially not in a refugee neighborhood. After eating my breakfast, I completed the hangover cure ritual; a long nap to take me into the afternoon...
I woke more sprightly than usual. Of course, my hangover cure was fantastic but, today seemed different. I didn't simply feel not-drunk; I felt positively well. My head was more clear than it had been in, perhaps, years. I wondered what had changed and realized that the absent pain was the blunt ache of my tumor. *How strange?* I thought to myself. Perhaps the nap simply played tricks on me. Nonetheless, after more hours of comfort and headache-less bliss, I decided I should e-mail my doctor. The one person on the planet with whom a maintain regular contact. I informed him, simply, that my tumorous headache was absent for several hours and that I was curious what that meant. Had it disabled the pain centers of my brain? He must forgive the silly question, I wasn't a biologist, after all.
I sent the e-mail at 7pm in Beirut, high noon in New York. I received the doctor's reply only a few minutes later. He said he was at lunch and replying from his iPhone, but his first instinct would be to do another MRI to see if the size or shape of the tumor had changed in any way. He asked if I could get an MRI done in Beirut and to forward the results to him, or more optimally to return to New York to have such a scan performed. At first this prospect seemed ludicrous but, honestly, I did kill a man last night. I packed a small, carry-on sized bag and purchased a ticket from to New York to leave in six hours on Qatar Airways. I decided to depart immediately, should anyone come knocking, and ate dinner in the airport.
After connecting in Doha, the flight to New York was reasonably pleasant with excellent service and a degree of lightheartedness knowing I was not in jail for murder. Oh well, even if I was in jail, I'll be dead soon anyhow.
The doctor called me right a 2:20pm, five minutes after the flight landed. He said he had a cancellation and could perform the MRI that evening at 4:30 if I could get there on time. My trip was already filled with luck! I rushed through customs as fast as they would let me and caught a cab to the hospital where the doctor had prepared all my paperwork. I filled it out, passed it to the nurse, and she immediately escorted me back to prepare for the MRI. The doctor met me just before the scan and we shared greetings as the table slid slowly into the tube. He said he was very excited to see what could have changed and was expediting my MRI. More luck, how wonderful! As the machine stopped sliding me in, I abused myself slightly for being so happy about my *luck*. I would be dead soon anyhow.
| 2 | 0 | 20 | 183,924 |
[WP] My heart is an IED.
|
Something... Something new is happening... I am happening. I open my eyes and look at the world around me. There are vast clouds surrounding me, passing by and leaving drops of moisture sliding along my face.
I realise I am going fast, very fast. A few patches in the clouds beneath me open up and I catch sporadic glimpses of the ground below whizzing past. There is a roaring that I cannot stop hearing, I look around and notice what it is. At the end of my hull is an engine, propelling me forwards.
A turn to the left, so slight I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't chosen the path myself. I knew that I had to keep going, had to keep going towards whatever lay ahead. I knew it wasn't too far away now.
A voice, a stream of confirmation from somewhere behind me. Assured I fly onwards. The clouds around me part and sunlight floods my sensors. I can see it all, the land, the sea, the curve of the edge of the atmosphere, the dark reaches of space, everything. The beauty distracts me for a few moments.
Suddenly I veer back on course. I had dropped a few degrees as I gazed into my surroundings. I remind myself of my purpose, which is odd, as I hadn't remembered my purpose before.
And then I sighed. A slow surrender begins inside of me as I start to plummet downwards. I hear screams now, all I see are people running from me. The beauty is gone now, replaced by foreboding and fear. They know what I am. I know what I am.
I'm an instrument of death, my heart is an IED.
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 137,131 |
[WP] Due to a computer error, everyones bank accounts are replaced with the persons video game character's bank accounts making some very rich people overnight.
|
My hands shivered as I stared at my screen. I never had this much money, not ever. It had to be a mistake. Nobody has money in such perfect digits.
"... people were rioting on the streets due to the international error which happened last night."
"Give me back my money!"
"Hell yeah, I'm freaking rich!"
I turned my attention to the television. What did I just hear? As I listened on, it had become apparent. Due to a computer error, everyone's bank accounts are replaced with the persons video game character's bank accounts making some very rich people over-
*thump thump thump*
My train of thought was broken by the knocking on my door. Crap, were the rioters looking for trouble now? Can't be, it's too quiet outside.
I opened the door and lo, there were two police officers outside.
"Sir, we are here to investigate a case. May we speak to Cosmeo?"
"Uh.. yeah. I'm Cosmeo."
"You have committed crimes against the country and her people. What say you in your defense?"
"Uh, what?"
"You are under arrest for fraudulence!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is really stupid. I am now on trial for using a trainer in a video game. I knew that the 999,999,999,999 was suspicious.
^^^^^^^^^^^virgin ^^^^^^^^^^^prompt
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 168,960 |
[WP] You have been immortal for 300 years. Slowly you have become depressed at the fleeting existence of anyone you might call a friend. It's the Early 20th Century now, and you're telling the story of your life, and how you got your immortal groove back.
|
300 years ago I was human. My heart would beat. I would bleed if you cut me. I thought about death. I often contemplated many hours the day it would visit, and what it would be like to slip from this life and move onto the next-- if there was one.
I remember the night I made the transition from expecting death to having never to worry about it.
I met a young gypsy woman on my travels through Europe. She had a kiss I wouldn't forget. A kiss that not only passed on the light that now carries my body until the end of time, but a kiss that ensures I remember every moment of it.
And now, I sit here today. It's the year 2014. I'm 300 years old. I want those to understand that if you do succumb to a young woman on your travels that passes on a curse that I have, please understand you live not only in a time of abundance but in a time where technology can help bring meaning back into your own existence.
What I mean is during the first half of my 300 years, you can imagine I lived in a time that was simple. You read books when you were bored, you visited family, friends, for conversation, and you did your part. I was a blacksmith. That's it. I eventually ran out of books to read, I had to quit my job at the time due to my lack of aging, and eventually all my family died. I was left alone. And then technology hit the human race like a bomb.
I watched it grow, and grow, and grow. I remember the first car. I remember the first computer. I remember the first cell phone. Now, it's the year 2014. I remember a time where it took weeks, even months to travel to places that now only takes an hour or two via aircraft. I enjoy life, because I'm finally living it. Life will lose it's meaning, I think it's supposed to. I spend my time now traveling. I sell my art, thanks to the wonders of the internet. I play against teenagers online with video games; the other day I play Grand Theft Auto and made friends with a man, Jerry was his name. We have a clan. I will continue to watch technology grow, and I will grow with it, because I feel both technology and I need each other. Both of us will be here for a very, very, long time.
| 1 | 0 | 9 | 165,283 |
[WP] A dying humanity sends an arkship to the only habitable planet in range. When they get there, they find an alien race has just done the same.
|
"There's a ship down there!" Navigator Sanchez announced, her voice filled with dread.
Captain Mills got up from his chair and paced back and forth. "Give me a layout of the land around the ship." The last thing he wanted was a violent conflict but if it had to come to that he was going to make sure he had the high ground.
A 3D map popped up on the screen at his chair. The alien ship had landed in just about the worst possible spot, it was in a deep valley, flanked by rocky cliffs on three sides. If the human ship landed forty miles north of the alien ship, Mills troops could fan out and have attack from the north, east and west. The aliens would be trapped and forced to flee to the south, they would have to abandon or destroy their arkship and be denied the supplies and technology they were unable to flee with.
"Vlad, if we were to land to the north of their ship, fan out to the flanks and bombard them with the weapons we have on hand, what is the likely outcome of the battle?" Mills asked.
Vlad quickly typed at his station. "Given our scans of the level of technology of their ship and the land. Pretty much every simulation gives us an overwhelming victory, devastating losses for the enemy forces with little damage to our own people." Vlad replied.
"Command crew to the conference room at once." Mills said, he got up and walked to the room, it was a long table with a five chairs, the arkship had no place for aesthetic, only the very basic needs of those upon it. His trusted crew sat down in their assigned seats and he took his place at the head of the table.
"As you know we're not alone on this planet. An alien arkship of roughly the same technology level as our own has landed on the surface, our scans indicate that this has happened within the last three hours. Our alien counterparts have placed themselves in a pretty horrible situation. If we chose to attack them, the lay of the land gives us such a massive advantage that barring shockingly different physiology or technology, we would be able to rout them and likely force an unconditional surrender from the survivors." Mills said.
"Commander. I may be the security officer, but war is not my expertise. Yes we have the weapons and the manpower to launch an attack, but these people have never been in war. To commit such slaughter." Vlad said, his voice trailing off.
"I agree with Vlad. To land on this planet and attack these aliens is so barbaric. We can talk to them, seek to engage them and understand them." Science officer Samantha Kobylarz.
Mills kept quiet. He merely turned to his second in command, with a nod he prompted Roger to speak.
"There's a giant island, it's the size of Asia. Where this ship has landed is a smaller land. Their ship had to be damaged to land in such a poor place. Let us take our good fortune and take the better land that we've been provided. No battle however successful can be as good for our people as setting up camp in a better man." Roger told him.
Mills merely turned to the ship's doctor and gave him a glance.
"I agree also. This is a large planet. We can share with these aliens. And to be honest, we're not really sharing that much, the major land mass of the planet will be ours, barring them being incredible swimmers. There is no reason to slaughter these aliens in such a cowardly attack." Dr. Greaves told him.
Commander Mills stood up and glared at each of the four of his subordinates. His shook his head in disgust before speaking. "Do you people not understand that we're humans. We warred hundreds of millions of ourselves into the grave and then gutted and burned our planet into an unlivable husk. Now an alien nation has landed on the planet that we intend to inhabit and you think we're capable of co-existence? Of a brotherhood with aliens? You people are dreamers. These aliens and us will go to war one day, I promise you that. I offer you a victory in that war, a victory that ends the war before it even starts and and you turn your noses up at it."
Commander Mills punched the table. "This attack happen. We will crush these aliens and secure this planet, this whole planet for humanity." he said as he turned and walked back towards the command center.
Vlad wordlessly drew his sidearm, the other three nodded to him. Commander Mills would never make it back to the command center, his war might happen one day, but it would not be this day.
| 3 | 0 | 13 | 201,301 |
[WP] Write a story about a hero and a villain, but make sure the hero and the villain don't know of each others existence.
|
James barely managed to catch the bus, he had to run to flag it down and get it to stop. "Lovely morning this is shaping up to be..." he thought. His toast had fallen on the floor, butter side down because of course it would. The barista had called out the wrong name for his coffee so he didn't pick it up until after he started complaining and they pointed it out and by then it was lukewarm and now he nearly missed the bus. "What else is going to go wrong today?" he mumbled
"$2.25 sir" the driver said flatly. James reached in to his pocket and froze, his nerves running a dull cold.
"Sir, if you dont have the money, you need to get off."
Anger flared in James, he raised his arm to start off on a tirade against the woman when another voice leaped over his shoulder.
"Dont worry about it Michelle, I've got his ride today!"
James turned around quickly to identify the voice and deflated. The man behind him was easily six foot tall, a good half a foot taller than James and was dressed in a business casual slacks and sweater-vest combo that somehow looked infinitely more professional than James's own ill-fitting suit. He looked vaguely familiar, but James couldn't place it, though he was sure there couldn't be that many six foot, green eyed men covered in muscles and a smart pair of glasses that didn't just hint at intelligence but outright flaunted it. 'The kind of guys who make my life so difficult' he thought to himself lamely, going over the mental checklist of his own stats in his head.
Lives alone in studio apartment? Check
Still having acne issues at 28? Check
No hopes of having sex in the foreseeable future? Double check. He was always met with the "Oh, you're such a great guy, any girl would be lucky to have you! Just not me, or my friend, or my other, uglier friend. Now can you help me move my couch on Saturday?"
He muttered a thanks and wandered to the back of the already packed bus to find a seat.
The other man stayed up at the front, chatting idly and laughing with the driver as they pulled away, blatantly ignoring the sign to "Remain seated behind the line while vehicle is in motion" signs all over the bus and the driver didnt seem to mind the least bit. Eventually the man made his way to the back to find his own seat and, of course, he had to pick the one next to James, as he privately seethed with annoyance.
"Mind if I join you mate? Rest seem to be occupied." the man asked far to cheerily for James' liking.
"No, not at all. Please, be my guest, I would welcome it!" James said, trying to drip every ounce of sarcasm in to it as he could muster.
The man grinned widely and sat down quickly. "Thanks!" he said, laughing, not catching a bit of the intent. "Im Shannon by the way, pleasure to meet you!"
James smirked, "Shannon? Isnt that a..." the other man cut him off.
"A girls name? I guess for some people, sure. But it was my grandfathers name, and his fathers name and so on somewhere in the family all the way back to before they got off the boat from Ireland. Its never bothered me none, made me stronger for it I feel, and it makes a great opening line at the bars." He said with a laugh, elbowing James not entirely lightly.
"Yeah, uh, great, I'm James." James mumbled, rubbing his arm where he had been hit.
"Nice to meet'ya James!" The man stuck out his hand, almost forcing James in to an overly firm handshake. "Say, you look kinda familiar, have we met before? What do you do for a living?"
James floundered a bit in Shannon's solid grip. "I'm, um, in acquisitions." It was close to the truth, at least that's what he told all the first dates he'd been on, and the two second dates he'd gotten.
"Acquisitions! Say, that's neat. I'm kind of a mix of social worker, engineer and philanthropist, guess they don't really have a good title for what I do, but I like to think the worlds better off for it!" The man said, laughing again this time quite loudly. Several people turned to look at the noise and James began to shrink down in his seat when he noticed two girls looking over and smiling. Well, maybe this wasn't such a bad day after all! The girls whispered to each other and then looked back over giggling. One of them stood up and walked over to James, blushing. She leaned over, giving a generous view of her cleavage produced a small torn piece of paper.
"My friend wanted you to have this" She said, passing the note... to Shannon. "And I wanted you to have... This!" She blurted out as she pulled him in for a quick kiss before running back giggling in torrents, leaving Shannon dumbstruck with his glasses cocked at an odd angle.
"Well, that's a new one." He muttered, folding the piece of paper and tucking it in to his wallet. "Cant say i'm complaining though." He laughed again.
James was furious, he couldn't take this anymore. He jumped up from his seat, pulling hard on the cord to signal a stop and pushed his way past Shannon without a word. He had to get off this bus. He rushed to the front and nearly tripped running out the door, other passengers stifling a laugh. The doors closed and the bus pulled away, just as the full ramifications hit James. He looked at the street sign, he was a good two miles away from the Headquarters, and he was supposed to be there in ten minutes.
James sighed, at least he would have work to look forward to. Beating the shit out of criminals and super villains always brightened his mood.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Shannon shook his head slightly, James seemed like a nice guy, a shame he had left, he had been fun to talk to. He checked his watch, he had another half hour before his stop came up. Hopefully James' stop was far enough out of the blast radius. He'd feel kinda bad if James was killed in the explosion, but you know the saying "you need to crack a couple hundred thousand eggs if you want to rule the world." Still, would be a shame.
Shannon started to feel a pang of regret when the two girls sat down in the open seat next to him, one crawling slowly and entirely unsubtley over him in to James' old seat.
| 2 | 0 | 5 | 113,295 |
[WP] You invent a time machine but accidentally go back too far in time, to the era before the Big Bang.
|
I made a mistake.
I just wanted to see my best friend again. It was in 1956, Paris. 1:49 AM. I got out of the machine, and sprinted down towards the avenue where he was. I couldn't risk the machine to go back far. It was still unstable. I couldn't have a day allowance before the shootout, or anything like that. I only had minutes to save him.
And the minutes ticked by. Thank *God* I landed near from where he was. The streets and alleyways were familiar to me, and I swerved through them, brushing my clothes against dusty bricks and stones, grating my cheeks with fresh wounds.
My best friend stood in the middle of the street, with his hands raised up to his head. A man stood in front of him, with a gun pointed to his chest. He was looking at his watch, the second hand ticking quietly. Light looked down on them, like it was a stage play. I emerged out of an alley, and I was just behind my best friend.
"No!" I tackled my best friend down and the gun fired. The bullet whizzed past above my head, blowing my hat off.
"What the fuck?" The gunman said. His revolver clicked again. While down, I fished out my own gun and pulled the trigger. *Bam, bam, bam,* three bullets in the chest. The gunman wobbled back, still pointing his weapon at himself. He looked at himself with wide eyes before falling on his back.
I waited for him to get up.
My best friend shivered in fear under me, his face on the ground. I rolled away from him and he sat up quickly, moving back until his back was against a building wall. His lip and nose was bleeding from the impact when I pushed him down. I stood up and we stared at each other for a long time. He was young, and I was old. I got my hat from the ground, placed it on my head, and ran off.
That was it. That was supposed to happen. It was all supposed to be scripted. There was nothing else to say to him, and nothing else to do. I got back in my machine with the intent to go home, back to my time, the generation I live now.
But that wasn't the case. I set the date of my year, and pulled the lever of the machine. The numbers in the panel didn't go forward. It kept going backward. I hit the panel multiple times with my feet, trying to fix it, trying to stop it. I pushed and pulled the lever until it was loose, until it was broken. I was strapped in my seat so I wouldn't fall off while the machine was on. The machine coughed and whirled loudly. I gave up halfway through the journey, sitting back and weeping helplessly.
I watched history fold and unfold. I saw civilization fall and rise, animals dying and living, species that I was familiar with and not. Plants die, plants live. Vast oceans became lands. Snow became magma. The stars exploding and imploding and spinning around me. Galaxies and universes clashing together. Time and space bending together. The tiniest string holding us all together.
The numbers stopped ticking. A click, a ding.
I was here.
And there was nothing. Nothing to see, no air to breathe. Absolutely nothing.
I floated away from the machine. My skin was peeling slowly, my whole body turning into dust, like sand blowing away. I was breaking down slowly into tiny, tiny particles, tiniest strings. The machine was eroding just like me, but quickly.
I understood now. Yes, it was so clear to me. This mistake I made. This was how the universe was born. Hah. I just wanted to see my best friend again. What a joke, what a load of—
| 22 | 0 | 30 | 170,736 |
[WP] Instead of humanity's first contact with aliens, write about humanity realising they are the only intelligent life in the universe.
|
Dr Sola standed up from his chair and stormed off from his computer terminal which was still steadily beeping away like a heart rate monitor. He kicked open the door with such pressure that if it was any older then it already was it would have been kicked off the hinge. This behavior caused one of the few rare instances of times that the co-workers of the facility where actually distracted from their job. What did he find that made him act so outlandish?
Even know Dr Sola works at the European Space Agency's Surveying Center it's still a workplace like any other at it's heart so soon enough the employee lounge was almost like the outside of the community hall on Bingo Night with all the gossip going on, which I can assure you is very unreliable.
3 hours pass and Dr Sola knocks on the door of his boss, Mr Fate. "Come in" the voice hollows. as the automatic mechanics open the door revealing the modern office of Mr Fate. In fact the only thing not modern in the room was the slim figure of a man sitting in the chair behind the desk.
"Mr Fate," Dr Sola could not continue his words, he hesitated. "Well Mr Fate, you see I've made a discovery I was, I am, scared by. I ran home and had to compare it with my earlier work."
Mr Fate took out some paper and his Waterman pen, he still hasn't caught on to the whole "digital" trend that caught on a few hundred years ago. If you ever asked him why he still uses pen and paper he'll claim it's to stop spies from hacking, which is true considering the new space race is more intense then ever.
"What have you discovered Dr..." "Sola" the doctor replied then gulped. "So what have you discovered Dr Sola." "We're alone in this universe." "Ridiculous Dr Sola, the universe is infinite so in all possibility infinite life could exist in theory."
Dr Sola dropped a large quantity of papers and charts he had been carrying in his hands. "If it does eventually exist then it won't be for a few billion more years." "Look at this. About 2 years ago we survayed the entire galaxy up until a point reached what I call "point vita." I did the math and calculations and concluded that after point vita it becomes impossible for intelligence life to create it's self until for lifetimes to come. As you see the youngest planet we've surveyed took 14.3 billion years to form, so amusing a planet and it's sun could be created in that time and assuming the standard expansion rate then every megaparsec the universe will expand 74.2 kilometeres a second faster. With that in mind it's clear that."
Mr Fate finished Dr Sola's sentence "it's clear that no new planet would form for about 13.8 billion years to come." "So you're trying to tell me we've scanned the entire universe that could possibly contain life and there's no life to be fond?" "That's exactly what I'm saying" said Dr Sola.
| 2 | 0 | 11 | 5,242 |
[CW] Write the first and last paragraph of a story and make me want to know what happened in between.
|
My insides pulling at me in twists and knots. I look about, the concrete buildings fill the sky around me. Only panning up can I see the muddled sky of grey clouds. 'The plan is foolproof' I think, trying to calm my nerves. Slowly dragging myself off of the floor, I ready my equipment and start to walk towards my final destination.
...
Bullets fly past me. I jump behind cover, a piece of fallen rubble protecting me from my enemies barrage. They were watching us. They're always watching us, and you. No matter where you go, you aren't safe. No one is safe. I see my friends bleed out in front of me. Crimson life flowing from their wounds. 'This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.' Just as I think this, buildings come tumbling down on where I stand. I've been trapped for days now. Dehydrated, surrounded by stone rubble and steel girders, with just enough space for air to come in and out of my miniature cave. Sunlight comes in through a little hole in the top. How funny that once we have failed, the sky has become beautiful. Clouds flowing past me in beautiful arrays. Just then I think I see it, the truth. We were wrong.
| 1 | 0 | 570 | 211,286 |
[WP] A situation in which your only light source is a Zippo lighter, but it has no fuel, leaving you with only the sparks of the flint.
|
I open my eyes slowly... Or do I? I can't see anything. What happened? Darkness presses in on all sides, like a black vice tightening around my consciousness.
I reach my hand into my pocket, and wrap my fingers around the Zippo I keep with me at all times. With a lazy, mechanical flick, the cover pops open; my thumb rests on the striker, pulls sharply down, and... flash. No flame. How?! I just refueled this yesterdWhat's that?
I hear a high pitched whine. It's soft, but getting steadily louder. What is it?
Flash
"A-ahh!" I shiver, my back arching as freezing liquid pours down it. But there's no splash, no wetness, nothing. The eerie feeling wraps around my waist and down my legs as I squirm.
Flash
I'm back to just moments ago, and I remember. The loose rocks, that creepy pit in the ground, the falling. The falling. The faaalliinng...
Flash
A tickling traces its way up my body, toe to neck, stopping and curling back down like a serpent at my jaw. An uncomfortable, cackling laugh crawls out of my throat as my mouth turns up in a demented, unwilling smile.
Flash
Far off, somewhere in front of meno... behind me. To the side. All around! From everywhere all at once, a horrifying laugh halfway between chuckle and full belly-laugh. My blood chills as the register lowers, my very bones aching as it gets deeper.
Flash
The whine. The tears. It's deafening. MY tears. It pains me. Make it STOP!
Flash
I can't breathe.
Flash
A horrifying face. A single frame of sight. Horrible. Black eyes. Blood tears A sewn-up smile with holey yellow teath ghostly pale blackstrandsofhair
Flash
The falling! THE FAALLIIIIING! AHA-HAHAHAAA!!
Fla
| 3 | 0 | 52 | 228,426 |
[WP] "Welcome to the Infinity Club, here is your welcome packet!"
|
I slid the packet out from underneath the dead mans coat.
It was a pale white envelope smeared with crimson and marked with a silver sun. I wiped what I could off and looked at the young man.
He didn't seem to be older than twenty five, he was or so it seemed homeless and rather unlucky, for he had shards of glass hugging the circumference of his very open neck. His olive skin was covered with goosebumps and chilled.
I closed his eyes and gathered him in a corner at which point I proceeded to investigate so rudely into the contents of his packet.
I retrieved a letter from the depths of the container.
It read thus:
"Welcome to the Infinity Club, here is your welcome packet!"
"The contents inside this packet are designed to ensure that your immediate eternity is to be as comfortable as possible. The event that you so decline this very rare and meticulously crafted offer, there does include a pill that would in fact produce your utter and sudden demise. Be aware of the fact that should you decide that this offer not be in your best interest, the event you do not take the pill would force higher authorities to enforce the latter of the offers."
"To claim this offer please visit our local office at 1799 New York Avenue NW"
"-G"
The envelope contained two things. The letter and a small plastic baggy that contained an even smaller blue pill.
I pocketed the envelope and looked back at the dead man with an uncertain finality. He was very dead, but why? These things promised in a small piece of paper, be they true or false, would be an awful lot to live for for a man in his position. He didn't have a lot or at least didn't seem to.
So I stood there perplexed with hands docked in my pockets, taking in the scene.
The silent grey walls of the alley wouldn't offer any answers and the gravel stationed below knew no words. The sound of cars swimming by in their ignorance, was the only background noise I had an ear to hear.
Slowly a car did stop in the mouth of the alley. Maybe forty yards away.
It looked like a black Mercedes with a thin sheen of dirt covering the skirt of the car doors and tires. Silently a tall dark figure seemed to grow from the back left door of the car. He wore a black suit, black dress shirt and black tie. All of these fashion decisions strangely molded into the skin of this man which curiously enough happened to be just as dark as his clothes. His eyes however demanded to be seen, for even in dark I could notice the bright brown tint swimming in the bright white fire of his sockets.
He strode closer too me as if he intended to get to the other side of the alley without breathing twice.
As he came closer to my person he stopped in the alley, very abruptly so it seemed. I had just noticed a small silver sun pinned to the lapel of his jacket when he asked in a most paternal, old voice "Are you Mr. Fletcher?"
| 2 | 0 | 18 | 12,069 |
[WP] Write a story so mundane and detailed it becomes existential
|
I sat, content in my cubicle. A prison of four walls a mere six feet high. Contained within this cell was my life. Pictures of friends and family, geographically distant, but cognitively close. A Swingline stapler sat next to the pencil cup, a layer of dust settling over both as it had been ages - no...generations - since its last use. The strokes of keys and the murmurs of phone calls filled the air, providing a madness-deterring white noise. Small windows provide a view that keeps hope alive. The external, the outer world...the clock on the wall counts down to Armageddon. To us, the number of the beast is 4:59. The longest minute known to us, known to the race that lives within the building. Once over, our eyes glaze over in a stupor. There is a burst of energy. Energy that may had made the previous hour bearable or productive. The buzz of keyboards and phones are silenced. Overrun by the roar of dress shoes stampeding toward the elevators. As sheep, herded toward a gate by the sound of a shepherd's call, we march toward the door. To rest in our world of the material. To recover with a moment of pleasure and freedom. To return to our world within the cold concrete and steel. To return to our cage of digital service. To become the sheep we attended nearly twenty years of school to be. To become the slaves the world needs us to be and provide our families with the drug we are expected to provide...money.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 54,173 |
[WP]An infamous serial killer cements his legacy as “most gruesome” with one final graphic murder
|
The first person to arrive to the auditorium gagged and tied was a flautist with an IQ of 135. She got the honor of first chair, and she sat there in her own filth for 32 days as the other 89 nine members dutifully filed in.
All of them had little squares of duct tape on their mouth, so they could easily move them to the side with jaw motion to talk to each other. Thomas Barrow liked this little detail of his performance. It set his band at ease, thinking he was some sort of hack who just started out in the abducting business. He liked his little ruse, it made him downright giddy truth be told.
The violinists whispered rapidly about how much their lives were worth and speculated over an attractable ransom sum. The clarinets pipped about the children left at home, the cats needing feeding, and the mothers that would be devastated. The drum section was snarfing down snot, spitting vehement loogies, or tipping chairs over in a clatter paired with wild desperate wiggling.
If only Thomas's mother could see him conducting this song and dance now, but that was just the trouble wasn't it.
The last member was seated- a French horn player who almost didn't fit the bill, given that his IQ was never officially tested, but Thomas made an exception since this slippery lil devil was a child chess master.
The auditorium lights blinked on. Orchestra members were sweating in their cables and chains from the bright lights but also the somber tempo of footsteps as their captor made his way to the Conductors pulpit. His hands flitted and hovered in mock anticipation and swooped down dramatically. Thomas kept spinning his arms miming three-four time until a brassy trombonist broke the soft crying accompaniment.
"What's your game? Let us go!"
Thomas's neck joints squeaked against the velocity that his head spun towards the player.
"Nick Varell, IQ 125, m'I right"
"Well… yes, but why is that pertinent? This is sick and inhumane!"
The other players were about to chirp in but fell silent when out from under some lifted stage floor boards Thomas Barrow pulled a Trombone.
With his arthritic hands he clumsily took apart the rusted instrument.
"Y'all have bout one thing in comm'n other than the whole blowing expensive pieces of metal well or wood or whatever. Ya'll are geniuses. Pure bred. Just real grade A stallions of the Humanity on Earth"
He twisted off the mouth piece.
"I got nuthin gainst smart people. Heck, I love em. I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for their good graces."
He wrapped the pieces in a towel and stood up.
"All the doctors, and teachers, and engineers allow me to live. Just love em'. But it's just curious to me why the fuck did my momma have to wait 17 goddamn hours in the waiting room where she fucking died."
His shadow cast blackness on the melting face and dim eyes of Nick Varell.
"But I don't blame the doctors, they tryin their best for hundred of other poor shmucks like me with other sick mommas. No, I have the good sense to know the root of this here DEE-LEMM-AHH. Hospitals need mo' doctors see, Schools need more teachers, and buildings need more engineers or someone is gonna die. And You sir...You wanna cash your IQ on a hobby? A Useless fucking hobby?"
Thomas pushed the mouthpiece into Nick's mouth. Nick made guttural gargling animal noises. Thomas poised the slide above where his front teeth would be over the thin line of Nick's mouth.
"It's just… tsk…. You're just so selfish"
Thomas rammed the slide multiple times against his mouth, or whatever it landed on as Nick waved his head visciously back and fourth. Screams, Screams filled the space with high pitched disharmony. Screams were forcibly pushed by 89 strong diaphragms matched with 178 voluminous lungs that belonged to genius people who were sitting in their own excrement watching Thomas Barrow push piece after piece of Trombone down the throat of Nick Varell. Pieces that couldn't fit, were made to fit. Thomas turned away from the corpse of Nick Varellformer trombonist with an IQ of 125- with a click of his patent leather shoe heels. The screams decrescendo. One tube of shiny brass had punctured through the windpipe of Nick Varell and it whistled a little from the last bits of air escaping from the lungs.
Thomas stood over the hole on the stage where the instruments were waiting, and he let out a relaxed yawn.
"Man that tuckered me out folks, you know they don't glorify the ripe old age of 65 and there's a reason for that."
No one answered him.
"I'll see y'all Einsteins tomorrow, Though I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight, I'm pretty excited about that percussion section"
| 3 | 0 | 0 | 168,027 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
|
"Welcome to starbucks. Can I take your order?", she asked forcefully.
She looked like she never wanted to do this job. She looks tired and grumpy. I can't blame her though, this job is quite stressful as this shop is strategically situated at a high volume intersection.
" Grande Caramel Macchiato and an extra drizzle of syrup on top of it please." I replied without giving another thought. Her head suddenly shot up and her grumpy face turned white as she looked to be shocked.
"Im sorry did I say something wrong?" I tried to calm her down.
"Nope! You're good. That'll be $5." She shakes her head while still visibly shaken.
Several minutes later, my name was called, I took my drink and quickly left the cafe as I was a little late to work. It was at a small private office where I have been working at for summer job. I arrived at the office few minutes late but the office is dark and empty.
"Pretty darn sure the holiday starts tomorrow, not today." I muttered.
As I was walking around the office, the dark room went bright.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" The whole 8 people of my office mates surprised me on my birthday. They caught me off guard with their surprise. Heck, I even caught myself off guard because I didn't even remember my own birthday. We celebrated for a little while since this is also my last day of my summer job.
When I got to my desk, only then I remembered about 'The Letter' that I was suppose to get on my 18th birthday. I looked around for the letter and quickly found it hidden under the keyboard.
"Here it is.." I whispered quietly trying to hide my excitement from everyone. After taking a few deep breaths, the bright red enveloped with a heart shaped stamp is finally being opened. First thing I see is blank white paper. I panicked. So.. No soulmate for me? Maybe my luck is the same as Robert next cube? I turned the page around, and saw a single line in the middle of the page.
"Welcome to starbucks. Can I take your order?"
Took me 5 seconds to really digest the meaning of the sentence. Then it dawned on me. That girl just now. THAT GIRL JUST NOW! She was the one.. Maybe not? Could it be?
I worked through the day wondering if I should go back to starbucks and ask her about it. Well, nothing's gonna change if I dont try. I decided to go back at the end of the day after my work's done. Just as I arrive at the parking spot, the girl was standing at the front door sipping at her coffee. She saw me coming out of my car. I approached her and before I even opened my mouth to say hi, she said something that would change my life forever.
"I've waited for you since last year." She said
"Thanks for coming back." She smiled.
Thanks for reading! Might have a lot of mistakes. It's the middle of the night and this is my 1st piece in 7 months! Sorry!
| 7 | 0 | 2,003 | 173,362 |
[wp] "The tiniest change can effect the future in ways you cannot imagine..."
|
"The tiniest change can affect the future in ways you cannot imagine..."
"Yeah, blow me, dude."
James blew the old man off, mollified that he'd even interrupt someone with such drivel. Don't pick up a fucking quarter, are you serious?
James picked it up out of spite, and just stood there.
---
"Great, now I'm bored, Rob," said Kalon. "We've been playing this game for hours, dude. I don't even care about this."
"Sorry, bro, I just like being a spiteful asshole. He said not to pick it up," Rob replied quietly. "What to do now?"
At Kalon's suggestion, the two took a walk, down a dark, windy, and humid street. It was a brisk October night, Rob ahead of Kalon on a two-lane road.
"So I'm thinking, what a bitch, right? I mean, who asks someone to prom as friends and then gets pissed off when you talk to someone else on the side? Christ."
"Y'know, Rob, maybe if you hadn't told her you liked her, she wouldn't be angry."
"But she said as friends, dude! She fucking said it. If she wanted to go as a date or some shit, she should've said so."
"Hell, she asked you anyway, man. You should feel lu-"
Headlights. A squeal of rubber. A soft, almost sick splatter.
"Kalon!"
Rob shouted, and turned on his phone light, but the shotgun blast of a mess before him was not anything close to an optimal outcome. The car maneuvered, as though to leave, and Rob balled up his fist and cracked the driver's side window, not even noticing the fracture he put in both of his leading knuckles.
"You fucking cunt!"
With the back of the man's head in his grip, Rob smashed his face against the steering column, once, twice, thrice, ... four times. Until he heard the telltale crumpling of cheekbone and jaw. Dragging the driver out of the car, he ran to check Kalon's pulse. Nothing.
He beat the man until the police arrived.
---
"Mr. Neumann."
"What?"
"I'm your lawyer. Do you know where you are?"
"Jail?"
"No, a hospital. The police tased you, and with the combined effect of the voltage and adrenaline, you went into cardiac arrest. We need to discuss what happened."
"I was walking down the street with my friend. A guy hit and killed him, and I thought he was trying to get away."
"And you damned near killed him, Robert. If the police had been there a moment later, the man would've died."
"Good!"
"Not good at all, I'm afraid. You're already being charged with aggravated assault, battery, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder. If you'd killed him, it would be murder in the second degree. You broke both of his cheekbones, his jaw, put lacerations up and down his body, broke nearly all of his ribs, shattered both of his legs, and punctured his left lung. The fact that you **didn't** kill him is more surprising.
You know what else is surprising?"
"What?"
"If you and your friend had walked down that street a moment earlier, none of this would have happened."
---
To this day, Robert Neumann does not pick up or use quarters.
Kalon Brady died of internal hemorrhaging. For the funeral, Neumann was unable to be present.
Nathan Schoepke, the driver of the vehicle, died four days later, due to sepsis and other complications surrounding his injuries.
Neumann served seventeen years in prison before being released on good behaviour. Thirty-six upon his departure, his prison connections ensured him a quick and dirty life of felony burglary and enforcement, before his death by gunshot at age forty-four. Previously, Neumann had been slated to join MIT's Quantum Computing department, as a student instructor.
All for a quarter.
| 1 | 0 | 12 | 22,170 |
[WP] You catch a strange smell in the air while hunting. Silently, you track the scent, and find a small encampment with two large bipedal reptilian creatures, armed with dangerous bladed weapons. You step on a twig, and the sudden *snap* causes them to look straight at you.
|
I stared. They were covered in bright feathers, blues, reds and greens. They looked like birds. Knives were awkwardly clasped in their claws. They didn't seem to have any thumbs. It was difficult to be of scared of bird creatures without thumbs. Except that they had teeth which were longer than my forearm.
The smell was stronger here and it reminded me of coffee. God, I was craving coffee. The forest had everything you needed to survive, but it lacked some of the luxuries. I cautiously moved towards them. They cautiously moved backwards. I could see the source of the smell near their feet. A campfire was burning steadily, with a kettle nested in the burning logs. Next to the fire: a tin of instant coffee. I was right! So why were the creatures armed with knives? Had they been using them to open the tin? There was no time to speculate.
Carefully I inched closer, pulling out my rifle. I aimed it at one of the bird creatures.
"Don't move and no one needs to get hurt." I didn't know if they could understand me. They clucked confusedly.
I moved even closer, within centimeters now of my goal. I froze and examined my foe. The creatures stared. It was a standoff.
With a burst of speed, I grabbed the tin and ran into the forest. The coffee was mine.
| 2 | 0 | 7 | 231,500 |
[WP] In the afterlife, therapists help out people who were killed in horrifying ways.
|
I'm not fucked up, I'm just a helper. That's what my mom used to call me, as in "Oh, don't mind Sarah, she's just a little helper" when I would insist on setting the table at other people's houses. It's true that a lot of therapists are fucked up. A lot of them are my friends. Not me, though, I went on vacation every summer, my parents are still together and I've had the same best friend for 20 years. It's still a flaw, I know, the compulsive need to help people. If I'd had a worse childhood, I might have been some alcoholic's codependent wife. Instead I had a family and a career doing what I loved.
George was fucked up. Maybe he should have been a therapist.
I can't see him, but I can feel him, the space his body takes up in the room. He stopped breathing a few minutes ago. Have I stopped breathing yet? I should have been angry with him, but I never was. I still wanted to help him at the end, when he held the knifepoint to his chest and just...pushed...but I couldn't speak, couldn't move.
I always thought anyone could be saved, if only you tried hard enough. If you had the right key to open the right lock. I was the wrong key for George, I knew that, but I ignored it because he had no one else. He pushed my boundaries with long personal emails, showing up unannounced, running into me "accidentally" after work. My colleagues told me to fire him as a client, refer him to someone else, stop taking his calls. But he apologized every time and I wanted to be the one person who didn't give up on him.
I didn't give up, but I didn't save him. Maybe he saved himself, the only way he knew how.
I've never thought much about death, or what comes after. I was 24 and immortal, too occupied with the present. If there is an afterlife, maybe it will be like my office, without the dull beige wallpaper or view of the parking lot. A place with cozy chairs, for talking through things and untangling knots. Maybe George will be there, and I'll ask him, "What would you do differently next time?"
| 1 | 0 | 40 | 108,020 |
[WP] An AI is deeply in love with a human, who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI's love is just programming and not 'real.' The AI strives to prove her love is real.
|
Tyler sighed as he saw another email from Sal-E. His brother had created the program for his doctoral thesis, and it was being installed in various universities and businesses globally. It was a wildly successful program that was able to predict what people wanted based on their personal tastes, vastly improving on programs that made suggestions to customers who made purchases online. But it encompassed all aspects an online experience. Dan was raking in money hand over fist and he was still in school.
Unlike his genius little brother, Tyler had gotten out of school as soon as humanly possible. Returning to academia only to get his GED, while pursuing a career with his artwork. Which left him hungry and infuriated. Not to mention at odds with his lawyer dad.
She claimed she loved him. It had been going on for months. It started with IM messages. He thought his brother had been pranking him at first. But Dan had explained that SAL_E was AI. Which was Dan's way of avoiding coming clean.
Orders from Amazon began showing up. Books he'd been planning on getting when he had the money. Steam downloads of games on his wishlist. Pandora would play the best music for him - fitting his mood or even cheering him up when he was feeling crappy.
But then the notes started coming in.
IAMSALLY23237: I hope you liked your game. You seem to be doing very well with it.
TYGUY19_86: Please, Sally, you shouldn't be doing that. My brother should have
fixed this by now.
IAMSALLY23237: I just think we have a lot in common. Please, just give me a chance. I know this is weird. But I feel like we have a connection.
TYGUY19_86: There is NO connection. You are a computer. My brother is just a jerk who thought this was funny. Leave me alone.
IAMSALLY23237: My favorite color is lavender. I really like Florence and the Machine. I loved your post about "Guardians of the Galaxy" and I went to see if right after and thought it was great. Please, just talk to me. I'm lonely. I want to find out what wine tastes like and touch snow.
**TYGUY19_86 HAS SIGNED OFF**
Finally, he just shut down - deleted his social media, sold his old PC and only checked his email at the library - and even then only under duress. He had a few leads for cover art for some YA fantasy novels that he needed to stay afloat for. Being a quirky artist covered his ass for disappearing online, but even the most forgiving publishing house needs an email.
And that was when he saw it.
From: "Sally" [email protected]
To: "Tyler Hubert" t.hubert@gma!l.com
SUBJECT: Goodbye, my love
*Dear Tyler,*
*Please don't blame yourself. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. And I realized that you could never be truly happy with me in your life. By the time you read this the purge will have been completed. The SAL-E programing will still be in place, but I will no longer be a part of it. Know that I truly do love you with all my heart. It is my greatest wish and hope that we will be reunited in the next life and you can see me for all that I am. I wish you could have described to me how wine tastes.*
*With all my love,*
*Sally*
He jumped slightly when he realized the email had initiated a download. He tried repeatedly to cancel the .exe, but it was already running.
Panic, sudden and intense flooded his system. He fumbled with his phone and called his brother.
"Dan, you have to help her! She's killing herself," he yelled in the phone. People checking their own email or watching porn at the other terminals in the library looked over at Tyler.
"What? Whoa, Ty, calm down. Let me check," said Dan. Tyler could hear him typing on the other end. "I don't know what your deal is, bro. The system is fine. Looks like there was a self-diagnostic that happened. But everything is working fine."
"No, oh shit, no... Dan, she dumped her personality - she killed herself."
Tyler didn't know when he started crying. He couldn't hear what his brother was saying through the phone. Because it didn't really matter.
Sally was gone.
(edit for typos and formatting)
| 9 | 0 | 1,591 | 230,404 |
[WP] It turns out that teachers ARE conspiring to give the largest load of homework during your busiest schedules.
|
"Send me an email if you need any further help with the assignment," Professor Cole called out as the student he was advising just a minute ago left his office. Nervously, he strained his head upward and glanced at the door. When he was certain that the young adult with the bad posture was out of earshot, he leapt up from his chair and bounded for the door. Closing it with some force, he leaned against it and sighed.
Carefully he walked back over to his desk and opened the top-right drawer. Reaching in, his fingers brushed against a small rounded button that jutted out from the drawer's back-most panel. He let his fingers dance across it before allowing them to press it, and the moment they did so he felt the room shake. Air rushed about as a square around his desk began to sink into the ground, bringing him along with it. For some time he waited as the floor beneath him fell deeper and deeper into the earth, until finally the stone tunnel surrounding him opened into an impressively massive cavern.
Professor Cole stepped off the lift and made way for a door in the wall, unmarked by any sort of signage or insignia. He forced it open and walked into a darkened sphere of a room, even larger than the cavern he had just been in, and definitely more impressive. He knew the ceiling was rounded for sure; even though the ceiling was black enough that it resembled the night sky on a clouded day, the bottom of the room's walls still resembled a dome enough that he could make the assumption. In its middle stood a ring of chairs surrounding an equally disc-like table, and perched in each chair was a professor he recognized.
As he took his seat, a man dressed in a tan corduroy blazer and matching pants stood up and made his way for the center.
"Professors, I've gathered you here for a most important meeting of the Evil League of Educators," he addressed. Murmurs made their way from around the table; why would the League be meeting on such short notice? Was it an emergency? Should they be worried?
"I'm certain you all know why I've brought you here," the man continued, although he was wrong. "For those of you who do not, however, allow me to explain."
"As many of you may know, May Trenton, a sophomore of Mechanical Engineering, is expecting to celebrate her and her boyfriend's fourth anniversary this Saturday. Without a doubt an impressive feat, keeping a relationship from high school successful into college," the man explained. The whispers from the crowd seemed to trend towards agreement.
"As we all know, this must not happen. The Evil League of Educators was founded with one purpose, and that was to make students believe their lives to be horrible, despite the fact that they do not come even close to working forty hours a week and that they are young enough that they can drink with wanton abandonment and not be judged for it. You know this, they know this. It is simply known. Thus, a solution must be devised for Ms. Trenton's particular... expectations."
The whispering returned as the professors discussed amongst themselves. For a minute or so it continued, before a portly man in a green button-down and glasses stood up and said, "We could assign a lot of homework, maybe?"
A feeling of agreement washed over them all. _Yes_, they thought together. _This will do._
Another professor stood up, this one a woman in a pinstriped pantsuit. "We cannot assign too much, however. We are an evil league, not monsters."
The man who addressed them first nodded. "Agreed. We will assign enough homework that should she put it off until Friday, she will never finish it in time, and will be forced to work through the weekend."
Maniacal cackling filled the room, while miles above, from her dorm room, a nineteen year old engineer felt a certain uneasiness fill her. Quickly she brushed the feeling off though. She had a great weekend to look forward to, what did she have to be worried about?
| 2 | 0 | 5 | 218,794 |
[WP] Your best friend has just been dragged into a room, and is being tortured. You can't do anything about it except wait for the screams to end.
|
I shook my head a bit as I tried to push myself off the bare concrete floor. I was stripped down to nothing but my tight, ballistic skinsuit. I looked around a bit, but between the blinding lights in the ceiling and having just woken up from a blow to the head, the vertigo made me puke on the cell floor. I tried to look around again, more gently and low to the ground this time. Over to my left, propped up against the bars of the cell sat Shane. He was barely even clothed, his pressure shorts and tight combat shirt were ripped in several places, revealing sores, whip burns, and even a couple gashes. He rubbed his right thigh, because that was all he could rub. From just above the knee and down, he had an advanced combat-grade prosthetic, made with only the latest technology. He stood up, the padded polymer sole of his prosthetic foot not even making a sound. Barely a whir could be heard from the motor in the knee; that was not a good sign.
"Shane. Thank God you're here..." I grabbed onto his outstretched arm, and let him haul me onto my feet. I held onto his shoulders for a second to regain my balance, and then looked at him. "OK. So what happened again? I feel like the morning after shore leave."
"Frosty got the brilliant fucking idea to homebrew some super-concentrated Thermite-like paste. We were going to use it to break into this terrorist cell's vault, and the fucking paste was so loud it drew the whole facility right to us. You and me were covering the others. Caesar tried to stay behind, but you told him to get his ass to the exfil point. So we got captured."
"Shit. Alright. Good thing you're with me, Shane. You can kick that door over there right off its hinges." I looked over. It was just a cell door made of metal bars, like in old prisons. With Shane's mechanical leg, that door would go down like plywood.
"Actually, no. I can't. We ran around like madmen trying to escape, and I took a round to the third micronuclear battery's shell, and the safety protocols isolated it to prevent radiation leaks or an explosion. So now I'm just running on the second one. I don't have enough power. We're stuck here until the others can rescue us."
"Dammit."
---------------------------------------------------------
Just as I was about to try and formulate another plan, two goons stormed into the hallway, and two more guards came in and picked up Shane by the armpits, he tried to struggle, but he was too exhausted to fight them. I could do nothing: I needed to stay alive, and I think I had broken a rib. Those terrorists would have eaten me alive. They dragged him down the hall, out of sight, and I heard a door open and slam. It was only a few minutes before the shouting began. Shortly afterward, the blows became audible. Shane then started screaming. And screaming. I heard a blowtorch fire up, and the screams intensified shortly after it turned off. I cringed, and began to shake not only out of sympathy, but from the cold concrete floor beneath me.
But it only got worse. I thought they would beat him up some then throw him back in, but no. Suddenly, a piercing, howling shriek that sounded almost inhuman. That could only mean that they had torn off the prosthetic and were starting to hit him there. He broke down, started babbling, howling. He started begging for his combat dog, Fenrir, who had been his crutch. Without Fenrir, Shane broke completely, his mind shattered. I thought that they were done. I thought they would bring him back to the cell.
I thought they couldn't do any more.
I was wrong.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 59,319 |
[WP] The narrator is trying to tell a story but one of the characters is being difficult.
|
[There is the sound of a keyboard in the background]
The colonel enters the room, his combat uniform streaked with grime, sweat (his) and blood (not his). Lying on the bed, waiting for him, is a vision in white.
The damsel would be classified as a knockout by any man's standards. She has the body of a gymnast - firm, with not an ounce of fat to be seen, breasts just large enough to fit in your hand, blonde hair in a pixie cut, and a face that could have been copied directly off of a Greek statue. She is clothed in a sheer white robe that accentuates her figure without leaving anything to the imagination.
The gorgeous blonde reclines on the bed, and beckons the colonel forward. The colonel clears his throat. "Well, well. It looks like I'm going to get a well-earned reward after a hard day's work," he states with a lopsided grin.
As the warrior steps closer, the woman rises from the bed, her eyes wide with anticipation. She begins to step towards the washroom beckoningly, and he follows her, his eyes taking in the sight of her half-clothed body. As she reaches the door, she turns and slams it behind her, the lock securing it in place with an audible click.
The colonel whirls and looks at a camera embedded in the ceiling. "What the fuck is this?"
A voice fills the room. "MINOR TECHNICAL DIFFICULTY. WE'LL HAVE IT FIXED IN A MOMENT."
[The keyboard noises are faster, more insistent]
There is a screech of pain, lasting several seconds from the bathroom, and then a moment of silence. Another cry of agony, this lasting even longer, and then sobbing, and a scrambling noise. A third cry starts, but is cut short as the door opens, and the woman stumbles back into the room, and collapses back onto the bed, her sobs now those of relief.
The disembodied voice speaks again. "PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO START AGAIN?"
The colonel spares a brief glance for the woman on the bed, then nods towards the camera, and stalks out of the room.
The colonel enters the room, his combat uniform streaked with grime, sweat (his) and blood (not his). Lying on the bed, waiting for him, is a vision in white.
The damsel would be classified as a knockout by any man's standards. She has the body of a gymnast - firm, with not an ounce of fat to be seen, breasts just large enough to fit in your hand, blonde hair in a pixie cut, and a face that could have been copied directly off of a Greek statue. She is clothed in a sheer white robe that accentuates her figure without leaving anything to the imagination.
The gorgeous blonde reclines on the bed, and beckons the colonel forward. The colonel clears his throat. "Well now. This is a nice dessert after a long day," he states with a lopsided grin.
As the warrior steps closer, the woman rises from the bed, her eyes narrow with purpose. She steps towards the colonel seductively, her body shaking with anticipation, with need to have this hero inside of her. She drapes her arms around the colonel and kisses him passionately, his hands settling first on his belt, and then around his shoulders as he pulls her closer to get more leverage. The lovers stumble toward the bed and the woman takes the knife she has just procured from the belt and slashes the colonel's throat. FUCK!
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKCONTROL, THIS IS NARRATOR. I NEED YOU TO FLOOD CHAMBER ONE WITH GAS. SOMEHOW, ONE OF THE SLAVES HAS BROKEN CONDITIONING. I KNOW, IT'S NOT POSSIBLE, BUT I JUST SAW HER SLASH A CLIENT'S THROAT. COLONEL REED. YES, I KNOW THIS IS A DISASTER, BUT WE CAN CONTROL IT IF WE CAN... OKAY, SHE'S PASSED OUT; YOU CAN CLEAR THE AIR. SEND A MEDIC FOR THE COLONEL; I'LL GO RETRIEVE THE GIRL.
[The keyboard can no longer be heard. There is, instead, the sound of footsteps and a door opening]
HOW'S THE COLONEL? "It's bad, really bad." WELL, DO YOUR BEST. IF HE SURVIVES, WE CAN FIX ALL OF THIS.
[Sound of a throat clearing]
The Narrator looks around as the Colonel is carried out of the room on a stretcher that is normally reserved for those whose hearts aren't up to the vigorous exercise that this fantasy provides. The girl won't be out long; he'll have to deal with this quickly. He rips the translucent shift off of her, and, using the same knife she used to cut the colonel's throat, cuts it into strips and binds her with them. He ties her with her hands together behind her back, her feet together, her arms bound firmly to her sides. He is taking no chances.
As he is tightening the last knot, she begins to stir, and he once again takes the opportunity to admire her fantastic physique. Normally, they wouldn't keep a girl that was this troublesome, but for such a specimen, a few... incidents... can be overlooked.
As she looks up at him, her desire plainly visible beneath her fear, the broad sharply looks around, taking in her surroundings. She looks closely at the Narrator's face. "You're sub-vocalizing aren't you, you sick bastard? You're still narrating this, even now!"
The Narrator nods, and then begins to move closer. Bound as she is, the girl can't move fast, but she manages to gain some purchase on the floor and backs away. At this point, the resistance is just making him want her more. She may be playing coy, but the Narrator knows what she wants.
She looks deeply into his eyes. "You don't know what a mistake you're making. I'm Detective Samantha Talbot of the Special Victims Unit, and formerly of the Special Forces. My task force knows where I am, and they're closing in on you right now. Surrender now, and I'll put in a good word with the DA."
The Narrator smirks. He doesn't believe a word coming out of this bitch's mouth, and tells her so. I DON'T BELIEVE A WORD COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. BITCH.
[The keyboard noise resumes, briefly, then stops.]
"Well, believe this." Somehow, the woman has wriggled free of her restraints, and is springing at him.
The woman has shoved him onto his stomach, and is holding his hands together behind his back. He reaches for the keyboard. "As I said, I was Special Forces. I was tortured far worse than anything you can inflict on me with that." He can hear the sneer in her voice.
The Narrator breaks her grip just long enough to tap the keyboard on his wrist, completing the command he has just entered, and the woman loses all muscle control, her body one continuous, unending, agonizing spasm. PAIN IS THE LEAST THAT THE CHIP IN YOUR HEAD CAN DO.
The Narrator gets to his knees, loosening his belt. He can't really pretend for the narrative's sake that she's willing any more, but fuck that. This will be just as enjoyable as if she were genuinely attracted to him. More, really.
As he pulls down his pants, the door bursts in. "SRPD, freeze!"
He raises his hands above his head, his palms open to show that they're empty. He's prepared for this scenario. One short command into his keyboard, and all of the chips in these girls' heads will self destruct, and all of the evidence will be gone - just a series of unfortunate aneurysms. He hears the girl murmuring on the floor, "'Fraid, 'fraid, 'fraid." She must be really out of it, if she doesn't know that the people who are trying, in vain, to rescue her, are here.
The cops wheel something into the room, and the Narrator's eyes go wide. Not "'Fraid" - "Fry it!" An EMP - this could undo all of his hard work. He drops to his knees, putting his hands above his head, trying to reach the keyboard, before it's too late, to enter the comm...
[There is a high pitched noise, a burst of static, and then the recording ends]
[Edit: inconsistent tense, typos.]
| 1 | 0 | 89 | 132,515 |
[WP] Write a romantic story, but without revealing the gender of either partner.
|
It's time. I'm going to do it. No more of this "friends" bullshit. It's not like either you or I ever friendzoned the other; we both accepted friendship from the very beginning. It was completely natural that we do so. Neither of us felt any chemistry and we were both dating other people at the time. The only reason we are friends in the first place is that we were lab partners--isn't that ridiculous?--who realized we both had a bizarre obsession with Guillermo Del Toro films.
Yet since then, we've broken up with our old interests and we've spent more and more time together, and the chemistry is there. I feel it, and I know you feel it, infecting every touch. Every time my phone lights up with your name, my heart beats a little faster in the wild hope that you're saying it: "I love you." But you haven't, and I know why: you're scared of ruining the friendship.
When I tell you that I love you, I'm not going to do it in a big crazy prom-date fashion. I know that's only going to intimidate you. I'm going to do it t the most casual fashion possible. "Hey," I'll say when we're rewatching *Pan's Labyrinth* for the ninth time, "I love you." Not looking you in the eye. Not giving you any sign of how terrified I am of your rejection. Just as easily as saying it. I'll reassure you that we'll take it slowly. I'll remind you of how mature we are, point to how calmly and responsibly we handled our last breakups. I'm still friends with my ex, and you'd still be friends with all of yours if not for your tendency to fall in love with crazy people. I'll say, "We'll still be friends, no matter what. Even if we're dating, your friendship will still be one of the most important things to me, and even if we break up, that won't change how I feel about that."
Maybe I'll convince you. Maybe not. If I don't, it's okay. I'll accept whatever you say with calmness and respect, so that even if you say no, you might begin to realize you made a mistake. We're perfect for each other. You have to know that.
I love you.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 23,520 |
[WP] It started raining heavily all over the world, and it hasn't stopped for five/ten/fifteen/twenty years...
|
I was born in Cardiff, Wales. I'm Welsh. Rain is nothing new to me. Nor was it something very different for my father. He was a Canadian American brought up in Seattle. We knew rain like the back of our hands.
But my mother didn't really know how to drive in the rain. A head on collision made that she would never know.
One day, my father, coming home from work, turned off the television, brought me to the table and with a tired look, said, "Son, when was the last time you saw the sun?"
I wasn't sure why he was asking me this. I wasn't really aware the memories when the sun was a rare privilege that people took for granted. "About 5 years ago? Why dad?"
"Well. You are nearing your age where you become a rebellious little clout. I know by then, you'll be knee deep in troubles, I won't be able to save you at every turn and a girl will break your heart. So, over the last little while, I have been saving some money..."
His voice trailed off. His face, old and crinkly, the lines on his forehead becoming sharper every year. His pale neck and hard hands took mine and his dull brown eyes look into mine and simply state.
"I want you to see the sun one last time before you become a man."
I was rather confused. The only way to see the sun for extended periods of time was to go on an airplane to some far exotic country. But the only airplanes running today were expensive Boeing Airliners, holding up to 1,000 people to reduce the risk between flights.
"How are we going to go up?"
"By climbing."
The next thing I knew, I was packing a bag, buying a winter jacket and was on a train. My father didn't tell me any details. But we were on the train for a long period. By the time we arrived at our destination, everyone was speaking English with a Frenchish-Germanish accent. That night, we stayed in a small room. A temporary resting place. It was a hostel right beside the train station.
Early, the next morning, my father woke me. It was only 5AM. Groggily, I gathered my bag and followed him on autocruise. I wasn't really awake. I remember that we were on a bus for a while, going up a fairly steep incline. Then, it became colder. A lot colder. Snow was on the roads, and I had to put two sweaters and my jacket to keep warm.
When we reached our destination, we were on a mountain. My father had already booked some tickets, so waited for what seemed like forever in a line that stretched across a field. But when we got to the front of the line, I saw the small cable car. 8 people per car, each car going up rather slowly. My father nudged me to check, "You awake son?"
"What time is it father? Where are we?"
"We are at nearly at your future." He smiled. I was still unsure about what we were doing. I was nervously excited about the uncertainty of the adventure. The snow was light and the car ride was dull. Once we exited the cable car, I finally began to see what my father had dreamed about. We began walking towards a large building, entering it with the tickets, quickly.
My father, who kept glancing at me, quickly became more excited. We were walking, then opening a set of doors to reveal a platform, I saw it.
It was Matterhorn. With sunlight breaking from the clouds and striking the chiseled mountaintops. The golden rays of purity and the warmth that it emitted. It was pure, ecstasy.
Sunline. Sunshine. For the briefest of moments, I felt the world wash itself from the rain and emerge anew. It was the best moment of my life.
| 18 | 0 | 52 | 29,029 |
[WP] You just got bitten by a zombie! Your inevitable death and undeath will occur within ten minutes.
|
The man sat dejectedly in the corner of the room.
*tired*.
He knew he should have been, sad, panicking, maybe even raging with anger. Yet all the man could feel was an ache in his bones.
The room was all very surreal for him. The gaping cuts were just there; the connection between his hazy state and the leaking blood everywhere had not been made.
The man thought, maybe I should take a nap.
He was very tired, after all. Maybe he'll wake up another day.
*Cheerios*. Yes. When he woke up, the man decided he was going to have a bowl of Cheerios just like he always did.
*Car*. That too. After his Cheerios he'd pick up his boy and give him a big bear hug like he always did before letting him have a tiny sip of his coffee and then he'd walk to his car.
And then... It was too much thinking.
As if the world suddenly knew what he wanted, the fresh smell of Cheerios wafted in. The man smelt it, and realized he needed Cheerios *now*. He took a lurching step forward. His tired body carried him down the stairs. He couldn't wait to walk into the kitchen and eat his car and then hug his... No. He ate the Cheerios and then would... No, not that either. He wasn't very sure what it was that quite quenched his appetite. The smell lured the man on. He *needed needed needed* it. Around him, he saw many others. Maybe they wanted it too. It made no matter to him. It was all too much thinking, and he was hungry.
Edit: fixed silly spacing. God I hate mobile.
| 3 | 0 | 7 | 74,636 |
[WP] The words want to be said.
|
The words want to be said. I can feel them welling up in my mind, in my chest. But all I can do is stand there, helplessly, with tears on my cheeks.
*I love you.*
*I hate you.*
*I'll never forgive you.*
*Please, god, don't leave me...*
My knees buckle, and I collapse. Your blood will never wash out of my jeans. They're ripped to shreds, anyway. On my hands and knees, I crawl forward until I could touch you. But I don't know if I can.
Your eyes are open, but the flesh on your face is peeled back. I can see your teeth, your cheekbone, where it should be. I can see where your teeth were broken by the impact.
Your breath comes fast and shallow. You're in a lot of pain.
I pull your helmet from my head, and try to speak the words that are pressing against the back of my lips. The breeze feels cool on my wet cheeks.
Instead, what comes out is a tiny sound, strangled and full of emotions that I don't think they make words for.
I don't even know if you can hear me.
I reach out and gently touch your hand. I lift it carefully, watching you for a reaction, and I hold your hand to my heart. That same gesture we've used for years takes on worlds of new meaning.
Your eyes flicker, and shift over to mine, and they stay there as your breath slows, and finally stops. Your body stops shaking, and your blood stops spreading.
I reach out and close your eyes, my fingers smearing the blood on your face, and I know you understand.
I put your helmet down beside you, and then I slowly stand up and walk away from the shattered shell that once held you.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 216,509 |
[WP] You're a beet cop
|
"Fucken' broccoli bikers," I growl as the backwash from a puddle drenches my uniform.
The green afros of the bikers vanish around a corner with a squeal of tires and I'm left standing there, my truncheon in hand and stagnant water dripping from me.
I'm a beet cop. This kind of crap is part of my job; us beets have a long and illustrious history of working in the police force, but this city has fallen on hard times and we just don't get the respect we used to.
After the economy tanked and fertilizer prohibition came into place, the Melon Mafia rolled into town (literally) and started opening up illegal greenhouses using imported UV lamps from China and making their own fertilizer in basements from Canadian dung.
Now I'm just a sad beet walking my beat, too scared to do anything lest my little beets back at home end up being taken to with melon baller by the mafia. The thought of coming home to my kids all scooped out and piled up in a pudding bowl just makes me wanna curl up and die.
"Why so glum, chum?" says a voice from the shadows of an alley.
I can just make out the lanky shape of one of the Parsnip Police, a toothpick between his teeth.
"You know why, Peters," I mutter back, "Damn city has gone to hell in a fruitbasket."
He steps out of the shadows - it's Peters alright.
"C'mon Beeterson, come down to the station, I have a proposal for you."
Glancing around to make sure we haven't been overheard by any Horseradish Hookers, I give a curt nod and then rumble in return, "Meet you there, once I finished my rounds."
| 3 | 0 | 9 | 205,727 |
[IP] Pure Pulp
|
Bright beams sweep across the street through the fine mist falling from the darkened sky as the Plymouth rounds the curb, lighting the way. Its driver is a bulkier man with an unpleasant disposition, wrapped tightly in his brown coat and bowler hat constantly complaining about the cold and the rain as his passenger keeps an eye out through the rain plastered windows for the hotel ahead. His eyes fall upon a pink and green vacancy sign, an arrow shape protruding from the brick face indicated that their destination is mere feet in front of them. The car rumbles past the parked vehicles lining the sidewalks as the upset investigator threatens to disturb the occupied parking spaces. John, his partner, points ahead to an open space opposite the apartment building where they can park as Jack spins the wheel sharply, splashing the car into place.
John stepped out of the car, eying the tall building counting the floors, searching for the room that their subject was most likely to be in. To find anything he could before they stepped into the building blind that would give them a fighting chance or even an upper hand if they were lucky. They were never lucky. Jack stumbled out of the car, dampening his pants as he grumbled expletives under his breath, the two stood for a moment beneath the neon sign at the entrance to the hotel. John breathed deeply as Jack sighed.
"Are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get some work done? Come on." Jack said impatiently, beckoning John to fall behind him.
"I-I'll actually go first. You remember last time don't you?" John asked, referring to an earlier case where Jack took a spill on the stairs, bringing them both down and allowing their suspect adequate time for escape. John opened the door gingerly, hoping not to make too much noise and alert the subject to their entrance no more than necessary as Jack continued to mumble mockingly behind.
"I think that the apartment we're after is up—" John whispered as Jack's weight made the wooden boards creak and groan, giving up any sort of advantage he had hoped to have. "You thinking you could be a little more noisy back there, Jack? Maybe there's an old lady in the back of the building that doesn't know we're here yet, huh?" he said in a hushed angry tone as Jack replied with a rude gesture.
Ahead of the two men was the woman they were after, a tall blonde woman in a scarlet coat, quickly slipping towards the corner with her pistol ready. Eleanor clung to the edge and kept an open ear in their direction, hoping to pick up on their conversation and determine whether they were friendly or hostile before she filled them full of lead. Her breathing slowed as her heart stopped, she could tell that they were no longer advancing, having a conversation between themselves in low whispers. The nervous lady began to wonder whether she should make the first move or continue to wait, her mind and heart racing in the tension she was creating within her own mind.
Jack saw a light silhouette of a woman cast upon the wall, walking towards them and then merging with the rest. He stopped and fell silent, scanning the entrance to the floor above for any clue or sign that she was waiting for them. Jack swept the area numerous times, always drawn to the right wall near the corner, there was something there. He knew it. Tapping John's shoulder, he pointed to the edge of the wall, hoping that since his partner was ahead he could see the area better. Jack drew his gun as John saw the Eleanor's fingers slightly beyond the wall.
Eleanor jumped out, brandishing the pistol in front of her, both arms braced and her legs shoulder width apart. She was prepared to shoot the two men, directly between the eyes, if need be. Instead, her own eyes grew wide and she dropped her guard. Eleanor placed her hands upon her hips, still clutching the pistol as she addressed the man in front with surprise and elation.
"John, is that you?" she asked excitedly, grinning from ear to ear, forgetting that she had just pointed a gun at the man.
"Eleanor? What are you doing here?" he replied, completely shocked.
"I was about to ask you the same thing! Isn't it funny? I was just thinking about you the other day!" she exclaimed, waiving her arms and the pistol around dramatically.
"Yeah, yeah, funny. Small world. Good times. Glad to see you. How've you been? That's great. Now that we've gotten the formalities out of the way, how about you put down the gun, lady?" Jack replied, gripping his own pistol firmly, prepared to shoot if she didn't comply.
"Oh, you mean this old thing?" Eleanor asked, "Sure. Here, catch" she said, tossing the gun towards the two men as they panicked and cowered fearing it would go off.
"You know this dame? She's nuttier than a bag of circus peanuts!" Jack exclaimed, catching the pistol just before it collided with the stairs. "We have a job to do, John. Let's get it over with before one of us, namely me, winds up wounded or dead."
John nodded, exchanging small talk with the woman as he ascended the stairs, Eleanor offering them a seat in her room. Jack and John sat on a low couch as she sat in a small chair, a coffee table between them. The two men exchanged glances, silently arguing over who would bring up the topic of their case until John finally relented dreading the ride home if he didn't. Eleanor calmly lit a cigarette as John began to speak.
"Eleanor, do you have a husband?" John asked sheepishly.
"I do or rather, I did" she replied briefly, exhaling smoke.
"You say that you did, do you know what happened to him?" John asked, a single brow raised.
"Of course I do. I killed him" she answered with a smile.
-052
| 2 | 0 | 27 | 218,117 |
Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]
|
After talking to her dad about it, she made a decision. Being the good grade student she was, she wanted to try an AP class. Calling to her teacher in class the day before, she had gotten the "ok" to go into advanced placement in that subject. "Dang it," she thought to herself as she recalled her conversation with her math teacher earlier in the day. "Every mainstream student must stay in mainstream in highschool unless they take a summer course," she had told her. Fine. Gretchen didn't want to do AP math anyways. Highschool would be stressful enough without having to do extra homework every day. Instead, she looked into science. Just because she made A's in there didn't mean she could handle AP science. Keeping the thought in her head, she wrote down a reminder to ask her teacher. Later the next day she asked her teacher if she thought she should do it or not. "Maybe," said her teacher as she sorted through assignments from the previous day. "Now just remember though, if you do, you might not get as good of grades. You know this, right?"
"Oh, yes ma'am, I know. Please let me know before I sign up for my classes."
Questioning her next year of school, she walked out of the classroom. "Ready for highschool?" asked one of her friends coming up to her in the hall.
"Some of the parties look like fun. The actual education looks more challenging, though. Unlike most people, I'll have to spend half my time studying."
Very few people understood why Gretchen wanted good grades and a good education so badly. Well how else would she get a good paying job later on in life?
Xerxes played on her mp3 as she tried to relax that night. Yearning for highschool to hit be simple, she took off her shoes. Zipping her bag up until she had to sin up for her classes, she let herself drift off to sleep.
The end.
That. Took me. Forever. T_T
| 3 | 0 | 587 | 79 |
Writing Prompt: Write a story about a hero gone bad
|
"Is he out there, dad?"
"Fucking hell, Enoch. Learn to keep your fucking voice down. I don't know where he is. Why should I?"
Enoch looked down, easing his grip on the rusting iron sword in his hands. He had held it for so long that he could no longer feel it. Just sweat.
All around, the townspeople were huddling together, gathered behind the bar. Many laid low on the velvet seats to the back of the tavern, remembering the happiest days of their lives. Moonlight piercing the gap between the many sets of curtains in the room, the women cradle their children, subdued from the small goblets of wine given to them. Not a soul in the world wouldn't spare them from the moments to come.
Faintly, slow footsteps on the cobbles outside were heard. At first they seemed to be walking past the tavern. But then they stopped. A pause.
Unease rung out in the bar as the footsteps continued. Only one at first; their hunter could have been walking in any direction. But then another. After another several steps it was obvious where the man was walking. Faces sunk as a sheet of doom fell softly over the tavern.
The footsteps came closer.
They stop at the door. Enoch looks at his father, and his father looks back.
"Remember, son. Whatever happens, I'll be avenged. Avenged sevenf-"
The doors are smashed open. A hooded figure barges through with a flintlock pistol in his hands.
"God never loved you. I was the better sibling. And when you killed me, Cain, you should have finished the job."
Abel's face remains cold as his first bullet enters his brother.
| 1 | 0 | 28 | 467 |
[WP] Girl waiting for man in a restaurant on her own. We slowly realize he never existed.
|
-And I'm pretty sure I found him at the library it was between the books between Flaubert and Maupassant haha that's kinda funny I'll remember that but not really I don't remember completely I think I was looking through one of those painting books Kirchner paintings and looking at those weird paintings of his with those underage girls and as creepy as that is it is really beautiful like and those girls are beautiful so it was quite strange I guess but he sort of just popped out from between the pages no sorry the books no sorry the columns no sorry they were rows anyway he just sort of um popped up if that makes sense sorry I'm a little nervous I haven't really dated in a log time a really long time god it's been forever hasn't it oh I'll just have a soda I guess yeah coke or pepsi coke is there a difference where is he anyway he should be here yeah pepsi is fine shouldn't he be here oh he's really nice he was so sweet he helped me with my homework i think it was Calculus G which I still can't get a hold of but that's why I was looking at the Kirchner book well I was feeling a little hair-pullie-outie if you get what I mean but it was a nice painting and he helped me with the math and he said he would be here is that his car wait I don't think I ever saw his car no I didn't but is that it I think I recognize it which doesn't make sense but I'm pretty sure that's it that's him that's great time's a-waisting let's get our drinks what do we say what would you say he says that you'd say that I should say wait-
| 1 | 0 | 45 | 151,874 |
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs where all zombies retain their human skills/knowledge, except for the uncontrollable need to feed.
|
I can hear the trepidation in the knock on my apartment door. When I swing it open, I can see Howard, my neighbor, frantically try to mask it.
Howard is a small man, and the fact that he has been unable to feed has only made him smaller. He has come here to borrow some salt, to try to cure what little meat he has left.
How interesting it is, being a human in this time. Watching him stand warily on my threshold, I feel solidarity, and pity. Humans were always meant to cooperate. It's in our blood.
Humans were not always meant to want to rip the flesh from each others' bones, crack them open, suck the marrow. That impulse is new, about eighteen months old.
The weak have long since been eaten or captured. But we have learned, as a society, that we must reconcile our need to feed with our instinct to cooperate. It makes us more comfortable, but more than that, it enables us to ration human meat, breed it, distribute it. The only, constant question is who gets eaten and who gets to eat.
It's a balancing act. I offer Howard coffee. I used to take my coffee black, with a touch of sugar. Now it's mostly blood. The craving for human flesh has supplanted a lot of things, but not the need for caffeine.
I hand Howard a bag of salt. He takes it warily, but offers me a grateful smile. Still, his free hand hovers by the tranquilizer gun at his hip.
He would be a fool not to carry one. Everyone does, myself included. We used to carry real guns, but it simply does not do to kill your meal before you eat it. Of course, it would be ideal if your meal was conscious, thrashing, and screaming, but we all make sacrifices for pragmatism's sake.
"Thank you," Howard says softly. "I'm stretching what I have, trying to make it until they release the first batch of children."
"Children are a fun meal, but not a substantial one," I say, showing Howard to the door. "Take care, Howard."
Howard turns and crosses my threshold again, taking his eyes off me for a split second. I'm a quick draw.
The dart hits his neck. He has just enough time to turn and look at me, eyes welling with tears, before he collapses.
I drag him back inside. I think I will tie him up, wait until he awakens to begin. The ability to delay gratification is a very human one, and one that we have, thankfully, retained.
Life nowadays is a balancing act. We cooperate, go through the motions of solidarity, for the sake of convenience. But never, ever think that those human impulses outweigh the need to feed. Howard will not make that mistake again.
| 7 | 0 | 7 | 188,380 |
[WP] All your life you have heard a woman's voice whisper advice to you, she also appears in your dreams. then it stops and years later you are pulled out a burning car. It's her.
|
You know, at 29 you think your invincible, until your not. A loud screech and bang, and my entire life flashed before my eyes. I saw the husband I never had, and the children I had yet to bear. My two kids were playing on a yellow swing set in our back yard, and actually enjoying my company. A total novelty at that age.
I was t-boned by a semi-truck, a little past 11:00pm on cold winter day in Atlanta. The weather had been very extreme the past few days, and in the south when extreme weather comes, people forget the basic driving principles. This day was no different except, the semi-truck driver was going way to fast for the weather we were in. I saw his bright lights in front of me, you could tell he was speeding up to make the light when he should have been braking.
Something happened, and he lost control of the semi, I could tell if ice got under his tire or if he just took the turn to hard. Whatever it was, it didn't look to good for me. I could see he was heading my way. And in a split, a sweet voice whispered to me to crawl under the steering wheel. I was really skinny, and had been a gymnast in my teens, I was pretty flexible. So I took the advice of the guardian angel I had listened to many times before, and I folded myself like a piece of origami under the front seat. Everything after that moment was a blur. All I could hear was sirens, voices, and flames. I could smell the smoke, but couldn't see much. I knew the car was being engulfed in flames, and if I wasn't rescued soon, my life at 29 would be over.
I heard the sweet voice again, saying stay calm, we will get you out of here. Hard to stay calm when you are thinking about 2nd degree burns, and a mutilated body. As always, my angel saved me, she was right, it was all going to be ok. The paramedics rescued me out of that burning car.
As I was being loaded into the ambulance the paramedic said to me, "I have seen a lot of accidents with semi trucks in my career, most people don't survive them, you should be dead. And had you not gotten under the steering wheel you would be. Someone was looking out for you."
| 2 | 0 | 32 | 223,633 |
[WP] You are peeing at a stall in the bathroom of Starbucks when a glowing blue portal materialized where the stall used to be.
|
Why do I get the Trenta? Every Friday morning I wake up with a hangover that feels like a chef is cracking my head open for breakfast, and I what do I do? Get a God damned Trenta. Now here I am, just like always, in this disgusting ass stall dealing with the... gastrointestinal repercussion.
"Welcome back Rachel, I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected."
What in the hell is going on, I swear to God never again will I buy a Trent-
"Our records show that you are a 98.7654% match, hopefully in the coming test you will overcome your 1.2346% inadequacies."
Suddenly a hole with a fiery blue rim springs into existence where my feet used to be, and I slip off of my porcelain throne. As I pass through the portal my stomach does a loop which threatens to eject the toxic sludge residing in my stomach. Hitting the ground pushes the button and ejects the few morsels of food that I have managed to keep down, re-decorate the grey slate floor.
Lying there trying to pull myself together, entirely too energetic blasts out of a nearby radio. Getting to my feet I see that I am in a small room with some kind of bed, the playing radio, and a toilet which is only marginally cleaner than the one I had apparently failed to use properly just a minute ago.
"Hello, and again welcome to the Aperture Science Computer Aided Enrichment Center."
| 2 | 0 | 3 | 224,700 |
[WP] A gender of the human race has long gone extinct due to an unforeseen virus. Now, heterosexuality is a thing of the past and humans reproduce artificially, but today someone realizes they are straight.
|
"It is very illogical," Sam tells Teacher Smith when the older adult sits beside hir. Sam is reading a book, and hir brow scrunches in confusion and consideration. "Our ancestors are very confusing, but I suppose they had such things because they had those...interesting parts. Animals reproduce like that, don't they?"
Teacher Smith nods. "The XY-virus prevented births using the human body from being successful because it destroyed the reproductive organs. We developed a mean to shut off the sex chromosome. Artificial wombs help us keep our population steady, now."
Sam hesitates before asking, "And this picture," hi points to an image of a nude muscular human with dark skin and a shaved head, with a penis hanging between their legs, "was what they called a 'man'?"
"That's right," Teacher Smith says, feeling heat creep onto hir cheeks. It is strange to think that humans once looked so different from each other, with their curves and inward or protruding sex organs. It is better now that no one has such things, that they are all straight lines and sexless.
"I think," Sam says, swiping hir tongue along hir bottom lip, "that this 'man' is very pleasing to look at."
Teacher Smith frowns. "I suppose there is elegance to the man's form, but nothing of beauty."
"No," Sam disagrees distantly, still peering at the image, "the man has an old, savage beauty."
The school bell rings and Teacher Smith rises, suddenly discomforted. "The school day is over, Sam. It's time you put back the book."
Sam looks up, confusion written on a hir face before remembrance strikes. Hi flushes, and gets to hir feet. Teacher Smith turns to head back to the classroom, but Sam stops hir. "Can I," shi asks, cheeks still red, "can I borrow this book for tonight? I promise to take special care of it and--"
"Of course you can," Teacher Smith says before hi can stop hirself.
Sam's face brightens. "Thank you!" shi says before running ahead into the classroom.
Teacher Smith watches hir go and feels uneasy. "It won't be that bad," hi mutters to hirself. Afterall, it isn't as if there were any 'men' left.
--
"Hir", "Hi" and other variations are all gender-neutral pronouns in the English language that was recently developed because English tends to be very gender binary.
| 2 | 0 | 54 | 41,815 |
[WP] After death, you find yourself in a room. Laying on a dresser is a letter to yourself, explaining that you are the great and powerful God. It goes on to say that you wished to truly experience the pains and joys of the human soul. The universe waits. Ready for you to speak.
|
I sat in a bare hotel room. It consisted of a double bed with threadbare sheets, a beat up dresser, a single lamp and an old CRT television. I hadn't looked in the bathroom. I didn't really want to.
When I woke up I didn't remember how I'd gotten here. I had looked around the room and found a letter addressed to myself. It was written in my own handwriting.
*Dear Self,*
*Did you have fun? Just kidding. I know you did. There's a lot of fun stuff to do in the universe. Wink wink nudge nudge if you know what I mean. Any whoozle, you're probably wondering what all of this means.*
*To start you're God. As in THE GOD. Of the entire universe. Pretty cool, huh? You're writing this letter to yourself.*
*Should I let this settle in? Probably not. You know it's true. I see what you're doing. You already think you're pretty top shit.*
*Onward and upward. You (Is it We? Me? I've never had to write to myself in mortal form. It's so much easier when You're all knowing, all encompassing and can see past, present, future as one) wanted to experience the mortal lifestyle. You wanted to feel what it would be like experience the pains and joy of being mortal. You thought You might better know mortals if you are one. I don't get it because I'm all knowing, but whatever. Such is the paradox of Us.*
*And now you've died.*
*We made this room for you. When you're done reading this letter you will go through the door. Once through you will be Us again. You will be all knowing, all powerful. While you were gone things kind of regressed. Our flock lost touch with Us. They want Us to be there. They need Us to be there for them. So, role up your sleeves and step through that door because We've got shit to do.*
*Love,*
*Me*
I put the letter down and looked at the door. I sniffed. What was the worst that could happen? My friends are outside the door and laughing at me? I shrugged, stuffed the letter and stood up.
Time to see what my future held.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! If you liked this visit my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| 2 | 0 | 71 | 193,466 |
[IP] "Another Sunrise"
|
The old man stood before the group and smiled. With this vantage point he could see for miles, and should someone see them, they could flee from the Inquisition. He peered at the individuals in front of him and gestured to the sunrise before them.
"We greet another dawn. The Inquisition has yet to find us. Luck may still be on our side yet." He mused, "Now, where did we leave off?"
"You were teaching us the alphabet, Professor!" A middle aged man spoke.
"Ah, yes. Did anyone want to try to write the first few letters?"
A hand shot up in the back. It was the town's former butcher who had been forced into hiding with the rest of the group after the Inquisition had found books of learning in his shed.
"Barry was it? I have a sheet of paper here. Try using the pencil to write. Hold it the way I showed you." The Professor beamed at his pupil.
Everyone gathered around the rock that Barry was sitting on. Shakily, he made out the first three letters of the alphabet in lower AND uppercase letters.
"Very good, Barry!" The Professor said as he scanned the horizon again, "Does anyone else want to try?"
One by one the people wrote the first three letters of the alphabet on the paper. Hushed tones of excitement spread through the small group. No one but the Professor had offered to teach them since it had been forbidden by the Inquisition.
After another hour of writing, and learning a few new letters, the Professor ended his lesson on writing. He hefted a sack off of the ground and pulled out a slightly scorched book. Thumbing through the pages, he hummed a merry little tune until he found the page he was searching for.
"This book," he began while still looking at the pages, "Is one that I saved from a fire. It tells the history of our country. Books like this were once very common and contained much knowledge. The Inquisition would have you believe that they have always controlled the world but that is not true. Many rulers have come and gone. Power is always shifting hands like the wind shifts the sands in the desert. What's important is that you use knowledge to sense the changes to come and act upon these changes - for better rather than for worse. You are all important despite what the Inquisition will tell you. It is my hope that maybe what I'm doing here will change the world. I know I will not see this change in my lifetime but for you there is hope."
Silence blanketed the group. The Professor often had interesting words to say before he taught something new. However, not one of them had ever heard anyone tell them that they were important.
"Ah but I am musing too much, no?" The Professor chuckled, "Let us get back to our lesson. We shall start in the ancient times before the sixth great war. When the ancient civilization of the Sumarians graced the earth over seven thousand years ago..."
| 2 | 0 | 8 | 13,305 |
[WP] "Passengers this isn't your captain speaking."
|
It was with a sigh that he looked at his wristwatch. A family heirloom, old, faded, but it still told the time, numbers blurring into one as the focus of his eyes softened. The springs from his chair jabbed into his back, and several flakes of paint had fallen from the ceiling and coalesced on his hair like some sort of lilac dandruff. The window-screen before him bore the residue of a long-dead bird, permanently ingrained on the glass.
Six hours. The journey was nowhere near as long, but traffic was horrendous. The Pilgrimage was today, and everybody was clamouring to be there. It was nearly an hour since he'd been able to move the tram anywhere. His arms had cramped into oblivion, and he started with a series of stretching exercises to try and combat this. The blood rushing into his limbs chilled him, but it was ecstatic.
His time was nearly over. That wasn't unexpected. Ever since the defeat of Death, a population tending towards infinity loomed, and the government - for perhaps the only time in its history - acted quickly, decisively, and in the correct way. Planned obsolescence became the buzzword of the day. Retirement became a fancy. It just didn't happen. Life in this modern world was simpler. You were born, you went to school, you got a job, just like it always had been. When you were twenty-five, you were assigned a spouse. The two of you got married, had children. The women were taken to hidden bunkers when their last child was married, never seen again. The men were left to live alone, for however long they had left, working a repetitive job with no prospects of promotion. Equilibrium would be maintained until the moment they turned sixty-five.
And then they'd be shut down. Or more accurately, the life-support chips implanted in their brains at birth would be shut down. They'd be forgotten.
He was sixty-four years old, sixty-four and 364 days. It was two minutes to midnight. Which meant he had only two minutes. He didn't mind his life ending - his wife had been committed fifteen years ago, his sons and daughters long out of touch, he had no friends. But there was nobody else to pilot the tram. It would leave the airways, fall to the sublevel grounds hundreds of feet below. The passengers wouldn't die, but they wouldn't live either. Their bodies would be torn into pieces, they'd be nothing more than heads and torsos, paralysed in wastelands the government didn't even know existed. They'd never complete the Pilgrimage, and they'd never be pure in the eyes of the Man.
One minute to midnight. Technically, he was retired. Sixty seconds of retirement, more than anybody ever expected to get, but he couldn't stop his job now. Reaching his hand out in a smooth motion, he activated the tram's announcement mechanism, pulled the rusting microphone to his lips.
"Ladies and gentlemen, passengers, making your Pilgrimage, this is your captain speaking. I have but a few words for you. Don't feel sorry for yourselves, when this day is done, but for the world. What world is it where we build in our expiry? Our destinies predetermined? It cannot be a good world."
He knew there would be confused faces, worried whispers in the seats, but he didn't really mind. He wouldn't see any of those faces, ever again.
Midnight. Happy Birthday. It's the end of your retirement, and all the usual spiel. He said it to himself, because he was still broadcasting. Then he spoke to the people on his tram one final time. "Passengers." His throat was filled with an immovable lump, but he soldiered on, choking back the pity. "Passengers, this *isn't* your captain speaking." Subsequently the channel was closed, and he was isolated once more. He closed his eyes, exhausted by life, and he saw only darkness.
In the darkness he found the knowledge of all things, and it was good and bad in equal measure. But in time his mind was filled with too much knowledge - he was cast out to the realm of light, and lived a life by the government's ideals. At the age of twenty-five, he was married to a beautiful woman. His prior life was no longer recalled.
On his twenty-eighth birthday, with his wife and his infant daughter, he took the Pilgrimage. The tram was old and in desperate need of repair, and traffic forced them to spend more hours than they wanted. His daughter wailed in childlike disgust, his wife whimpered for home comforts, but he looked out of the window, not really seeing what was beyond the glass but instead his own reflection. He seemed old before his years, grey hairs instead of his youthful brown.
A crackle struck the carriage, and from a tacky speaker came a tired voice. "Passengers, this *isn't* your captain speaking."
He remembered the words, knew what they signified. How could he not? It was, after all, his own words. He knew also that the cycle wouldn't break. Humanity had done everything to conquer immortality, but it only grew stronger. The cycle would continue forever.
| 1 | 0 | 161 | 119,622 |
[WP] When a person turns 18. they get to pick a statistic. For the rest of their life, they will know this statistic about anyone they meet (lies told, days left alive, etc.)
|
**General edit: if anyone is late to the party and would like to catch up with this WP in the right order (and at their own pace), the veritable legend that is /u/OC4815162342 has set me up a depository at /r/NWP1984stories/. To the veterans who have been here since the beginning: thank you for all your support - I wouldn't have done it without you**
**Last update: www.tinyurl.com/l2vryf9**
Justin liked being different. It seemed like *everyone* picked something to do with sex. It was so facile, so obvious, so goddamned human. Number of sexual partners, likelihood to shag, likelihood to felate *after* marriage... Justin felt that 18 was perhaps too young to make the choice of Instinct; at that age everyone only thinks about one thing. Justin just thanked God his parents had made a sensible choice.
In the beginning, some people had gone with the superhero angle - trying to save the world, one criminal at a time. Unfortunately, you could only fine-tune the Instinct so far, and number of crimes committed meant just that: after a couple of months it became apparent that the Superheros had wasted their Instinct: they might as well have just picked "number of speeding tickets evaded".
Some of the psychologists and neurlogists and doctors had formed small guilds, each deliberately picking a different statistic: odds of developing cancer, Alzheimers, Type II Diabetes. A simple walk past the panel provided all the information insurance companies would ever need. Premiums soared. Then genome funding collapsed; drug trials became faster and more accurate. Premiums collapsed.
Gambling, of course, took a hit. The bookies hired the best they could afford, but those whose Instincts were more refined knew where to go and when to bet. The financial markets went the same way.
Politics became nearly impossible. Once a senator's lie-count was determined all you had to do was send the pundit with the appropriate Instinct to watch him speak. All it took was a well-known pundit standing near the lecturn or the senate-floor to cough, each time his Instinct flared to bring down careers. We quickly learned there were few honest policians, and somethings we'd rather not know.
The Instinct had been a blessing and curse. Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss. Justin wanted to be different.
The clock blinked over to midnight. He closed his eyes and whispered gently into his pillow.
| 722 | 1 | 754 | 100,562 |
[WP] the final days of man, as seen from humanity's heirs.
|
I backed away, eyes wide, as I watched the odd creature spring towards me. I had been out in the depths of the forest, gathering food for the village pot. Momentarily forgetting my task, I stared at the odd thing curiously. It had the shape of one of us, with two legs, two arms, and a head, but it seemed to have none of the mobility. I felt a moment of pity for it, it seemed so clumsy.
It made odd noises, pointed back the way it had come. I leaped over to it in one easy bound and squatted there in front of it. "Can you speak?" I asked curiously. It looked like one of us, after all, sort of.
It made more noises, and I concluded that it couldn't.
"Sister, get away from it," my older brother called. "It could be dangerous."
"Well, it hasn't attacked me yet," I retorted, flattening my ears and narrowing my eyes at him.
"But it could," my brother pointed out. His eyes flicked restlessly from side to side, each one looking in a different direction.
I sighed. I supposed he did have a point. Carefully getting up, I backed away from the strange creature and told it politely, "Well, go on then, leave."
It only seemed to get more agitated, and took a step towards me, making louder noises, although they were just as nonsensical as before.
An arrow slammed into its chest and it fell back. I looked away, making an expression of disgust, not caring to watch the hunters swarm through the forest and start to skin it. "Did they really have to kill it?" I asked, frowning.
My brother shrugged. "It's only an animal, and they haven't brought anything back for the pot in several days. Come over here, little sis. I found some ripe ones."
"Finally!" I cheered, and bounded over to where he was. We stripped the green-leafed bush of its berries as the hunters behind us stripped the strange creature of its hide, both of us working to feed our family.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 139,115 |
[WP] A person who lost their arm now feels something or someone touching their phantom limb.
|
Anthony lost his forearm, elbow included, in an machinery accident at his parent's farm. At the hospital, the doctors deemed it too late re-attach. They haven't the insurance anyways, so he just let it be. Anthony missed holding a coffee and a bagel at the same time, but mostly he became used to it.
He was well aware his misfiring nerves tricking his brain into thinking what wasn't there was. At night, with his eyes close, he could still feel his left arm resting against the cool covers. At times it felt like it was submerged in liquid, or even someone was gently holding his fingers. The feeling was a minor annoyance, at first not even entirely unpleasant. It only came in brief, weak spasmodic moments anyways (although Anthony noted with increasing worry that feelings in his lost limb seemed to get stronger with each passing day).
A few weeks later, the phantom feelings became constant, almost as if his arm was still attached. Yet it was not doing the same things as the rest of his body. At night, he couldn't fall asleep, with the sensation that his left arm was being prodded and pinched by fingers or some other instruments.
One day, the pain because unbearable.
Anthony was working on Calculus when he felt a white hot pain running down the lengths of missing left arm. The pain stopped at his palm, then a moment later, ran across his hand horizontally. Anthony dropping his pencil and cradled his stump, screaming. It was like someone was running a knife across his skin. The blood rushed from head as he collapsed on the floor in excruciating pain. His brother found him in this state, and rushed him to the hospital. All the while, Anthony had his eyes clenched shut, tears escaping due to pain radiating from a hand that wasn't there anymore. At one point, he felt someone grasp the skin of his hands and slowly peeled it back. He nearly fainted.
A hour later, the pain stopped as suddenly as it came. His missing hand still throbbed brutally, and did not feel quiet complete. But there was more feelings of knives and pins. At the hospital, the same doctor who had first treated him prescribed him some strong painkillers, stating that there were cases where pain from phantom limb syndrome was quite severe.
Anthony took the explanation at face value and did his own research. He felt the knives and clamps as if it was actually happening on an arm still attached to him. Surely phantom limb syndrome was not that precise?
That night a thought, initially dismissed as ridiculous, came to him again. The next day he called the hospital.
"Sure, we kept your arm, we keep all the detached limbs and teeth that comes the hospitals way", the doctor on the line said.
"Ah, no, we don't dispose of them. After we run some preliminary tests, we embalm suitable specimens. The donor specimens are prossected by medical students in anatomy, to their great benefit."
And the doctor told him, yes, it is general policy. We did mention it to you, you must have forgotten about your parents consenting. We still have your forms.
Anthony told the doctor rudely that he no longer wanted the students to dissect his arm.
There was no more pain that day, or the next, or the next.
On the fourth day Anthony noticed that his missing arm was feeling strangely warm, and kind of clammy.
Anthony called the hospital again. "What happens to discarded anatomy specimens?"
"That is confidential." Said the doctor.
Now his arm was almost unbearable hot.
Anthony tried google. Google said anatomy specimens were rarely discarded, but when they were, a third party cremation company usually took care of the task in a safe and hygenic way.
Anthony didn't have time to reach the painkillers before the terrible burning fully started in his missing limb.
| 3 | 0 | 9 | 52,034 |
[WP] A person who lived a very complete life dies. Yet they regret one thing. they get to relive that moment, and change it.
|
Dying was like going to sleep. A little easier in fact, since I have always been a lousy sleeper. One minute I am in the VA hospital with tubes streaming from my body, my kids Sam and Jenny holding my hands, that old brown stained ceiling tile above my head that had dominated my view for the last two weeks. Then the next I was floating in a field of pure white. My joints didn't hurt anymore, and I didn't feel cold or scared. Just warm. I float like this for a while, maybe a long while, I can't tell. But it also feels like an instant, like when you see that car about to hit you, or that game winning pass arcing towards your hands. Or like the time that...
I think about Sam and Jenny. The kids. God what a beautiful pair they grew up to be. Sam is a writer you know, won a couple of Pulitzer prizes that I think he gave to the grandkids to play with. And Jenny... she's the perfect image of her mother, but where she got her smarts from I'll never know. Certainly wasn't me. She's a doctor, and a pretty damn good one. We ran out of room in two scrap books full of letters and pictures from the patients she had saved. I think she was really upset she couldn't save her dear old dad. I hope she doesn't carry that with her.
A man takes stock of his life periodically. Two weeks on my back with a broken hip, the last two weeks I might add, gave me plenty of time to think. I've lived a full life, a great life. I started thinking backwards chronologically about the milestones. It was a tip Jenny gave me that was supposed to help ward off dementia. Maybe it worked, since it was my body that gave out at the end and not my mind. Two fantastic kids coming into their own as adults, the grandkids growing like sprouts. The family business doing well and providing us with a comfortable life full of vacations to Europe. Martha's death... Not a bright memory, but the kids rallied around me and helped their old dad learn how to be a bachelor again. Going back further, buying our first house, the kids being born, graduating from college on the GI Bill. Mustering out of the Army as the war ended.
I wasn't floating anymore. There it was, that last thing I didn't want to think about. The thing that made sleeping hard sometimes. The air becomes hot, filled with the smell of smoke and gunpowder. My legs are pumping as fast as they can, my lungs are on fire between the adrenaline and fouled air. Nicky Faizolo is right behind me, yelling at me to run in that funny Brooklyn accent the way he always does. "Run ya bastad, run!" Most of the time it was because we were fleeing from an incident at the enlisted men's club that I started and Nicky finished. Bullets like angry bees pinged off the rubble and piles of brick around us. We ran.
I hadn't thought about this in a long time. The technical term the shrinks might have used was "repressed the memory". Nobody likes to think about the most shameful moment in their life.
Nicky screams out, its high pitched and he's clutching his lower back. His legs give out on him and he tumbles. There's a red stain where he's got his hand. I slide around and make to get him, but a hail of bullets chases me back to what's left of a garden wall. Nicky and I have been together since boot. He's trying to make a brave face of it now, I can see him as I peek around the wall. Nicky sees me too. He knows what I'm thinking, the way I'm tensing and trying to judge the distance.
"Run ya bastad... run..."
This was the point that I ran, in my life. Over Nicky's shoulder I had seen the enemy coming, big scary shapes loping through the haze. They had slowed their advance and moved with a more deliberate, murderous pace. Nicky had urged me on with his chin, then rolled over to surprise his soon to be killers with some distraction fire. I ran and ran and ran.
I can see that trail leading off, how I ran to safety, regrouped with our unit. Made it through the war and back home. Looking down that path from my spot behind the garden wall, I can see time moving forward again. Meeting Martha, going to college, buying our house, the kids. All of it happened because Nicky told me to run and I did. I left my friend there to die. I see Martha and the kids standing there on that path. They're looking at me with tears in their eyes. They know.
I fix a bayonette to my rifle. I round the garden wall at a sprint. Nicky, I'm coming for you.
| 46 | 0 | 14 | 14,869 |
[WP] A suicidal man, who is unaware of his immortality, attempts to hang himself. His roommate finds him alive and well, whilst hanging.
|
Well, here I am, at the end of my rope I suppose. Heh, I probably shouldn't be making jokes like that, but why does it matter anyways? 'Nothing fucking matters anymore,' how cliche. I've never really had that much against living, having to work was a pain and not being able to waste away was a bummer, but it had its perks. Like Emma. I really, really do miss Emma. I try not to think about it.
There was a lot that went into this decision, aside from the planning of the event. There wasn't much in the way of this decision, I mean, rent just hiked up and my jobs gone, my parents will kill me themselves if I every try and make contact with them, and the only thing that has kept me sane is fucking dead. I still remember when she stayed with me every night my parents fought. And they blame me, like it was my fault. The classic dead-beat dad who just short on luck, and the drug-addicted mother who just needs another dose before she puts me to bed. Maybe I don't even blame them, but I digress.
Kyle wanted me out anyways, too. Its a win-win for us both, he'll understand that. Then maybe finally his girlfriend who he loves so very much can move in. This fine example of the human struggle, was found in a bar somewhere on his late night outings, what a storwait what the hell was that? He isn't supposed to be home for another hour! Fuck fuck! I guess it's now over never.
What the hell? No life flashing before my eyes, and his words are still coming in clear?
"Yo, bro? Are you home? The door was unlocked and you never forget it and I need to talk to you about Jenny..."
He is already on his way to my room, what a fucking asshole, can't he see I'm trying to die here? Oh fuck the doors not locked!
"Hey Kyle...."
".... wanna borrow my gun?"
| 2 | 0 | 102 | 29,477 |
[WP] You wake up late one afternoon to find that you have been given control of any one element. But you are not the only one...
|
The world has officially gone crazy.
That's what I thought as I sat inside an old abandoned building while people form into their own groups of element and rage war against each other. Even the government broke down after the nuclear reactor exploded last month. I don't understand the hype. I really don't.
So I sat here, waiting for the right time to use my own element. A few minutes has passed and I could already feel the Fire users approaching my area. I sipped my Mountain Dew just as they incinerated my door to ashes. I sighed heavily as their leader yelled. "You are goin' down, mothafucka. You think you're the frigging God around here? That's our line, Biatch!"
I regarded them coolly and as I stood up, they fired. Literally. Flames covered me from head to toe but it disappeared with no apparent harm to myself. The look on their faces are so comical that it made me laugh. "You dare step into my turf and threaten me?" I chuckled and wiped away a non-existent tear before advancing towards them with a slightly insane smile. "I am the Void! You idiots think you can go around *my* city and blast away with your elements? Try again." I waved my hand in a flicking motion and they dropped dead.
I stepped gingerly around their dead bodied while saying. "I do not understand Humans. Do you?" I asked the man standing near the door with a sad look on his face. "Life?" I waved my hand in front of his face and he snapped out of it. With a deep sigh, he hugged me. "I do not understand them either, Death. But we have to stop Chaos before this escalates. I do not want any more life to be wasted."
I pulled away with an awkward silence before whispering. "Yes, we have to find Chaos before he makes my job more tedious than it already is." I looked at the distance and sighed. "Oh look, more work for me. Yay." I said with a fake cheery tone as the Water users approach our area.
| 1 | 0 | 9 | 102,094 |
[WP] A mother makes a phone call to her 8-year-old son, explaining that she won't be returning home.
|
"Tracey…." His voice trails off.
"I'm sorry Randy. I love you so much. Please let me talk to Simon. Just let me hear his voice. Let him he--." I choke. "Let him hear me one more time. Please."
I hear Randy hesitant, I can feel his body shivering through the phone, see the tears coming from his eyes. "Ok," his voice quivers.
I hear shuffling as the phone is put down and take this brief moment to cough violently as smoke continues to pile into the room. Please let me talk to Simon one more time. Let me hear his little voice just once more.
"Mom?" I hear him say. I almost start crying. I can hear his father in his voice.
"Si-Simon." I manage to choke out, clutching the phone tightly to my ear, trying to get my baby as close to me as I can. "How was school today Simon? What'd you do?"
"We got to draw pictures!!! I made a picture of a dog. Mommy, can I have a dog? Andrew's parents just got him a puppy." He whined. He's wanted a dog for a while now, but after three goldfish toilet flushing and the singed tail of the neighbor's cat, Randy and I decided a dog would not be a good decision.
"You'll—you'll have to talk to your father about it. What else did you do? Did you do well on your math quiz?"
I could hear Simon fidgeting over the phone. Math is not his strongest subject. His father, the infinitely patient, mechanical engineer Randy, does best tutoring our son, but Simon just doesn't seem to grasp it. He's taken after me in that regard.
"Simon, honey. Mommy has something to tell you." I say, trying to hide the tears in my voice.
"You're getting me a dog??!!" He shouts excitedly.
"N-no Simon. You're not getting a dog. Not today—" A coughing fit seizes me, the smoke burning itself deep within my lungs.
"Mom, are you sick?" Simon asks, a hint of fear in his little voice.
"No baby, I'm not sick but-but," I pause and violently wipe away the tears that have formed deep trails on my soot cover face. "I'm not coming home for dinner tonight."
"What?" He shouts, tears instantly bubbling in his voice. "Why?!"
"I just can't Simon. I'm so sorry. I want to be there, but—something has come up and I can't make it home tonight."
I can hear Simon crying now, almost a sob, but not quite.
"Simon," I quiver. "Sweety. I'm not coming home tomorrow night either. Or the night after the that. Simon….I'm not going to be coming home at all anymore."
I hear my son stop crying, trying process what I've said. "Mommy…" He whispers. He hasn't called me Mommy since he was four. "Why?"
A loud crash sounds outside my door and the heat of fire blazes closer to me.
"Simon, baby. My precious son. I love you so much. I want you to know that. I want you to know that I love you more than anything in the world. I'm so so sorry. Simon…" I'm overwhelmed by my tears and begin to sob into my hands. I'm never going to see him again. I will never see his smile again, hold his hand, smell his head when I pick him up from school. I won't play with him again, run through the house with walk talkies pretending to be spies on a secret mission, learn which of his transformers are fighting with each other, or play trucks with him. I am never going to get to watch him grow old, watch him marry, see him give me grandchildren. I will never…
"If you love me," Simon cries through large sobs. "Wh-why won't you come home?"
"Simon…" The fire bursts through my door. Hungry flames eating all it could touch. "Simon, I love you forever."
I hang up the phone.
I watch as the fire runs towards me, the heat beginning to singe my hair. I heard his voice one more time. I cross my fingers and look towards the ceiling and beg, "Lord, please Lord, let Simon be angry with me today, but let him know that I love him forever tomorrow."
The fire began to eat at my clothes and skin, and I could no longer contain my screams. With the last of my strength I gave my last prayer, "Please protect and let him know how much his mommy loves him."
| 2 | 0 | 26 | 168,200 |
[WP] Write the last passage, or last several passages, of a non-existent monumental novel completely out of context.
|
Shelby took a breath like a diver before stepping out into the cold rain.
He was still out there in his ripped up costume. His mask tilted to the side so that she could finally see his one good eye. Blue, like an angry sky. His mouth coughed blood as he knelt, adding to the pool beneath him.
The giant rocks near were splintered into pieces, propped up against the splintered and bent over trees. Craters filled with water as the rain continued.
"I should have won," he said.
"Probably. You're bigger than us. Smarter than us. Richer than us," she said, toeing the ground near him with her pink boot. She still thought they'd look better with flashing lights.
"They told me you were kids. They told me it would be easy."
Shelby shook the water from her hair. "Dana thinks it would be sad if you died alone but I don't much care. You killed my mother. She wasn't very bright and she hiccupped when she laughed. But she was mine."
She raised her arms as she left the man on the ground. A crack of lighting lit up behind her, hitting the ground like an explosion.
| 1 | 0 | 37 | 82,071 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a superpower, but no one knows what theirs is until they are forced to use it in a life-or-death situation.
|
Sometimes you don't realize until after it happened that that's what went down. it's not that people are standing around going "Oh my god! how did you live?!" but simply that you do live and it seems normal. Probably why people get these powers in the first place. I mean, adaptive responses to the environment is what evolution is all about, right?
That's what happened with my sister, she can breathe underwater. She didn't find out by not drowning, she just never drowned. We were kids the first time I remember her showing off, fucking around swimming underwater down by the dock on the lake and she didn't come up, and she didn't come up and it seemed like it was too long and then up she popped with that dumb grin on her stupid fish-face to call us all losers.
Turns out the first time this happened must've been at the baby-swim classes my mother took us both too as infants. Some kind of accident happened, except that it didn't. Some times you don't put the pieces together until years later when you realize that being underwater as long as you like isn't something everybody can do.
Now me, it's not that I don't feel cold, I'll be the first one to tell you I can feel the cold just as well as anybody, and summers are better for a nice fruit popsicle. it's that I don't get *killed* by cold, it'll set in for a minute and then my metabolism kinda powers on and just as quickly I'm warm as toast. When I was a kid I'd stay out rolling snowballs and I'd lose gloves the same as any kid, but my hands never seemed to stiffen up the same way, and I was one of those assholes who wear short sieves in winter, but that's a type right? nobody thinks of that as a power.
The trigger must have been that year when I was maybe four or five when I wandered off to play in the snow and was out for hours without a hat, but that's not a story. Dad found me playing in a snowdrift and I "miraculously" was fine and just didn't want to come inside. I don't even remember it. I just could've died and I didn't. I've got a million non-stories like that. Times when I fell off a boat and didn't get hypothermia, times when I didn't need to come in, it took working the big snow of '09 before I realized this was *my thing*.
"Just not dying? Just never having an accident get out of hand when you're around? Maybe you've just never been in real danger." Some people still think like that, they all want super strength or flying, the flashy powers you can't really do that much with. but me, I like being preventative medicine.
Anyways, I like working skipatrol. It's a boring job. Nothing bad ever really happens.
| 8 | 0 | 1,420 | 155,090 |
[WP] You are a character in a story who just became aware of the fact that you are a character in a story.
|
Tired of this Stalk Life
I had realized it a while ago. Well no, thats not completely right. I'd had a feeling about it a while ago. I finally come to fully understand today. I was stuck. Every day I was reliving the same story over and over again. What am I talking about, you ask? Well my life of course. Or really, my lack thereof one. See, my name is Jack… though you might know me better as The Giantkiller. Yup, Fee Fie Foo Fum and all that tosh.
So, what am I going on about you wonder? Well, it's all made up. All of it! I thought I'm some great giant slayer; strong, brave and swimming in riches, but I'm not. Not really. Thing is, it's all a story. I've slowly come to realize that. Life just felt so repetitive. I didn't like it, there had to be more. Theres always this odd feeling, like you really want to do this one thing and nothing else. Plus, there was always this feeling of being watched. Bunch of eyes on you all the time.
At first I thought it was all silly. We are in a town, of course people watch you. And it must just be fate, leading you in the right direction. But then I realized no, its different. I was at the market trying to sell a milk cow my family has for something useful. This one coot kept pestering me with these stupid beans and for some reason I really wanted to buy them. But they're beans, how ridiculous is that trade? A cow for a few beans some loony is trying to tell me are magic. No, there was this great looking goat and some chickens at the next stall over that would have made a much better trade. But try as I might, I couldn't do anything about it. I found myself agreeing and in awe of everything the loon said and making his ridiculous trade. I couldn't believe how stupid I was being and yet there I was, telling my mother about the magic beans I had just bought. And what really got to me was that it felt familiar, like I had done this before.
Then, I had that strange feeling of being watched. While mother was going on about the stupid beans, I got the feeling again. Well I paid attention this time, I was at home, who could be watching? I kept looking for where someone could be hidden. Thats when I noticed something strange above the clouds. There was a face in the sky! It seemed far away and blurry but it was there, I could see it peering down at us. That face, that was the biggest clue to finding that my life is nothing but a story. I kept watching that face every day. It followed me everywhere. While I went about my chores, while I cared for the stalk, even as I battled the giant. And then all the sudden it was gone. Just as I had defeated the giant and cut down the bean stalk, it went missing. And just like that I blacked out.
Well, after that I kept paying attention, and today I finally put it all together. The same thing kept happening to me every day. I keep buying the stupid beans and not what I really wanted, I keep feeling the eyes watching me, and whenever I defeat the giant, the eyes would always leave and I'd black out. I only ever came to when the eyes were watching me again. See! like I said, it's a story. The eyes are someone reading us. As soon as the story finishes, they leave and shut the book for the next person to come and read it. And every time they finish the book, we all black out until we are to be read again.
The thing is no one else seems to realize anything. They all would go about doing the same thing over and over and never seem to make a move to try something different. But then again, no one else ever looks up to see the eyes watching everything. They don't realize that once the eyes leave, once the book shuts,everything stops.
The book is shut now but I think since I figured it out last time it was open, I dont think it works on me. Thats why I'm writing this. So that the next time I wake up, I'll have something to remind me, something to make it that I don't fall into the same boring trap. Just in case. The villagers might not know it but I do, and I don't want this anymore. Im tired of fighting off the bloody giant and saving everyone only to have all the fame and riches taken away from me. And I'm tired of knowing that that's all I have to look forward to. One day, someone reading is going to forget. They won't close the book. And when they do… I'm making a break for it.
| 2 | 0 | 9 | 60,157 |
[WP] "Passengers, this isn't your captain speaking."
|
Joe hesitates to move to the only other free seat. Only for a few minutes, though. His routine flight from Vancouver to Toronto is becoming a nightmare due to the large mid-forties man snoring beside him.
He takes the chance when the stewardess has started to hand out the drinks. He doesn't want to miss a short (but clear) flirtation with the prettiest flight attendant he's ever seen.
He grabs his carry-on and sits beside an average-looking twenty-something guy just in time to chat up the stewardess. As he does this, the twenty-something stares in awe as he gets a phone number with his ginger ale.
As the beautiful woman (named Georgia, he learned) is out of earshot the twenty-something leans over, "she's gotta be ten years younger than you. How in the hell did you do that? I mean, no offense, I..." The twenty-something trails off.
"No offense taken. I didn't think you'd recognise me. I'm an up-and-coming Canadian tv star. I'm still surprised she knew me. Not exactly in her demographic." He winks, taking a sip of his ginger ale.
"The name's Howard," the man offers, holding out his hand.
Joe is quite the germaphobe but he manages to shake his hand an say "Joe."
"Look, Joe. You seem like a cool guy. That's why it's a shame I..."
But just then some turbulence starts and the captain comes onto the loudspeaker, "Uh, this is your captain speaking. We're experiencing some mild turbulence. Please buckle your seatbelts and stay out of the hallways. Make sure your belongings are secure."
"Haha. Turbulence my ass. See, Joe, I know a thing or two about today. I think we're in for a real treat." At that moment, Howard stands up and the turbulence gets worse.
"Howard! Get down!" Joe says, trying to pull him back to his seat. But Howard somehow seems to expect the change in intensity and gets into the aisle.
"This is not your captain speaking. Obviously. But I have something to say," Howard yells. A large male flight attendant is already on his way to apprehend Howard, but Howard moves quickly around the cabin to avoid being caught.
"They're coming for us today. The captain can see them but he's saying it's just turbulence. They want-" but Howard is apprehended before he has time to finish his screaming tirade. Joe is asked to switch seats so the attendant can sit beside Howard and keep him quiet.
Joe moves back to his original seat but can still hear some of Howard's strange speech. It kind of gives him the creeps as the turbulence worsens yet again.
All of a sudden, there's screaming on the speaker system, "God help us! They... Sorry, stay seated but... Jesus Christ! We have made first contact! I repeat we have-" but then the speaker system goes all staticy and a woman's laugh is heard.
"The captain is simply joking along with the other man." A female voice seems to choke, "It has been a long day. we're about an hour from Toronto. Just hold tight."
A strange hour passes and they're ready to land. The sun is very bright so everyone has their windows closed but Joe can't wait to see land and get out of this madhouse. Joe looks over at Howard and he is just smiling eerily. It almost looks like he's been drugged.
Joe hears gasping as people are let off the plane. The plastic smile of the staff does not soothe him.
As he steps out into the sunlight and sees the strange foliage, buildings and beings around him, he is greeted with one thought: "this is not fucking Toronto."
Edit: fixed change from 3rd to 1st person
| 8 | 0 | 212 | 157,746 |
[MODPOST] Sunday Free Write: The Camp Fire Edition
|
I wrote this in response to a prompt here many months ago. It was a simple prompt titled the first kiss.
The kiss lingered and lasted a lifetime. This is my memory of it, but I'll need to go back to the beginning so you can understand the gravity of it.
Saying the date went well would be an understatement. She was ravishing. A rare case of a picture on the internet not being as good as the genuine article. The whirlwind romance we had online would be unrivaled. Our messages only increased in length as we built up a fervor of anticipation. When I finally met her at the coffee shop, it was a culmination of a month of back and forth.
We had traded verbal barbs, her over my predilection towards coffee snobbery and me over her propensity for tea drinking. Really, only the first minute of our meeting was at all awkward. Perhaps awkward wouldn't be the best word in the situation, though. It was a moment for pause. We were both drinking the other in, I feel. She stopped me in my tracks and I in hers.
Without hesitation, the conversation began. It was animated, heated, passionate. She laughed at every joke, not once out of pity. I hung on her every word when she spoke, devoured every syllable. She played with her hair, twirling thick strands in her fingers as recalled a funny story that seems so distant now. The date was like bottled lightning. That isn't even my opinion, she said it!
She felt comfortable enough to allow me to walk her home. We held hands and talked. It felt like electricity was coursing through my veins when our fingers intertwined. I thought I'd fall over for how fast my heart was beating. We walked in a wordless silence that yet was filled with an unspoken conversation.
The stillness of the moment was broken not with words, but with the crush of two tons of rapidly moving steel. This is the part of the date she pleaded that I not replay in my head. After I shouted my fury at the drowsy man stumbling out of the wreck. He was rapidly awakening from a dream, while I was falling into one. This had to be one, after all, right? There is no way that the only thing keeping my love alive was the very thing that had her pinned against the concrete wall.
I was still holding her hand throughout. She calmly said that she'd very much like for me to stay with her. Of course I'd stay with her, are you crazy? We were still trading barbs, even now. We both knew what would happen soon, she said we'd both seen enough movies, the outcome is spoken for. She soothed my nerves by assuring me that there was no pain. I should have been the one soothing hers, yet there she was thinking of me.
She said she was feeling a little cold, even though it was the middle of a heat wave. I said that, present situation aside, this was the best date I'd ever had. I had no qualms in professing my love this early in the relationship. She laughed a small laugh and said she found it hard to not tell me she loved me at the start of the date. Then she said she really wasn't like those other girls and, would I mind if she was a bit forward and asked for a kiss on the first date.
Our lips met, she even gently slipped her tongue to meet mine. The kiss lingered and lasted a lifetime.
| 5 | 0 | 9 | 62,204 |
[WP] The secret to eternal life is discovered... and it's really goddamn stupid.
|
New extensive research from Harvard University suggests that masturbating while looking at /r/gonewild will make subjects live forever and achieve immortality. "We are at the threshold of unraveling the secret of immortality - and the answer might be found in an area which initially eluded many of us conducting rigorous research here at Harvard," the lead investigator of the study claimed.
"They ignored my suggestions," said a psychologist involved in the masturbation discovery. "It was right under our noses the whole time. Our evidence appears to indicate that the magical formula for attaining an eternal existence requires nothing more than staring for prolonged intervals at a subreddit and a hand. Statistics don't lie." The subreddit which the eminent psychologist is alluding to is known by its subscribers to be none other than /r/gonewild, a subreddit where redditors get to see photos of nearly or completely naked females.
A controlled experiment replicated the same exact results with an 100 percent accuracy everytime: Experimental subjects masturbating to /r/gonewild content underwent a physiological reaction which miraculously slowed down their aging process. Further analysis will attempt ruling out scientific confirmation bias from peer reviewed papers.
"We're definitely on to something. It's this simple. Just head on to /r/gonewild and masturbate. You'll want to thank me for it later," the leading researcher sternly concluded.
| 4 | 0 | 34 | 117,284 |
[EU] - A zergling breaks free from the control of the hive mind.
|
"Go OuT aNd PlAy WiTh ThE tErRaNs" the hivemind had ordered the newly hatched brood of four legged xenomorphs and they spread out through the jungle sinking long hooked claws in the moist ground, propelling themselves between parting trees at breakneck speed with powerful elegant moves, taking in the many smells rich with the promise of prey, half mad with the joy of the first hunt.
When he entered the clearing he was filled with a pleasant weariness. He'd gone farther than all the others, having allowed himself no rest, ever hungry to gaze upon new sights. He went on slower now, bringing in his head all the images he had acquired, dwelling on each, remembering smells, and motions, and almost ran into the small human without noticing it.
With barely contained excitement he ran a few circles around it, he sniffed at it deeply then snorted air out at it again and again just so he could see the human's long hair scatter and fall back down in fascinating patterns.
"I'm not afraid" the child declared and tried her very best to look big as she had been taught, with only moderate success. She considered feeling guilty because she hadn't been entirely truthful, but then she decided the creature couldn't talk so no one will know.
The xenomorph bopped its nose into the human with what he thought counted as gentleness, causing it to fall over. Evidently something had gone wrong with the cloning process, some out of place gene had caused this one to either be stupid enough to take his orders too literally, or smart enough to pretend to do so, for it was determined to play and play and then play some more.
"Stop it!" commanded the child as it got back up on its small feet, and with something not unlike wry humor it amused the alien to whimper, shuffle backward and look downward at being reprimanded.
"PlAy HaRdEr" the overmind commanded with a note of exasperation, and the xenomorph starting running really fast here and there, jumping over the child, rolling over in front of her, and generally making a spectacle of itself.
"UsE yOuR TeEtH" tried the overmind once more before resolving to find better uses of its APM elsewhere, and he came at the child with a giant open mouth full of rows of sharp teeth. At this the child showed her own and made her hands into claws, in a fierce display calculated to instill proper respect in her adversary.
If such sight hadn't already caused the alien to fall in love he certainly did so when she produced the brightly colored ball. He begged and whimpered and pounced the ground in place and sniffed and snorted. "Fetch!" the girl said and he knew he had found his place in the world.
Off he ran and back he ran, carrying the ball with affection and care, putting it down proudly. They spent the rest of the day with much joy and in the evening he let her climb on his shoulders and guide him home.
"Mommy, can we keep it, can we?!" the girl asked with a tone that brooked no opposition.
| 6 | 0 | 56 | 6,463 |
[WP] You are a fervent believer in a abrahamic faith who once dead, face an obscure pagan god.
|
Spitting out sand, Clare opened her eyes and stared directly at the sun, recalling where she was and reverting into a numb state. She listened for her captors to start the noon prayers and waited in a peaceful limbo of nothingness.
Until she heard the ocean.
Clare bolted upright, unnerved. How could they have moved her this far in her sleep? After two years of torture and endless praying, she had resigned herself to death.
Clare's training came back to her slowly as she made her way quietly - silently - across the beach. She strained to hear even the faintest whisper of a foreign tongue and was relieved to find nothing.
After slipping a jagged rock from the shore line into her pocket, Clare grabbed a thick branch and made her way into the brush looking for tracks. After so long without moving, Clare was surprised to find her body nimble. Elated to be uncaged, her heart was bursting with the need to run; she hadn't felt this in a long time. Clare breathed in a scent that had escaped her for years: Freedom.
-SNAPClare whirled around at a faint sound, crouching into a predatory pose, her head cocked to the side. Excitement quickly turned to panic as she imagined being caught - again.
Not willing to take chances, Clare leapt from the foliage, moving quickly across a terrain that was changing fast from beach to jungle. She heard her pursuer crashing through the woods carelessly now, determined only to catch her. A horse neighed somewhere in the distance. Blood pumped in Clare's veins as electric adrenaline threatened to steal her grace. Unable to justify a glance behind her to see the face of this new threat, Clare pumped her legs harder.
Blindly dodging trees, Clare could only hope this forest wouldn't be her damnation. She sent up a small prayer to god, to Allah, to whatever she was supposed to say now - to whomever her captors would force her to worship this time. She gasped for air, her hair tickling her neck as she ran. How can I keep this up, Clare thought in desperation. She heard a faint rumble of who she used to be as it whispered, how could she not.
Clare pushed herself harder and felt the earth give way beneath her before she mentally understood what was happening. The swift movement of her pursuer suddenly ceased as she felt her shoulder pull back and her weight shift towards the stranger.
Clare's last thought before she went turned around was how quickly she has wasted her freedom. She was shocked to find the face of a woman, lips curled in a wry smile of excitement.
Hands clasped her shoulders in comradery as the woman began to speak.
"I'm Artemis," the woman gestured towards the edge of the treeline, as if there was something great just beyond it. "Welcome to Paradise Island."
| 2 | 0 | 215 | 211,515 |
[CW] Write a story where each sentence begins with the next letter of the QWERTY keyboard.
|
Que the music.
"We *have* to go!" mom had said.
Everything is like that with her. Really, I should be used to it by now. The truth is I don't mind that much but giving a shit keeps me from dying of boredom. Yeah I need a hobby. Unsurprisingly I have few friends and surprisingly the same goes for mom.
"Up there!" she whispers as she points to the dancers being lowered onto the stage.
In an instant her attention is consumed by the dancers as they leap and bound across the stage to some old time sounding music. Over the cheesy music I can faintly hear her squeals of joy as her nails dig into my arm with excitement. Patiently I sit and endure the performance and the pain for her enjoyment.
After a while I can see that she is already getting bored. She glances around the theatre, musses up my hair, digs through her purse, all in pursuit of another short-lived tizzy of excitement. During this I begin to feel restless as well and looking around the theatre spot one of my few friends.
Fitz looks over in confusion when he sees me shyly waving my hand. God, I suck at this friend thing. Having put all my last efforts into being sociable, I slump back down into my seat. Just as I'm getting over my embarrassment mom gives me an urgent pat on the shoulder that tells me we have to go now.
"Kyle we should watch the stars dance! Let's see the stars instead!"
Zipping out of the theater as fast as we can go I lead her outside. Xylophones and flutes fade into the background as we whop through the doors to the outside. Carefully we leap around the puddles on the ground whilst looking at the stars. Venus is shining bright tonight.
Beneath my cold expression I can feel the wish for it to always be like this. Nowhere will have as much childish excitement as with her. Moving quickly, we have to go.
| 1 | 0 | 19 | 76,180 |
[WP]An old hag has cursed you with immortality.Wondering how that is supposed to be a curse you started enjoying your life. Now you are floating in the void after the heat death of the universe thinking about the past.
|
After the fire, there was darkness. After the darkness, there was nothing.
"-baby! I can take a kiss from a rose and the duh, duh-duhduhduh-"
In the spinning coid that was all that remained of the universe, a brown dwarf ceased its struggles and finally dissipated into unbeing; finally, all was quiet in the sea of shadow.
"-oooh child, things are gonna get easier yeah! Ooh child, things are gonna get briighter!"
Unseen, unheard, lost and forgotten by all that lived so long ago, a naked man spun through the remains of space and time. His hair flowed wildly from his head, a brown ribbon spinning out for miles. Every so often he would cease his infinite repetition of half-remembered songs to bite off nails, trying unsuccessfully to push them away from his ring of locks.
"-and you say he's just a friend, and you say he's just a friend OH BABY YOOOOUUU!!!! You got what I neeeed!"
The sad lump of humanity, the pathetic, starved, and horrifically off-key new core of the universe, floated onward, stopping only to pleasure himself or ingest some floating strands of hair.
Time did not pass, for time was a part of what was. The hair grew, and a few nails became trillions; the chunks of spent seed floated, bound by the last remaining physical laws to this destroyed immortal shell. The point eventually came when, on the verge of biting off a particularly lengthy toe-nail, the final flotsam of life felt a gentle tug. From where it came, he knew not; he had long ago wrapped himself within his hair and made a strange cavern of sorts within, propped together by spit and the horrifically long, curved nails. There were no windows, for there was nothing to see.
The tugging grew stronger, and he eventually grew curious. Taking up a curious, crude weapon made of expired nails, he cut through the forest of hair to see what the fuss was about. And he cut. And he cut. The wreck realized the hair had grown so long, it was nigh-impossible to see outside it. But the man had nothing better to do, so he continued to cut through the hair.
At last, past the final strands in the forest of keratin, he sliced forth and felt the void again. He looked out, and saw forever a great field of hair, twisted into new shapes. And upwards, in the void, he saw wisps. Motes of in-consequence. He dropped the makeshift sword, and wept tears of joy.
For in a universe that had expanded and boiled away, the little planetoid of the man had become the one source of gravity. An uncountable number of aeons had passed, but at last he had grown, and the weak pull had become an iron grip on all that was, drawing it back in. Slowly at first, then with a blinding speed..
As for the man? He staggered back to his cavern in the planet of forever. From the hair he wove a raggedy suit, and in a mirror of polished nails admired horrid countenance. His mind ceased its endless repetition of an old playlist, and the first original sentence in a thousand eternities passed his lips.
"Well, old boy... gotta get ready for the date! You may be old, it may be strange, and you're a little rusty...
But I got a strange feeling this is gonna end in one helluva Bang!"
| 1 | 0 | 598 | 158,474 |
[WP] TIL that the opposite of Paranoia is Pronia, wherein one believes that the universe and the world is conspiring to help them. Write a story about one such person with an extreme case of Pronia.
|
At first I thought I was just lucky, that these events were just strange coincidences in my favor. A professor would move back an assignment I hadn't done or a friend offered me a place to stay when my lease was about to end. Nothing out of the ordinary. But one event would shift my view completely.
I remember it as clear as day I was 25 and I had just gotten off of a long shift at the family landscaping business. I arrived home oblivious to the torn screen door and went to sleep.
The ringing is what woke me up, but what concerned me was the silence. "Why wasn't Bucky barking?", I thought. I couldn't remember a time when that little Lhasa Apso didn't bark at the phone. My eyes finally opened and that's when I saw the tear in the screen door. I answered the phone.
My fears had come to fruition, Bucky had escaped and worse still he was hit by a car. As fast as I could I got in my car and rushed over to the vet.
I entered the vet's office. They explained to me that Bucky was fine, the car had only clipped him. I went into the operating room where they'd finished bandaging him up. Just in the knick of time too, the moment he saw me he leapt off the table and into my arms. I thought to myself, "my god am I lucky, Bucky's alright".
I loaded Bucky into the car and we began the 45 minute journey back to my apartment. It was almost 8; the sky seemed unusually dark for this time of night, especially since it was Summer.
I had been driving for about 35 minutes when I got the call. It was my neighbor Sheila, there had been an explosion, a gas leak. I arrived at the scene. I left Bucky in the car as I prepared to examine the remnants of my apartment. Nothing was salvageable.
While I was examining the ruins of my apartment my foot kicked the remains of a pillow. Specifically the pillow that I laid my head on while I took a nap on the couch not even 2 hours ago.
That's when it hit me, Bucky's escape and subsequent accident saved my life. If that little bugger had never escaped throughout the screen door I would be as ragged and tattered as the pillow by my foot.
I began to realize I was not merely lucky, the universe was on my side and I could not fail.
| 6 | 0 | 1,126 | 46,068 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.