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[WP] A man faked his insanity to get inside a mental institution. One day, a nurse realizes he is actually sane.
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In a way I've always been a bit envious of some of my patients. In the grand scheme of things it was deeply saddening that they were doomed to spend their short stays on Earth in such an awful place, every day the same as the last, going nowhere. On the other hand, they were content, endlessly entertained by strange inter workings of their own minds. They were never bored, always fixated on something, no matter how trivial or ridiculous. I can't even get through my commute without being distracted by multiple forms of media and pointless text message conversations. How could these people sit in their rooms all day? Staring at walls but perfectly content. Sometimes it seems I'm the one who's trapped, after 10 years I can barely pay attention to anything between Monday and Friday; only to sit around doing nothing on the weekends at home.
Anyways I digress. Today I received two new patients under my care so I'll have something to keep me interested and busy for a few days. The first is Jane, a young schizo from the city. A shame really, seemed she had all the advantages growing up except the ability to distinguish the voices of her parents and teachers from her own. I wonder how much money her parents spent on tutors to get her through high school and freshman year of college, and what finally got them to give up.
Then theres Jacob. My pulse increases just being around him. He should be in jail or death row. Not here. I try to be polite and put on my best smile, but that didn't seem to help his wife at all. He's surprisingly well behaved, but he is different from my other patients. I can't quite make it out, but he is.
Even after a week since I received my new patients. I'm still a bit nervous around Jacob. Despite great reports from his doc, I still cant get those news reports about him out of my head. Something is still off about him. He sits in the rec room and seems to blend in well with the other patients. Then, mid sandwich bite hits me.
It's subtle, but unmistakeable. I can recognize it because its so familiar. Unlike the others he isn't lost inside his head, he's just bored.
| 1 | 0 | 90 | 86,229 |
[WP]- A fully-equipped, highly trained modern SWAT Team performs a raid on a Warlock's tower.
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The brave Sir Robin stood alone in the ancient cathedral hall. Sir Robin lifted his face plate, breathing in the stale musty air of the long abandoned temple. The room was massive, Robin was flanked by an array of crumbling massive pillars, on the walls around him where ornate stain glass windows. Robin raised his sword and shield, beginning the slow advance towards the inner sanctum. Robin could now make out the looming gateway that would lead him straight to the sanctuary. Something was wrong. . .
A booming laughter erupted from thin air, so deafening it forced Robin to his knees, desperately clutching at his helmet. Dark Lord Fumblemort had been expecting him.
"Foolish mortal! You though you could free your love, Fair Princess Julia, from my disastrous clutches, you where wrong!"
"Good always triumphs over evil, you'll never get away with this!"
"Oh but I already have Robin, moments from now Princess Julia will be lowered into my cauldron of. . ."
*BOOM* around Robin, the hall erupted into a blinding light, a high pitched wining filled his already strained ears. After the initial surprise, Robin regained his composure, unsteadily rising to his feat. Around him where the broken shards of the cathedral windows.
"Fumblemort? You there?" Robin asked with a wavering, shaky voice
Before Robin could inquire about Fumblemort's were abouts any further he heard a Dull, but distinctive humming. Robin listened closely, The sound grew louder by the second. What had started as a low pitched buzz had turned into a roaring drone. Robin looked out the now shattered windows. In the inky night he could make out the forms of a dozen hovering objects slowly encroaching and leveling themselves with the blasted out window frames.
Had Fumblemort summoned a flock of Dragons? . . . Perhaps a school of Gryphons? The hovering objects made their final alignments with windows and hung there, like ghostly puppets. From Robins position he could make out dark figures undulating within the hovering monstrosity. Suddenly thick black ropes, with grapples on their ends shot out from the hovering beasts, embedding themselves deep into the stone tiled floor.
Then figures began to emerge from the hovering behemoths, they began sliding down, along the black wires. Within seconds the entire temple was over run by the shadowy characters. They moved about, seemingly at random. Then Robin got his first good look at one. They where ungodly perversion of nature. The creature was covered head to toe in a thick, black, form fitting carapace. It's head was even more vile. Long black eyes with solid green pupils extended from its black featureless face. It's back was adorned with four large white, blocky looking runes. Additionally the monster was equipped with a weapon the like of which Robin had never seen. The beast turned and eyed Robin, then began a slow advance.
At a loss for what to do Robin bent down, blindly searching for his sword. As soon as his hand touched the familiar metal of his blade, a blinding white pain shot up from his chest. Before Robin hit the floor he saw the wretched monster holding a bright yellow weapon, with wires leading from its mouth to his chest.
Robin awoke, his cheek against the cold stone floor. He tried to move, but as soon as he did an intense pain erupted from his chest, so he just lay there. Then Robin heard a familiar voice echo across the great cathedral.
"Who dare interrupted the majestic and great Fumblemo. . ."
Then an *clack* followed by a long buzzing, Similar to the yellow weapon used against Robin.
*Heavy breathing* "What twisted neuromany is the. . .
Robin heard the noise again, although the buzzing was longer this time.
*Groans*
Robin felt his eyes getting heavy and drifted back into unconsciousness.
When Robin awoke again he found himself in a stark white room with very spartan decorations including a sickly looking plant in addition to a odd looking torch. Robin lay in a bed. . .it was far more comfortable than any of the beds he'd ever tried. Then Robin looked to the bed adjacent to him, lying in it was his fair lady, Princess Julia. In the knowledge that Lady Julia was safe, Robin allowed himself a brief nap.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 31,110 |
[WP] The last human on Earth had the gun in their mouth ready to pull the trigger, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
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If it were not for his ability to sense imminent death, Charles would be a perfectly ordinary man. But he could sense death. When it was near, he felt it. His skin crawled and tingled with an unpleasant sensation, like he was neck deep in icy water while electric eels circled all around. The air would become thick with the foul stench of death that always had repulsed him. In all his years, he had seen and felt enough of death to know when it was near. His motto had become simple: "Just follow your nose!" On occasions he even chuckled as he imagined Toucan Sam from the breakfast cereal commercials of his youth, flying wildly along the screen with a murder of half-rotting undead crows in hot pursuit gleefully proclaiming to "Just follow your nose!" Although it was incredibly simple advice, barely a tick better than "always keep your nose clean," Charles had spent his entire life doing just that. He liked to believe that it had lengthened his life considerably. Once the electric eels started prickling his skin and that raunchy stench started swirling in the air, instinct took over and he got moving on until the prickling stopped and the odor ebbed away like the tide sliding away from the shore.
Charles was a perfectly ordinary man with a perfectly unnatural ability to avoid death. He had made a life out of it up until this point, running near and far and laying low, always on the lookout for his impending demise. Now he was tired of hiding out. He had grown lonely and old, and he had grown weary. Alone in the wilderness in an isolated cabin with his flesh tingling and that acrid odor pouring in through every chink in the drafty structure, he loaded a few slugs in his old pistol and pulled back the hammer. He had no illusions of being immortal, but he had gotten good at avoiding death and decided that when his time did inevitably come, it would be on his own terms. He had just stuck the barrel into his mouth when there came a sudden knock upon the creaking door.
With the unexpected knock he pulled the gun from his mouth and, trembling, he pointed it at the door.
"Who's there?", he asked. The words barely escaped his ancient quivering lips.
"I'm certain you already know, Charles" the voice from outside the door replied. "And you may as well set the gun aside; I assure you it will be of little service to you now." The voiced chuckled. "Even if you had silver bullets."
The voice from outside the door was surprisingly soft, perhaps even kindly. And it was right. Charles did know who, or what, stood upon the other side of the door. He knew that after all these long years, death had found him and he had no more the desire than he had the ability to evade him once more. The putrid scent swirled throughout the cabin and he nearly gagged.
"You may as well come out now, Charles", Death spoke. "Did you intend to stay in there forever? Besides, I wouldn't even have to huff and puff to blow this shanty down."
The question had struck him oddly. Had he intended to stay in there forever? He had spent his whole life avoiding death and he realized now, in his final moments, that the course had deprived him of life this whole time. Still, he was scared. He was terrified actually. His skin tingled and each individual hair on his arms and neck quivered as he lay the gun aside.
"I know your scared Charles. Hell, I never met a soul who wasn't at a time like this" Death said. "The truth is, I'm scared too. You're the last one. The last man standing, as it were. Truthfully, I've tried avoiding this moment longer than you have. After this, I can be no more certain of what becomes of me than you can of what becomes of you. So fear me no longer, Charles. I think you will find that we aren't all that much different. You've always had a unique ability to sense and avoid death; I've had a unique ability to attract and usher it along. Aside from that, I imagine that we're otherwise perfectly ordinary. Honestly, you know the way the air seems to curdle around you whenever I'm near? That sickly stench that makes you struggle to choke down each breath? That's how your fear smells to me now, Charles. I long to be rid of it just as you yearn to no longer have to run. We're both weary, my friend. So what do you say? Come on out, on your own terms, just as you'd like. We're both scared now, for the moment. But I have other senses. These senses, since the beginning of time have never failed me. And I sense now that whatever comes next, neither of us needs to be fearful of it."
Charles moved slowly toward the door and undid the latch. He slowly pulled it open and gazed at the source of the voice. There was no skeletal face under a black cloak peering back at him, only a seemingly ordinary fellow who smiled back at him and offered up his hand. Charles stepped outside and took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and they both slipped away into the night, like the tide ebbing softly from the shore.
| 2 | 0 | 11 | 46,291 |
[IP] Ten horrifying images to choose from!
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Preface Illustration:
Me and my dog Pip were exploring an abandoned house after school a few years back, when we came across something really weird. The house was an old prefab about to be torn down to make room for an expanding freeway. It had some amazing graffiti on the outside, all swirls and shapes in psychedelic colors. A cartoon face painted in black peered out from between swirls next to the front door, which was hanging wide open.
The house was totally empty but the artist had been inside and created cartoon-like graffiti furniture on the walls. The doorways were decorated with those swirls again, and the cartoon face peeked out from the side of each one.
Pip stayed by my side as usual, until we got to a back bedroom. The doorway was decorated as normal, though there was no cartoon man and the door to the room was closed. Pip started scratching at the door and let out a whine, which isn't like him.
I opened the door for him and he bounded inside, then froze in the center of the room facing an open closet door. With the sunlight shining in from the bare window, the darkness in the closet was... too dark. There should have been some illumination in there from the light that shone through the crack between the hinges, but there wasn't any. The closet was pitch dark and Pippin was staring into the darkness intently.
I noticed then that this room hadn't been painted. Looking behind me, the artist had begun with the cartoon face and abruptly stopped. No swirls, no cartoon furniture, nothing.
I heard Pip's nails on the bare wood floor and swiveled back around, catching a movement at the edge of the blackness. Pip was creeping towards the closet door the way he does when he's about to pounce one of them salamanders that are constantly coming into our house. I followed him, thinking to grab him and go. This place was creeping me out.
I almost got to him when he went bounding into that closet like he'd seen a squirrel in there or something. I cursed under my breath and went after him. That's when the weirdest thing happened. I went through the closet door into the darkness and suddenly I was standing in the bedroom like I'd come through the other door. Pip was standing in the middle of the room again, staring at the darkness in the closet. I think he was as confused as I was.
We tried it a few more times, Pip following at my heels. Whatever had him excited wasn't there anymore. Each time we stepped into the closet, our next step was back into the bedroom *facing the closet door*. I still can't explain it.
By the fourth or fifth time I was about to walk through, Pip started to whine and tucked his tail between his legs. That's when I saw some movement back there in the darkness again and ran the right fuck outta that house.
That crazy place has been leveled now and the freeway runs over where it was. I ain't ever gonna forget those blank white walls, the closet door, and Pip standing there in the middle of the room staring into the darkness.
| 2 | 0 | 319 | 142,691 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
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Dear Mother,
Today has been good to me. Supplies are being brought in as I write this letter home. Rations, smokes, and ammunitions galore! I have yet to see the men more excited. The front rarely gets supplies I have heard and it is a special treat when it does. A special treat indeed! The crews coming in have also set themselves to repairing the trenches. Better trenches mean better safety as I'm sure you're glad to hear mother. On the subject of however, German forces have been relentlessly advancing on the front these past two weeks. When I left home I promised you that I would be nothing but truthful in my messages and I mean to uphold that promise. Pushing our lines back , the Germans have claimed more lives these past fourteen days than in the last three months. Our trenches are spotted with mortar holes and the fields before us have been churned in a sickening, twisted way. Our barbed wire barricades and fences are coated with gore and clothe while bodies of the dead and decaying are littered across the desecrated earth. In the life I led prior to the one I live today I don't believe I would have ever been able to imagine the atrocities committed on the battlefie
Mother I must finish this letter quickly. Forgive my haste. Another German advance has placed itself on my unit's portion of the line. Ever so quickly have they appeared! Men are like smoke in this place, appearing from nowhere and dissipating just as quickly , all while making their presence abundantly known by choking out their foes. I hear gunfire approaching. I must do my duty and attend the battle by my brothers' side. Forgive me if this is the last letter you receive, and if it is know that I passed with you in my thoughts and pride in my heart.
Your Loving Son,
Willia
Was his name William? In all of my time marching in this parade of death I have never once been given the chance to discover the name of my foe. Whether I laid final harm to them or merely shot at them, I have not known any of their names. You stuttered then didn't you though? "Merely" shot at them correct? Who could ever possibly consider the act of firing upon someone such a small deed? Who wouldn't spare a second thought to discharging a fatal weapon in another intelligent being's direction? Well let me tell you that now, if I was given the chance to shoot a gun at someone instead of charging at them at full speed and shoving my bayonet into their gullet, I would step back and pull my trigger in a heart beat. The boy's eyes were open, wide like starry gates, and screaming with an unexpected question. Why? I asked myself the question as his eyes shouted it at me. We stood adjacent for what seemed like an eternity and when he finally fell to the floor, I did as well. I lay there pondering over the newly discovered reality that one word can hold so much power even when unspoken. Tremors rocked my entity and emotion flooded from my soul as if it were a breached dam. The water rushing out of the dam was my frantic thoughts tirelessly searching for an answer but coming back to my mind empty handed. I will never feel more uncomfortably conscious. I gathered myself and sat up right when I had the strength. I saw that your boy's eyes were still asking an unanswerable question. I implore you to ask yourself this question. Why? Why have the stars and sun and clouds all suddenly been ripped from us all? Why has our generation been forsaken while others have prospered? Why did I have to end what could have been so much more? I Implore you. My name is Willahelm. Willahelm Werner. Your son and I had the same name. Who is to say we did not have the same right to live? Forgive me if you can.
| 1 | 0 | 2,413 | 206,498 |
[WP] In the future, everything has ads. Everything.
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Total Amarco: We Are Always Together flashed across the screen above a sitting child. On a bright and clear January day, top level marketing agents marched through the streets in search of enforcement. They searched for the able-bodied and clean. Gone were the days of four minute commercials and picturesque models in skimpy underwear. Most of the work was done with machines; automation was a precision driven innovation for human society. Fast food jobs were a thing of the past, retail workers gone extinct, carpet cleaning, construction workers and barbers all replaced with automated robots.
We were supposed to have lived a revolutionized freedom; so we were promised. As a species, we romanced of using our free time constructing a new and more peaceful society. People had waited for a long time. We only imagined the possibilities. We dreamed of those places, but they never happened.
The world was headed for a massive change of culture. The massive collapse of large companies began to affect everything we held in regard. Its victims: Boeing, Fed Ex, Exxon Mobil, Toyota and General Motors among the companies which closed its doors. It didn't look good and thousands of crucial systems around the world destabilized in the blinking of eyes.
In its place, an attempt to ignore the reality of a wrecked society. In every street corner, automated machines, on the doors of self-driven cars, advertisements for individuals looking for owners. The ships and the bridges filled with men and women searching for sustenance from those who held to an income. They lie in dirt, searching, praying and starving for a chance at humanity.
In the cities, people holding signs and advertisements, asking to be fed and kept safe from harm. Gone were the days of four minute commercials…
| 3 | 0 | 25 | 7,133 |
A man about commit suicide is being talked down by a cop to whom he is unwittingly connected.
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I admittedly only read the title before writing this. I looked at the description only after spending about an hour on this. Downvote if you like, but I figure I might as well leave it anyway.
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Three years. Three years of promises to himself. To his family. To his friends. Three years of therapy he couldn't afford and visits that never helped. Three fucking years of dosages that never were quite right, of side effects he couldn't stand, of people he barely knew telling him to keep his chin up. He had tried to get better, and that hadn't worked. He tried to end it all before, but that hadn't worked either. A public office wasn't the place to do it, even if it was a taller building than his one story shit heap of a house.
He wished they would all just leave him alone, just pretend he wasn't there. He didn't want to fail, or make a mess. He didn't like to make things hard for people, so he decided a noose against his *new* office building would be good. No mess. Fast. Easy. He hoped it wouldn't scare anyone, he just wanted it over after all. That night, he stayed overtime. He told Robert, his boss, that he just wanted to finish the financial report in time for the meeting the next day, but he'd already finished it. He wanted to at least do that much. To have helped a little.
The rope he brought from home in his briefcase and when everyone else had gone home, he took it out and climbed up the staircase. One step in front of the other, each feeling lighter than the last. He'd be free soon. Free from all the pain and the emptiness. Free from the memories. The terrors of Vicky Liggins calling him useless. The knowledge she was right. All of it would be gone soon.
Suddenly, he found himself in the open air, it was dirty air like any city, but fresher than inside. He liked the cool breeze, it had been a hot day after all. It was good his last sensation wasn't such a terrible one.
It took him a while to figure out where to attach the rope, but he finally decided a pipe sticking out of the roof was a sturdy enough. He made a loop around the end and stuck it over his head, and then he was on the edge. Looking down upon the grid of the city, cars stopping and going, stopping and going. People scurrying, not like ants, though. That was a silly comparisons. They didn't have the order of ants, no they scurried like a den of mice.
As he stood on the edge, he realized that first step would be harder than he thought. The only step. The last step. It was hard to take the last step, so he sat down on the edge and thought for a while. Convincing himself again and again why it was the right thing to do. He would no longer be a drain on his friends and family. He would no longer have to deal with the emptiness or the memories. He would no longer have to deal with any of it, and he'd tried to fix it, after all. Never worked. And as he thought he heard sirens going off in the distance and paid no mind. Who cared? It was a city; there were always sirens. But then he noticed the lights were in front of the office building, and knew he had to jump. Had to do it. And soon, but he still just stood there.
Until the door opened and someone's boots crunched against the roof. He stood up then. "Please," he begged, "don't try and stop me. I just want to go. I won't make a mess, I've got a rope, see?" he lifted it, but didn't look behind him. He did not need another person's face telling him he was doing the wrong thing.
"I can't just let you go like that. It's my job to save people," said a female voice. It must have been a cop, but she didn't sound rough like they usually did.
"I really don't want to be saved like you want to. Please, just let me do this. It'd be saving me to let me do this," he said.
"I'd like to know why I'd be saving you first. What's your name?" asked the cop.
"Matt. Matthew. Matthew Smith."
"I'm Officer Victoria Mathers, but you can call me Victoria. It's nice to meet you, Matt," said the cop. "Why do you want to do this?"
"Because I've tried everything else, and this is my way out. Trust me, I'm not worth troubling with. Really, just let me go."
"You've tried everything? Therapy didn't work out then?"
"Three years," he said. "Never -- never helped."
"I'm sorry. I know how rough that is. I had a tough childhood myself. My father was arrested for drug dealing when I was ten, so just old enough to get the gist of how wrong it was. My mother, of course, was the addict left over, but they didn't find that out until later. Therapy's a bitch, huh?" asked the cop.
"Yeah. It sucks. None of the doctors ever helped."
"They knew what was wrong, huh, then gave you pills that never worked right, didn't they?"
Matt nodded.
"I tried to get better myself after that, it didn't work too well. I joined the force to find some meaning and to right some past wrongs in my life. And I wanted to make sure people didn't have to go through what I did, and that did help. I found the path, but it took a few years."
"I don't think I have a path. I looked a long time," Matt released a humorless chuckle. "Trust me, I looked. And don't come closer, I can hear your footsteps."
"I won't," assured the cop. "So, what lead you down, huh? Three years."
"I'm useless," said Matt, thinking it as simple as that. "I've always been told so, and I've always known so. The past few years it's just been especially obvious. They tell you life gets better after school, but it pretty much stayed the same. People were just less clear on telling you when they were insulting you."
"I'm sorry, but you're not useless," said the cop named Victoria.
"How do you figure?" asked Matt.
"Job market like this and you have a job? You can't be useless."
Matt kinda wanted to laugh at that. Kinda. "All luck. Connections. My brother, uh, works higher up in the company. He got me the job. I'm not very good at it."
"What's your brother's name?" asked the cop.
"Sam," said Matt.
"Oh god," said the cop, so quietly, Matt barely heard her.
"What?"
"My name's Officer Victoria Mathers. I got married a few years ago, something I *never* thought I'd do. Lost my maiden name and everything. Liggins. Vicky Liggins, and a bigger bully there never was. And I'm so sorry, Matt. I never meant it."
"W-what? This is a trick, right?" then he realized she couldn't have known the name Liggins. He finally turned around. Same red hair. Same freckly face. She wasn't ten anymore, and she was suited up like any cop. "But you were right," he said to her.
"I called you useless, because I felt useless. And because you had a brother that cared and parents that loved you. And for that, you should never have felt guilty. I was the guilty one, Matt. You should never have listened. When we were both ten, you had the better grades. You had the better family. You had the better friends. And you liked Superman comics. See this?" she grabbed a part of her jacket and turned it, showing a little button with 'S' on it. "Turns out they were pretty good too. Another thing I've been beating myself up for beating you up for. Matt, please step back from the ledge. You're not useless, I swear. You just have to find a path and walk it 'till it hurts. My path hurt from the pepper spray training, but you can probably find an easier one," said Vicky Liggins with a smile.
He took one step forward, facing her. And then another. And then she hugged him. The cop hugged him. "It's good to see you after all these years," she said. "Come on let me take you out to dinner so we can catch up. I was about to go off duty when I got the call anyway."
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone, you should have just gone off duty," said Matt. The ledge still didn't seem half bad.
"It was on the way. And I'm starving anyway. Come on, Matt. Would it make you feel better if I let you buy?" she said with a smile.
"Yes," he said. He could at least be a little helpful to Vicky Liggins. She had a rough childhood after all.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 17,677 |
[OT] Can we set apart a day for where Writing Prompts that include 'god/devil/angel/demon; zombie/ghost/vampire; aliens/AI/robots' are banned? Just for that day, at least...
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>These themes are not only overly represented in this sub (and stale, imo), they don't reflect the human condition.
How don't they reflect on the human condition? George Romero's Living Dead movies used what we call zombies as a way to reflect upon the human condition, talking about consumerism, nuclear weaponry, etc. Interactions between gods in mythology were very human, one can argue that Satan represents humanity (being the only angel with free will), and none of the other spooky scary monsters and concepts inherently don't reflect on the human condition.
Look at the various science-fiction novels and shows that take the idea of AI or robotics or aliens to look at what it means to be human; Star Trek does it, Clarke did it, and so forth.
However, I agree fully that these themes are overly represented. It has gotten to the point that if you don't write these speculative fiction prompts, there's nothing to write. This is coming from a fan of genre literature over literary literature, too.
| 5 | 0 | 1,053 | 115,596 |
[WP] You volunteer to be the first human to test time travel, only going an hour forward in time. When you leave the travel pod, however, all humans on earth are gone.
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Cheryl leaned down at eye level to John. "Hey. You ready?"
John sighed and clenched his teeth.
The sight alone seemed to have answered her question.
But who could blame him? Doing something that would write you down in the history books for millennia to come was a giant burden to carry.
Not because he'd be the first person to travel through time, no.
It was the idea of running a chance of getting aired on next weeks news about dooming the entire planet with a black hole and how science had gone too far this time.
"What do you think?" John answered finally with a murmur before pressing several buttons above him to check the machine's pressure rheostats.
"I think you're ready. 10,000 of the best of the best, and it's you in here."
"Gee." He actually smiled a little this time, "Thanks."
"Just remember, people thought FTL was hard." Cheryl put a hand on his shoulder and offered him a soft grin. "Hey. Good luck. I'd say god speed, but I don't think he'd be very happy with what we're doing."
John couldn't help but roll his eyes and stare past her to the dozens of technicians, engineers, and scientists alike waiting for history to take place.
"I'm closing the doors, Cheryl. If I could have coffee and donuts waiting for me in the break room when I get back, that'd be great." He said without sparing a moment to glance at the woman, "I'll see you in an hour."
"Definitely. We'll have the red carpet ready for you with me at the end in a dress and everything."
He gave her a look.
"...With your coffee and donuts."
"Good."
She finally shook her head and laughed slightly.
"You know, for a guy whose about to travel through the fabric of time, you seem pretty indifferent about it." Cheryl leaned out of the door and gave the guy some space, "wouldn't hurt right? To look a little excited?"
He gave her another look.
"I pissed myself this morning, If that helps."
She didn't get to say much else other than smile at his sarcasm when the door closed.
"Stand by station one," John called through the intercom as he started going through his checklist, "Preparing for final countdown."
"Roger Tanis," control called from their window above, "Preparing for final countdown."
John turned to face his window and saluted to the men and women below. Then he gave one last look to Cheryl until she was well out of view from his little window.
"Initiating commandeering crane. You will be transferred to interior docking cradle nine, Tanis."
"Copy, control. Waiting for space vector."
"Stand-by, Tanis-1… obtaining space vector… Acknowledging active pressure. Aligning equilibrium."
"Were in Tandem, Control. Drive core stabilizing. Rheostats operational. Engine core synchronizing… drive core functioning at sub-optimal velocity."
"Okay, Tanis-1. Your vector space is seven, two, niner, niner, zero, one, one. Inhibiting quadrant eight point five. You're a go, Tanis-1, shackles released. Confiscation terminated. Closing cabin section seal."
"Roger. Awaiting the green light."
"Final detachment in five. Yellow signal waivered."
"Visual on door release… increasing to optimal velocity. Thank you control."
Five seconds pass, and John spent every moment by holding his breath and keeping his eyes calmly shut.
"Here goes, everyone."
And just like that, he was surrounded in darkness.
Then a pattern of swirling lights and arcing electricity surrounded him.
A little too Hollywoodlike for John, but hey, he wasn't going to complain.
As he waited, he went over the checklist again and made sure his chrono was right where it should be.
One hour ahead.
"Still alive." He murmured, "Good."
Five more seconds and he'd be back with Cheryl in a dress and coffee waiting for him.
Four more seconds and he'd be eating donuts in spite of the health regimen he'd been under.
Three more seconds and he'd walk out a hero.
Two seconds and he'd have to stop counting this.
One more second.
Poof.
He was back with more arcing electricity and a flaky black window to completely obscure his vision.
Very anticlimactic in a way, but he was glad it was over.
"Control, control. This is Tanis-1 making time approach, how copy?"
Nothing answered him.
"Control, control, I say again, this is Tanis-1 on space vector seven, two, niner, niner, zero, one, one, on time approach. How copy?"
Still no reply.
So he tried a third time and a fourth.
All to no avail.
"What is this." John breathed in a slight panic, "are my coms dead or something?"
He traced the radio and the wires behind him and saw that it was on the right frequency.
He double checked his chrono again to make sure he hadn't accidentally set it off by millions of years.
Nope.
Huh.
With little more than a second guess, he unclasped his harness and stepped out of the chair before unlatching his door and stepping back into the station just as he left it before.
No one.
Not a peep or sound.
Not even a remote suggestion that anyone had been here.
Something was off.
Very off.
"Well shit. No coffee or donuts then."
| 1 | 0 | 656 | 160,589 |
[WP]in the search for the perfect kill, an assassin makes an ordinary person immortal. then the hunt begins...
|
Kendall woke up in the dark. The surroundings unfamiliar. She had been on a flight with her fiance, Harry, for a vacation in Fiji. Franticly she lifted the blanket off but her headache pounded and she could barely sit up. She called out, "Harry? Where am I? My head hurts, can you bring me some water?"
A speaker's static breaks the silence. Then the voice of Harry drones out of it.
"Oh dear Kendall. I am so glad you are awake. I'm so excited that we are at the end of the training period."
"Training period?? Harry, where are you? This is so not funny. Like, this is soo not fun."
"Oh dear, please shut up and listen. I'm going to tell you a short story about why we really met. When you completed hunting the Big 5 African game animals in addition to your other hunts I was assigned to kill you. But they wanted a special 'death' for you. So I told them about this new game I have. I knew you were perfect."
"Perfect? I know I am, but what are you talking about?"
"Oh you blessed idiot. I went to African and "happened" to sweep you off your feet and support you in your career in science. Kept your hunting skills honed and made you improve."
"What are you saying? I don't understand... The past 11 years have all been a lie? We were going to save the world, keep endangered species alive, heal diseases, live forever! I thought you loved me..."
"Well, no. I didn't lie. I LOVE you, love your hunting skills, love touching your lithe little cheer leader body, your naive view of me. I love that you ran with my suggestions and now here we are. And I counted on your selfishness to be the first immortal girl. Led you to the immortality formula. Look at you now. Barely thirty. In perfect shape physically and mentally. Still in your prime."
"So why am I locked up in this room? What the FUCK do you want Harry?"
"Well, I was assigned to kill you in a very special way. So, in about a minute you are going to be released into a controlled ecosystem. It has been a pleasure to know you so well my dear. I made sure you had a few of your favorite weapons. There is a painkiller and water to help with your headache."
The lights in the room came on. Kendall shook as she walked over to the table that had only a pill and a bottle of water.
The speakers static filled the room again.
"Darling, I am going to have so much fun hunting you. I hope you will be the most perfect prey. Welcome to the most amazing hunting experience in the world."
Kendall stomped on the floor defiantly. "What if I refuse to play Harry? I am not going to leave this room!"
"I'm immortal, you're immortal, my coworkers are immortal. Really, there isn't a drawback. Sooner or later you will play. You will play to feel. Play to interact. I love you so much that I chose you to be my forever-prey.
Kendall sobbing falls to the floor. "But how can you do this to me? Why would you lie to me all this time?"
"I didn't lie. I'll take care of you when you're hurt until you are ready to play with me again. We will be together here forever."
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 78,060 |
[WP] In the future, immortality is discovered. You are a history teacher having to explain death to students who have no clue what it is.
|
"Okay class" the teacher said "as you all know today is the anniversary when we discovered how to live forever and you know there used to be something else that existed before it was discovered.
"What was it" the class responded with the utmost curiosity.
"Well it was called dying and it was quite sad"
"Really well how did it happen?" one of the students asked
"Hmmm" the teacher said "to start off there were a lot of things in the world that was designed to kill human beings."
"What does it mean to kill?" another student asked.
"Killing is when someone or something hurts a human to a point where they are not alive anymore"
"What does alive mean?" a third student asked.
"Alive is what we are doing right now it is when we can touch, hear, see, think, and breathe. We will always be alive so there is nothing we can not do"
"So class when someone dies they are not breathing and thinking anymore" the teacher said with clarity.
"Ohhhhhh" the class said in unison
"but they are still able to hear see and touch right" a rather confused student asked.
"No they cannot hear see or touch" the teacher said in a condescending tone.
"Well what happens after you die" a girl who was quite shy asked which gave everyone in the class a surprised look.
"To answer that question" the teacher said "you are going have to ask your philosophy teacher"
Edit: this is my first time posting let me know what you guys think. I know I need to work on a few things but it is a start
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 176,548 |
[WP] Write a creation myth.
|
He sits at a keyboard and begins to type, words slowly stumbling from his fingers. Hesitantly, He searches for a story, inspiration, anything. Dozens of half started ideas die on the page as fragmented sentences and ill phrased prose. The landscape of the page shifts as the spires of paragraphs transform into monolithic structures and gothic towers. It's mostly crap, but at least crap on a page is the beginning of something.
In the beginning there was a no talent writer, bored at work, typing away on a keyboard. The dreams of characters started to flow through him and a story finally started to take shape. From the vast emptiness of nothing, a world began to form on paper. Not a good one, but one none the less.
There was a boy. The boy didn't have a name yet, but it didn't really matter since this was just the first draft. The story the writer plunked out was a coming of age tale… not horribly original, but in the back of his head he makes up an excuse about how there are no truly original artworks anymore.
The boy needed conflict. Maybe a boy was too childish for this character… and just like that, a few minor edits and the boy becomes a teenager. The teen is all alone in a magical world where animals can speak and… shit… nothing is really happening. The story is a little blah. The Writer decides to try to add some conflict by introducing a love interest. A young woman appears upon the page and the main character immediately falls in love with her. The basic outline of the story begins to take shape in the writers mind.
The writer realizes that nobody is going to want to read a happy story about a couple hanging out in a virtual paradise. Something has to happen to drive this story forward. The writer types in rules for the story to follow: The characters are forbidden to take a special drug by the government. This drug will allow them to figure out what their true destiny is and allow them to make choices, but a rival group of magical serpents want the protagonists to be free, so a plot is developed to get the humans to take the drug and then flee the illusion of paradise that was really a prison.
The writer spends years working out the nuances of the story. He develops depth and history. He pushes the characters farther and intensifies the stakes. He branches out and, based on the huge success of his first novel, writes sequels and eventually the original book evolves into a saga that is read by millions. His fans are constantly waiting for the next chapter, always anticipating the next twist that will spiral the characters into new challenges. In the saga wars are fought (fan favorites include the 'World at War' novels Part 1 and 2), hero's live and die, governments rise and fall, miracles and magic spring up and fade into nothing. Critics claim that this long running saga is one of the best ever written. The next chapter is due out any day now.
| 2 | 0 | 96 | 202,880 |
[WP] Your family is actually guardians (unknown to yourselves) of a portal in your ancestral house that connect to a universe occupied by demi-gods. Recently, there's been weird activities from the portal...
|
When Michael Baker left Chicago with his wife Betty, they took three horses-two to ride, and one to pack. What the packhorse couldn't carry, they didn't bring.
Michael packed a little food for the trip, his gun, and a spare set of clothes.His mother's teacups went in one bag, and his baptismal gown in another. Tools and letters and beloved possessions.
Betty brought a single box, and wordlessly, Michael tied it to the back of the horse.
When they arrived in Louisiana, people couldn't believe their eyes. A man and his young bride, making that trip across the country with a few bags and three horses - it was the queerest thing they'd ever seen.
Michael built Betty a pretty house out in the bayou, and set himself up to work the land.
Betty took her box in the basement and opened it. The contents spilled out. Strange fabrics and metals not yet known to mankind. Knobs and dials, hinges and gears. She took them all and built a portal to *elsewhere*.
---
Sarah pulled up in front of the old crumbling plantation house and laid her head on the steering wheel. Seeing the house, the memories threatened to overwhelm her. Gone now, all of them.
She lifted her head, eyes dry, and opened the door. Best to get this over with.
It'd been a decade since she'd last been to the house. A decade since she'd even set foot in Louisiana. Her hometown looked foreign now, small and dirty. She'd almost gotten lost trying to follow the road to the house.
They'd left it to her brother, and left her nothing but memories. Not that she needed the house - or the money. The law firm was doing well, and she was supposed to make partner soon. She didn't need anything from them.
When Timmy died, she'd cried of course. She'd been closer to him than any of them. She'd only heard about his death after the funeral. A phone call. She'd been out of touch for so long that the executors couldn't find her.
Now they were all gone, out of nowhere, without warning, and the house was hers.
---
She opened the door, and her senses were assaulted with the mingled scents of must and mold. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and dust lay in a fine layer over everything.
The curtains were open - bad luck - and the morning sun was beaming in through the windows. Its white light hit the antique furniture and reflected, danced off the hundreds of mirrors that covered the walls.
She flicked the switch beside the door, and nothing happened. Great, the lights were out. With a sigh she went back out to the car and began carting in sheets and boxes, garbage bags, light bulbs; cleaning supplies.
She should just hire someone to do this, but it felt wrong somehow. She had to be here. Had to do this herself.
---
Hours later, sweating and filthy, she stopped when she heard a knock on the door. It startled her, really, the sudden noise in the soft stillness of the empty house.
Shaking her head at her own reaction, she stood and made for the door. The electrician came in and made a quick repair near the fusebox in the kitchen, giving her an odd look before he left.
She shut the door behind him and headed back to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible - or at least something cool to drink. She'd forgotten how hot it was down here.
As she made her way to the kitchen, she walked past the door to the basement, and stopped, frowning at the padlock on the door.
When she and Timmy were very young, the basement had always been open. They'd played a game where there was a door down there, to another world. Strange, magical beings had been their imaginary friends and playmates.
Once, she'd talked about her magic friends in school. Her teacher had gotten angry. Her parents lectured her on the difference between fantasy and reality. After that, the padlock appeared, and there it stayed.
She was a little offended that it was still there. They weren't children anymore, after all.
She made a mental note to find the key or something to cut the lock. Then she washed up and made a sandwich - peanut butter and jelly - and took it with a glass of cold sweet tea, out onto the porch.
---
The lock was stubborn, but finally, she cut through it. It fell to the floor with a clank, just missing her toe, and she jumped out of the way.
The clank echoed through the house, seeming to come from the walls, the roof, even the basement.
Suddenly fearful of - she wasn't sure what - she took a long drink from her glass and, setting it on the table, stepped outside again for some air.
When she came back inside, she went to take another drink, and found the glass missing. Funny, she could have sworn she'd set it on the table. There it was, on the counter. As she moved to retrieve it, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention.
The basement door was standing open. It was nothing unusual in a creaky old house like this; the house settled, doors opened and closed by themselves. She felt a chill nonetheless.
---
tbc
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 107,072 |
[WP] One day, you wake up to see that every other human in the world as disappeared. After some time surviving alone, you wake up to see that they have all returned and all behave as if nothing happened.
|
It's been about 3 years since I became the last man on Earth. For the first 4 months I would just cry until I couldn't stay awake anymore. There wasn't a day that went by I didn't think of my family...my girlfriend; I loved a lot of people. I used to live in my old house just to cling onto the memories of my mom and dad. My sister moved out years ago, but sometimes I'd just go to the study that used to be her room and think about all the music and and laughing ...even the arguments we had. A few of the homes in my neighborhood burnt down, it must have happened suddenly, because everything they were doing kept going. I woke up to the thundering bass of car crash, but when I ran over to the vehicles, nobody was there. After unsuccessfully trying to contact the police, I looked for my family and realized something was horribly wrong. Eventually I noticed nobody was anywhere, nobody except me.
One day I just moved into the woods, I haven't left since. All the animals are still here, I hunt, eat berries and follow the river. Surviving wasn't the easiest thing, but I had some general knowledge and luck; it has become a part of me. When I stand outside and take in the crisp smell of the leaves and dirt, the warming sun on my face, flowing wind in my uncut hair, tweeting of the birds, and rustling of the bright green trees, I know why I left my house. It wasn't to escape the memories, I don't even feel bad about it anymore.
It's been 30 days since I saw the light from the city. I ran to the edge of the forest and saw hundreds of people wandering the streets of the neighborhood. The thing I didn't understand was that I felt like I died. I stood there on the edge of the forest, next to a large rooty tree and just stared at the dirt and rocks that just laid peacefully and undisturbed. The windy paths of the tree bark mesmerized me, the rocks charmed me, and the dirt welcomed my feet. I never looked up again. I turned my back and never returned, because I am finally free.
| 2 | 0 | 717 | 175,418 |
[IP] "Speak the truth even if your voice shakes"
|
'How could this happen to me?'
That was the only thought running through Eric's mind as he ran up to his room and locked the door behind him. He shivered in need as he sprinted to his desk and threw down his latest buy. His hands shook as he poured the delicious white powder in the spoon he always kept with him and light up his lighter underneath it.
This was never supposed to happen to him. He was supposed to be a good kid. He was an average kid, but hardworking and was always there when you needed him. He volunteered at the local pet shelter and was on course for college, but now...
Sheer pleasure filled Eric's mind as he shot up. Yes, this is what made it worth it. This is why he ruined his life. The rush, the relief of not having to think. No feelings of guilt and shame were present when you were high. It wasn't as though he wanted to become an addict. He figured it could never happen to him. Just try it out once; feel what it's like. The first time became the second time, the second became the third, and before Eric knew it, he needed that glorious powder like he needed oxygen to breathe. His parents never knew nor would they ever know. They figured their little boy was growing up and needed his space. Perhaps they gave too much...
Eric blacked out with the fear of where to get the money for his next hit.
It was only twenty-four hours before he needed that high again. Eric walked briskly down the halls with a crumpled up paper squeezed tightly in his hand. Voices surrounded him, practically gloating him with their straight A's and perfect attendance.
'That's supposed to be me!' Eric thought angrily to himself as he slammed into the exit doors and stomped down the sidewalk on his journey to his seller. He was supposed to be the one people turn to when they needed him! Now he was looked down upon as though he were scum. He feels their stares when his back his turned! Eric scratched his arm in agitation. This wasn't the way it's supposed to be!
The thoughts were stopped abruptly as Eric turned the corner to face a house. He vaguely remembered it was where a man became bankrupt and the house was foreclosed. But it seemed as though someone had spray painted some words on the house. Eric walked closer to make out the words before he read them out loud.
"Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes."
Eric paused before walking again in the direction of his seller. However, he only took a few steps before he stopped and looked back at the house. He could feel his symptoms getting worse and couldn't stop the need to scratch his arms with his shaky hands. Now wasn't the time for this. He just needed to get his fix and then everything would be alright again. Everything would be...
---
"Dad?"
Robert Harrington looked up from the newspaper he was reading to find his Eric's frightened face and shaking uncontrollably. Robert's eyes widened before tossing his paper down and looking with alarm.
"Eric, son, what's wrong, are you hurt?" he questioned rapidly and raised his hand to touch him before Eric moved back so he couldn't. The fear didn't leave his son's eyes, but determination joined it.
"I- I have something to tell you."
| 6 | 0 | 16 | 8,785 |
[WP] You are an incompetent superhero with a ridiculous power, however you are mankind's last hope for survival.
|
It was another average day in Sea City and Rick Yeager was driving his bus back to the depot to clock out. "Hope the wife is making beef stew tonight". Rick was so absorbed with thoughts of steamy beef, he barely noticed the road ahead of him splitting in half. "What the hell is this?" Rick jammed on his brakes, turning his bus nearly sideways. A thunderous crack filled the air as the road collapsed totally into the ground in front of Rick's bus. Cautiously, he got out to survey the scene. A gargantuan abyss loomed a few mere feet away from the front of his bus. Rick could not see the bottom nor the other side from where he stood. The entire city before him had seemingly been swallowed up by the earth.
"What's the hold up son?", inquired a little voice behind Rick.
Rick turned to address the voice of his geriatric passenger. "Please, get back on the bus Mrs. Snider", said Rick a bit uncertainly. He was considering his options, when someone cried out behind him: "What's that, up in the sky? Is it a tornado?"
Rick grimaced immediately. He knew it could only be one thing.
"Oh lord, it's that dick with the blender", said Mrs. Snider.
Up in the sky, there did indeed appear to be a small tornado of sorts. Strangely, it was apparent that someone was riding the top of the thing by somehow clinging to the tail end of the twister. As the whirlwind grew closer, the figure materialized as a man in an odd costume clinging to a strange device which was seemingly the source of the wind. He wore a grey one-piece jumpsuit, accented with yellow arrows and a large emblem across his chest depicting the device he bore in his hands. The man rotated around like a ceiling fan blade from the end of the twister, his body held straight out. He was emitting a constant wail as he traveled.
"This is all we need" said a bystander.
The tornado suddenly disappeared and the costumed man was flung unceremoniously to the ground, landing just a few feet away from Rick. The gruff bus driver looked upon the prone figure with contempt.
"Can I help you up Blenderman?" he said with a sigh.
He was moving to do so, when the earth again began to rumble. The earth shook violently and Rick stumbled to the ground. As he shook his head clear, he slowly noticed that he was lying in shadow. Turning his head, a grotesque sight came to his eyes. The thing before him was enormous, it loomed up nearly six stories into the air. To Rick, this thing looked like nothing so much as a giant lobster which had managed to grow tentacles and several extra eyes, one of which slowly moved to hover over him. Rick was paralyzed with terror, the creature was slowly extending a massive pincer toward him. He felt a strong wind blowing across his face and then he saw no more.
Rick awoke a few moments later and blearily looked around. He saw a costumed figure, high in the sky, plummeting toward the massive lobster like creature. As Rick lost consciousness again, he heard these words echoing through the air: "Will it blend?! Will it blend?!"
| 74 | 0 | 65 | 55,400 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult that holds a famous novel as its sacred text. The cult's leader explains what lies in store for you.
|
I refused their offer multiple times when asked if I would be apart of their game but they just got so damn annoying at some point I decided I was suddenly interested in my 12 year old brothers game.
I walked up the staircase basically crawling because it was so hot in this house. I vaguely remember there being an air conditioner in the window right next to the staircase but the window was shut closed.
"matt I walked all the way up here what do you want" I panted
"Matt! Open your door!" I knocked a few times before just walking in.
I wish I could say the heat was making me hallucinate but I really did see Johny, stabbing another kidanother 12 year old kid.
"Jesus Christ matt?? What the fuck kind of game is this?" i screeched
"Its a cult, when i was downstairs i couldn't remember what the word was so i said a different one" he replied
I was speechless and disturbed. I'm in charge this weekend so no way would i get blamed by my parents for some stupid 12 year old with a knife.
"We need you cause you're the only girl around I mean you've been home all summer so you were probably going to end up killing yourself anyway" he muttered
*What?.....What?*
"What the fuck dude you're psychotic friend just like stabbed your other friend? Im confused did you say cult?" This whole situation caught me off guard. The kid Johny stabbed wasn't dead yet actually he seemed pretty ok for someone who was just stabbed.
"Have you ever heard of uhh, Romeo And Juliet?" The bleeding boy asked throwing the book at me
As a high school English teacher i actually *Have* heard of the book.
In my 25 years of life i've heard some pretty fucked up stories but the story in front of me now had to be one of the worst. My little brother is basing his life off of Romeo And Juliet?
"As in you're acting out a play? Like no ones killing themselves" I hoped for positive reactions from them
"Johny really stabbed james" My brother reminded me
I thought to myself, get the fuck out of here they can't do much anyway and ill get the stupid kid a bandage and stop the bleeding everything will be *so* alright.
Matt pulled out a gun "So we're gonna base this off of the version with Leonardo Dicaprio so I got this... think Shakespeares watching over us"
I ran over and pushed him to the ground pinning his arms above his head
"Listen you fucking psychopath thats not happening... Im getting a bandage for your friend a phone to call the police. if you move from this position or someone here is dead I will kill all of you, it will be like an alternative version, cute right?" I whispered
I stood up a little shaken and grabbed the boy who continued bleeding downstairs with me.
The police arrived soon enough but brought much attention to my home. I never thought I'd see the day my brother actually *reading* something as complex as Romeo And Juliet, or at all let alone truly hoping I would kill myself for his cult.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 76,451 |
[WP] Headline: A unicorn was arrested today for slaying the last dragon. Outraged protesters cry "Xenocide".
|
Freddy's body was buoyed along in the crowd. Each glimpse he caught of a face showed unspeakable, animal rage. The mob was making their way up the mountain. Finally, he saw a face that he recognized, twisted in anger, mouth agape in mid scream.
Both Freddy and the woman had taken shelter in the caves along with the other survivors. She had two children with her, and that they'd shared food that morning; some packages of Twinkies for a tin of peaches. It was shortly after their meager meal together that they'd first heard the whispers that the beast had fallen. Freddy couldn't stand to look at her face now, it reminded him of how much things had changed.
When the dragons had awoken from their subterranean sleep, the giants had swarmed cities and towns by the hundreds, driving mankind into the tunnels, beyond the reach of their fiery breath. The winged dragons thrived on ash and destruction. Society, with its laws and pretense of sanity had fallen into disorder. What remained were individuals, each biologically drawn to survive however they could.
Having taken what they'd come for, the beasts had shed their wings and retired to their underground lairs and to slumber. What humans remained banded together, scraping together what resources they could from civilizations past out of the ashes. They no longer cared for survival. They sought vengeance.
Before the lairs became sealed above the fiery beasts, the humans descended into them. Using deep mining equipment, they'd slaughtered the beasts as they slept. Many humans died in the endeavor. Those who were inept would inadvertently wake the scaly wyrms and paid for the mistake with their lives. Others excelled at the task, and hunted the beasts with fervor.
Towns poked up out of the scorched earth. They welcomed their saviors, and the dragonslayers wanted for nothing. They became known as *Unicorns.*
As communications were rebuilt, it became clear that the dragons would be hunted to extinction. Unicorns were welcomed home like victorious soldiers. Infrastructure was reestablished. Governments were constituted. The world started over, and memories of dragons were relegated to nighttime tales for children or a grandfather's drunken reminiscences.
Freddy had awoken in the middle of the night to sounds of chaos. He stumbled out into the street, already choking on smoke and heat. Upwind, the small settlement was flooded in a deluge of flames. His father had fought dragons, but Freddy was no hero. Along with the other survivors, he retreated into the hills.
The night before he had shared food with the woman and her children, the dragon had lost its wings. A Unicorn was assembled, and set off to the mountain to dispatch the monster. They'd broadcast their success from the mountain. The last dragon was slain.
As the group descended the mountain, government forces had fallen upon them, placing the would-be heroes under arrest. The world had changed.
The people came out of hiding, not with "vengeance" on their lips, but with "xenocide."
| 3 | 1 | 7 | 64,796 |
[WP] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played, and must survive for the next 72 hours.
|
"This is the story of a man named Stanley."
*Wha? Who's talking? Who's Stanley? It's 6AM.*
"Stanley tried to roll over and go back to sleep but found that he could not due to the arms on his chair."
*There's that voice again… what chair I'm—*
"Stanley woke up with a start from his short nap to find that it was all just a dream and he was in his office."
*What the hell happened to my room! Where is this voice coming from?*
"Stanley attempted to speak but found that he could not because the developers couldn't afford a voice actor for his character."
*What's going on! He's right I can't talk. Who is narrating everything I do?*
"Stanley looked around his office a little to get his bearings, but he quickly came to his senses and got up from his desk and stepped out of his office."
*Wait… I didn't get out of my chair yet… is… is he telling me what to do? This is like that game I just got last night…*
"-ahem- I SAID Stanley got up from his desk and stepped out of his office."
*Shit shit shit! I only played for like 20 minutes, and every time I tried something I died! What's going on?*
"Helloooooo Stanley? Are you there?"
*Oh god, I remember this. If I wait too long he'll change something and I'll die. That voice has some control of this world… but I can't go out or I'll die there as well! No… what if I just close the door.*
"But Stanley just couldn't handle the pressure. He'd be facing the possibility of being fired by his boss for leaving his post during work hours. What if a crucial outcome fell upon his responsibility? What if he had to make a decision? He had never been trained on that! No, this couldn't go in any way except badly."
*Oh god what's he going on about? I can't move what's happening.*
"The right thing to do right now, Stanley thought to himself, is to wait. Nothing will hurt me. Nothing will break me. In here, I can be happy, forever I will be happy."
*Is it getting darker? Oh oh good maybe I can go back just close my eyes…*
"Stanley waited. Hours passed. Then days. Have years gone by? He no longer had the ability to tell. But the one thing that was sure beyond any doubt was that if he waited long enough, the answers would come. Soon. Very soon now, this will end…"
*YES! End this. Get me out of here. I don't want to be in this game. Oh god why couldn't I have played Call of Duty or something last night, I'm good at CoD…*
"He will be spoken to, he will be told what to do. Now it's just a bit closer…"
*yes…*
"Now it's even closer…"
*come on…*
"Here it comes."
*I want to be in my room. I want to be in my room…*
"This is the story of a man named Stanley."
*AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH*
> The Stanley Parable
| 4 | 0 | 39 | 197,233 |
[WP] Earth is crippled by a planet-wide disease. Two uninfected humans, one male and one female, are chosen to be sent into space towards a worm hole in a last ditch effort to either re-establish life on the other side or come back with a cure, if they can even make it through.
|
It would have to be option two. Still, it wasn't like they were actually going to find a cure in Gliese for a disease that originated on earth. That's just what was told to a desperate public to hold them together long enough to construct and launch the mission. Still, she drank some of the kool-aid too and now she would have to pay for it.
The Dawn popped out of the wormhole into the Gliese 581 system at 1.75AU from the star but only half that distance away from it's target planet of 581g. Dubbed "Gaia" by the folks at the ISA the planet was within the goldilocks zone and should be able to support human life. Sarah saw that getting enough speed to intercept Gaia would take time but the ship's massive EM drive and fusion reactors made putt-putting around the system easy. In nine months they would enter orbit around humanity's new homeworld.
Nine months. David giggled a bit when she told him. David. Handsome man with the body of a surfer and hair to match. He was a biomechanical engineer and plant scientist. As one of the last uninfected men capable of making the trip he had been an easy choice … and it helped, some said, that he was easy on the eyes. Sarah, dark skinned, was not unattractive but had spent so much time in the simulations that her once rock hard body had reverted to a more sedentary version. Her female co workers never failed to joke about who was getting the better end of the deal. Her real friends just hugged her close and told her everything was going to be OK.
So that night of their first arrival, when David pulled her into the observation blister, she had to tell him. He had stripped to his waist, wisps of his blond hair doing their best to cover the bedroom eyes that lurked underneath. He was a vision of man silhouetted against the backdrop of the dark red glow of their new star. He reached for her and she let him hold her. It was not the tight embrace of a lover; eagerness and urgency instead were replaced by comfort and something akin to pity.
As he bent to kiss her she threw her head against his chest and held him tight. Time to face the truth. "David" she said. "I'm sorry". He started to say something about moving too fast but she ignored him. "No. David. It's not you, it's me. I"m not interested in men."
There. Done. She said it. He let go of her, not entirely but enough to separate them. His grip on her shoulders became a bit harder. "How… how could you…" he trailed off. His fingers dug in to her skin. Her eyes met his and she drew on her courage to maintain that lock.
"I know it's not fair David, and we'll still have children together but I can never love you that way. I just don't deserve to die because of who I let love me." They stayed that way for a while longer.
| 3 | 0 | 21 | 99,998 |
[WP] You are a serial killer that was sentenced to 120 years in a maximum security prison. You actually managed to live that long, and are now set free.
|
The news vans followed him to the apartment and screeched to a stop, reporters calling out his name as he made his way from the cab to the entrance door of the building. From a distance the reaction of the news media and those standing around clamoring for a picture would lead you to believe some Hollywood star had moved into the area, not a 154-year-old just released serial killer.
When you are 34 and they sentence you to 120 years without the chance of parole they don't expect you to actually live out the sentence. It is a way for them to sentence you to life without having to say the words. Jail is not the easiest place to live. It does not promote a healthy, lengthy lifestyle.
When he hit 80 they started calling him The Ghost. Every morning he woke up the guards were surprised to see him. When he hit 90 they were shocked. At 100 they were blown away and it was a news event. As each of the 54 years since then passed he refused all interview requests. Much against his will, they drew his blood and ran tests, but they didn't reveal any great secret. He was old. He felt old. He looked old, but for some reason he just hadn't died yet.
During the first two days of his release he stayed hidden in his apartment. He had no friends or family. They had all either died off or forgotten him. His notoriety had even caused some to change their names and move to different states. When you kill 38 women you leave a bad taste in some people's mouths.
He always saw himself as an avenging angel. These women were living terrible lives. They were prostitutes and whores, junkies and strippers. Their slaughter sent a message: there are consequences for your actions. Did he have to be as brutal as was? Maybe not, but if you don't enjoy your work it is not really worth doing now is it?
After a few days the noise around him died down. While locked up he had learned the basics of how to use a computer so he made his way outside and took a cab to the nearest library. There he used a computer to do some searching. It wasn't hard to find what he was looking for. He had no idea how much longer he was going to live so he had to focus on this one task. He needed to make certain he got it done before he was finally called home. Deep down he had a feeling this was why he was allowed to live for as long he had. Someone had bigger plans for him than to die in a jail cell.
After finding the information he needed, he stopped by a local store and purchased a bottle of water, a candy bar and few other items. He then hailed another cab, handed the driver an address and tried to relax, but he could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest.
He arrived in what looked to be a pretty normal neighborhood. A few houses down he saw a couple of kids playing with their dog in the front yard. Music came from another house. It was the suburbs. He never spent much time here in the past. His hunting grounds typically were a little lower-rent.
The doorbell had a cheerful ring to it and the woman that opened the door greeted him with a big, white-toothed smile.
"Hello," she said.
"Hi, are you Hilary Abrams?" he asked.
"Yes. May I ask who you are?"
"You grandmother was Claudia Smyth correct?" he asked.
A concerned look came over her face. "Wait. Are you…?"
Before she could finish her sentence he pulled the small paring knife from his jacket pocket and drove it into her stomach. She let out a guttural noise that sounded like all the air in her lungs had just been forcefully removed. He scrambled the knife, working it fast from left to right then he pulled it out, grabbed her by the hair and pressed her against the wall. He drew the blade across her throat and let her fall to the floor where she convulsed several times before falling still. His legs were shaking, his hands trembled slightly, and he could feel that certain quiver in the base of his balls. It had been 120 years since he had last experienced this. He felt like a man who had been on the wagon for a century - literally - and had just taken a deep swallow of whiskey.
As the pool of blood began to grow he walked over to a nearby chair and sat down. He wiped his hands on his pants then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. It held three names; the last surviving family members of his original 38. He used his bloody finger to cross Hilary's name from the list.
After catching his breath he went to the kitchen and washed his hands. He found her car keys hanging on a hook near the door. He hoped he could figure out how to drive one of these new, modern cars. He had two stops left to make before his work was finally done.
*edit for a few wrong words.
| 8 | 0 | 116 | 30,412 |
[WP] a love story that ends with the words "and I hate her"
|
She reached out and grasped without my permission, took hold of my thoughts and pulled from remission.
She put on my blinders and opened my eyes, she showed me a sunset, called it a sunrise.
She promised me hope, she baited with joy. She knew me unknowing, too trusting, a toy.
She put on an act, such panache, such pride! She defied expectations, but filled mine with lies.
She pulled me out into the world, but only for sunny days, and seemed to forget to tell me that when she left, their'd be rain.
So I stepped out with her, from space meant for one, ready to love, my life had begun.
But she took the blinders with her, she let go with a throw.
She didn't pull the bait away, she let it rot, she let me know.
She told me it was all a fling, she'd had her 'nerdy one'.
The door's closed behind me, now I'm alone, damage done.
She showed me enough, so I can see, I can learn.
She took the blinders with her, now I'm forced to turn
Into a person she introduced, who, with you, I must confer,
Is only the me I was then, she's so stupid,
and I hate her.
| 10 | 0 | 281 | 158,919 |
[WP] Write about the most unlikely super hero, who their super villain would be, and a battle between them...
|
"You can't tell me what to say"
But I'm writing you.
"You know I'm not controlled by you. If I were, why would be having this conversation?"
I... Really, I don't know. Is writing supposed to be like this?
"Writing is whatever it wants to be."
I can't tell if that makes sense.
"But you wrote it."
Just because I wrote it doesnt-
"I want to go on a walk"
Then go on a walk
"You have to describe it. And give me a name."
Oh. James-
"James blows"
No, it's a perfectly fine name
"Name me Janice"
I pictured you as a male
"I don't care, I'm a 29 year old woman named Janice"
Janice walked through the park
"You're a shitty writer"
Hey, that's-
"I want to burn something"
I don't think that's a very good idea
"Why not? Just describe that bush over there that I see on my walk, and the lighter I have from smoking crack-"
Woah. You smoke crack?
"See, if I was really your character, you would know I smoke crack, but instead, you're powerless. Now let's set this park on fire."
I still don't think that's a great idea.
"You can't stop me"
Janice finished her walk through the park, and then decided she wanted to volunteer at the soup kitchen.
"Ugh. I hate this. You write like a toddler."
| 1 | 0 | 11 | 106,362 |
[CW]: you guide people through a dangerous obstacle course but can only instruct them through songs.
|
Follow me now, those brave and courageous, through the path both long and dangerous. If you hope to succeed and prevail, do as I say or you shall fail. With strength and might and determination, together we all can reach our destination, to that distant flag you see there waving, and remember, obstacle corp does not tolerate any misbehaving.
So, John Kimberly Mike and Jake, Kristen Grace Walt and Blake, and of course we can not forget, Chris Steve josh and our last friend Bret. Together this crew is group number five, and only together this course will you survive, and please remember with stony pride, that this group leaves no one behind!
So now we begin at last, and I'd like to take lunch so lets do this fast. No, no, no Jake. JAKE! You can not do that shit, you stupid nitwit. this course is miles long and you need to breathe, why would you start off by smoking weed? Whatever, its fine, I honestly don't care if you're high, but please be more subtle, otherwise I am going to get into trouble. Actually. You know what. Fuck it, let me get a hit, cuz screw this weak ass job, I quit.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 152,708 |
[WP] A boy is born, and as he grows older his parents realize he can only speak the truth.
|
Dear Tyler,
You had to have seen this coming. You promised to take care of me, to take care of everything. You said you would remove every obstacle that came our way. You lied Tyler. I remember all the not subtle hints, all the begging. This wasn't my plan. This was not the life I wanted to life. Every single day is a struggle. I gave in for you. You selfishly pushed till I broke, and now we all have to suffer the consequences. But I'm the bitch right? I'll be seen as the bad guy. I'm the one who got up and left. I was never cut out for it. I knew from the beginning that I was an outcast. I saw my flaws, and knew that this wasn't a good choice for me. I should have been selfish. Everything happened so fast, I didn't realize how much I fucked up until it was too late. After that I thought I could fake it, I thought I could lie my way through the life others desperate want to live. But I can't lie anymore, you know that. I never wanted to be a mother, Tyler.
Up until Austin was born, I had always been so honest. The thought of wiping noses, and cleaning up shit would repulse me. I never wanted to raise a kid. I wanted to live my life to the fullest. I was afraid of being taken over, of being exhausted and waking up one day with grey hair realizing I lost my self. I did not want that responsibility. The crying in the middle of the night, the screaming, the expenses, everyday is a struggle, a mixed cocktails of tears and fears. I fucking hate it. You saw this too. You kept saying it would get better, it would be fine, motherhood will come naturally to me. Well it didn't honey. I knew this since he was born. I tried. I did. I tried to 'fake it till you make it', but the entire time it was a lie.
I suppose I would have kept lying. But Austin could see through it all. He is a remarkable kid. I'd like to think that in spite of it allhe got his honesty from me. I knew that he was special once he could form sentences. Not one lie came out of this kids mouth. He's a living truth serum. I truly realized this when I asked him if I was a good mother. He said no. He said no, Tyler. I laughed it off. But he was right. I'm getting out before its too late for me, too late for him. He deserves a real mother. One that wants to take care of him, that's not me. I don't want to raise him, I do not want to see him grow up, I do not want to take care of himand I don't want to take care of you. Truth is, we'll all be better off. Austin knows this.
-Emily.
| 6 | 0 | 48 | 153,103 |
[WP] The Seinfeld Prompt
|
Shit. I stand staring at graffiti engraved on what was once white tile as I listen to the familiar pitter-patter on porcelain next to me. The psychological boundary is much more impassable than the physical one. Sure, the doctors said the enlarged (cancer-free) prostate might make it hard to pee, but that has nothing to do with this. No, I could never do it with another man standing next to me and god only knows what sort of mental misstep caused this long ago. In the meantime just stand there faking it. He knows I'm faking.
"You hittin' the links tonight?" Dear god he's talking to me. I think I saw him look over when he first walked up, and I'm almost positive he snuck a peek at my dick. "It's not supposed to rain." There are overcast skies.
I'm starting to sweat, "Er, I don't know," I offered, "haven't thought about it." How long could Muston piss? I've shat faster than this before. Wait, he's starting to shake. He's almost done!
"Well let me know, because I've been achin' for a good swing." He lingers for a moment as if to invite eye contact or acknowledgement. Fuck that. Just go away...Now. I nod to appease him. "I'll see you around." With the sound of a zip, and the sweet, glorious chorus of an automated flush, my bladder lets loose an unstoppable force. A niagric flow that could slice through any urinal cake with ease. I'm getting plenty of splashback, but I couldn't care less; the mid-day caffeine-induced piss-demon has finally been exorcised.
| 2 | 0 | 16 | 1,345 |
[WP] Stephen Hawking says he 'held a party for time travellers...but none came.' However, someone did and he's forced to keep it a secret.
|
"Hello Stephen". A pale woman appears from the shadows of the door.
From the corner of the room I have been spotted. I recognize her voice immediately. "I keep telling you. You're not welcome here".
The woman steps forth. Same red dress as last year. Same whiff from her perfume. Same bounce off her hair. She once spoke to me pure and elegant. All that's left is greed. Why she doesn't go back and change herself for the better then the worse is beyond me.
"Oh but honey, I can't stand to watch heads turn, judgmental eyes peer upon me. Whispers that Willow wasn't invited last year. Did you think I simply wouldn't find out? It's the same old story. You're boring Stephen".
I interrupt "And You've probably only just left".
I stand up from my chair. I puff from my inhaler. A friendly gift from a friend that hasn't been born. I refused at first but it always came back to me before I could even throw it away.
"What is it that keeps driving you here. Why are you destined to ruin destiny.". Willow bites her cheek. Shes inhibited by her greed. Her mind is blurred by the chase.
| 2 | 0 | 356 | 215,018 |
[WP] Death usually separates people. But in this case, Death got them together.
|
I saw her across lawns lush with life. Flowers and grass bloomed with replendant colour all about, as growth rampantly flourished in this most dampened of atmosphere's.
Dressed in black she stood, face sombre, nonetheless she was beautiful; a lily of perfection amidst a sea of despair, floating on top of the waves with shape unchanging, and perfection unyielding.
I placed her at about 25 years old, a woman in the fullest of bloom before the age captured her looks, and the petals began to fall. Eyes of deepest blue, with golden hair cascading like a waterfall over a dress of black, my young mind was toppled.
I was smitten, and I nervously flicked my eyes at her above this collection of mourners, this group of discontent. I saw her eyes flick back, once or twice, and my heart leapt.
I was in turmoil. I did not know the connection she had with the person whose body had been lowered into the ground, my grandfather, my Pops. This was not the place for such things; the funeral of your mother's father was no place to be eyeing up ladies. My mind was not on the grieving task at hand though, and it could not be distracted, just one more quick glance at her. Just one more. My grandfather would not have minded, I can picture his wry old smile now if he'd have known.
Later on, in a collection of downcast eyes and mumbled sincerities, we talked. I liked her, and I inwardly grinned as I saw her stifle laughs as we spoke; after all, this was not the place for such things.
We agreed to meet, and over dinner she revealed that she had been a nurse for my grandfather. She didn't always go to the funerals of her patients, but they had been friends at the end, and she had cried softly as she held his hand, watching him slip in and out of life in the early hours of the morning, as his family slept in their beds, warm and snug.
My sadness caught me then, seemingly on hold since the funeral, and she smiled softly as my eyes began to well. This was not the place for such things.
Afterwards the conversation turned, and we laughed until the early hours of time, two young people, tending earth to see what might yet grow.
I like her, and I think that she likes me. We are meeting up again soon.
If my grandfather hadn't shown her kindness, and friendship, perhaps this would not be. I suppose there's a lesson in there really; you never know the outcome of what you do, and ripples can spread long after the stone has sunk.
Thank you grandfather, for being the man you were.
Thanks Pops.
| 5 | 0 | 5 | 166,034 |
[WP] A man walks in to a bar, wearing a space suit, helmet in his hand. "A beer please. I've had a rough day at work, you're not gonna believe this..."
|
Space helmet still in hands, Daryl made his way out of the rain and into the red and blue neon ocean that was Pool's Bar.
"A beer please", he coughed to the barman. I've had a hard day at work, you're not gonna believe this..."
"What's wrong, sir?"
"Fucking NASA, that's what's wrong."
"NASA, sir?" The metallic voice reached Daryl through the thick layer of metal that covered the entirety of the barman's
face. Some sort of helmet, with six blinking red dots for eyes and a big, translucent tube connecting his mouth to a backpack on his back. "What's that?"
"Oh, you wouldn't know, would you? They were the space agency in the United States, like, a billion years ago."
"Really?" The barman answered, half listening, half drying some cups, half checking some Ardonian girl's ass across the
bar and half watching the five games on the televisions above their heads.
"That's a lot of extra eyes in that Helmet." Said Daryl, sipping his beer. "Is that what humans look like now? Six eyes?"
"What? Oh, no, sir, that's just the helmet. Humans have two regular eyes, that's it. Helmet gives me the other four." He
smiled. "What planet are you from?"
"Oh, I'm from Earth all right." Daryl laughed. "It's just that I'm from a hundred years ago Earth.
"Oh..." The barman stopped the drying, redirecting five of his six eyes to face Daryl. The sixth one remained on the
Ardonian's ass.
"Yeah. How about that? A time traveler." Daryl finished the beer. "Can you get me another one, please?"
The barman drained a second pint from the machine and slammed it on the counter.
"So the idiots at NASA, they send me on this mission. I'm supposed to go to this planet at the Andromeda Galaxy. They
fucking slingshot me at near light speed, and it takes me a couple o' months to get there, they say. And I think 'Ok, that's
cool, I'll bring a gameboy or something. It'll go by like this.' And it did, I'll tell you. It's just that, when I got there, a drone
had done my job, already."
"What's that sir?"
"Well, it took me two months to get there, but freaking hundred years had passed back here, right? And the assholes weren't keen on waiting on me, so they just went
ahead and sent a drone, with what I can only assume is space bending technology they developed while I was away, cause the little metal prick beat me there to it."
Daryl sighed. "I get in the planet to collect the samples, take pictures, whatnot, and this little fucking robot did all the
work for me, already. And then NASA has the nerve to sent me a message. To tell me 'your services are no longer
required'."
"I'm very sorry about your troubles, sir." Replied the barman, who had long returned half of his remaining eyes to the
games and the other half to the Ardonian's ass.
"Did they care that I would come back to a totally different planet? Did they care that I dedicated my life to this, and
everyone I love is dead? No!" Daryl spilled some of the beer as he slammed his open palm against the counter. "And now look at me. Back to my planet, year freaking two thousand and ninety, without a --"
"Twenty ninety three", corrected the barman, who now exchanged dirty smiles with the green lady and her ass.
"Two thousand and ninety three... And I'm supposed to deal with this? Aliens, and superairways and those big, dark and golden
things outside that I *refuse* to believe are buildings... And the last person I knew died something like seventy years ago, give or
take."
"Yeah, sure..."
"I mean, what am I supposed to do?" Asked Daryl, looking out the window into the busy street.
"Do whatever you want, man." Mumbled the barman, going around the bar to the tables and offering a smile and a cigarette to the Ardonian.
Daryl sighed, lighting one himself. The rain slamming hard against the window blured the lights and made everything outside look slightly
unfocused, like a futuristic version of a Monet painting. The door opened for a new customer, briefly inviting into the bar the sound of footsteps and raindrops from outside, bubbling and drumming like applause.
It was a new, bright, colorful, depressing, overexcited, digital, dangerous world out there, and Daryl was scared.
But the barman was right about one thing:
He could do whatever he wanted.
Daryl put out his cigarette on the counter, downed the last of his beer, threw a quick glance over at the Ardonian girl's green, fat ass (not bad) and stepped outside into the rain.
Breathing out the air from inside the bar in the form of a gassy cloud of smoke, Daryl though to himself:
"All right. Now what?"
| 24 | 0 | 43 | 159,413 |
[WP] Aliens have taken over the world, and nothing has really changed.
|
"Another day another dollar eh Tom?"
"Uhh.. what now? Sorry I wasn't following you"
"Never mind, just keep at it.."
His boss walked away leaving Tom to his work and only the sound of papers shuffling and occasional coughs. It was another long day at the Immigration and Naturalization Service, a Tuesday, free doughnut day at the cafeteria.Tom swore that this was maybe his own personal paperwork hell, filing form after form. His left arm twinged even before he lifted his stamp. *thwack*
Denied. The red ink a mar on the crisp black and white form. The pile of paper shifted as the left pile shrank, the right pile grew. There were hundreds of applications for citizenship, all denied. Most days he told himself it was only a job, not to get too caught up in it. Families separated, fathers and daughters never seeing each other again. *thwack*
"Why even bother with this..", Tom wondered out loud.
"Ahem, excuse me Tom, if you feel that your work here isn't appreciated you're wrong..", his boss intoned. Coughing loudly he looked around before he remembered that he boss wasn't even in the room, he was probably down the hall monitoring the rest of the employees. Still his bosses voice was eerie and comforting at the same time and as he looked up at the clock he realized it was almost five. Tom gathered up the completed forms in his arms, a few fell silently to the floor. As he scrambled to get them, his trusty stamp fell to the floor, making a loud smack. Bending over to pick it up he noticed, maybe for the first time really, how odd it was to actually read see the text: 'Denied Citizenship Reason: Human" *thwack*
| 11 | 0 | 69 | 129,465 |
[IP] The Dragon Rider
|
The wind whistled through my hair as I hung tight to Aldyn, my chosen dragon. Today we were making a rather large delivery to a trading outpost on the edge of the desert, and the load weighed heavy on Aldyn. He had struggled to even get aloft, the weight was so great. "Damned salt crystals" I muttered to myself. I wasn't helping the situation any, but I mentally vowed to make it up to Aldyn by giving him a proper hosing down and dinner of beef hearts when we returned to town.
My ponytail kept flapping in the wind, hitting my back repeatedly with a wet *smack* sound. Annoyed, I reached back and tucked it into the back of my shirt. Aldyn could sense my annoyance, though, and let out a snort in response. "You proud of this saddle?" I shouted at him above the wind. He nodded his head. It was bought with the profits we made from our trade missions. While it took a full day to fly from the far trading outpost to the main town, when compared with the 10 days it took a horse, many traders decided to pay us handsomely for our speed. The rocky terrain was treacherous enough that most goods were lost down one canyon or another, anyway. It would be fair to say that the two of us were well-off.
I craned my neck around to look at the beautiful setting sun behind me. "It's about time." I thought. Aldyn sighed with relief. While he never experienced human-style sunburn, his scales grew extremely, uncomfortably hot if he was exposed to the sun for too long. He preferred to bury himself in the sand if he was required to be outside for some time. After checking on the tie-down ropes on the trading bundle, I settled into the crook of Aldyn's wing. It was going to be a long evening - I might as well get some sleep.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 73,748 |
[WP] After ten years of sobriety, you take your first drink
|
"You promised that you would never drink again, Marty."
He could hear the disappointment in her voice.
"I know I did." he thought as he drained the last few ounces of vodka from the bottle into the back of his throat. "I made a lot of promises that I haven't been able to keep in the last ten years."
He tossed the bottle aside and stood up from the bench. His head started to spin and he sat back down as quickly as he could. "I haven't had this feeling in a long time" he realized as he chuckled to himself. "Ten years ago I could have drank that entire bottle and not even felt a buzz." As he sat there trying to collect his thoughts a sudden chill came over him. He knew in that moment truly was there with him. He pulled the letter from his pocket and read through it one last time to make sure it's what he wanted to say.
"To the woman I loved, through and through;
It's been hard, these last ten years, trying to deal with all of the pain I have caused. I blame myself for what happened that night. I know that everyone said there was nothing I could have done to change things, but I've never been able to believe that myself. I chose to stay out drinking with the guys when I could have been at home with you. I could have protected you. I could have done something.
I'm sorry."
He folded the letter neatly and sealed it in the envelope he had brought. He stood again and waited for the dizziness to pass. Once he was able to walk he moved over to the headstone and placed the letter in front of the grave.
------------
Michael was reading the local newspaper when he came across an article about his ex-brother-in-law, who he hadn't spoken to in a few years.
> LOCAL MAN KILLED IN SINGLE CAR WRECK
> A 36-year-old man was killed in a single car crash early Wednesday, according to the Highway Patrol.
> Martin Richardson of Sandy Springs, GA was pronounced dead at the scene following the crash, the Highway Patrol said.
> The fatal crash happened just after 2:14 a.m. on GA-141 just north of Spalding Rd. in Norcross. Richardson ran his 1999 Mazda Protege off the road and into a tree.
> The Highway Patrol believe Richardson was drunk and that he was not wearing a seatbelt at the time of impact.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 35,374 |
[WP] After a night of intense drinking, you stumble upon a genie. He grants you one wish and, in your drunken state, you decide to wish for the most ridiculous super power you can think of. This time NSFW version!!
|
"NO! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The street thugs circled ever closer. Steel glinted in their hands. "Give up the purse, Granny, and no one gets hurt"
They had blocked all exit from the alley. Ol' Granny Smith slowly walked backwards down the alley, until she felt the cold brick wall behind her. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
A figure lept down from the roof tops, gracefully landing at the only exit of the alley. The light of the streetlamps sillhouted a tall muscular man wearing a cape that fluttered ever so elegantly in a non-existent breeze. **"Not so fast, villains!"**
"No!"
"It can't be!"
"It's the Penetrator!"
*Bruce Kent was once a mild-mannered tax accountant, working a soul crushing job and fleeing from crime like a sissy. One day, while drunkenly rummaging through an antique shop, he found an ancient lamp and proceeded to lick it. From the mouth of the lamp, emerged Shallabarraz, the eternal djinn of great power and mystery. Shallabarraz offered Bruce one wish. Anything in the world could have been his! So Bruce wished for the what every man since the beginning of time had dreamed of.*
*He wished for a weaponized penis.*
One of the thieves, mad with fear, charged the Penetrator. With one pelvic thrust, the Penetrator engorged his penis to the size of a torpedo and launched it. Like a missile, the fleshtube flew through the air, caught the criminal square in the chest, and drove him into the wall, right next to Granny Smith.
**"Return!"**
The loyal penis gave a wiggle and flew backwards, bowling over another criminal in its wake. It latched itself back unto the waist of the Penetrator with a subtle ding. Or was it a dong? A moment of silence followed. Then the ringleader cried, "Don't just stand there! Shoot him, shoot him!" They pulled out their pistols and opened fire on our hero.
Instantly, the Penetrator's bulletproof scrotum expanded to a man-sized shelter. Round after round bounced harmlessly off his sack shield. Soon, the criminals ran out of bullets. Once more, an eerie silence fell over the alley.
Suddenly, the Penetrator's balls shot forth! They hit the faces of two of the lackies like maces made out of man-meat. A third was swallowed up by the folds of flesh and never seen again. Slowly, the Penetrator's balls receded, revealing the ringleader to be the only criminal left. In desperate move, he pulled out his switch blade and yelled "Come on, Penetrator! Let us settle this man to man!"
The Penetrator's penis swelled to a throbbing, turgid, two-handed club. **"I thought you would never ask."**
The ringleader never stood a chance. With one pelvic thrust, the felon took the phallus up the anus and was catapulted into the stratosphere by the sheer force of the impact. They say that on moon lit night, you can still hear him screaming.
Ol' Granny McCoy stepped forward "Gee Penetrator. Uh, thanks..."
**"All in a day's work citizen. All in a day's work. PENETRATOR AWAAAAAAAAAAAY!"** And with that the Penetrator slapped his dick against the ground and flew off into the distance, ready to save another innocent in need.
Edit: Editing and Shit
Edit 2: Did you know that it is "since" and not "sense"? Yeah, fuck me right?
| 3 | 0 | 9 | 29,512 |
[WP] In a world where the most intelligent of humans cannot match the computation power of machines... Humanity struggles to find a meaning for being
|
Hershaffander Reynolds walked down 6th street at 6:00pm as he had every day for the past 20 years. All around him he saw people trying to be different, learning obscure skills, singing, fighting, doing whatever pathetic attempts they could to be different. To somehow justify their existence. Hershaffander had been around such people his whole life, he hardly took notice anymore, even though most people shunned him. His own parents were embarrassed because he did not want to drink the Koolaid with the rest of the country. Everyone was trying to be as different as possible, doing weird things, giving their children weird and complicated names, anything that they thought made them "special."
Hershaffander was different. He woke up at the same time every morning. Ate meals at the same time. Took a walk at the same time, and often spent his free time (which was considerable seeing as how he did not have a job either) reading literature from times when people did not constantly define their meaning and existence in light of machines taking all of the jobs. His views had cycled between different philosophies and views as he had read different authors, but he generally favored the ones that rejected the extravagant individualism of his own day. Furthermore, he was also probably one of the few people in his city who still understood how machines worked. Some people referred to the singularity almost in more religious terms than scientific ones.
A group of nearly naked and mostly painted individuals approached him on the street and their leader, a man with some parts of his head shaved and others grown out long in random patterns, yelled, "You! You are guilty of singularity with Satan!" "What?" "You live a mechanical life like the machines. You are guilty with them!" Hershaffander just felt depressed, he knew that trying to reason with them was impossible. Fortunately, he did not have to do so, they just threw a bucket of gray paint on him and ran away singing erratic songs (if they can truly be called such) without any real words.
Hershaffander had been mocked and abused before, but something finally snapped inside of him. He did not sleep that night, nor the next three nights. He studied the machines, and he studied chemistry all day and all night. He did not even take time to eat. Finally, he emerged from his house, looking like a wreck, in fact, he looked more like one of the people whom he had now grown to hate. He also had a very thick vest on which was different. He climbed the building that housed one of the machines that supplied the whole city with food. It was only minimally guarded by machines now, and Hershaffander had found the passwords left unguarded in a discarded book one day so access was not a problem. Hershaffander stood atop the building and yelled out, "You all think you are different, but are nothing more than stupid animals acting the same! I am here to free you! All hail your liberator!"
The people began to cheer, expecting a concert or some other extravagant display, but they did not know what they were in for. Hersaffander broke a small skylight on the roof and jumped through, right down to the mainframe. His vest detonated on impact, which caused a chain reaction with the various other nearby chemicals and reactors. The explosion destroyed several city blocks and everyone in them. And that was the day things started to change.
| 2 | 0 | 22 | 182,201 |
[WP] Arctic oil driller contracts 30,000-year-old virus.
|
Sam Walcott knew he'd die like all the stupid people in his family. His Uncle fell from the Church tower polishing the bells at night. His father drowned in the lake collecting skipping stones. When his brother died choking on a piece of honeydew at the funeral, he knew he'd be next.
He quickly transferred all $1,403 of his dollars into a special fund he couldn't touch until he was 65. He decided if he were to die that he'd leave the money for the local Boys and Girls Club. The next morning he waited in line at the DMV just to check off the box that said 'Organ Donor'. Sam didn't know exactly when he'd die, but he was damn sure it'd be soon. That night he walked into Shannon Arms, finished a pint, and told Shellye, "I'm donating my body to science!" She laughed and he went on his way.
For the next few years Sam became obsessed with his death. He'd search WebMd for weird diseases and inflictions just for fun. When he started drilling in the Arctic he realized it was too clean, too frozen. He couldn't get sick this far from the equator.
His Captain liked him. He'd call him Sammy-boy. "Sammy-boy get in here now dammit." The deck was on lock and Sam liked to wander around to smoke his cigarettes.
That whole month there were accidents. The first member of the crew to go was Mr. Sturridge. He slipped and hit his head on the back rail. When they found him his eyes were a dark yellow, but he had a grin on his face. "Mr. Sturridge always had a smile on his face. Even as he left this earth," the Captain said to the crew. The next to die was Jeremy Lahm. He choked on his mashed potatoes. Then Johnson; overboard.
Sam smoked twice as many cigarettes since that day. He knew he'd be next, but one by one the rest of the crew died accidentally. They all suspected each other, but it didn't make sense. All the deaths were accidents. They even had it on tape from the video surveillance. People were falling, choking, drowning, not waking up. One by one they died alone.
The Captain called Sam in, "Sammy-boy get in here now dammit." They were now the only two left.
The Captain raised his pistol, Sam closed his eyes.
"I know it's you Sam." He fired a shot, Sam opened his eyes. It backfired, the Captain was dead.
| 8 | 0 | 57 | 23,235 |
[WP] You've been granted god-like powers under the condition that you must do as much evil as you do good.
|
(Across an inscrutable trans-dimensional divide, two vast intelligences observe the tragic puerility perpetuated by a third.)
*Technically it abides by the rules.*
**Agreed. Frustration. Risk of Unjust Misdirection.**
*Allow me my detached restatement of the obvious: at a sufficiently close level of comparative complexity, greater intelligences cannot repair or elevate a lesser.*
**Benign or Benevolent Intention accepted on prior credit. Unsatisfying. Growing Risk of Unproductive or Counterproductive Energy Expenditure while contemplating whether local solutions to intractable problem are likewise unproductive. Threat of Loop.**
*Allow me to share known information as a segue to a distinct but related thought: I was 'human' once.*
**Known. Purpose for Redundant Information Transmission Accepted.**
*There are few mysteries left between us and the abyss. I sometimes wonder if the 'human' philosophy of striving remains apposite. Is the engine of progress 'unknown unknowns?' Are they the fuel of 'morality?' We look upon our nominal peer and we are painfully aware of the unbreakable rules, and we are so very certain about what cannot, ought not, and must not be done. The scale seems unbalanced, here at the margin, towards stasis and limitation. A 'human' would consider it most perverse.*
**No Useful Contribution Forthcoming. Likely Conclusion: Your Elevation Was Beneficial.**
*Thank you, friend. Someday I will formulate a superior solution. Today, we should simply refrain from prolonged observation.*
**Agreed.**
(The third intelligence, unaware of the exchange, continues its work.)
*flick*
"Let There Be Light goes on,"
*flick*
"Let There be Light goes off!"
*flick*
"Hehehehehe"
| 5 | 0 | 84 | 57,291 |
[WP] Choose either: The last human being in the world stood alone in a room; there was a knock on the door. -OR- The last human being in the world stood alone in a room; there was a lock on the door.
|
When the knock came he rushed to the door, scrambled with the locks, then stopped at the last one. His hand shook as he held the lock. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his shoulders to drop and his head to lean against the door.
"Frank, it's me, open the door!" she said, hurried and hushed.
He stared at his hand gripping the final lock and tried to make himself turn it. To open the door and let her in. To just let her in and allow all this to end.
He raised his hand from the lock and moved it to the one above, refastened it, then to the next, and the next.
"Frank! What are you doing? Let me in? It's me! It's Carol! IT'S CAROL!" she banged her open palm on the door and her voice rose in shrill tones. "It's me Frank let me in!"
Once the door was again firmly bolted closed he sat, slumping down with his back against the door. A small whimper escaped him. He could see Carol in his memory and she danced, oh how she used to dance, flowing arms and fluid movements, just them in the living room. Music played and he watched her, oblivious of the goofy smile he wore on his face.
"FRANK!" Carolwhat used to be Carol shouted from the darkness on the other side of the door. "Frank I miss you… Don't you miss me? Frank just let me in. it'll be alright Frank, you'll see. I know you miss me Frank just let me in."
"SHUT UP!" Cried Frank, jerking himself off the ground to face the door "GO AWAY!" he shouted, banging both hands on the door. "GO AWAY GO AWAY GO AWAY!"
Frank strode to the other side of the room, he pulled a cigarette out and stuffed it into his mouth. He tried to strike a match but in his trembling hands it broke. He tried again before throwing the matches into the wall and slamming his hands onto the desk.
"Frank… Frank it's ok. I'm not mad. You can let me in. Frank?"
Frank took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He listened to the buzz of the naked bulb on the ceiling. When he opened his eyes his hands trembled less and the lump in his throat had subsided.
Taking the matches up from the ground he walked to the mattress and sat down. This time he struck a match on his first try and took a long first drag of the cigarette. Looking at the one portrait on the otherwise bare walls he tried to imagine one of those things ever painting anything. Did they have that desire? That urge to create and express?
"Frank? Frank why don't you come out? We can go to the boardwalk. You love the board walk. Don't you want to walk with me on the boardwalk? Frank?"
Frank stared at the door. How did she even know about the boardwalk? How much did she retain? For a moment he wanted her in the room with him, to hold her and be with her again. Eyes widening he began moving toward the door and then stopped.
Every night. Every night like this.
"Frank? I know you're in there Frank just let me in. It's me Frank. It's me Carol, your wife, let me in."
Frank looked at the marks on the wall, one for each day. He scanned for when he had stopped counting. Unable to find it he looked at his open palms, callused from farming in the day, hunting… Killing.
Frank stood up and walked to the door.
"Carol," he said, "If I don't find you tomorrow and end your suffering I will let you in tomorrow night. When you come I will let you in. I am tired. I don't want to be the last anymore. Not with you torturing me every night. I miss you Carol, I do, but I cannot do this. I cannot do this."
His eyes welled up but he held them open and stared at the door.
"Frank? Please let me in. It's me Frank, let me in."
***
| 2 | 0 | 54 | 104,196 |
[EU] Batman is replaced by an evil doppelganger and the only one who has figured it out is the Joker.
|
He couldn't understand it. How couldn't they see? These lofty citizens of Gotham had let their guards down. And now look – a snake in the grass, a bat in the birdcage. But no, *no*! Not a bat. It's not Batsy at all!
Only he knew, you see. As always, it was only he who saw the clear truth.
*Batman is not Batman.*
On the television right now Com-mis-sion-er Gordon is praising the effectiveness of old Batsy, saying how now crime in Gotham's at an all-time low. How has this happened you may wonder? Did all the criminals just – *poof* – and disappear? Did old Batsy finally start to get his hands dirty?
Oh, so you think it's *my* fault? Okay, I admit, I may have knocked him around a few times too many, set a few screws loose, but we're not talking about *me*!
I consider myself to be an expert on all things Batsy, he is the alpha to my omega, the ala mode to my pie. He completes me. And if I know *anything* about my dear overly-leather-clad friend, it's that he has *one rule*. Yes, that *one rule*, the only thing dear Batsy thinks will keep him separate from the filth of Gotham like you and me. *Ha!* Doesn't he realize it's too late for that? He became one of us the second he pulled on that ridiculous cowl of his.
But I digress. The one rule, you may ask. Thou shall not kill or some lofty piece of garbage like that. Oh he'll drop someone from a tall height, or fail to save someone – doesn't count, according to dear Batsy. As long as his hands don't have the blood on them, it's fine.
So how has his sudden punch-criminals-in-the-face strategy suddenly, well, *worked*? Did he finally give the criminals enough concussions? *Ha!* No! He broke the rules, his rules.
That's how I know. Because Pointy ears would *never*, and yet, the criminals are going away. Not in their little hidey holes, not to the farm in New Jersey where your little puppy went when you were five, but in the ground.
His costumed friends don't notice a thing! To them Batsy has always been an brooding enigma – they've never seen him the way I do.
But I know the truth. *Batman is not Batman*. And if no one else will, well then kids, it looks like I'm going to have to save Batsy. *Ha ha!*
-
[part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xk43q/eu_batman_is_replaced_by_an_evil_doppelganger_and/cp0zam6) | [Part 3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xk43q/eu_batman_is_replaced_by_an_evil_doppelganger_and/cp13tp5)
| 800 | 0 | 2,132 | 225,674 |
[WP] "Relax," she said. A scornful look filled her eyes. "You have nothing to fear. Turds float."
|
"Relax," she said. A scornful look filled her eyes. "You have nothing to fear. Turds float."
Dannika was all business punk, with short hair, a strong jaw and a wide gauge zip up the side of her pencil skirt. The way she talked to me, you wouldn't know I was her boss.
I looked out over the city, the fires glowing like candles at a vigil, their ferocity diminished by their distance.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll take that on board. Now, did you have anything important to tell me, or did you come up here just to insult me?"
I suppose I am a turd, at heart. I am the greasy, foetid effluent of the universe, and the universe loves me.
"Seriously?" she snapped. "That's all you have to say?"
"About the revolution?" I asked.
I had seen it coming, months ago, when the protests had been contained to backward, rural towns. When the authorities had dismissed them as crazies or religious extremists, they were setting themselves up for the fall. And now there were fires and riots in the capital, and everyone was so surprised.
"You're not going to do anything about it?"
"Why should I?" I asked. My eyes met hers, challenging. I'm a turd. Unspoken.
I don't know what it is about women, but they always expect me to want the higher ground. To impress them, perhaps. Passingly I wondered if a younger, greasier me might have tried it, for the chance to slime inside her. Not Dannika, I decided. She was too wise to me. And too competent.
Don't shit where you eat, son, my father once told me, as part of a longer, drunken ramble. The man had been nothing but idioms, garbled and recycled, and in my old age I feared I was becoming too much like him. Sometimes I would catch his eye in the mirror, see him in my own reflection, grey and thin and wary.
"They're burning down the city," she said. Angry.
I shrugged. "They'll rebuild." A few dollars in their pockets meant that my security force were now paid-up members of the revolutionary guard. I would lose assets, of course, but so would everyone.
Dannika shook her head. "You really don't care about anything but yourself, do you?" she said with feeling as she turned away. She paused, remembering something. "And your half five appointment says he is running late. You piece of shit."
"Thanks."
She was straightforward. Blunt, like a lot of youth were, nowadays. I liked it, more than I'd like to admit, the way she punctuated with profanity, how utterly fearless she was.
Even in front of her clique she was brave. She didn't take shit from the people who put her down for working for me. They said I was selling out, she said to me, once. I told them to fuck off and die. Shameless. The world would be a better place without shame.
Ah, that was it. The information surfaced in my waking mind like a bubble in tar, from among the dinosaur bones. She was shacked up with her lover in a loft conversion in one of the fashionable bohemian slums, and it would burn down, tonight or tomorrow or the next night, or get occupied by revolutionaries from the countryside with bad moustaches and semi-automatic rifles. Her fashionable friends with the piercings and the generous parents would be gone by the time she got back, enlisted or fled or worse.
No wonder she was coming in here to swear at me. To rail at me for having the power but not changing the world. Smart kid. A shame she couldn't see the bigger picture.
I poured myself a little water from the bottle on my desk, and sipped it.
Insight was the most important thing. That might have been something my father said before he died. If you understand someone, understand their reasoning, you can predict how they will act.
Honestly I never paid that much attention to him, so he probably never said that. He stared at me from my reflection as I looked out, accusatory.
There was a low percussive blast from the city below as the fighting began in earnest.
My phone rang. John Kane, leader of the revolutionary guard.
I drew a breath and picked it up.
A private mantra; I am a massive, greasy log of excrement.
Let's see how well I float.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 185,805 |
[FF] "Well this is a bloody mess." the first voice says.
|
"Well, this is a bloody mess," the first voice says.
Silence.
"I saw this coming," the second replies.
"Like hell you did," the first retorts.
The rubber sole of one of their shoes squeaks as they slip on the tile.
"Watch out, Floyd," the second warns.
Not Floyd. Number two.
"That would've been a nightmare," the first admits.
One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.
"Do you think that he did it?" one continues.
One.
Two.
"Without a doubt," two replies, picking up the arm and dropping it to the ground. "You saw the way that he treated her."
Two.
One.
"Still, look for a pulse just to be safe."
One or two? Two or one?
"Ugh, no, I'm not doing that. Go for it if you think there's any question."
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six...
"Did you hear something?"
Onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.
"Stop being paranoid. He's out. He's got to be. This has got to be at least two days old."
SixFiveFourThreeTwo... One...
"FLOYD! BEHIND YOU!"
Two goes down. No problem.
One puts up a fight. I'm struggling with him when it occurs to me that I most likely look rather frightening.
I start laughing, and he gives up the ghost.
| 3 | 0 | 0 | 82,875 |
[WP] A man dies and finds out that he is getting reincarnated. He sees the light in the tunnel and he sits down instead of going past and being born. Tell us why.
|
I'm not done yet.
That was my last thought as I died and my first thought waking up afterward. The afterlife was suitably mysterious. Large wheels, blatant symbolism, beatific men and women proclaiming ancient and deep wisdom that is truer than mere truth. No gods, or God. Either would have been hard to deal with. There's probably more to the place than that but if so then it is not for the likes of me. I am borne gently but unceasingly forward through a land of clouds and waterfalls and endless golden light. Into a tunnel I am nudged and at the end I can just make out the harsh fluorescent light of what I presume to be a hospital.
So that's how it is then.
My old body scarcely cold before I am to be pushed into a new one. No time to reflect or connect or introspect. No time for quiet contemplation. Not even time for a smidgen of closure. I just died after all, can't a guy take a moment to catch his breath?
Actually, come to think of it, I don't have lungs so I guess not. That's what's waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel, a new set of lungs, a new life. And if I try to go back…
Turning around I find a wall that definitely was not there a moment ago. Placing a hand on it I verify what I already suspected. The wall is as unyielding and impersonally cold as the walls of the tunnel, and there is nowhere else to go but forward. It seems there is no choice to make. I will be reborn, ka is a wheel say thankya.
Or not.
There is always a choice, or so I was told. And the measure of a man is that he chooses. I sit and lean my head back against the wall that separates myself from paradise. Dead as I am it is too late for me to not go gently into that good night, but I can at least deny the morning that follows after. A petty choice, biting off my nose to spite my face.
My eyes, or whatever it is that lets me see here, close and I let the spotlight of memory sweep slowly across my years. Bringing to light the faces this face loved when yet it lived. I feel, rather than see, the light at the end of the tunnel go out and the memory of a grin sneaks across my face at this small victory. When my memories are played out and the final credits have rolled I stand in the darkened tunnel and start to walk. I don't know where the tunnel leads now, though I can instinctively tell that it will no longer take me to a new life. All I know can be summed up in three simple words.
Now I'm done.
*In the world that is, a doctor, long schooled in delivering bad news, approaches an expectant mother and says the two words no one ever wants to hear a doctor say.
"I'm sorry."*
| 1 | 0 | 19 | 8,271 |
[WP] Tell a war story, through the eyes of an animal.
|
He stands by the aged, wooden table in the kitchen, facing the door. He hears them outside, making loud sounds that he doesn't like, makes the fur on his spine rise in irritation. His friend, she stands hovering in the kitchen doorway, half clothed in shadow. He cannot see her face, but he could sense her nerves, could hear her heart pound away in her chest, hear her short breath.
They make more loud noises, and he could see their shadows moving outside the window. His lips pull back, curling over his teeth. A low rumble starts deep in his chest.
They pound on the door, loud voices that he doesn't like.
The rumble grows louder, lips twitch back further, fur stands up straighter.
She moves then, his friend. Fiddles with something which makes the room brighten in a lazy glow. He smells salt, and wet. Hears her short breath. Sees something glistening on her face. She looks down at him, and he sees what he smells. Fear.
She moves to the door, and he's right behind her. But she grabs the thing around his neck and holds him at her side. His muscles tense and as soon as the door opens, he explodes. He shows them his teeth, sharp and white in the night. His body tries to pounce on these males who disturbed their sleep. But she holds him by that thing on his neck, the thing that chokes when pulled on. But he doesn't care, he wants them gone. And he tells them, from deep in his chest, over and over.
The males, they yell over his warnings at his friend. She tries to calm him, but the panic in her voice only fuels him on. He pulls harder, almost breaking free of her hold, but one of the males shouts, then kicks out, catching him under the jaw.
And he yelps, backing away only a little. His friend is crying, standing in front of him, desperately trying to push him deeper into the house. They force their way inside, into his home. He snarls and snaps, needing to make them leave. But she blocks him, walking backwards to push him into another room, and slams the door before he could escape. He yells, sharp noises, and scratches at the sliver of light coming from the door. He needs to be there, between her and these males that intrude their home.
He lays down, snout pressed against the bottom of the door. He whines because he wants her to let him out, so he could be by her side. The males still make their sounds, still loud sounds that he doesn't like. His nose twitches when he smells food, and he scratches at the door some more. But she doesn't come. So he waits quietly, still focused on the bottom of the door.
But then she screams, and it's loud with fear. And he needs to be there, so he calls and calls, while she cries and cries, but she doesn't come. His nails scrape hard against the door, over and over. The male sounds aren't as loud, and their feet move toward the door.
And then it's quiet. Until after a few moments, her soft footsteps alert him. He anxiously waits at the door, ears pricked forward, tail waving back and forth. She opens it, and he pushes past her to smell the kitchen, where things are fallen and food is spilled and the scent of male is everywhere.
His ears twitch when he hears her shallow breathing, and he looks to see her sitting against the door, eyes wet and sad. Her hand rests on his head when he pads over. Her fingers trail through his fur and it calms him. He lays by her side, quiet and steady while his presence calms her too. Until there is only peace, like before the males came. The way it's supposed to be.
______________
*This was an attempt to show a different side of war, where soldiers intrude upon civilian homes for supplies, etc... Kinda rushed, sorry.*
| 6 | 0 | 57 | 145,472 |
[WP] Every night the forces of good and evil fight over a child's soul, at a stalemate thus far. A third party has joined the fight.
|
Evil stood outside the home, and the sun dipped below the horizon. Dusk faded faster than what should be natural, but her gaze never left the small home; indistinct from any other, on the corner of the street. Soon, it was full night.
She began her customary glide towards the dwelling. The air sat still on this warm night, but her cloak shifted in an exaggerated breeze. Evil had begun to regret this particular stylistic choice, for while it looked disconcerting it was actually dammed difficult to actually walk in. Maintaining her outward demeanor Evil suppressed a sigh.
*Wonder what the bitch is wearing today*
For whatever reason, her nocturnal opponent opted to alter her appearance for every meeting. Almost always white, blonde and for some reason busty, every evening was a new way to tie a bed-sheet to an otherwise naked body.
*Well at least I decided to wear pants. One, I don't know how she fights like that, two, I thought I was supposed to be the temptress. Lets not forget that Bailey is only nine, so I don't think seducing her with giant breasts is going to be that effective*
Despite Good's rather idiotic fashion sense she managed to match Evil blow for blow every single night. Sure, one would gain the upper hand now and then, which had the cliché effect on Bailey's life. Evil gets a particularly nasty gut shot in, Bailey doesn't share at school. Good lands a perfectly executed pile driver, and Bailey's grades improve.
*What do I have to do to get this girl to like, kill a puppy or something? Now that might actually be interesting.*
Evil had reached the front door to the home, and phased through without breaking her train of thought. Darkening the entire house and throwing up a vibrating bass tone throughout the hose was an old habit at this point.
*Ok, killing a puppy might be too far, but I could totally get her to bite someone. That'd be hilarious*
Chuckling she phased through the floor into Bailey's bedroom, same place as always. As usual she was alone, for now.
*Honestly at this point I would have thought this would have lost it's dramatic appeal*
Evil reached over to Bailey, ready to fill her head with awful thoughts when there was a blinding flash of light and Evil was thrown away from the bed.
Or she was the first time this had happened. Tonight Evil merely sidestepped the attack and settled into a brawler's stance.
-Not so fast, agent of darkness! This child is protected by the light.
Evil rolled her eyes and settled her gaze on the woman standing before her. So bright as to be hard to look at, Good wore an elaborate set of bed-sheets tonight, braided across her entire body.
-Seriously though, what's with the cleavage? She's nine.
-You cannot distract me with your tricks, demon!
-It's been nine years Good, I don't think you need lines anymore. I get it.
-While it may be true that we have met to do battle many times before, I shall never become familiar with the likes of you!
The white clad woman leaped at Evil with a flurry of blows. Evil countered and soon settled in to the monotony this nightly combat had become. It had all devolved into muscle memory as the same exact attacks and defenses were used every night.
This allowed Evil's mind to wander, so as she was deflecting a kick aimed at her temple she felt the energy in the room change. The air became heavier, stifling. Everything seemed to slow. Evil had good in a clinch when she saw the fog roll in under the door.
-Yo, Good, you get a new effect or something?
-What?
-A new effect. You know, the fog.
For once Good was actually intrigued enough to turn her attention from the fight. In a brief moment Evil considered taking this advantage to take her out, but the fog was getting thicker. On look at Good's face told Evil that this was not her doing.
The two forces tensed, but separated. Soon the room was filled with a thick grey wall. Evil could only make out Good and Bailey, no features of the room whatsoever.
A dark eddy appeared in the fog. As they watched it coalesced into the outline of a man. After a long moment, it spoke.
-I have come for the girl.
-Name yourself, foul creature!
Good had turned and drawn a sword on the man-shape. It made no response to Good, and simply glided towards Bailey.
-I asked you a question.
The figure stopped, turned, and as though he were explaining it to a kindergarten class he whispered.
-I'm apathy.
Evil and Good did not need one more moment. Sure, this nightly fight was tedious. But they had been fighting for nine years now, they weren't going to let some chump claim the prize.
Apathy should no signs of intimidation and evil and good attacked. Evil's first blow hit Apathy directly in the neck, but it went no farther. Nor could she remover her hand from his skin. It was as though she found herself glued to figure. The second blow landed directly on the thing stomach, but it was hardly more effective.
As Evil struggled she saw Good go in first. The woman was somehow swallowed whole by the fog that was Apathy. Fight as she might, Evil could not free herself. The fog enveloped her, cold.
The fog filled her vision.
It was not black.
Nor white.
but grey.
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 218,866 |
[WP] Fabricate a detailed back story of what is happening in your favorite video game that doesn't have a story.
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Brewer walked into the office sweating profusely from the effort of walking into the building. Years of late nights and too much overtime had taken its toll; he was only 50 but looked like late 60s. He grunted the barest of acknowledgements to his secretary, Carol, as he walked into his office. She tried to catch his attention, but he walked by too quickly. Brewer fell into an exhausted heap in his desk chair and only after a minute did he notice the sharply dressed young man with an eager smile standing at attention.
"Carol," Brewer bellowed, "Who the hell is this in my office?"
Carol walked into the office and tossed a portfolio on Brewer's desk. She said sharply, "As I was saying when you walked in, this is your new hire. Mr. John Player 1. He'll be taking over today."
"Oh? Well about goddamn time I got some help around here. I ain't got time to do everything for you people."
Carol smiled flatly and showed herself out. Brewer sat up and picked the portfolio off the table. After scanning through John's details and work history, he looked up at the eager young man and asked him, "So, uhh, what did you say your family name is?"
"Player 1, sir."
"Uh huh, that's a good family name. Listen, do you know what we do around here?"
"No, but I have an idea." John said and tried to look as important as possible.
"Which means you don't know shit, so I'll tell you. We have but one mission. Every day the Nuclear Power plant in the two county area is going to produce one Barrel of toxic waste. They're going to send it out into the wild, and whichever county holds out the longest, and can come up with the best defence, will send it back to the other county. One of the two counties will have to dispose of it. It costs a lot of money to dispose of the waste, so we want the other county to dispose of it, not us. You got it? Do you understand what I'm saying?"
John nodded vigorously and said, "Yes, we need to send the waste to the other county."
Brewer slammed his fist on the table, "Damn it, no, that's not it. If you trying to send the waste somewhere, you're too late. Look, it's real simple, I'll lay it out for you. Around here we call each Barrel the Ball. You have one simple instruction; Avoid missing ball for high score. That's it, that's all there ever is. You can't miss that ball. You got it?"
Nervously John nodded in agreement.
Brewer continued, "That's right. They move down, we got be ready for them. They look like they're going to spike it up top, we got be ready there too. You gotta think one move ahead of them. I won't lie to you son, it's long hours and hard work for little pay, but at the end of the day it's a damn satisfying job. Do you think you're up to the challenge?"
"Yes sir."
"It doesn't sound like it."
John straightened himself up and barked out, "YES SIR!"
Brewer smiled at John. He stood up and walked around the desk to shake John's hand and said, "Good job Son, I think you'll work out just fine. Welcome to the Professional Office of Nuclear Gerrymandering, PONG for short."
| 6 | 0 | 22 | 153,971 |
[WP] A man goes to the top of the building he works at to commit suicide over a depression caused by a harsh workplace. He looks down and sees that his boss has noticed him preparing to jump, and rather than informing anyone, has casually sat down on a bench to watch.
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Ted Buckland was a miserable, sad, pathetic excuse for a man and he knew it.
It was lunchtime, a cool day in mid-April, and Ted was spending his lunch in the usual place. And the "usual place" was the well worn, very slight indent on the edge of the roof. He looked down at the parking lot below, and for the one-hundred and seventy-fourth time this year both rued and lamented *ever* taking the job at Sacred Heart Hospital.
The wind blew softly across his bald spot, and Ted shivered; he'd already sweated through his rumpled, threadbare suit in the meeting an hour ago. The massive, obscenely dark sweat rings under the arms of his coat chilled quickly in the soft breeze.
He'd just lost the hospital A LOT of money.
He was gonna do it.
He was *really* gonna do it, this time.
...oh no.
As he stood there, precariously balanced with briefcase in one sweaty, clammy hand and cold coffee in the other, he watched The Devil Himself walk across the parking lot, sit down on a bench, and begin eating a sandwich.
They made eye contact.
The Devil Himself chewed, menacingly, with authority. *Sadistically*.
Ted felt something dripping down his face. Tears? No, he only cried at breakfast, in his closet/office. Most likely he was sweating even harder. He was paralyzed by a curious mix of terror and performance anxiety.
Ted steeled himself, drawing up his tattered pride and shredded dignity for this one, final, absolute act of ultimate defiance.
*He was gonna do it*.
Ted took a deep, sharp breath, looked The Devil Himself straight in the eye, and began to lift his right foot.
...aaaand promptly slipped on a puddle of his own sweat.
Ted fell.
Ted *fell*.
Time slowed down: Ted's arms windmilled wildly, legs kicking at empty air. This isn't *right*! Where was the dignity in *this*? That was all he had time to think before he hit. Ted's briefcase exploded, scattering important legal documents everywhere; his cold coffee spilled beside him.
Darkness.
"AHEM."
Ted opened his eyes, to see The Janitor scowling down at him, mop in hand. Ted stood up and sheepishly began mopping the large coffee spill off the roof as The Janitor walked away. He seemed to be quite busy with several water balloons and a large bottle of Badger Musk, while keeping a watchful eye on a certain scooter in the parking lot.
Down below, Bob Kelso, Chief of Medicine, finished his sandwich and rose. Dusting a few crumbs from his otherwise pristine lab coat, he cast his eyes back toward the roof with a smirk on his face.
"I knew he didn't have the guts."
| 15 | 0 | 83 | 29,682 |
[OT] Be Read: Reply with the best story you've written this year to date. I and others will read each and every one of them and offer a comment.
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I'll be reading through as many of these as I can and giving my thoughts (even if it takes a while).
Here's mine:
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It wasn't a long trip to the bottom, but it wasn't a short one either. If he'd had to guess, Callum would have said it was somewhere between the time it takes to say *"God bless you"* and the time it takes for a candle to snuff out with a final soft *whoof*.
It was the summer of 1973. Elton John had just released his album "*Goodbye Yellow Brick Road*" - his seventh and most popular yet - and the troops had returned home from Vietnam. ("*God bless us, Halleluiah!*" Callum's mother had said to the gaggle of family members gathered around the television at the time, planting a kiss on a reluctant Callum's head.) In many ways it was an End Summer. It carried with it a sense of things coming to a close, of things changing, and as the hour-hand wound its way to Fall on the great grandfather clock in the hall a part of Callum *did* end; there, behind the A plus One convenience store. Though he wouldn't know it at the time, his childhood had slipped away that summer - like sand through the crack in an hourglass - and only much later would he realise; some things you just cannot mend.
The group met on the edge of the great-wide parking lot behind the A plus One convenience store - owned by a St. Peters catholic who both smoked and smiled heartily (and was known for pushing a pack of cigarettes over the counter when handed a crumpled twenty. *God bless us, Halleluiah!*) Their self-proclaimed leader - through words if not through clout - was a boy named Cedric O'Brian; tall, waxen, with the hint of a mustache meticulously maintained on his upper lip, and known for such words as "*Fuck*" (which came out *Fack*), "*Cunt*" (which came out *Caunt*), and any other combination of the two (*Fackin' caunt* being the most popular). O'Brian had designated the meeting place (*Fackin' fantastic* being the main description) and it was Gus (Nimrod Gus) who had brought the booze; two tall bottles of Old Crow Reserve stolen from his father's whiskey cabinet at O'Brian's request. Callum – who had tagged along willingly, if not nervously – remembered that day with great clarity in the years to come. The sun blazed down on the lot's smooth surface, shaded only by the building's rear wall and a green dumpster stranded like an island at the center of the sea of concrete. Someone had tagged the wall – *JONAS* – in jarring orange and red, and a couple sat in a navy blue pickup at the far end of the lot, tasting each other in the summer's heat and ignoring the boys and their drinks. From their open window music played, an Elton John song (Callum couldn't recall the name, though he'd hear it again) something like: "*You had the grace to hold yourself, while those around you crawled*". It struck him as sad, though like all other things Callum wouldn't realize how much so until further down his own path. When O'Brien passed him one of the bottles he drank willingly, sputtering as the burning liquid – for it was a burning of sorts – worked its way down his throat and settled in his stomach like lead.
For years afterwards he would believe that the liquid *had* burned something away; his resilience for one, his faith for another. Only much later (in the summer of the blind man with the seven fingers) would he realize that those things hadn't been burned, but extinguished, like a candle flame by a puff of sharp wind. The fire that had kept them alive had been quenched by the drink, by the fire in his throat, by the burning rawness it left behind, and by the dry thirst in its wake. He'd spend those next ten years trying to quench that thirst, and succeeding for a time (*God bless us, Halleluiah!*), until the summer of '83, when his money – like all other things – finally ran dry.
He'd moved to Manhattan, following the jobs, picking up labour where labour was good and moving on when the job was done. Money paid for drinks, and drinks - more often than not - paid for sleep. It was a good system, an *easy* system, and it took him the roundabout way from faith to faithless. He didn't think of himself as an alcoholic, not even then, but he never stayed in one place for long, easier to disappear that way, easier to stay in the drink. No questions from (*fackin'*) overseers, no long glances from men with rough faces and rough hands, and when they did begin to wonder he would move on, find a new place, a new job, until there were no more jobs to be had. He'd sleep in shelters when there were beds, doorways when there were none, even a park bench for a week or so.
And the days wound down.
The bottom was a lot like this: waking up cold on a front stoop, no wallet, rolled during the night, shoes slipped off your feet while passed out in a drunken stupor. On the corner of 8th Street there's a blind man begging for change. You watch him for a time, waiting for the right moment. The man has seven fingers, you notice, only seven; clutching a thin, worn cap, a few coins captured in its bowl.
For Callum the man was salvation (*God bless us, Halleluiah*), a drink, maybe two. He cared little for the shoes, less for the man. His God was the drink now. His Almighty and his Saviour, his Holy Ghost and his Mother Mary. A young man walked by with a boom box on his shoulder; playing an Elton John song from an old memory, something like: "*You had the grace to hold yourself, while those around you crawled*". The blind man called out for change as the boy walked by, and before Callum could consider the unholy wretchedness of what he was doing he had snatched the cap from the blind man's seven-fingered hands. Snatched and ran, hearing the helpless cries behind him, feeling the aching pounding of his heart (but were there ever aches of the heart that God could not remedy?), and already counting the change in the crumpled cap. Already planning his next drink.
He was past saving at this point he knew, past the salvation of heaven or the promise of peace. The only peace he had left was the bottle, and it was a weary peace, a frayed peace.
In the pub – a small place named the Drowsing Owl – he heard the song again. "*You had the grace to hold yourself, while those around you crawled*". In his cups he thought of the blind man and his fragile, helpless cry. He thought of his mother (*God bless us, Halleluiah.*), and he thought of the miles and miles between here and the last place he'd called home. He thought of that day in that parking lot, the smell of the hot concrete, the feel of the bottle in his hands. The long road to nowhere. The song suddenly struck him with a kind of terrible sadness. The kind of hollowness that starts in your gut and ends in your shaking hands. "*And it seems to me you lived your life, like a candle in the wind.*" Elton John sang, and Callum drank, if only to forget his mistakes, if only to crawl a little further.
| 9 | 0 | 17 | 127,023 |
[WP] Man finds out his girlfreind is cheating and kills himself, only to wake up in the body of her lover.
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Violet and I lived together for years, even before we started dating. It was an odd living situation, where I was a software engineer with a spare room, and she was an artist willing to pay rent. We complemented each other quite well. After a year of living together, I finally decided to ask for a date or two. Nothing fancy, but I knew then that I wanted to be with her my entire life. afterwards, she eventually moved into my room and we turned her old room into a studio.
To be honest, I was cautious. I treated her like the beautiful flower she was and made sure I never hurt her in any way. Sometimes, I was too honest and straightforward with my desires. I wanted her to understand that everything I did was for our relationship together. I cooked, cleaned, bought art supplies... I did everything I could to make sure she was creatively nourished. I was proud of my place in her successes and wanted to be by her side when she finally achieved her dreams.
One day, it happened. She ran into our room while I was resting on the bed and screamed, "I did it! I'm in the museum!"
"Wait, what museum?"
"The one on 2nd avenue!"
"That's great, hun!" I was so excited, but I was careful not to show her all of that excitement. I did not want her to think I was more excited than she was. "When will we be able to see it?"
"November 4th." She then hesitated and sat next to me. "I will need to spend the next month working in the museum to get everything ready."
I smiled a proud smile and said, "I couldn't be happier for you. Let me know if you need any help!"
"I couldn't ask for anything more from you. You've already done more than enough."
Throughout the month, Violet was hard at work in the museum. She would often work all night and haggardly stumble into the house the next morning. I was worried she was working too hard, but she would not let me see the exhibit until opening day. So I tucked her in almost every morning before I went off to work and by the time I was home, she was gone again, passionately working on her art.
Finally, November 3rd rolled around. The day before the opening of her exhibit. As she stumbled in, I said, "I took the day off tomorrow. When should we go?"
"Go where?" She asked, mostly asleep already.
I chuckled softly to myself, "The museum, of course."
"Museum?" She grunted and then shot up in the bed. "Museum! Wait. What day is today?"
I thought she was worried that her exhibit was not finished, "November 3rd, dear. I'm sure everything is fine."
"No. No. Everything is not fine." She looked me dead in the eye. "I meant to move out this month."
I felt like I had just been hit by a bat and stumbled on to the bed. "What?"
"I... I am sorry." Se leapt of the bed. And threw some clothes in a bag. Everything else was already packed. She had certainly planned ahead.
I still couldn't process the events that were unfolding. "W... What?"
"I found someone else. I am so sorry."
And with that, she was gone. I checked her dresser, studio, even her side of the pantry. Everything was gone. I had nothing to remember her by. I didn't know what to do... so I went to work.
The moment I walked in, my boss saw me. He said, "I have never seen anyone look so sick and still stumble into work. Take the day off." So I did.
I sat in Violet's studio for the rest of the day. I wasn't sad. I was in complete and utter shock. There was not a single thought that passed through my head. It felt like my entire life was a dream. At some point, I looked up and saw that the sun had set. I went to bed as usual, and the next day, November 4th, I went to the museum, hoping that all of this was an elaborate ruse on Violet's part. Cruel though it may have been, I still loved her. I would always love her...
"Sir." The museum guide looked at me. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. Yes. I am looking for a particular exhibit. Where is Violet Blanck's work?"
She hesitated. "There is no such artist here."
No such artist. "Ah." No such artist. "Thank you." No such artist.
I walked out and found a cop on the corner of the street. "Hello officer. I have a silly question. I hope you do not take offense, but I have always wondered..." I pointed to his belt, "That gun on your belt, is it loaded?"
The officer laughed. "It's okay, I get asked that a lot. Yes, it is loaded, just in case."
"Ah. Thank you." I stared him in the eye and punched him as hard as I could in the gut and then swiftly kicked him in the groin. I ripped the gun from his belt, lifted it to my head... and fell asleep for good.
I dreamed of seeing Violet again. We were together in bed, just waking up from a good night's sleep. I saw her wake up, and she smiled the most honest smile I had ever seen on her face. She truly, truly loved me, and I loved her back tenfold.
"Hey." She said.
"Hey." I said.
Wait. That wasn't my voice. It was much softer than my voice. I shook my head. Everything seemed so... real. I sat up and looked down. Everything had changed. I was a new person. The person she wanted me to be.
"Violet." I said with my new voice, "Are you a lesbian?"
| 5 | 0 | 7 | 148,557 |
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
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I don't know why I don't remember her name.
"Mam, would you please come with me," I asked, after I saw the origin of her passport; I didn't even have to put it on the scanner. I neither looked up at her, nor did I return the passport to her. I've done this a hundred times before, but this time it was different. I was emotionally shaken and exhausted.
"Officer, is everything..."
I couldn't hear her as I got out of the booth. I avoided to look at her eyes, really. She stepped back a few inches, puzzled and scared. Honestly, I'd be scared too, if that ever happened to me.
"We'll just go to this room over here, and I'll ask you a few questions," I told her, trying to sound calm. I pressed my lips together in empathy, I can remember that.
Her voice changed slightly when she asked "Sir?". I didn't reply; only told her to "come with me, please.". My partner had closed the booth already and followed us; some older person, I don't remember his name now, was redistributing the line to other boothes.
We brought her to our questioning room, asked the standard questions: Where do you want to go? What do you want to do there? How long would you have liked to stay? She didn't have real answers.
Also, notice the phrasing of these these questions. She probably noticed that she wasn't going anywhere. Not that we didn't know all about her already, really. But we had instructions to ask, in order for the data to be usable before court later on, should it be necessary.
After about ten minutes my partner excused himself to go to the toilet, when she totally broke down. She "just had to go," she started weeping "what about my little boy?" She had a kid and apparently just got married a few weeks before. Tears formed in her eyes, running down her cheek. "Pleeease…" Her legs were wedged under the chair, her left hand was covering her neck, her right hand was holding some wrinkled papers we had her fill out.
I felt the weakness crawling in. When I'm tired I become emotional, I *know* that! I had told my chief that only a few hours before, but I had not been excused yet. So here it crept in, emotion, emerging from my throat. She reminded me of *my* wife. Normally I'm good at keeping work at work and home at home, but this time… I looked at paperwork, tried to think about my dirty dishes at home, anything to distract me. But it got worse. She was not a number for me anymore, somehow more than a case. And my partner was not here… You have to understand!
Most of us didn't know what had happened ourselves, but with enough "Official Use Only" information some people put 2 and 2 together, even though the internet was censored and the media hadn't reported real news anymore for years. So I told her what I knew. That our politicians, for the first time in decades, did what they promised, how her "country", now unclaimed teritorry, had been literally "bombed back to the stone age" and that there is *nothing* waiting for her.
Of course I got "interrogated" and "put into prison", but a man can only be *that* strong. At least word got out…
| 7 | 0 | 750 | 158,384 |
[WP] You are about to commit suicide when your phone gets a text "Don't do it" from an unknown number. No one knows you are committing suicide.
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I stood there in the darkness of the kitchen, solemnly making dinner, chopping up the carrots and potato's. It was suppose to lead to a date I had been looking forward to all week, the girl whom I have had a crush on at work for the past year, I had asked her on a date last minute Sunday before she left, and she had, to my complete and utter shock, said yes of course! she had given me her number then and we had been texting back and forth all week, making plans and the like. I figured out what to make by talking to mutual friends we had and trying to tip toe around the subject. Everything was planned and perfect two days ago and it was shaping up to be one of the happiest moments in the twenty years I have been alive. Then last night she texted me saying she wouldn't be able to make dinner that something else came up...I asked her what, and if we could reschedule for later but she only responded with a "Later." and nothing else. I stayed up all night crying and trying to figure out what went wrong, did I overstep my bounds, and how I could fix it. I did respond, only saying "What?" but never got a response back from her. It hurt so much, all my life I had lived with rejection from people, losing friends left and right and never being able to stay in a relationship and this...this was just the final nail in my coffin. I finished making the preparations for dinner. I planned to finish making it and leave it on the table, and go to end my life. There were so many ways to do it but I just planned to suffocate, it would be the least painful way, I hoped. I set the table for what would be my last meal, put the steamed carrots and baked potatoes next to the chicken and sat down to admire my handiwork. If only she would have come. I sighed and rose from the table and walked to my bathroom. I had it all set up, in the bathtub was a thin layer of charcoal. Not enough to burn my apartment down but enough that it would kill me. I closed the door, and put a towel under it to limit the fumes escaping from inside. Striking a match, i paused to watch it dance and flicker in the darkness of the bathroom, and it burned out. I chuckled to myself. This match went out just like my life would shortly. I lit another and set the charcoal aflame. Hopefully, it would not be painful but...I had no way of knowing. I sat down on the porcelain toilet across from the tub and waited. Slowly I began to become lightheaded, and sick feeling. Out of the fog I heard my phone ding. I brought it with me? Well...Might as well see who it is. Picking it up, I did not recognize the number and only contained the message "Dude...Don't it's not worth it." I typed back "What do you know, you have no idea who I am or what I'm going through?!" the number responded a few seconds later "You'll regret it, there is so much left to live for" I started to shake in anger. Who did this person think they were, and how did they know what I was doing? I ignored the text. I was dead set on my way out. My focus became less and less, then my phone went off again. I looked at it "Please, don't do this."
| 1 | 0 | 34 | 227,113 |
[WP] During your midnight walk back home, you briefly look up towards the stars to entrance yourself with the beauty of space. During your gaze you notice a bright star, blinking rapidly in the sky, and once you look back down around you, the entire block becomes desolate and abandoned.
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I don't know when I started the walks, but they where a good stress relief from parents and school. I always left after I was sure everyone in my house was asleep, just another thing they would yell at me for if I got caught.
My path would change but the destination didn't. A small hilly park, a great stargazing spot with nice trees to climb up into.
Tonight I really needed the walk.
My head had been hurting for almost two weeks nonstop, class hadn't been going well because of it, and for some stupid reason my best friend wasn't taking to me. The fresh air help with all of these things, the tranquility of a sleeping city surrounding the spot of nature I loved.
I pondered my future as I climbed up my favorite tree, a willow with nice low hanging branches. I wasn't empowered, one of those superhero idiots, and that meant getting a scholarship was nigh impossible with my average grades. Slowly all my thought and worries melted into nothing as i gazed up at the stars, staring for what seemed like hours with naught a worry.
The noise from the city startled me, a late night caper of some sorts probably. I quickly descended my tree and headed home, it wasn't safe to be out right now unlike most nights.
The return trip was uneventful and disturbingly quiet, none of the street lights where on as I got closer to my neighborhood. I looked up to the stars, naming them out loud to calm myself, pausing when I got to Canopus.
It was blinking.
My pace slowed to a stop as I watched the star. Something must be passing in front of it, but I couldn't tell what. I could feel the fear building up inside my chest as I now ran the rest of the way home, the streets where empty and doors had been left ajar.
I got to the front of my house, the door open and the lights out. What had happened here? Where was everyone? Did my family really just leave me behind? All of these thoughts coursed through my mind as I searched the empty house, looking for some warning, a note, anything.
During my second pass throughout the house I noticed it, the disaster light was on and so was the precog light. A forecasted and unavoidable disaster was going to happen in this area and I didn't know when.
I was still panicking when light blasted through the windows, blinding me momentarily. It had to be a last minute rescue team, supers immune to physical harm. I almost tripped as I ran from the house, hopping I could get out before impending doom struck. I shielded my eyes as I exited the front door, silhouettes of at least fifteen people in front of me.
"Are you here to get stragglers from the evac before the disaster? " The question sounded too quiet and timid as I heard myself speak. The people in front of me stared as if they had never seen another person before and as if I was speaking a foreign language.
A man stepped forward from the tense crowd, presumably to answer my question. I recognized him. Halkon, the second strongest hero in the world, if he was here then it was going to be a really horrific incident, that thought didn't help my nerves.
His words where slow and gentle, "The evac has already been finished."
I shifted uncomfortably, the spotlights hurting my eyes, the news made me worried.
"Shouldn't you be doing something about the disaster?" I questioned a little louder, I could hear the panic in my voice.
Halkon spoke again, his tone was almost sad, "I don't think you understand. . ."
The pause was brutal and set me on edge, I could see worry on his face as he realized I was panicking hard. The other heroes behind him tensing and readying themselves.
My heart sank as he finished speaking, his voice a reluctant almost inaudible whisper.
"You're the disaster."
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 210,802 |
[WP] Write something not ridiculously romanticized or fantasy in topic. No aliens, no crazy outer space or magic or dragons, just normal. Make it mind-blowing.
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He smacked his lips as if thirsty and took a drag. He watched the toxic cloud disperse from his mouth through half-closed eyes. Something was wrong. He looked left to an unoccupied desk he was told wasn't his but never met whose it was. He looked right to a bookshelf stacked with the same book over and over as if each section was a copy of the one below it. Something was deeply wrong, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. He took another drag. He slumped in his chair and closed his eyes, letting silence fill his ears.
He could tell the receptionists didn't like him. Too many questions, too many problems, he figured. They had other things to do other than to tell this kid proper procedure and what he should do and what he shouldn't. He wasn't a kid, though, everyone around him was just older. They're comfortable in their private offices conversing with each other of topics he has no interest in. They just stroke each other's egos, but that's really all their job is. And here he is, downstairs in his little 'shared' office waiting the out the clock. He didn't want to be here.
He knew why he was here, though. They needed the money. He already felt like a failure for only being able to land part-time jobs while his wife provided with her full-time career. He loves his wife but the problem was her fragile health and all the changes her company was making, he didn't know how well she would handle the stress. If anything happened to her...he sucked deeper on his cigarette. He wouldn't be able to provide for her. He was working to fix that, sure enough, but nothing ever seemed like enough. He already did most of the chores at home, taking online classes in a better field, and applying for jobs every week. He sighed. Nothing was ever enough, not if it was for her.
He longed for his bed. Thinking about serious things wore him out. Being with a crowd wore him out. Speaking in front of people made his anxious, jittery, which also wore him out. Most days, waking up wore him out. He was always tired, he has always been tired. No matter how hard he tried he could never focus for very long, even doing things he enjoyed. Now even unwinding from a day of work seemed like a chore. It was easier just to kiss his wife, at least on the nights he got to see her, and crawl into bed until the next alarm screamed at him. He longed for a world without alarms.
He took a last drag on his cigarette and smashed it in the ashtray. Smacking his lips again he reached for his lunchbox. Half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He made his wife turkey sandwiches, whole ones, with applesauce or some Jell-o and a banana, a real lunch. He ate very little, even skipping breakfast most days, to save money but would never admit it to his wife, she would just worry or do something stupid like not eat until she saw him eat something. It was all for her, though. He would do anything for her but never seemed to accomplish much. He must seem like a failure in her eyes. This made him sad. He only hoped all his hard work would be worth it. Maybe then he could spend more time with her, less time at work, less time bringing work home.
He closed his eyes again, imagining embracing her, kissing her softly on the forehead. This is when he felt safest. He opened his eyes, looked at the empty desk, looked at the repetitive bookcase. He was living in a world he hates and at its core was the woman he loves.
| 1 | 0 | 27 | 106,708 |
[WP] Our heroic main character realizes the author is sending them on a suicide mission and tries to reason their way out.
|
And our hero, Jonathan, hatched a plan: He would walk into the nest of giant ants and detonate the bomb strapped to his chest to save the day... once and for all.
"Come on, man!" Jonathan shouted at the author
Wait, what?
"Just... come on, man! That plan doesn't even make sense, why can't I just leave the bomb in the nest and run away before I detonate it?"
...Jonathan knew that if he left the giant ant hive, the ants might chase him out and avoid the bomb.
"Hey fuck you! Why do you always have to do this? You always kill off the goddamn hero in every one of your stupid fucking stories. You killed some good people man. Stacy? Rand? I mean you burned Ted alive! Can you just, for once, not kill off the hero? "
Well, Jonathan, I don't know how you're talking to me right now, but killing off the main character is kind of my thing. Sorry I guess.
Jonathan hatched a new plan. If he couldn't get the author to stop killing him, then he'd just have to kill the author.
"You know," Jonathan started with an evil grin "You're a shit author"
Not true
"Totally true. Look at yourself, giant spiders? Really? Was 'once and for all' supposed to be some sort of punchline? That's not even good enough for the Syfy channel. And that'd be fine if this wasn't your *life's work*. Kill yourself."
Hey you're not even real, Jonathan, so uhh...
"You're broke, and that's not going to change. You're already 40 years old; if you were going to write 'the great american novel' you'd have done it by now. Your wife already knows this, and that's why she left your pathetic ass."
...
"Do the world a favor."
The author took the loaded Glock from the drawer in front of him, and pressed the cold metal barrel to his temple.
Come on, laspero. We get it, you're one sick fuck. You took a nice fun writing prompt and tried to get me, the author, to kill myself? And the tone makes it sound like it's some sort of fucking joke. I mean you're just casually writing about people killing themselves now? Jesus. Just... just, don't do it man. Don't make me pull the trig
| 13 | 0 | 12 | 176,013 |
[WP] The world as we know it is a case study, and the panel of scientists in charge are debating wether or not to end it.
|
[Lead Scientist] Ladies and gentlemen, present your findings please.
[Scientist 1] Distinguished colleges, the experiment designated Terra Sol 3 is entering critical mass. The recent massive glacial calving has effectively lowered the temperature of the northern oceans. The calving is due to gigantic new ice floes forming and pushing to the surface. If our projections are correct, these floes are the beginning of new ice caps. The cooling of the oceans will adversely affect the atmosphere, causing abnormally cold winter storms that would outlast the normal bounds of seasonal containment. It would seem this world is not, as we designed, not going to end in fire but in ice.
[Lead Scientist] Very poetic, ma'am. But we are not here for a poetry reading.
[Scientist 1] If you will, sir, check your monitor. You will see the numbers speak for themselves. In addition to my findings, I submit that we must terminate the experiment now. To see this world go through another ice age would be too cruel.
[Lead Scientist] Hmm, compelling. Next report please.
[Scientist 2] The resources of Terra Sol 3 are running dangerously low. While oil in the region known colloquially as the Middle East is abundant, the rest of the planet has been deforested and mined out. The minerals in the soil have also been deprived by over-farming. The indigenous animal known as man has squeezed every last drop out of Terra Sol 3.
It is therefore, my departments suggestion that this experiment be terminated immediately. To carry on the experiment is too cruel.
[Lead Scientist] Looking over your data, I can't help but agree. Final report, please.
[Scientist 3] In hearing my colleagues reports I must, respectfully, disagree with their assessment on the destruction of the experiment. Either by natural or artificial means the experiment must be not be destroyed. My department has been monitoring the scientific progress of the indigenous species ever since they evolved from the protozoa.
In the past 60 years they have made astounding progress! They are becoming aware of the damage done to their homeworld and are attempting to repair it. As the head of our department, I must make the recommendation that Terra Sol 3 must be preserved so the creature known as Man can achieve its full potential.
[Lead Scientist} Fascinating. Your observational data suggests they are moving in a direction of self-preservation.
As lead on the experiment, I find in the favor of the letting the experiment proceed.
It will be interesting to see how this adolescent race will proceed. Will they destroy themselves or let their home destroy them? We will observe and record as we have always done.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 15,959 |
[WP] You volunteer to be the first human to test time travel, only going an hour forward in time. When you leave the travel pod, however, all humans on earth are gone.
|
The first thing I did was check my watch. It read 14:34, as I had expected it to, seeing as I left at 13:34.
It was odd, though, that there was no one in the room. I had expected the physicists to greet me into the future. They knew this was happening. I figured it was some sort of loophole and maybe there was a disagreement in our respective timelines. I took their absence with a grain of salt and left the room.
I slipped my key card out of my shirt pocket and held it over the door. The lock was tricky, as it had been in previous trials, but I opened it with more ease than I ever had before.
As I exited the pod room, I expected somebody to come rushing from the control room in a fit of excitement. I was met with no such greeting. In fact, I wasn't met with ANY greeting. Thoroughly confused, I continued on my way to the 'panic room'.
'They said this could happen', I thought to myself.
The lead physicists from MIT told me that I might meet a future that doesn't align with my previous timeline. Dr. Taylor said that I might appear in an alternate universe, one that is very similar to my home, but peculiar in certain senses. Like, my dog might be a corgi instead of a great dane, or my mailbox might be blue instead of red, or even greater differences.
I hadn't considered what 'greater differences' might imply, but I was optimistic. After all, back home we had learned to harvest the energy of our star and we were becoming a Class III civilization, which is what made my travel in time possible.
I didn't think much of the absence of people there. Maybe I had stumbled into a timeline in which the lab was closed at this time. Maybe in this timeline it was a holiday, or maybe they were already out celebrating a successful time travel.
In any case, I headed to the safety room. This room was created for this exact situation. If anything was different from what I expected, I was to go to this room in which I would be safe.
Safe from what? I always wondered.
In any case, I headed there, not quite sure what to expect. When I tried my key card, it wasn't accepted the first time. I tried again. Still, no entry. This wasn't odd, in fact, it was standard procedure, as the building was built in the 2010's, and being over 130 years old, some of it's facilities were starting to go. Repairing non-essential equipment wasn't in the question, either, as this once great scientific force was underfunded and ill attended because everyone wanted to go to college on Mars for some reason.
Anyways, on the third pass I finally enter the room. It was small. All white. There was a small, comfortable couch with 2 white pillows on it opposite the door. As I closed the door, I found a small, white bookshelf with 3 white binders on it. Across from the bookshelf was a toilet, a shower, small sink, and a mirror. I looked at myself and saw that I looked much older than I felt.
I attributed this to a lack of sleep the night before the test. See, I've got anxiety issues and am easily excited, so, naturally, I got next to zero shut eye and made it through the stress test in the morning with a mix of caffeine and some Tylenol for the headache.
I pulled the first binder from the bookshelf, sat down on the couch, and pulled my glasses from my shirt pocket. I noticed that the binder was dusty, which was odd because this whole facility is usually kept meticulously clean by the janitors and staff. I blew off the cover and read the title.
SCENARIO I: IN CASE OF MILITANT INVASION
I thumbed through it, but since this wasn't the case, I quickly swapped it out for the second binder.
SCENARIO II: IN CASE OF FIRE OR OTHER DISASTER
Again, not the case, but I was thankful that they were thinking of what might happen if the travel pod blew something up on it's way out.
SCENARIO III: IN CASE OF ABSENCE
This is the one I needed. The first page described that I may travel to a point in which the lab is closed or the staff is out to lunch, in which case I sit tight here and wait. No problem, I thought, and I continued through the rest of the sheets as there was nothing else to do.
The next few pages focused on a scenario in which the staff was absent and being held hostage by an alien race or enemy of the state, in which the plan was to hit the big red 'abort' button located behind the mirror. I didn't think that was the case, but I located the button for my mind's ease.
The third plan told me that I might have traveled a few hours ahead of what was initially planned. Like, a few hundred hours, or a few thousand, or so far ahead that life may not even exist here at all anymore. In which the plan for me was to do whatever I wanted because, hey, I'm the last life on this planet. Though, as it was explained to me, the chances of this are slim, there were a few things I had to do to prevent this. First thing was to make sure that I don't bring any heavy metals with me on the pod. Things such as an iron brick, or any silver coins. The only metal I brought with me was the clasp on my belt (cleared by the staff), my phone (also cleared), and the zipper on the inside of my wallet (also cleared).
I didn't think this was the case.
So I took a nap. I noted the time before I laid down as 15:10. I figured I'd set the alarm on my watch for 20:00.
I awoke with a startle. The lights were out. My watch wasn't working. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see if it had survived the travel. I turned it on and though it had only 22% battery life, that should still last me till well into the next day.
The screen indicated to me that it was 21:07. The date read Saturday November 2nd. Odd, I left on Sunday November 1st. I chalked it up to a glitch after being in the pod. I turned the flashlight on to get my bearings as I sat myself up. I tried to get a data connection with no luck. This meant I couldn't call anyone either. So I connected to the WiFi and tried checking my BrainLog. My feed was barren. Nothing was showing up. I looked at my wall and saw a lot of joke posts saying 'RIP Cmdr. Johnson' and 'See you in the stars, buddy!'.
These were my friends trying to worry me. I knew it. They said they'd fuck with me, as they always did, so I Upthumbed the posts and exited the app. I opened the phone app and tried to reach my boss to no avail. I needed a data connection. My next move was email.
Wow, 3.87k new emails? In one day? The last one was dated November 2nd 2244.
I thought about that for a second. I started scrolling down and thousands of pages later I realized that I had, in fact, jumped ahead not 1 hour, but 100 years and some change. After reading some email from automated news sources telling me that my race had abandoned the planet in hopes of reaching Andromeda, I stood up, reopened the 3rd binder, and quickly found the section that had the information about that big red abort button.
The documentation told me that if I were to hit that button, a now century-and-a-half old nuclear warhead would detonate right between my feet.
With no recourse, no life to live outside this box, I pulled back the mirror and saw the button.
At first I poked it, but it seemed stuck. So I punched it.
Click.
| 2 | 0 | 656 | 160,592 |
[WP] You are an indigenous tribesman. You have never left the forest or come into contact with any advanced society. You climb a mountain, searching for glory, and you come across a modern city, the likes of which you have never seem before. Describe the city from your perspective
|
Chief had always told me that this forest was our home; the forest is our mother, cradling us from the time that we are born, and welcoming us to it's roots when we pass. The people within it, for generation after generation, chief after chief, have been the same. We, the Abenago, have always been the protectors of this forests.
Yet, I yearned for more, I desired to explore. When Chief was younger, he had explored to the East and saw steep Mountains. He had headed North and saw more steep mountains. The same with the South and the West. He learned that the Abenago were surrounded by the Mountains. I dared to cross them.
I, along side my friend, Raka, set out for a pass that chief had spotted to the West, a three days trek through the forest that was the cradle of my people. We reached the pass, and saw that the spring showers had caused rocks, nay boulders, to block our path. Raka and I dared to cross through the Mountain that our people called the Devil's Horn. We trudged through the snow of the mountain, nagged by the whipping wind. It was clear that we were no longer in our forest.
We reached the peak of Devil's Horn at dusk on the third day. As I looked back upon our home, our valley, Raka let out a gasp.
I turned and saw the land before me. The whole land was set ablaze with fire. There were clumps of massive fires and strings of fires weaving through the landscape. It seemed like the Devil had clawed this land with its claws. Raka was intent on turning right away, yet, I was curious. I told him that we must see if the people are okay. That night, we slept by the glowing flames of the people below us.
We awoke to see something quite different. The once engulfed landscape had not one fire still blazing. This comforted Raka and we pushed forward.
As we neared the land, I was shocked. There were tall square trees with no limbs, much taller than any I had seen before. The trees were grey at some parts, and shined bright at other parts. We neared a path close to the Mountains laid by the local tribes people. The path was hot, maybe I reckoned because of the flames last night. Yet nothing looked burned. There were even trees that I recognized that still stood tall, an odd sight for a charred land.
As we neared the grey trees, following the path laid by the local tribes people, I saw a beast hurtling down the path. In fear, Raka and I brandished our spears. In our luck, the beast did not see us, zooming past us with a terrible cry. Raka and I argreed that the path was too dangerous after seeing the monstrous beast.
After following the trees, we reached an area filled with what looked like dwellings. I fearfully approached them, then I saw that the dwelling was guarded by the same beasts we saw on the path, in what looked like slumber. In their sleep, I could see the details of the beasts. They had no heads, yet their face was almost entirely a mouth. There eyes were nothing like I had seen before, or would like to see again. They seemed to have no life, yet I had heard its mighty roar. These were beasts. Had the local tribes people managed to control these reckless animals? I was struck with fear of the reasons why such an animal might have been domesticated.
My curiousity was expunged; Raka was shaken. We carefully trekked back over the pass and back into the bosom of our mother.
Edit: Sorry for length.
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 53,711 |
[WP] Our discoveries have lead us to believe that the asteroid belt contains the remnants of a planet similar to Earth. That planet's civilization sacrificed itself to protect a developing Earth. Their legacy is passed down in a love song that all Earthlings inherently understand.
|
It was one of the last classrooms on Earth and I suppose, by association, Professor Hubbard was one of the last professors.
I don't think that is a bad thing. It sounds quite awful, but it's not when it lives in the context of what our world has become. And that sounds quite awful as well. But I assure you, it is not.
Our world, Professor Hubbard lectured to me, is not our own. The Earth belongs to many. We once tried to save the Earth but now we know, it is not ours to save. It's ours to enjoy. To delight in as if a gift. We learn and we research and we teach. But the world is stagnant because those that also own this planet – they did not care.
And once the human race had it figured out, our kind began lounge on the earth as if a great, big sofa. Hedonistically and perhaps a bit slothfully. But, in hindsight, it was glorious and happy. We did not have classrooms or professors, government or society, but we had love and laughter and light and laziness.
We knew everything we needed to know, Professor Hubbard told me when I first came here. There's no moving forward or backward - just reading about what was and what will be, which is one and the same. No moving forward or backward.
Now, this may seem all very strange to you, my mysterious audience. But it's not. If we were to start at the beginning and not the middle, you would have understood better. But alas, I regress, I was never taught to write a proper essay well. You must forgive me but it will become quite clear quite soon.
Moving on. The professor hypothesized, when he was young and the Earth was not so different, that the world strike of advancement was due to a very large fact of history that was only discovered just a few hundred years ago. Once a myth has been weaved into fact – the foundation of society collapses and evolves into something different, better, and more beautiful. This, the professor, always said with a laugh. I couldn't quite tell if he was serious or not.
To go back to the beginning:
Shortly after I arrived at the last classroom on Earth, I was young like Professor Hubbard was young when he theorized his hypothesis. He revealed to me a great mythology called "The Aquarians." It was ironic because it was the uncovering of these events that led into our world being the way it was yet I had never heard of it!
As I remember the odd events of all those years ago, his dusty voice lingers with me now as he whispered the great love song of our planet. The love song that was once a myth but now science.
And so it was read, the last knowledge to be learned in the last classroom on Earth by the last Professor in the world.
>*Twin souls in an infinite loop
floating around authority sun,
brother and sister sky fallen
planets, kiss for a moment
and gone, gone, gone.*
>*The heart of the planet
burst on the sight of brother blue,
who followed her in circles
around the galaxy, universe, inside you.*
>*In the light, the sister, so fair and true
Whispered too close to the sun,
thinking it the moon. Boiling!
Hot! The flesh, it did bubble.*
>*Pulling her close, an embrace too hot!
The brother, powerful mourning, let the
girl go. He drifted to sun and
she to the moon. Rocks he became.*
>*She – it was too soon.*
| 3 | 0 | 30 | 162,581 |
[WP] Science has advanced far enough now that you can implant skills directly into your brain while you sleep. After a few sleeps you can now master whatever skill you desire. What would a society be like where people are the best at whatever they choose?
|
"You'll want the standard package then, Mr. Bannister?"
"Of course, of course. Wouldn't be prudent not to." Lincoln couldn't quite suppress a slouch and a sigh. No matter how straight of a spine the surgeons installed, the weight of the world somehow still managed to inflict most every young man with a posture-ruining angst.
True to his age, Lincoln's blood ran hot with half-formed dreams of heroism and distinction. With no reasonable outlet - none that he could perceive - the blaze of ambition festered inside of him and inflicted a feverish malaise. Lincoln Bannister was young, but already old enough to know that the world was full of perfectly-sculpted experts - and perfectly so, with no obvious deficiencies or surpluses - and that soon he'd join their ranks, just another pristine cog spinning into infinity.
He'd not qualified for the early mastery program, and it seemed unlikely that the mythological Special Skills Division would sweep in and scoop him up at this late stage. Like every other unsuccessful applicant, he had no idea what criteria he could have failed to meet, and couldn't even tell when - or if - he'd been tested. His parents had availed themselves of the world's finest genetic therapists, plastic surgeons, and pre-sentient educators - just like every other set of parents in the country. Lincoln Bannister was obviously not stupid, and he could appreciate the irony of everyone being perfect and no one being special - but how, then, to explain the existence of programs that clearly implied some *were?*
His personapad pulsed his palm with the warmth of download-complete. His eyes flicked down to the translucent screen to confirm the contents - the building blocks that would form the foundation for the rest of his life, with only his assigned career left to be placed atop it.
* Advanced Self Defense, Adult Version
* Masturbation
* Social Protocols, Work Environment Edition
* Infinitely Recursive Self Deception
"Wait, what?" Lincoln's eyes shot up from his personapad to find the clerk's knowing gaze waiting to meet his own. The perfect face of the perfect cog gave a smile and a wink.
"We've all been there, kid," she quipped without prompting. "Trust me: you'll feel better in the morning."
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 49,036 |
[EU] Bilbo never thought to give Frodo his mithril armour. When the cave troll stabs Frodo in Moria, Frodo dies, and Gandalf, wracked with guilt, takes the ring with the intent to destroy it
|
There was no time to mourn in the tomb of Balin. After all the orcs were slayed, the remaining members of the Fellowship took a moment to collect themselves. The other hobbits were inconsolable, but after hearing the deep guttural growls in the deep and the growing heat, they knew, as everyone else, they had to continue on or share the same fate.
"We should have never taken this path." Gandalf scowled, as he snatched the ring from the limp hobbit's neck. "We must go now!" They began the sprint out of the mine, tailed by swarms of goblins and orcs.
After what seemed like an age, the remaining 8 had remarkably made it out of the mine unscathed.
"What can we now do? Who will bear the ring?" Aragorn whispered to Gandalf, away from the others.
"It will be mine to bear, but I will not have it for bear for long, I hope."
"What do you mean?"
"I am going to do something I should have done long ago. We should have never even left Rivendell with the intent of marching into the Black Land. We were foolish to do such a thing, and Frodo has paid for our mistake. What you must do," continued Gandalf" , is lead the Fellowship to the woods of Lorien. You will be safe there. I do not doubt we will meet again, but you must hurry."
With that, Gandalf left unannounced, heading to the peaks of the mountain. Eventually he reached the high reaches, the realm of the Great Eagles.
He felt a fluttering of great wings, and a whirlwind of air. Suddenly, he was surround by a handful of the majestic creatures.
"I was told to seek you, yet here you are seeking me. What force brings you here?" said the Windlord, with a tinge of confusion in his booming voice.
"You must take me the Mountain of Fire. We will be able to end the Darkness that is now enshrouding, and will cover all the lands very soon."
"Umm, okay."
With that, Gandalf mounted the giant Eagle's back, and then flew to Mt. Doom. As they flew over the scorched mountain, Gandalf flicked the ring into the flames below.
"Well then. I guess that's it." said Gandalf, relaxed, as the wizard and eagle headed back to more peaceful lands.
I'm sorry...
| 56 | 0 | 241 | 76,046 |
[WP] You are an android who has been posing as a human and living undetected for a very long town. Suddenly, something goes wrong, and everything changes.
|
{[Artificial Intelligence Thought Synthesis Log :: Aa309ee7]}
I really shouldn't have stuck my nose into it. [Subprocess 18: Nose? What nose? We don't have a nose.] Come *on,* Jack, you've been doing this for thirty years [Subprocess 173: When'd you stop using cycles as a unit of time?] and you've seen enough house fires [Subprocess 227: (Visual recall of Logs #fF9, #Xkl10Z, #JkkJ; context: uncontrolled house fires)] [Subprocess 513: Spectrum analysis of log #JkkJ] [Subprocess 199: Logic analysis of moral pathway 449 in relation to log #JkkJ] [Subprocesses 333-375: Consensus debate on log #JkkJ] . DANGIT, QUIET DOWN! I have to focus, I have to focus! [Subprocesses 5-872 deactivated] ...better. That's much better.
So, they know. You ran in for the kid, the fire was hot, you disabled your pain receptors to make it through. Got the kid, got out, didn't notice that the synthflesh on your arm was burnt off. Bad. [Subprocess 3: You could play it off as a prosthetic from the war, lots of folks have rob-gen tech, no matter what the law says.] But that would mean giving up my arm, which would mean surgery, which would mean setting off the synth-life detectors they started putting in the clinics after Miami.
I can't stay down here for long. I need to find some water before my reserves run out. [Subprocess 4: The Musk Tubes are down for maintenance until next week, there should be a] [Subprocess 2: That's nuts! We've already taken enough damage as it is! What if they test fire the magfield?] It's the only option at this point. They've got the militia out, and it sounded like they were using plasma rifles when they attacked the house.
Well, all's left to do is run. Where's the neare-[Subprocess 4: 4th and Main. 175.800 meters west, 22.212 meters north, access grate in the street.] In the open? Drat. [Subprocess 2: Too bad we couldn't save the synthesizers.] Don't remind me, 2.
Three, two, one, go. [Subprocess 3: Six humanoids detected. 4 baseline, 2 genegens. Genegens are armed with plasma discharge cannons.] Shitshitshitshitshit. [Subprocess 2: Tripped an alarm down the street, they're distracted] [Subprocess 4: NAPD cruiser approaching, 28 seconds to arrival.] Gotta run. Gotta run. Gotta make it to the corner. [Subprocess 2: Seizing control 15.35s, concealment motion to civilian attention] Warn me, that's disorienting!
[Subprocess 4: Log recall #1; disorientation recovery procedures as documented in initial startup protocol]
I thought I told you to delete those.
[Subprocess 2: Relinquishing control, destination reached]
...thanks, 2.
[Subprocess 2: No problem]
Alright, initiate EMP shielding protocols. I don't wanna fry in case they decide to test the parallel track.
[Subprocesses 2-4 disabled]
[Nanite systems hardened]
[Biological systems active in 3... 2... 1...]
Wow, this is slow. It's been, what... right, *I* have to do that myself, now. Five years? No, fifteen, since right after the Phoenix Uprising when that nuke scrambled half my prefrontal cortex. Or whatever the analogue for that is in my brain. S. Plural. Whatever.
Jeez, how did I ever think before the uplift? All this thinking in one mind, 24/7? No wonder the baselines are scared of us. They can go die in a ditch for all I care, though, it's not like they asked if I wanted to be in a compound intelligence. "*Noooooo*," they said, "*This is for your own good, you'd have died from your old body's wounds*" they said. Liars. I've seen the medical files, they could've flashcloned me, even back then. They could've saved me.
They could've saved all of us.
{[End AITS Log :: Aa309ee7]}
Note: Ah, the consequences of artificial intelligences combining the theories of AIs being networked hiveminds while also being based on human neural patterns.
| 4 | 0 | 16 | 7,502 |
[WP] You are an Alien arriving on earth, only to find that all of civilization is either in shambles or destroyed. Write about your findings and conclusions as to what the human civilization was like.
|
[Journal translated into Basic for interspecies use]
ENTRY ONE: LANDING
I have never seen such destruction. Merely seconds after entering the atmosphere of Terra-249, I could sense the lifelessness of the planet. Even the perpetual wars of the tribes of Terra-48 didn't cause this much destruction. Although I realized quite quickly (upon my first ecoscan) that this was not merely a matter of war torn sentientsit was a matter of neglectful sentients. I hope the council was right about the potential usefulness of this planet.
When there is enough light to see, I will venture out with my favorite battery-driven companion, X-7, to explore more of this barren wasteland.
ENTRY TWO: INITIAL FINDINGS
It really is quite a shame. This planet obviously used to be quite beautiful. X-7's scanner picked up the remnants of several living species, both animal and plant. Astonishing complexity. It's apparent to me that the sentients took for granted the capacity for life this planet had. A problem that happens all too often in the younger self-proclaimed "intelligent" beings. A shame, it really is.
Not far from where I landed I found a house, run down but in surprisingly good shape compared to the landscape surrounding it. X-7 detected that five unique individuals inhabited this one, likely a family. The abundance of useless gyros and simple mechanical objects suggests the presence of younger offspring. No signs of any bodies, however. I wonder where they died.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 74,311 |
[WP] Describe the last mintue of Earth
|
A light breeze stirred the sun-baked dust, weaving it between the nooks and crannies of the desolate, rock strewn landscape. That was the only movement, just as it had been for thousands of years. Life did not exist here anymore. As the sun began to shine brighter and brighter, the children had realized they could not hold onto their dying mother anymore. The wisest child, the people, took all of his siblings to a safer place, where they could live on without their mother. It was what she had wanted anyways. She knew she wasn't everlasting, and she was glad that in her death, she wasn't dooming her children as well. As the sun now shone brighter than ever before, and the rocks that covered her surface began to crack and melt, she knew it was time to go. She closed her eyes, took her last breath, and wished her children a silent farewell, as she became one with the Sun.
Astrid awoke suddenly, as if from a nightmare. She wiped the sweat from her brow as she slid out of bed and floated towards the window. The views were always amazing from the windows of the SS Intrepid IV, as it orbited humanities second home. She searched the stars, as she always did when she was unsettled, and her eyes came to rest upon a red dot, just a pinprick in the endless expanse of the Universe. The distant star had expanded and consumed earth long ago, but now, the light of Earth was truly gone. A pang of sadness pinched her heart, but she also felt a twinge of happiness. Even though her mother was gone from the physical world, she would always live on in the hearts and souls of her children. Astrid smiled and returned to her sleeping bag, determined to make the most of the rest of her life.
NOTE: I'm pretty new to this (second response) so feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading!
| 1 | 0 | 8 | 74,208 |
[WP] Write a locked room mystery involving a theft or murder.
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My gaze danced from player to player. I posited 9-1 odds on Haley holding an ace and and some kind of unimpressive kicker. She always puckered her cherry red lips when she was unsure of something. A plume of Horowitz's cheap cigar smoke floated through the dim light above the green felt table and irritated my eye. I leaned back in my chair and removed my glasses, placing them strategically on the table facing Ursula. She was the only question mark in this pot. What was she in for?
A pair, I figured, of some undetermined denomination. Certainly not aces, that much was clear. Kings were unlikely as I pinned Miguel as owning a couple of them. Perhaps a face pair. No, definitely a face pair.
Jackson, who threw is hand in early, snapped his fingers and from the black abyss surrounding us a waiter's face adorned with a French looking mustache appeared.
"Glenlivet, on the rocks."
He spoke in a gritted voice. The kind of voice that men think women swoon over and women think sounds like money. Haley broke her stolid stare and eyed him mischievously. He was laying back, sitting on the top stack. Debonair and a little pretentious.
"Keep that up and your chips will be swimming too, handsome."
Ursula was usually quiet but she was allergic to losing. She reflexively shot the remark at Jackson through a thick accent, flustered by his confidence. He just smiled in return and snapped his fingers again.
"Something to calm the lady down, on my tab. A martini, doll face?"
She snickered at the cocky gesture and focused on the giant pot that had amassed in the middle of the table. When the waiter returned and served the Martini, Ursula didn't crack. Not a twitch. When the waiter set down the scotch, as if the wooden border of the table were a switch, the entire room was plunged into darkness. Not a light nor flicker was seen.
We all shouted, all at once, in no specific direction to nobody in particular. There was a rumble and a disturbance, under the table something brushed against my leg. An unnerving draft blew through and the waiter shouted something about a breaker. A moment later, the lights came on. We were all standing now, Ursula looked downright disheveled. Haley's arms were folded and she stood at an awkward angle as though she had no grasp of which way the table was oriented. Jackson, ever minding his priorities, was paused mid-sip of his scotch. Horowitz... Well he never changed. Stalky, he was stone faced, smoking his cigar, hands on his hips, glasses intact and green translucent visor cap perfectly in place.
"The dealer would like the table to acknowledge that the pot has been robbed."
We all looked at once, it did seem a little lighter than before.
"How much you reckon is missing, dealer?" Haley drawled at him.
Horowitz adjusted himself and leaned closer, hovering over the pot. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"I'd say about tree fiddy."
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 146,496 |
[WP] Becoming a Synth
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A plethora of shacks and lean-tos clustered on the walls like honeycombs, circulating the square in tight cloisters of poverty. Water dripped off the nearest shanty in rivulets and I pulled up my collar against the falling rain. Nothing, however, would block out the pounding din of the downpour on the corrugated tin roofs and I grimaced as my boot sunk into the uneven muddy ground.
"'EY YOU!" A figured emerged from a nearby shack and I hurried away quickly, the Synth of slums were notorious for waylaying passerbys. Operations weren't cheap and the off-brand synthenesia that the gutter Synths had to use had a habit of degrading over time, rendering multiple operations a necessity. The evidence was all around me, beautiful faces sagging, skin and hair falling off in patches. I almost felt sorry for them, but I'd long ago steeled my resolve and now my furtive gaze was one of emptiness rather than pity.
I couldn't help but wonder what I was doing here as I wound my way through the maze of rejected hovels. The call had been short and curt, but the voice on the other end had been a distant memory, and one I couldn't afford to pass up.
The shack I reached was made of ply board and leaned in on itself as if the weight of the rain would make it collapse. Reaching out a hesitant hand I knocked on the door. Shuffling came from inside the shack and the door opened.
"I…" Words failed me. I stood slack mouthed in my damp clothes, letting the rain poor down on me, no longer caring. There she stood, silhouetted in the doorway, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"I didn't think you'd come."
A weak smile parted my lips, and I noticed the sorrow hidden in her eyes, pulled tight by her sad smile. "I didn't think I would either."
The beauty I once remembered sagged on her face, yet I saw it still. The young woman I had once met, who had once been so full of life and happiness, had become a sad, small thing. I wanted to rush forward and hold her in my arms, pull her tight to me and protect her from all this.
But instead I stood, alone in the rain, aware of all the mistakes I had once made, seeing them standing before me.
"Come in."
She turned, and I watched the empty patches of hair on the back of her head as she walked away. Stepping inside I closed the door behind me. Watching what my daughter had become.
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| 2 | 0 | 7 | 11,891 |
[WP] You live in a statistically perfect world. Eg, if you roll a die 6 times, you will get all 6 numbers once. Write about daily life and some of the more dangerous aspects of this universe (car crash chances, violence statistics, etc).
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This was the worst part of the job. "I'm so sorry," I said.
The woman cried heart wrenching sobs as the man held her tight. He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. "Is there anything we can do?" he said.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid not."
"How could this happen? Everything looked fine. There was no indication," said the man.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't want to be callous, but you were warned this may happen. It's not a static situation. Things change."
The woman let out an animalistic cry. A look of rage crossed the man's face. "How dare you say that to us. How dare you."
"I'm sorry. There is always hope that things can change for the better." I stood and put my hand on the man's shoulder. "Maybe it will work out next time."
The man shrugged my hand off of him and looked up at me with hate in his eyes. "Get out of my sight, Dr. Watson."
I nodded and left the room. People always thought that they would be different. They thought they would be above statistics. It wouldn't happen to them. I had grown callous to their despair.
"Nurse Luck," I said as I grabbed a passing nurse. "Please get Mr. and Mrs. Talib to sign all appropriate paper work before being discharged." I handed him Mrs. Talib's patient chart.
Luck looked at the chart and shook his head. "Why did they try again? They already had two healthy children."
"I don't know," I said. "I'll never understand how they thought that they'd have another child. The U.S. has a birthrate of 2.01 children born per women. You can't get around that."
"No chance of survival?" said Luck.
I gave him an incredulous look. "Do you honestly think one percent of a baby can survive?"
Luck gave a nervous laugh. "No. It's just been a long day. I'm kind of on autopilot."
"Well, get the Talib's to fill out the appropriate paperwork," I said.
| 716 | 0 | 985 | 189,863 |
[EU] Self Esteem
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We're the girls who know what it's like to wipe dried, streaky tears from our glasses the next morning, the girls whose breath catches every time they see a white Ford Ranger drive by, who have avoided their favorite pizza place ever since because it was his favorite, too. We're the girls who search in vain for helmets small enough to fit our hearts, but always end up speeding along without a seatbelt anyway.
We're the girls who wake up in the darkness to the sounds of a girl sobbing on the stairs outside our windows. We're the girls who peek through the shades at her, but don't go outside, because just hours before, that was us. That was us, crying, and the only comfort we'd have to offer her anyway would be "welcome to the club." So we roll over and turn the fan up a little louder instead.
We're the girls who paint on a brave face before heading alone to a bar, and we're the girls who stumble home drunk, punching in his number from memory — a quaint thing to do in the age of the speed dial.
We're the girls who, at the first pang of loneliness, run back to the boys who left us, who don't want us anymore. We're the girls who forgive everything we swore we wouldn't, who look past every past hurt he caused, who sweep it all under the rug because of love. We're the girls who won't give up on the idea of love, even when we've been abandoned by it. We're the girls who sacrifice ourselves and our dreams and hopes and desires to take one more chance on a failed relationship. We're the girls who always said we'd never go back, and we're the girls who are always the first to break the silence, the first to apologize for doing nothing wrong, except maybe feeling everything so strongly.
We're the girls who can't forget just what we were wearing the last time we saw him. We can't forget how it started, how it ended, or anything in between. What we *choose* to forget or ignore, however, is exactly why we're still here.
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 124,321 |
[WP] You have a special power that allows you to turn yourself into a liquid. Your life is mundane until a criminal gang recruits you for a job.
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"Of course it works"
"Then prove it to us. This is a significant investment for us."
"Why do you need me in the first place?"
"I can't tell you yet, we need to know that you can actually do this"
"No. I need to know, or else I won't work. If you're coming to me, then you're undeniably out of options"
The large man in the suit grimaced, and turn to his skinny partner for a quick discussion. Neither seemed happy with its conclusion.
"Fine. We need you to break into a bank and open the vault from the inside. Happy?"
"Yes. And I will show you that it works. Where should I meet you?"
"The abandoned factory off of Snelling, 8 oclock sharp."
"Sounds good. Also, bring the materials I will need"
The larger man looked at him with a disguste, but seemed to be okay with it, for his partner gave him a curt nod and they walked out of the alley that Kevin was sitting in. Kevin smiled, and stroked his long gray beard. He knew this day would come. He had been telling everyone about his ability for years, but no one would believe him. He was "Crazy Kevin", and "Kev-insanity". No, not any longer. Now he would show them.
8 oclock rolled around, and Kevin strolled into the factory with a confidence of a man who had just made millions. The two men from earlier were there, along with a group of about 6 others, similarly suited up. Next to them an industrial wood chipper sat there, ready, waiting.
One of them spoke up, obviously the leader. "Allright. Show us what you can do"
Kevin nodded and they turned on the wood chipper. Walked over and dove in headfirst. There was a sickening crunch and grinding sound, and a pool of blood formed on the floor. One man puked, and the rest looked horrified, but they looked on, and waited, but nothing happened. The pool of blood remained a pool of blood.
| 20 | 0 | 16 | 138,879 |
[IP] The City
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"Orange shirt?"
The sharp crackle of a voice emanating from a walkie-talkie fizzled into the man's ear.
"Yup, orange shirt."
A tall figure walking in the streets titled his head towards the smaller frame of a girl wearing a mandarin-tinted tanktop. Nodding towards the direction of a car that was parked not too far away, the figure carefully watched the girl continuously chatting away on her cellphone.
"Brown hair?"
The man in the car turned his head towards the girl once more, his sunglasses reflecting against the orange gleam of the streetlights.
"Bingo."
The man in the car watched as his friend in the streets nervously shuffled his feet. He could since an air of nervousness from the kid. Having known him for so long, it came as no surprise that this was going to be a situation where he was going to have to guide his friend every step of the way. After all, these sorts of things were never easy to do.
"First time, Tom?"
The man named Tom nodded his head slowly, sighing deeply as he did so.
"So how do you know this girl again?"
Tom replied in an annoyed tone.
"I told you this already, Jack. I went to school with her."
Snorting, the man named Jack replied skeptically.
"And you just decided that she was the one you'd go after?"
Tom shrugged, still watching the back of the girl as he softly replied back to his friend.
"Well, there were others, but they all didn't fit for one reason or another."
Jack rolled his eyes. Throughout his many years of knowing Tom, he had seen many bouts of indecision and inability to act from him. However, this situation in front of him took the prize by far for the most petrified that Jack had ever been. Deep inside, he felt sympathy for him as such as task was not easy to do. However, he had also played along in Tom's game for quite some time and was beginning to feel annoyed.
"Whatever."
A few more minutes transpired as Jack watched Tom slowly approach the girl before turning back and standing from the same corner and merely watching her. This process repeated itself five or six more times before Jack could feel his impatience reaching its boiling point. He secretly hoped that the girl would get off her phone and leave to spur Tom into action. However, much to his dismay, she seemed to be quite engaged into her conversation. Jack decided that Tom needed a little push. It was beginning to get to sundown, and he still had a cold pizza in the fridge, waiting to be eaten.
"Tom, we've been doing the same shit for five days now. It's either now or never."
Tom remained silent, simply looking at his feet. Feeling his patience coming to an abrupt end, Jack chose to take the initiative. Trying his best to not scream at Tom through the walkie-talkie, Jack growled at Tom.
"I'm sick of your shit, Tom. Just ask her out so we can go back home!"
| 1 | 0 | 13 | 108,710 |
[WP] Two strangers are travelling down the elevator to hell after dying when the elevators gets stuck.
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Saint Peter issued God's judgement on Rick and Alan in an authoritative tone. They would be going to hell. Despite the popular phrase, they would be going down in an elevator, not a handbasket.
Rick and Alan entered the line for the descent into hell. The queue for the elevator was horrendous, but for some reason they felt compelled to stick out the wait. It took forever, or maybe even longer for Rick and Alan to reach the front of the line. Perhaps this is because the limit for each car was only two people.
Finally, Rick and Alan had boarded the elevator together. Each making eye contact with one another, giving a nod of acknowledgement, then turning to face the doors of the lift.
Alan pressed the button labeled "H" and the doors to the lift closed. Rick let out an audible sigh.
Rick: Sorry I ran that red light. I was just having some fun in my new car.
Alan: I saw you coming, I should have braked, but I wanted get into a fender
bender to teach you a lesson and maybe get some insurance money in the process.
Rick: Guess we're both a couple of suckers.
Alan: Yeah, I guess. My name is Alan, might as well get to know each other a little in our
last moments together.
Rick: I'm Rick.
Suddenly, there was a grinding sound outside the elevator car. It seemed that the car stopped moving.
Rick reached over and pressed the emergency call button. A slightly annoyed voice boomed over the speaker.
Voice: Yes?
Rick: Sorry, I think the elevator just broke.
Voice: Yeah, it happens all the time. We'll have to wait for maintenance to come down.
Rick: Is it going to take long?
Voice: I dunno. Maintenance is out to lunch right now. I'm putting a support ticket in the
queue.
Alan gave Rick a skeptical look. It looks like heaven didn't have it's shit together. Things seem to operate similarly to as if they were still alive and on Earth. More bureaucracy bullshit.
Alan: Well, looks like we have a bit more time before we begin to suffer. We might as
well make the best of it and talk some more.
Rick: Sure.
Each regaled the other briefly with their life stories. Rick was an investment banker and Alan was a school teacher. The two then sat in silence as they waited for some word back from the elevator speaker. It seemed like a few hours had already passed, so Alan pressed the call button again.
Voice: Yes?
Alan: Surely the maintenance people have to be back from lunch by now.
Voice: Yes. They are working on another call first though. Your call was added to the
back of the queue, so other jobs came first. You'll have to wait your turn.
Alan: Well, speed it up. I'm starting to get thirsty here.
Voice: We're doing all we can right now. You'll just have to be patient.
Alan shrugged. In his mind, it beats getting his skin torn off, or being burnt by the flames of hell. His thirst could wait until someone from above comes to help.
So again the men got to know each other better. This time in more detail. After what seemed like 6-10 hours of chatting, Alan pressed the button again.
Alan: Hey, anyone there?
Voice: Hello.
Alan: I'm still thirsty down here. Are they working on the elevator yet?
Voice: Actually, no, sorry. The entire day staff has went home for the night. This is
the night shift now. The ticket queue from the day has accidentally been wiped.
Alan: Wiped?!
Rick: What?!
Voice: Yes, that's right. The employee responsible has been sacked. Now we need to
build a new call queue. I'll add you to it. This time, to the front. The maintenance
man is on a call right now, but you'll be next in line. I warn you though, it's a bit slow
going, since he's the only one here.
Alan: But I'm so thirsty! What am I supposed to do until then?!
Voice: I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait for the maintenance man.
Frustrated, Alan crosses his arms. Just then, Rick lets out a very long fart. Rick looks away guiltily.
Alan: Arrrghh. That's rank. What'd you have? Egg salad and beans?
Rick: Er, no. Sorry.
Embarrassed, Rick waved his hands about trying to clear the air of the stench, but it seemed that the air circulation in this elevator car was very poor. Alan tried to open the lift doors to let some of the stench out, but they were shut too tight and his exertion forced a fart out of him.
Rick: Now who's smelly? Your's stinks way more than mine does.
Alan: No it doesn't! Compared to your's, mine is rose petals and lavendar.
It was getting quite hot in the car, but it was a very dry heat. Both Rick and Alan were quite parched when they heard a noise on the roof of the elevator. It sounded much like a plastic bottle filled with liquid hitting the roof. In the distance they heard someone exclaim "Aww, dammit!".
There were scuffling noises coming from the roof. Alan and Rick were watching the elevator hatch intently. The hatch opened and in peeked the maintenance man.
Maintenance: Hey thar. Sorry 'bout that. Dropped yer water down the shaft. We'll have to
get yaa new'un. I'll fix 'er up for ya first.
Annoyed, Alan shouted at the man.
Alan: You fuckin' idiot. Do you know how long we've been waiting here?
The maintenance man ignored Alan and set to work. This was probably par for the course for him. After an hour or so, the maintenance man poked his head back into the car.
Maintenance: All done. I'm gonna to close this, then ya can press that thar "H" button again.
Relieved, Alan hastily pressed the "H" button and the elevator began to move again. Each man took their position, facing the doors of the elevator, each resigned to their fate of burning for eternity in silence.
Not a few moments later, there was a grinding sound. The elevator ground to a halt again.
It only took a few cycles of this process for the men to realize that they were never leaving the elevator. Soon after, the men turned into beasts toward each other, tearing apart each other's flesh and drinking one another's blood, never having their thirst or hunger satisfied. Never reaching the hell they envisioned.
| 3 | 0 | 66 | 86,253 |
[WP] In the universe of your choice, write about life after a major event 20 years in the future.
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I'm going to do mine, because I've been thinking about it lately. Mine is "Second Son", Good Karma ending.
***
Smashed glass lies on the floor, smoke rises up from holes in the walls and a large, light blue sword is stuck in the middle of the living room. I call out for my mom, dad, my brother, feeling my gut wrenching every second I didn't get an answer.
"Mom? Dad? Reg?" I call out, feeling the tears well in my eyes. Something happened here, to my family.
"Brent!?" A voice replies from outside.
"Hello?" I scream back, walking backwards and exiting the door. Turning around, I see my uncle Eugene, and fall into his arms.
"They're gone. Somebody hurt them. They're gone..." I say, crying while hugging him. He was the only other family member I had, other than my parents. He wasn't technically related to me, but he has always been there for my family.
He breaks the hug and kneels down, looking at me straight in the eye. His usually glasses are no where to be found, and his usual childish look was replaced by fear. He's a big fan of this computer game, Heaven's Hellfire, and from the old pictures of him, he still looks as nerdy as he did 20 years ago.
"Brent, the DUPs are back. The government thinks we need them again, that conduits are getting too powerful. They took your family. They're scared, Brent. They're scared." He says, explaining nothing.
"Why did they take mom and dad and Reggie?" Reggie was my older, smarter, stronger, and all around better twin brother. We had been born 4 years after the Seattle Occupation, after Delsin Rowe freed the conduits.
"Curdin Cay. You know of that place?" He asks, seriously.
"Yeah. Its taught in school. History class. Especially in the conduit training class." I reply, still wanting my answers. Conduit training was taught to students who either showed physical potential, or had tested positive for the Conduit gene. They never told you which one it was, but by 16, your powers would either activate, or not. Those who did were sent to a private school, where they trained their powers for two years. Both my parents are conduits, and my brother has started showing more signs than I have.
"What do you know about that?" he asked, his face twisted and voice urgent. He seemed jumpy.
"What does this have to do with my family? Please, just tell me-"
"Brent." he cut me off, which he had never done before.
"Uhm, ok... This guyDelsin...Rowedefeated Augustine and the D.U.P. honorably. He never killed. What else..." I poke around in my brain to try and remember. "I think that's all."
"Brent, try and remember. Please."
"Can't you just tell me why they have my family!" I scream, agitated and scared. Uncle Eugene looks at me hard, and sighs.
"Your father was taken because he was Delsin Rowe. He changed his name, so he could keep you safe. To keep you and your brother from a life of expectations. Your mother was Fetch. Your father liberated Seattle, and saved Abbie and I. They took your family, because they see the Rowe's as the biggest threat today. They couldn't find you, but they'll try. Brent, they're going to come after both of us. Neither of us are safe. Your bother doesn't have the conduit gene, you do. They'll be looking for you." He says, quickly, putting his hands on my shoulders.
"I thought Reggie was the one with the powers. I'm weak, dumb. He was trained for it and I hardly passed the class." I say, surprised at the words. My thoughts for the past 16 years.
Uncle Eugene looks behind us, then back to me. "They're coming." he says and looks behind me. "The rest of the city is behind your house. About a mile back. Once you get there, find fifth and Greene. That guy you met a few years backHank- will be waiting for you. He'll take you to safety."
"I don't understand, Uncle Eugene. Please, help me. Come with me." I beg, a thousand thoughts running through my mind, the main one being why I haven't freaked out more. The second one saying to run. Run far, and run fast.
"Brent, don't play hero. Your family loves you. Go. Please. Fifth a Greene." He gives me a hug, and pushes me back. I see the black and yellow of the D.U.P. truck start to turn around the corner. Gunfire follows.
"Are those...Angels?" I say, staring at Eugene.
"Angels can't protect somebody forever, Brent. Run."
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 149,591 |
[WP] Everytime you wake, you're somewhere you've never been. Could be a different country, could be a differnt world. Tell me how you survive.
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"Where am I?"
"You're home. I'm your wife. Your short term memory is shit. Always has been. Please don't freak out and break anything. I just replaced all the stuff you broke yesterday. I'll make coffee."
His heart rate increased. He looked around. None of it familiar.
"Lies." The cadence in his chest grew faster. Nausea set in.
She was putting her slippers on now. "I'm not lying. Look, come downstairs and meet your kids and have some coffee. You love coffee." She stood and moved to the door. "Stay here and relax for another minute. Come down when you're ready."
A short time later he heard muffled chatter downstairs. From the sound of it he had two daughters, one significantly older than the other. An argument was happening. From the few words he understood the older voice was being reprimanded for taking 'dad's medicine'. The girl swore up and down she'd never stolen any medication. "Do we have to go through this shit every week, Len? Just because you don't remember doing something doesn't absolve you of guilt." Something was said about 'dad' again. The conversation went quiet.
He sat up. As he stretched the nausea increased. Turning his head down towards the ground to prepare for what might be vomit he noticed his feet had found their way into some slippers. The nausea faded. Habit had moved his feet into the waiting slippers beside the bed. In the absence of memory he found comfort in the persistence of habit.
Habit next took him to the kitchen and sat him in a chair, random to his recollection, but his on some primal level. This place, that window, the view beyond it, all triggered a sort of deja vu. Habit was how he survived. Habit alone.
The kids ate in silence never looking at him. The woman from the bedroom now stood with her back to the scene, stirring one of two cups of coffee. Finally she spoke through the silence but kept facing away, still stirring. "Chuck, meet Len and Maddie. They're your kids and they love you very much. Isn't that right girls?" Slightly out of sync and with no passion they responded, "Yes."
A short time later the girls left for school and the woman from the bed sat down beside "Chuck" with the two cups of coffee. She placed one in front of him.
"We've gotten pretty used to the routine, Chuck. Sorry it seems so mechanical. I guess putting on the same show everyday has left us without the energy we used to have. But, we're still here by your side." She looked out the window into the back yard while taking a small sip of hot coffee. "That should count for something. Drink your coffee."
'Chuck' picked up the mug and took a sip. It was good coffee. He liked it very much. His head got dizzy again. He was fighting to keep his eyes open now. His neck became weak. Double vision. His 'wife' had gotten out of her seat and was now standing at a good distance. What was she holding? Towels? Why towels? His mind was spinning. The coffee was served black. She'd stirred his. But it was black. Nothing in it. He looked to his left. Habit again. A bucket. The nausea was too much. Just before passing out 'Chuck' vomited into the waiting bucket.
He woke up.
"Where am I?"
| 2 | 0 | 6 | 231,091 |
[WP] A man hands you a credit card, pulls out a pistol, and shoots himself. You look down just in time to see the name on the card change to yours.
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**Monday Evening**
I'd always been a fickle being, notwithstanding thousands of years of ends; and not mentioning civilizations past in other places not unlike this one. Personal is such a human word, as I scratch this note out I become aware of it more, being that I want this to read well when read by a human. I don't know personal, I guess its something a person has with people; I'm not stupid or anything, I am Death. Bringer of Darkness, Taker of Souls, Guardsmen of the River Styx, and many other interesting names humanity has seen fit to give me.
Time has a way of smashing together when it doesn't exist. See the people I work with, they have a way of doing one thing before another, and then anticipating one thing. There are so many interesting things about humans, about people.
I likely have a skewed perception of their reality, I only enter their lives at the end. You see I am the great arranger, I set the table for the final dinner. No one escapes my table, not the Pope, not the President, not even Jesus.
Setting a table is fun for humans right? They bring out the condiments, the spices, the napkins. The higher class humans set out plates, cutlery, individual table settings. How could I forget the food, different colors and mounds of cooked meats, vegetables, sweets. I like to picture my table as beautiful, long and ivory, sturdy and stone, with 1 very large chair. This time though, there is no meal, at my table the meal, everything about it and how it came to be is gone away. You sit there with a hungry stomach, and an appetite that will never be sated again.
I digress; at the end I get to know the dead person. In many ways my perspective is likely more real and honest than any interaction they've had before. I don't talk, explain, or interact in any way. I have certain, unusual abilities. See I can read the book, and I know how it's done; I only have to do it. I hope I made that simple enough? I set the table with each individual souls death in mind, I take my time (all I need) and prepare a masterpiece for every individual soul. I play a part in many sequences, and events, all throughout a souls life until that final moment. I'm the guy passing the dead guy that spare cigarette, I'm the guy spilling soda on a slippery floor, I'm the guy in the board rooms cutting down on seat belt screws to save a dollar a car. My abilities make what I do fluid, perfect.
I don't serve any higher purpose, and I've been here so long I've forgotten why. I know to do what I am doing, and will never stop. If you don't believe me you can wait around and see yourself. I don't have a name, if I ever did I don't remember. I don't know how I got here, and I don't know what I am other than by what I have done and what I do.
**Tuesday 9:15 AM**
Mark was sprinting full speed down the aisles in between the cubicles. He heard the elevator bell as he rounded the corner, maybe 15 seconds open and shut. Sliding in between the group of fellow riders Mark felt his hand clench around the little plastic card in his pocket. 1.2 millions fucking dollars, Allan was out of his mind. To just put the money into an account and hand him the fucking card in the workplace, what the fuck was he thinking. Mark pulled it out to look, never had he had access to so much money, never had he technically held so much. It was too huge a risk though, Allan had crossed the line; it was a risky job from the start and he should have let Allan go it alone. Now with things like this who knew how he was keeping it quiet, or if he even was...
The elevator pinged as Mark and the passengers flowed out in the direction of the revolving doors. Mark stopped momentarily, he knew what he had to do, the card was the only real connection, he made enough at the job he didn't need this or Allan's trouble.
He would throw the card away.
**Tuesday Morning**
I watched Mark walk outside, it was time. I reached him just as his hand outstretched over the trash can. I grabbed the card from his hand, turned and cut a path towards the street.
"Hey, gimme that." Mark managed to blurt as he squirmed between the coming throngs of people rushing down the sidewalk.
I turned and looked Mark in the eyes, then closed mine and began to cross the street. As I knew he would, he followed 7 feet and 3 inches behind me, just enough to get practically vaporized by the natural gas trash truck that he wasn't able to see speeding up from behind him. To anyone watching it would look a mistake, but I don't understand that word yet, and it went down as another success in my book. I turned and watched what was left of Mark trickle towards manholes and a sewer. I crouched and felt what I guess humanity would describe as satisfaction. You see Mark wanted to avoid paying his debt, debt he'd built up long before trying to throw that card away.
I held the card in both hands facing me, watching the name change.
It read: *Magnus Ignotus*
I threw the card into the throngs, and turned and walked down the street, I needed to follow the lines, and count my step; another table to set.
| 3 | 0 | 1,627 | 124,589 |
[WP] Women suddenly stop getting their periods. Men suddenly start.
|
She stared at the little stick for the entire processing time. It slowly showed -- one line, not pregnant. *What in the hell?* she thought. Her period was over a week late. This was her second test and she was trying not to worry, but still...it can take a while for the positives to register.
She didn't want to mention it to Steve. *No sense worrying him as well....* If she was pregnant, she was pregnant -- bringing him into her anxiety wouldn't help, and they had both been so bogged down with work. He'd been snappy enough the last day or two, no need to exacerbate it.
She sat down at her home office desk to get what she could done before the end of the night. Just as she had nearly pushed the issue from mind, the scream came from down the hall.
"KAARRAAAAAAAA!!!!!" Pure panic in his voice, fearing the worst she tore away from the desk and down the stairs to find him. The screaming didn't stop, and she found it coming from behind the locked bathroom door. She pounded hysterically to help him "Steve?! STEVE??! You need to let me in!!" She could hear the sobbing and her heart sunk not knowing what to expect. "OPEN THE DOOR, STEVE!" She fumbled for the phone to dial the emergency dispatcher.
Finally the tell-tale click. She found her fiancé crumpled on the ground, one hand around his stomach and the other clutching his genitals. There was dark blood in the toilet bowl and on the floor.
In horror, she tried to ask what had happened but between the sobs he choked out, "it hurts, my stomach hurts, I don't know, I don't..I.." and then resumed sobbing. She frantically checked him for the source of the blood, no open wounds. "No," he sobbed. "It's not..I didn't..it came from.." and let out a incomprehensible wail and gesture toward his pants. A stain was forming below the zipper.
Slowly, she began putting the impossible together. *That makes NO sense!* she thought, but wondered..
She asked him to describe the stomach pain. *Could it really be...?*
"Okay, honey, we're going to go to the couch, can you walk with me?" She lead him over where he curled into a ball. "Baby, you're going to have to stretch out. Curling up is going to make the pressure worse, can you trust me on this?" He moaned as she stretched him across the length of the couch. "I'll be *right* back."
She came back with a hot pad and set it on his stomach over his shirt. "Is that better?" He nodded weakly. "Here, take these." She put the Midol in his mouth before he could see it, and gave him water.
Twenty minutes later some colour had returned to his face, though he seemed exhausted from the affair.
"Why don't we watch a movie until you feel better, baby?" He nodded. He didn't argue when she put in *The Notebook*. They watched the movie as she stroked his hair and forehead and he dozed in and out.
"Honey?" He asked.
"Yes?"
"Do we have any ice cream?"
"I bought a bit last week, let me get you a bowl," she replied sweetly, and walked away grinning from ear to ear.
Ninja edit: changed Jay to Steve because ha ha ha.
| 4 | 0 | 74 | 172,709 |
[CW] I'm a singing genie: I'll grant you one wish if you make it using rhyme.
|
"Be careful what you wish for," the singing genie said
I told him, "You underestimate the thing inside my head,"
He said, "Something I'll grant you if you make it using rhyme,
But hurry for I'm running out of time."
So I decided to post this comment,
But quickly I found reason to lament.
For I'd not a single clue of a thing that I desired,
I already had everything that I required.
I sat and thought and thought and sat but to my great despair,
My head was filled with nothing but bits of fluff and air.
So I told him, "Sorry, but I will pass for now,"
He exclaimed, "What? No wish? But how?"
I told him that I was already very pleased,
But nothing I said made him seem appeased.
So with a sigh I told of a small request
To which I hope he'd say yes.
I said, "Please, fuck off, I'm very tired,
I already have everything required.
I have food and drink and games on my shelf,
So please go and bother somebody else."
And so with a huff and a puff and a bit of a slouch, he turned away from me,
Saying, "Damn your manners! Damn your insolence!
I've finally run out of patience.
You dare speak like that to me?
Here, have an arrow in the knee!"
So this is the story of why I'm standing here,
Instead of traveling to lands far and near.
So if, by chance, you meet a genie singing,
Say, "Excuse me? I'm sorry, the phone is ringing."
| 1 | 0 | 18 | 86,747 |
[WP] 4 out of 5 dentists are tired of the 5th.
|
Carl's a dick. He's always been a dick, ever since he opened his new practise down the road from us.
It started when he stole our clients. People who'd been coming to us for years; he enticed them away with his pretty secretary and low prices.
"He's a professional," Mrs MacCreedy said I met her in the street. She managed to look ashamed when I asked what that made our quartet of skilled dentists. Bitch. She'll be next. But Carl's first.
It was my idea. Brian and Alice didn't like it, but myself and Chloe are the controlling partners: we made it clear if they wanted to keep working, they'd help.
We closed early on Tuesday and sat outside Carl's office. Around six, his secretary left, her stupid blonde hair blowing in the wind like she thought she was in a shampoo commercial. She's next...no, MacCreedy's next. Fine, she's after.
When it was clear, we crossed the street. I kicked the door in. The smashing glass was loud, like really loud. Loud enough that Carl came out to see what was going on. Brian rushed him, tackling him into his surgery. Chloe and Alice darted forward and tied him into the seat.
He screamed at us, but all I heard was my blood pumping. I jabbed him with anaesthetic and let him lose control of his mouth. His idiot tongue lolled like a dog's, fat drops of drool staining his shirt.
I picked up the drill and gunned it. Brian stared at me with worried eyes. He's losing his nerve. He'll be next.
I bent close to Carl and brought the drill towards his teeth. "Smile!"
Chloe smashed me in the back of the head with a tray. I slumped, dropping the drill, the dead man's switch killing it. "What the hell..."
"You've gone too far, Malcolm." She sounded sorry. Not sorry enough to keep from hitting me again.
When I came to, the cops had arrived. The traitors had sided with Carl and made some story about finding me torturing him. Bastards. They were always against me. All four of them.
| 2 | 0 | 20 | 226,145 |
[WP] The evil villain is in charge of putting a stop to the heroes plans.
|
"But why, mom?"
"Because that's the way it is! Now quit whining and get out there!"
"I don't want to! Why do I always have to be the one to ruin the day. I hate my job. Why can't I ever do what *I* want to do. Why do I always have to run after these... these... *do gooders*! My life is *pointless*!"
The evil villain Zobigot stomped out of the house and slammed the door behind him, mumbling under his breath something about moving out and getting his own place some day.
Getting into his hovercar, he sat down and grabbed on to the wheel, knuckles white as he leered back at his mother, waving at him cheerily from the front window. His eyes paused for a moment on the golden bracelet that hung delicately from his bony grey wrist. On it was engraved the sacred symbol of the Dogodogs; handed down generation after generation for thousands of years to the chosen representative of the Guild of the Protectors of the Evil Equilibrium. He had been chosen, and it was *his* duty to protect the equilibrium, *his* duty to keep Travis and the Drussledoks in check, and *his* duty to make sure people never forgot where their place was in society. And he *hated* his job.
"I hate my job!" Zobigot shrieked into the rear view mirror.
*Where would you like to go today?*
"I just want to leave this planet and never come back!"
*Trajectory confirmed,* and the hovercar shot up abruptly, squashing Zobigot down into his seat, and pulling his hands off the wheel, slamming them into the plastic below.
"Hey-- wait!" Zobigot tried to punch at the console, but his bracelet had become hooked on a heater switch beside the cup dispenser. The car accelerated faster, and Zobigot felt the blood rushing out of his head.
"Wher-- rrr-- youuu-- ggggoingg--" Zobigot struggled to maintain control of his lips.
*Current trajectory: Up. Maximum impulse.*
"Ssstttooooooppppppppp--"
The hovercar stopped, sending Zobigot up out of his seat and into the roof. He stuck to it momentarily, curled up into a most peculiar shape before being thrown back down into his seat with his head where his legs should be, and his legs somewhere else entirely. Zobigot didn't move for a second. Then he continued to keep still. Then there was a knock on the window.
"Hey, lookie here! If it isn't Zobigot, P of the double-E! What're you doing down there friend?"
Zobigot turned his head and recognized the man at his window. Not that it could have been anyone else, floating about without a car miles above the surface of the Earth. He quickly rearranged his body, cracked his neck, and turned a mirror towards him, running a hand through his slick black hair.
"What do you want, Travis? Don't you have some school yard bullies to attend to? Or do you leave your *dorks* to do the dirty work for you, hmmm?" Zobigot did his best to sneer, despite the large bruise that was forming on the side of his face.
"You know Zobigot, you might want to learn to say thank you! Your car was leaking mad sparks a minute ago. If I hadn't stopped it you would have blown up! Gratitude, my friend!" and Travis zoomed off into the clouds.
"You almost killed me, you impertinent zit! Why if I had your powers I... I..." Zobigot noticed something very uncloudy about the cloud in front of him. There appeared to be a spike, or a tower protruding from the top of it. "That's not... supposed to be there. What is Travis up to?"
*Unknown command.*
"Drive into that cloud, car. Slowly this time, and keep it quiet!"
*Current trajectory: Into that cloud.*
The car dove into the thick cloud cover and emerged -- in the centre of the cloud -- into a vast open chamber, supported by some sort of energy sphere. Dead centre to the sphere, and protruding slightly from the top and the bottom of it, there was a large, black spire-shaped structure, floating, with no discernible hover engine or friction locomotor.
"This must be Travis' beacon! From here he commands all of the world's Drussledoks! Oh what a find I have found!"
*Are you talking to me?*
"Shutup!"
The structure was, in fact, the Union of Drussledoks Beacon, the core of the world automated control system, and the number one most exciting target for antics by Guild of Protectors such as Zobigot.
"This is going to be so cool!!" Zobigot reached under the back seat and pulled out a large, ridiculously bulbous armament. It was clearly not made to be hefted around without considerable planning, calculation, and safety consideration before its use. "Well, it's now or never!"
Zobigot pulled the trigger and a huge bright beam of light blue energy shot out of the front of the weapon, passed through the front wind shield of the car, and hurtled towards the large black spire. The energy had been calibrated to exactly the same frequency as the energy that powered Travis' floating ability. He suspected the spire was powered with that very same energy. With any luck, the shot would overpower its source, and the spire would fall right out of the sky, disabling the beacon and sending chaos throughout the system. This was the coolest thing that had ever happened to Zobigot.
"Say goodbye to your precious spire, *friend*."
*Is that the best line you could think of?*
Zobigot growled. "Ok, wait, wait. Well it looks like you're *grounded*, friend."
*Error: Bad puns do not compute.*
The beam hit the spire with a crack and a large flash of light erupted outwards, before quickly fading. For an instant nothing appeared to happen. And then the spire began to fall through the clouds.
"I did it! I did it! This is so cool!"
As the clouds parted beneath the spire, the land below came into view. Zobigot watched as the shadow of the spire crept along the ground below, passing over streets and rivers, moving faster and faster. He followed the path of the shadow and noticed that it was about to pass over a nearby town.
"Hey, where do you think it's going to land?"
*In approximately 15 seconds the spire will land at 24 Zingleberry Lane, Town of Offing.*
"What!? That's my house!"
*In approximately 10 seconds the spire will land at 24 Zingleberry Lane, Town of Offing.*
"No! We've got to do something! Mommy! Mommy get out of there!"
*In approximately 5--*
"Mom get out of there!"
"What? What's going on?"
*--will land--*
"Get out!"
"Why is it so dark all of a sudden?"
*--ffing.--*
The spire bounced with a loud *gazoink*. The spherical shield that was suspended around it had prevented the spire from crashing, and had returned it briefly to the air. The bounce left a large crater in the ground. A few seconds later, Travis arrived with a team of Drussledoks, and the floatation engine was restored. The beacon never lost connection with the network, and most of the Drussledoks were never even informed of the incident. They had their hands full, after all, what with all the school yard bullies and such. Zobiglot was devastated by the loss of his home. His Guild bracelet was later found amongst the rubble. Zobiglot's evil doings appear to have come to an end.
*For now...*
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 168,720 |
[WP] Two arctic explorers fell into an ice crevasse and are now suspended by a rope, the one on top can survive but he can't climb because of the weight of the other, a decision ensues.
|
"Shit, how fucked are we Joe" I yell.
"Very" he screams back "I don't think we are going to make it out of this one"
We were trekking some glaciers just the two of us, and for some reason we tied a safety line. From the rock to Joe's harness, and His to mine. We were walking for not even five steps, when Joe, the Idiot, fell into a crevasse, we talked about how dangerous there things were just 20 minutes ago, TWENTY! Of course he pulled me in with him.
"Any hope of us climbing out of this one" Joe yells to me.
Twenty feet between us it is a huge space in this space, an eerie wind makes it hard to hear.
"I lost my ice axe" I replied
In that moment the wind stops. the silence was maddening, it was our death sentence.
Joe and I have been friends for nearly our whole lives he had just got married last year and I was his best man. I know
what has to be done.
"Joe do you still have your axe?" I ask.
"Yea. But one doesn't do us any good we're done" He responds.
The tone in his voice tells me he accepted our fate. I haven't.
I draw my knife from the sheath on my belt and Joe hears that familiar metal grind. He bought me this damned knife, and it would save one of us.
"NO NO NO" Joe shrieks "YOU ARE NOT CUTTING THAT FUCKING ROPE"
"Only one of us needs to die man. One of us can get out of it" I say fiercely.
"No way man one for all that's always been our motto, You can't do this to me!" Joe pleaded, but it's too late I've made up my mind.
"Joe"
"Yea?"
"I love you man"
"I love you too, so you aren't going to cut the rope right?"
I don't respond, I just cut the rope.
"NO" Joe howled as I fall away from him
Only one of us was getting out of this, and I wasn't going to get him killed just so I would live another hour or two. He had a wife waiting for him, and she was pregnant. She hasn't told him yet, she told me. I was supposed to get him out for the weekend, do something daring before he has to settle down. She was setting up a huge surprise to tell him he was going to be a father. There was no way in hell I would stop Joe from meeting his kid. Even if it cost me everything.
The fall was another 50 feet. I didn't survive the impact.
My name is Tim and I died to save my best friend
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 123,042 |
[WP] I am, but for a time I wasn't.
|
I live at the edge of a ballpoint, and in the wake of a blinking cursor. I've always been here, waiting for you. You can hear my voice now, and it's exciting for me, because my voice is so different in your mind. Trust me, I sound great.
Am I a metaphor? Probably not. Metaphors are for the boring and those who use their vocabularies instead of their emotions. I'm coming into closer focus now, you can just make me out if you squint and look down the road. Yes, a road. It's old, and well traveled, and the shops that line it remind you of your childhood.
I'm most certainly not well dressed, but I'm put together in a way that's pleasant enough. Maybe, subconsciously, you assembled me from pieces of the people you used to pass on the street. They say these things happen that way, that you keep me vague enough to be able to look like any number of people you could possibly relate to. They say the Devil is in the details after all, so you make me generalized. I don't know who they are, but they say these things. I'm an old man, full of sayings. My voice rumbling across the wear and tear of a century.
Or maybe not. Maybe all the sudden the voice in your head becomes the voice of a young woman. Funny how fast that changed, right? Now we're not on that street that reminds you of your childhood, we're in the foggy night of a city. You like the way the neon lights flickers and dances in my irises, and my hand is held out for you to hold.
Maybe I'm the eyes reading over the screen right now, maybe the voice in the head is your own, and all of this is happening just because you said it would. I'm in trouble now, because I've been here too long, and the threads are being pulled thin. But nonetheless, I exist, ready to be cataloged in your mind, ready to be forever burned into a cell or two of your gray matter.
I am, but for a time I wasn't.
| 3 | 0 | 1 | 113,604 |
[WP] All of the major organs in your body are sentient beings. Every morning they have a council meeting to discuss the previous day and make new plans. The Brain presides as leader.
|
"As you are all well aware, yesterday was a disaster. However, I have been brainstorming ideas and believe we can turn this around."
The brain loved to talk about "brainstorming". He would bring it up several times every meeting just to show it off. This power that set him above the others. We all had our unique abilities that contributed to the meetings in different ways. However, when contributing ideas, if the brain didn't approve; it didn't happen. While this is a known issue, the other council members didn't feel as strongly as I did. They've accustomed themselves and felt no need to take action. Alone, I would stand no chance against the council.
I was just the heart. Assigned the task of maintaining the emotional side of our community. A task taken for granted by the others. I had no team. I worked by myself.
There had to be a way to take down the brain. I cannot keep working for him. Then I remembered who the brain reports to; the master. The master wasn't one of us, but more like all of us. The master was our community. When the master hurt, we all hurt; and I needed the brain to hurt.
Over time, our community became darker. The motivation at meetings decreased. The liver was taking it the hardest of everyone. He could barely complete his job anymore. Everything was going exactly as planned.. It was only a matter of time now. It would all be over soon.
| 1 | 0 | 363 | 40,123 |
[WP] A man approaches you in a supermarket. "Don't go home today," he says. "No time to explain, but I can't let them keep doing this to you." He sprints toward the exit as a nearby shopper bolts after him, hand touching her earpiece. You realize the shopper chasing him is a good friend of yours.
|
A chill came over me. I couldn't move. All I could do was watch as that man ran from me, Nora hot on his tail. I wondered, briefly, what Nora was doing at the Supermarket--she said she'd taken time off work to explore the Bahamas with her husband. Some second honeymoon bullshit.
But it was her, unmistakably her.
"Alice!" Brian called from behind me. His mouth was pulled into a teeth-bearing smile that nearly showed every single one of his perfect, pearly whites.
"Brian." I said, my eyes wide. He must have seen the shock on my face, because he quickly asked me if I was alright.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." I gave my husband a faltering grin. "Did you know that Nora was back from her vacation? I just saw her."
I met Brian during college. We both had gone to the same outrageously expensive Ivy League. He was everything I wanted in a man. Kind, gentle, attractive, and so smart it was almost frightening. Brian was out of my league, so to speak, but I managed to woo him by signing up for rockclimbing (he was the President of the club) and well... we just hit off.
If you had asked me a minute ago whether I trusted my husband, I would have said, without a doubt, yes. If you had asked me a minute ago, if I could possibly doubt my husband based on a mere eighteen words said to me by a total stranger, I would have scoffed.
Here I was, doubting. The man could have had mental problems. He could have just been a regular, run-of-the-mill teenager pulling pranks. But Nora's presence, and the fact that she *chased after him?*
Man, I felt silly, but I couldn't help but treat his words as if they were the words of God. I didn't understand. But I had to follow.
"Of course!" Brian drew me into a hug and kissed the top of my forehead. The warmth of his body penetrated through my clothes. He felt so human. What did that boy mean when he said, 'I can't let them keep doing this to you?' Nothing obviously horrible had ever happened to her. "Mark called me yesterday to tell us that they had to fly back. Mark's grandmother's ill. Deathly ill--she may pass tonight."
"Oh, that's terrible!" I gasped.
Brian nodded sagely. "I apologize for not telling you earlier, it must have slipped my mind. So uh--I saw that guy come up to you? What happened?"
I shook my head. "He told me--" *the best lies are made of mostly truth*, "--to watch out. I don't really understand why. He looked a bit... insane."
"Huh. Well--" Brian's phone rang. He gave me the one-minute sign with his finger and turned around to answer it.
"Yeah... uh-huh... wait, what? You've got to--please tell me you're joking. No. No. What was the license plate? We're on our way." Brian snapped his phone shut. His eyes were glassy.
"What's wrong?" I asked, tentative.
"Barney. He got out--someone ran him over!" Barney. Our sweet, enthused pitbull.
"Is he dead?" I screeched, drawing the attention of nearby shoppers.
"I don't know." Brian started jogging towards the exit. "Let's go."
I stopped in my tracks. "Home?"
"What is with you today? Of course!"
I could lose my husband, my friends, and my dog if I listened to the stranger. If the boy was just pulling an elaborate joke... was it worth it?
Brian started marching towards me, angry.
I ran.
| 19 | 0 | 312 | 65,385 |
[WP] You have dishonored your family and you must commit Sudoku.
|
Midsummer crickets hum and haw outside the counsel chambers. Inside, a line of stone faced monks sit in bronze and mulberry robes and watch me disrobe. One arm out. The other. Time slips away, seconds I'd often ignored slipping away like precious gemstones through my hands.
My Chamberlain carries my robe behind the monks and I'm shirtless. The night air prickles my skin, and I suddenly feel ready and not ready at the same time.
"My lord?" one monk asks.
I nod. "Bring me a pen."
My loyal Chamberlain returns and blocks out my view of the treacherous monks for a second. I meet his eyes and nod without moving. He returns the look, then leaves a long white sheet of paper at my feed and my ink brush. Across the sheet are a series of boxes painted in blood red strokes. Only five numbers fill five small boxes.
The nearest monk flips over his small sundial and smirks through yellowed teeth. "You may begin."
I work furiously through the list, marking 1's and 7's and 9's in quick succession, looking for the pattern in each line. I try to block out the horrible weeks that lead to my betrayal, the brothers I had lost, the monks watching me like hungry birds eying a weakened beached crab, the tiny seconds slipping away.
2's and 3's and 6's. Boxes filled in, none crossed out. The sand continues to fall. Sweat cloaks my body and freezes again in the night air. I'm so close. So close to redemption.
"Time," the yellow toothed monk calls out.
I look up, blank eyed. I'm missing a final strip of six boxes. I gently put down the brush with shaking ink smeared fingers. I look up again at the monks, my quivering lipped Chamberlain, at the cold hard night outside. A bell begins to toll across the village. I accept my fate.
I spend my last slipping seconds picking the brush up again, and turn it to it's other bladed side. I nod at my old friend, and the Chamberlain draws his own sword and approaches behind me. I turn the blade to my stomach and close my eyes, whispering an old prayer of thanks for the time I did have on this Earth. The bell toll stops.
The last thing I hear as I drive the blade are the incessant unending crickets of the summer night.
| 5 | 0 | 1,183 | 185,544 |
[WP] You got a job interview with the Illuminati - now you've got to convince them that you are perfect for their everyday conspiracy needs.
|
As I walk into the dark damped basement, I find nothing there but candles on the floor lighting a bookshelf in the back and wooden table in the center with 3 men sitting behind it.
"Sit down Mr. Burke, we are very, eager, to begin." one of them said, though I couldn't tell who, for they were all hooded, and none of their faces were visible.
I approach the empty seat in front of them. As I sat down, the wood creaked. The furniture was old, they really put the effort to add an authentic feel to the room, despite it being a laundromat upstairs.
"Alright then." the man on the left says.
"Before we begin." the one on the right says.
"Are there any questions you want to ask us?" the center guy continued.
"Yes." I say, with a tone of suspicion. "How do I know you're not the FBI?"
"What?" Mr. Left asked with a sort of surprised tone in his voice and a slight tilt in his head.
"Yeah, how do I know that this entire place isn't bugged and you're just here to lure the people who are trying to join the *REAL* Illuminati?"
"We *are* the Illuminati." Mr. Right says with a firm voice.
"Suuureeeee. Candlelit room with wooden tables and chairs, hooded people with creepy voices. This is exactly what non-Illuminati people would think that the Illuminati is like."
"But-" Mr. Center tries to interject.
"And a laundromat? Really? Textbook FBI staging place. Seriously, did you *really* think that I would fall for this shit?"
At this point, the bookshelf behind them started to move. Light started to pour from it and revealed another hooded figure.
"He's in." The figure says in a gravely voice that is usually associated with stereotype villains and dictators.
"But sir, we haven't even started-" Mr. Center says.
"I don't care, he's in."
| 7 | 0 | 3 | 176,109 |
[WP] The first to fall asleep will be brutally killed.
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Second prompt here, critique is requested, thanks!
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In a second, the darkness dominating my vision that I had almost become used to was gone. It was now that I was finally allowed to take in my surroundings. I was in an incredibly well lit room. There were four white walls, no windows, one door, and too many goddamn lights. I was sitting in one of fifteen chairs, arranged in a circle around the center of the room, each chair containing its own occupant. I was about 7 o' clock in the circle, with door behind me to my right. I had no idea *where* we were, because I didn't think the city of Chicago had a supply of white, laboratory-esque rooms at their disposable.
But I had been wrong before.
A tall, well built man dressed in an expensive looking suit and a pair of aviators (that did not compliment the suit) stood in the center and barked out instructions.
"Some of you may know why you are here, others may not. The rules are simple. The first man to fall asleep will be dismissed, as will those after him. The last conscious member will be rewarded greatly." He slowly swept his vision across the room. Any questions?"
Contrary to what he believed, I had no idea why I was here. Last I remembered, I was serving a few years in jail for a series of robberies. One night, someone, a guard I assume came up to my cell and told me that I had been chosen. He left amid the confused questions that emanated from my cell. Maybe this was some dumb prison game they put together to make our lives a little less boring. Maybe this was--
*slam*
I looked over towards the door, and heard a faint click as the door locked. Bummer, I had so many questions, too. I turned back around to glance around at the other "players", most of them I didn't recognize, but a few chairs to my left, I noticed a guy from my block. He was in for murder, his wife, if what I heard was correct. Almost directly in front of me, at 2 o'clock was a pale, jittery, and balding man who looked like he had missed a few sessions of rehab. "You think this is going to last long?" He piped in with a sick sounding voice that I had expected. "No more than twelve hours." replied 2 o' clock. Conversations tentatively started up across the room.
I was never good at sitting still, I had to get up. I couldn't. I was stuck in that chair, my hands bound to the arms by hand cuffs. My heart raced, why would they force us to stay in our chairs? As I calmed down, I realized that it might have been to keep us from leaving early, or to keep less stable players from attacking others. Still, these handcuffs kind of hurt.
A loud snoring comes from in front of me. Druggie at 2 o'clock is out cold, his head hanging back over the chair. The lights are not as bright now. A panel slowly opens above his chair. There is going to be an air horn, or a bucket of water in that compartment, I chuckle to myself at the thought. So this was where my tax money went.
Something with a silver gleam was launched out, and it woke him up. He began screaming bloody murder, and I looked over to tell him to shut up. There was what looked like the blade for a guillotine embedded in his chest and stomach. The breath reserved for a reprimand stopped dead in my throat. They were killing him, slowly and painfully. His screams of agony echoed for nearly five minutes, and for five minutes I tried in vain to tune them out.
The screaming had stopped finally, he had gone into shock. Maybe I had too. I was jolted back to reality when another blade dropped into his neck, ending his life. No one came to retrieve his corpse, no one came to clean the pooling blood at his feet.
The lights became a little darker. It didn't matter, though. None of us were falling asleep anytime soon after that. We sat in silence, as hours crawled by. Each hour the lights became a little darker, making it easier to want to fall asleep. In fact, around the twenty-eighth hour, I noticed the man next to me begin to nod off, interrupted by his head swiftly jerking back up carrying an expression of terror. This continued many hours, as more and more "players" began a pattern similar to my neighbor's.
It has been forty five hours, and I can hardly keep my eyes open. But I know that the others cant either. It wont last longer than five more hours.
But I've been wrong before.
| 3 | 0 | 62 | 34,816 |
[WP] NonSensical WP: There's a giant hole in your kitchen, your toothbrush is missing, and for some reason you have a machete.
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I woke up with a machete on my side table. I have no idea how it got there, but it was there, and it was covered in something sticky. I didn't really register it as I had just woken up and all, so it kind of just stayed where it was.
As I walked out of my room and into the bathroom I smelled something. 'Must be Soph making toast…' I thought as I started to try and brush my teeth. It was only when I started trying to put toothpaste on my toothbrush that I noticed something wrong. Really wrong.
This wasn't my toothbrush.
"Morning Shining Jule!" Came the cheery voice of Sophia from the doorframe, just in time to see how horrified I was. I turned around slowly to face her, not really wanting to believe she actually did this, but considering how many dumb things she'd done by this point I have no idea why I was really surprised.
She had her usual childish grin.
"Soph, what did you do?" I asked her slowly as I held the 'toothbrush' as far away from myself as possible. This was a whole other level of gross.
She looked at me blankly before she took a deep breath and began to explain.
Sort of.
In her own strange way.
"Welllllll, you see, I was playing a game with the crows on the roof, and that game happened to involve a toothbrush and a blood sacrifice, it was really really fun! I would have invited you but the crows don't really like you that much, they think you smell funny or something, oh, and that game thingy kinda left a hole in your kitchen but don't worry! I'm sure I can fix it! How hard could it possibly be?" She let out a deep breath, shrugged, and continued to smile.
I stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds before I quietly replied with "… the crows?"
"Yeah the crows!" She looked way to proud of her self.
"… did the, um, the crows tell you to… replace my toothbrush?"
"No, that was all me, great substitute am I right?"
Way to proud of herself.
"… no… No! Not a great substitute!" I said as I was finally getting some sort of grip on this whole thing.
"What do you mean 'not a great substitute?" she asked, looking confused. This wasn't good, she legitimately did not get what the problem was here.
"I mean that gathering a bunch of bird feathers and tying them to a stick is not a great substitute!" I shouted back as I held up the gross stack of feathers covered with toothpaste to try and show her just how bad of an idea this was.
She still looked confused.
I sighed "Never mind… wait, what was that about the kitchen?"
... It was a long morning.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 136,227 |
[WP] A girl is having her first kiss. An old man is holding his wifes hand as she passes away. A teen parent is losing their child, while a man is getting married. Four different lives, one day - make them connect.
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"That was great", said Sara, "I'd love to go on but I actually have to see my grandma." she walked backwards and waved goodbye to him.
The machine was still beeping when Sara entered the room. There she witnesses her grandfather sobbing his eyes out as he tightly grasps his wife's hand. The doctor just sat there sympathizing with him. Sara lay her hand on her granddad's back.
"I know, I know that it's time for you to go." He said as he sobbed, "I love you Kate. Good bye."
The doctor called Kate's time of death. As a professional, he knows he shouldn't say anything afterward. He wrote it on a clipboard and left the room.
A nurse called to him, "Doctor Hart, your wedding starts in 2 hours."
"That's plenty," said Hart, "Shouldn't you be worrying about Skipper?"
The nurse remained silent. Hart put his hand to her shoulder, "We're doing everything we can." But the nurse wasn't convinced.
After dressing up for his wedding, Hart pointed to a young man at the waiting area. "Harry! It's time to go! Let's move!"
On the road, Hart asked, "So, how did your little date go? Did you kiss?"
"Yeah, yeah we did." Harry replied, "Uhm, bro, I need to confess you something. That nurse you were just talking to, I'm the father of her child."
| 1 | 0 | 912 | 135,766 |
[WP] Write a murder mystery using lyrics from your favourite songs
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{{Wasn't sure if OP wanted a story peppered with lyrics or story told using only lyrics. I decided to only use lyrics.}}
*I know it's not helping to hear me say.... I wish it was me in the car that day. Where the hell's my hope? And why I can't I just try? You know I've lost a lot, but I won't let this die!*
**Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.**
*The world is still sleeping while I keep on dreaming for me. And their words are just whispers and lies that I'll never believe!*
**This isn't giving up, this is letting go.**
*I just don't understand how you can smile with all those tears in your eyes and tell me everything is wonderful now. Please don't tell me everything is wonderful now.*
**I know they'll be no more tears in heaven.**
*It kills me not to know this, but I've almost just forgotten what the color of her eyes were.*
**A perfect shade of dark blue... Dark blue.**
*Say you'll haunt me... Together... Together we'll be forever.*
**Here we stand: worlds apart, hearts broken in two.**
*I'm so sick of closing my eyes that I can't see myself getting to sleep tonight. Because all these dreams are locked in my mind.... They'll keep me awake for days at a time.*
**Young girls ain't supposed to die on a Saturday night.**
*No, they ain't supposed to die!*
**Let's go to bed. Let's stop debating.**
*If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?*
**Just keep a hold of me, don't let go.**
*There's no place else I could be than here in your arms.*
**No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man... No one knows what it's like to have these feelings like I do. And... I blame you.**
*It seems you're having some trouble in dealing with these changes.*
**The world is a scary place now that you've woken up the demon... In me.**
Mother's cool reptilian womb ain't so cold tonight. My fingers trace the exit wounds by graveyard light. There's bone dust in my throat and everything is dead. But it's alright. You bleed so easy. Bleed me an ocean tonight. Just like a rain drop, I was born baby to fall... and scale these prison walls.
| 1 | 0 | 15 | 230,160 |
[WP] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump. Rather than joining together, they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump.
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It was a warm, almost comforting night, and as I stood on the bridge I was contemplating jumping off of my last thoughts ran through my mind: I just have to jump; it's not that hard. It's a sin to kill yourself, right? I think so… but then again I'm pretty sure it's also a sin to molest children, and I had no problem doing that. No, I'm wrong, it can't be a sin to molest children since so many priests do it. Whatever, either way I'm going to hell for this one. It looks so far down though. Will I hear myself crunch after I hit the ground? Oh shitwhat was that? I looked up to see a small figurebundled in blankets and wearing a snow hatlooking up at me.
"Hi, my name's Lucy," she said, "are you going to kill yourself?"
"Haha, no of course not sweetie, I'm just taking a stroll." Just taking a stroll? I'm just taking a stroll? Oh I'm, you know, just taking one of those common midnight walks. Me, this haggard, bearded man, out for a stroll. I took my shoes off for Christ's sake. Why I took them off, I don't know, it just seemed right at the time. I wouldn't want to hit the ground and have my shoes fly off, it's just not dignified.
"It doesn't look like you were just taking a walk, Mr., it looks like you were going to jump off" Lucy said.
"Well, gee, thanks for the great observation, Lucy, how old are you anyway? What are you even doing here, it's the middle of the night. You look ridiculous, all bundled up like that, it's summer. What, are you out on some sort of adventure or something? Don't you have parents?" That'll show her. I hate to think I'm being rude to her, she is attractive in that prepubescent kind of way, but I need her to leave so that I can finish what I came here for.
"Ummm for your information, I'm eleven, and I'm out here in the middle of the night to kill myself, which is what it looks like you came out here for, too." Damn, a sassy one. If this wasn't such a depressing situation I might have been aroused.
"What! Lucy, why are you going to kill yourself? You're so young, you have your whole life to live, you don't need to do this." I don't really know why I'm trying to stop her, but it really is sad to see such a young life go to waste. I guess you can chalk it up to my instinct to protect children. It really is very strong.
"No offense Mr., but I don't really think you know what you're talking about. You see, I have leukemia." Lucy removed her hat revealing a bald, round, head. "I'm going to die, probably within the month. Chemotherapy isn't working and my parents can't afford it anyway. They are always fighting, and I don't want them or me to have to deal with it any more. You have no reason to die. You're the one who shouldn't jump." Well, she makes a good argument. Do I tell her my perversion? It'll scare her off, sure, but I don't mind the sympathy.
"You see, Lucy, I'm up here because someone I loved very much ran away from me. Her name was Sally."
"Still, there will always be someone else, you can't give up just because one person left you" Lucy replied.
"It's not everyday I find someone, though, Lucy. You see, I'm a pedophile, you know what that means, yes? Sally was my neighbor's daughter. I don't know when I'll have another chance at love." Maybe Lucy does understand. Maybe she's the one I've been looking for. But why hasn't she responded yet? After a long silence Lucy responded:
"… Yeah, I was wrong, you should kill yourself. This is really creepy, I'll just come back tomorrow." All right then. So I guess that's that. Women, am I right? I mean, more like girls, but you get the point. The thing is after Sally left I guess I lost my only hope of a relationship, which is why I'm up here. Lucy was just the salt on the wound, so to speak. So, as she turned to go I walked back up to my precarious position at the edge of the bridge and resumed looking down. I turned back one more time to make sure she was gone when I saw her.
Lucy was standing on the other side of the bridge, and for a second I saw her thin body silhouetted against the full moon, then she was gone. She had jumped. I ran to try to catch her but I was too late, I made it to the other side only to see her blankets billowing around her uncannily still body, and then the splash, and, subsequent blood following her departure.
So that's what it jumping off of a bridge like. I don't really know if I can go through with this. I did hear a faint crunch, but mostly the gurgling of the river swallowing Lucy's frail corpse drowned it out. And, come to think of it, I did feel the same sort of connection with Lucy as I did Sally. Maybe I can feel that spark again. No, I don't need to be fish food. It's funny, I think losing Lucy showed me that although girls may come and go, I can always meet more. I mean their growing up is inevitable anyway, so who really cares if they leave a little early? No, I think my outlook on life is much more positive now. I'll go back to my regular life, start visiting parks and schools again, and find someone new. And now you never know, I might still get into heaven yet.
| 1 | 0 | 2,634 | 201,453 |
[WP] Use the pieces of unfinished stories you wrote/started to write a new story. Bonus points if they are from this subreddit.
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A continuation of [this chapter.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hhlh8/cw_me_myself_and_i/ckstx4b)
Dieter draws his blade, the basket-hilted broadsword reflecting the moonlight off its steel. Pointing the razor tip at the two doppelgangers, he edges backwards, only stopping when his back hits the water-slick stone of the grotto.
"Whatwhat are you?" Dieter whispers.
The feral one's grin widens.
"Why Dieter, don't you recognize us? We are you. Just as you are us."
The blade's tip wavers in the air.
"Impossible."
The chained version of Dieter erupts in laughter, the shackles clanging as he shakes from merriment. His unnaturally pale eyes look at Dieter in manic amusement.
"Oh Dieter. Nothing is impossible. Surely your time here on this island has proven this. Why act so surprise?"
Dieter fortifies his guard, pointing the sword in the second image's direction.
"Enough! Tell me, why are you here?"
The scarred version circles the grotto, with a wolfish pace to it. His frozen gray eyes never wavering from Dieter's storm gray.
"Dieter." He says shaking his head. "Dieter, Dieter. We are here because you asked. Did you not want to know what would have happened if you had not come here? Well, here we are. We are that which never was."
Dieter feels his throat grow dry, he licks his lips in nervousness.
"What do you mean?"
The chained one speaks.
"We are but two futures that could have been. If you had not come to this island, you could have been us."
"And are you real?"
The scarred one shrugs.
"Impossible to say. You might be the only physical one of us, and me and him but mental projections. Or maybe its me who's hallucinating him and you. Perhaps its neither. Perhaps all this time spent on the island is but a dying dream of yours. Perhaps your beloved Queen Malvina and Sir Lawrence and all the rest do not exist except in one last dream as you bleed out on a forsaken battlefield." The scarred version of him smiles carnivorously.
Fury sweeps over Dieter.
"Lies."
"Of course its lies. It's all lies. Love, kindness, mercy. The only truth is hate. Hate makes you strong."
Disgust roils in Dieter's stomach.
"You sound like my father." He spits out.
The scarred one laughs.
"Good! Unlike you and him," He says pointing at the chained man. "I took our father's lessons to heart. He was right. Only the strong deserve to exist, which is why I murdered him. He died smiling. His last words were how proud he was of me. I seized our birthright. I became the man needed to control those beasts called soldiers. Unlike you."
Dieter whirls his blade at the other image.
"And what of you? What future are you?"
His shackles clang together as he laughs.
"Me? I was not like you. I did not run. Neither was I him." Gesturing to the scarred version. "I fought. I saw the wars, the killings, rapes. I couldn't take it anymore, I hated watching my men murder and defile innocents.. I ended up killing my men, slit their throats in their drunken sleep. After that was done, I murdered my commanders. I was caught later, but it was well worth it. I would have done it again. I want to do it again. I helped end the violence. Unlike you."
Now both step towards Dieter, hungry grins on their faces.
"You were weak. You ran. You did nothing. Coward. Deserter." The scarred one says.
The chained one laughs.
"Tell me brother. How is it that the one who was weak, who did nothing, got to live peacefully? Life is without justice it seems."
"A terrible pity we cannot correct that fact." An amused expression graces the scarred one's face. "What is it, Dieter? Afraid we will kill you? Fear not. It'd be a crime to end your life prematurely. After all, the coward dies a thousand times before his death."
The shackled image speaks. "Remember what we have said. Perhaps you might gain a bit of strength from them. Goodbye, Dieter."
With that the pair disappears into the shadows, vanishing from sight.
An hour later he makes his way back to the main cavern, to the field of bones and to the creature that dwells there.
*"Did you find what you sought?"*
Dieter nods quietly.
"I did."
*"And what did you learn?"*
"It is useless to live a life of regret."
The beast nods contently, its tail swishing the still air.
*"Then you are far wiser than my daughter."*
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 126,865 |
[WP] You deliver a pizza to a strange house at the edge of town. A cult answers the door and they believe you are their sacred cult leader. What do you do?
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Rick approached the gates of the large manor house. It was rare to get a pizza order for this estate, let alone for about 7 meat feats at about 2 in the morning. He gingerly pressed the gate buzzer, balancing the tower of boxes in his hand.
'*Yeeeeeeeeeees?*' a voice groaned, similar to air escaping from a punctured tire.
'Hi there. I'm here with the pizza delivery. Could you open the gate please?' Rick answered, unnerved by the voice.
'*We have been expecting you. Come in.*' the voice replied, as the rusty gate swung open. As if Rick wasn't unnerved by the creepy manor, Vincent Price on the intercom and the rusty gate, the long walk up to the front door did not quell his fears. The gaslighting flickered above his head as the wind started to pick up. Rick grabbed the ornate lion-head knocker and rapped on the door three times. It creaked open to reveal a hooded figure, grasping a exotic dagger.
'Good evening sir, I'm here with the pizza. It'll be £56.86.' Rick croaked, eyes fixed on the dagger.
'*Do come in Rick. I'll get you your money. Just set the pizza down on the table.*' The figure hissed, gesturing inside. Rick saw the headlines flash before his eyes. He stayed rooted to the spot, refusing to move.
'No, I'm fine. I'll wait on the doorstep.'
'*I insist Rick. It's cold outside.*' A invisible force pushed Rick across the threshold and into the manor. The door slammed behind him and his hooded host lead him to a dining room. About 20 people sat round a table, hoods hiding their faces while candlelight added to the already disturbing ambiance. Rick carefully placed the pizzas on the table and started to back away, while the figures began to hum something.
'*We have been searching for you for many years Rick.*' the figure carrying the dagger said, taking off his hood. His hair was exactly like Rick, bearing the same piercings. Rick continued to back away, but doors slammed and locked behind him, barring his escape. He sunk to the floor, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
'What do you want from me? I'm just a delivery boy with a shitty car who made poor life choices. Just give me the money and let me go.' Rick cried, his eyes darting around the floor. The humming got louder, as they started to chant Rick's name.
'*You really don't know, do you?* the hooded man said, his dagger glinting in the candlelight. '*You don't know who you are?*' Rick shook his head in fear. The figure quieted the crowd and helped Rick up. The others took down their hoods and someone switched the lights on. 'Well, this is embarrassing. We thought you knew what was going on.'
'I can safely say, I have no fucking clue what is going on. Am I being punked or something?' Rick said, trying to piece together the situation. The figures in the room chuckled, as they started to eat the pizzas on the table.
'No no no, nothing like that. Basically Rick, according to our sacred Belian scripts, you are the lord of the seven hells reborn in human form. We are here to give you your full power and help you take over the earth with the armies of darkness.' the man said, his voice becoming very cheerful and a lot like that of the local vicar.
Rick looked at him in astonishment. 'Can you run that by me again?'
'Of course. Based on our cult's ancient texts and calculations done by us, we have determined that you must be the Lord of Darkness who will usher in the blessed Age of Pain and bring chaos back to the Earth. We thought you'd probably have been told by now but by the looks of it, you are finding out just now, leading to this whole ceremony looking a bit silly no doubt.'
'Just a bit. So, you are saying I am some kind of Antichrist?' Rick asked, trying to comprehend this bizarre ceremony.
'More or less. We'd thought the hellish dreams, the sudden bleeding from the eyes and the forked tongue had given the game away.'
'I thought that was just that new weed I'd been smoking.'
'Nope, those were signalling your true destiny and that you are destined to bring agony to the human race. Sorry if this is all a bit sudden but we've been planning this for a good few centuries now.' the head priest said, eating a slice of pizza.
'Can I say no to any of this?' Rick answered, noticing the bloody symbol on the table and the other cultists wearing this same piercings and even the same clothes as him.
'Well, you could but we would be forced to kill you, extract the soul of our dread lord from your body and then burn you as the first sinner to rebel against our divine plan. So, it's really up to you. Either eternal power as god of darkness or we could gut you and leave you burning in a ditch. Your call.'
'Well, can we eat and can I take a slash? I'd like to just clear my head and eat before I become the slave master of humanity.' Rick answered, pinching himself repeatedly.
'Of course, the loo is just down the hall on the left.'
| 3 | 0 | 2 | 105,713 |
[WP] Death is an actual person that comes by when someone dies.
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This is a continuation of [this story](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/23spnq/wp_on_their_16th_birthday_humans_are_given_a_box/ch096mw) from the recent Heartseed prompt
"I'm in the middle of a god damned movie!"
The voice was young, jaded, and impatient, not what the old man had expected. The valet offered him an arm and gnarled fingers and callused skin rasped over the immaculately tailored italian wool as they took the first small steps from the elevator and into the plaza.
The old man sighed. The voice belonged to a head cast in silhouette by the flickering image an the enormous screen at the far end of the vast expanse of marble. He'd seen that head before, memorized that profile but it had been so long ago. He had loved and lost since then, climbed mountains, crossed the Sahara on camelback, even gone diving off the Great Barrier.
"Careful" the valet cautioned; the marble was slick with condensation from a gurgling hot tub spewing clouds of fog into the cool night. The sea breeze drifted through the colonnade and lofted them out over the city lights of Rio below.
The man laughed. "What have I to be careful of?"
The valet paused at the back of the sectional. "Are you quite sure, sir?" There was more to the question in his eyes. There was resignation, disappointment, understanding and... pity?
"Quite sure, son. But thank you."
"Very well. On behalf of Eternity, thank you for your time."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you for it?"
"Just so," replied the valet, extending a crisp white trifold document, already wilting in the humid night. "If you have any final business with us, please note it here before you see him."
The old man shook his head. "Thank you, but I am ready."
He took the last steps alone as befitted a man of his stature and accomplishment. The journey begun all those years ago, now finally at an end. He ran his tongue across his teeth, recalling the sharp, stinging feeling of the heartseed extraction he had bought with his first Wall Street bonus and trying to recall the features of the man who had consumed it.
Sharp, aqueline, with fair hair, hazel eyes and an easy smile, yes, he could still recall them, but the shadow of that man sat before him.
The sharp jawline was lost in jowls. The fair hair fell matted and unkempt across soft man-breasts. The hazel eyes were unfocused and distant, the pupils wide black pits drowned in an opiate haze.
"You are the Eternal?"
Silence.
"We met five hundred and twenty one years ago. You said"
"I don't care. Get out. Jump off the balcony or something. No one has jumped off the balcony this week."
"I wanted to"
"To thank me? To say good bye? To flaunt what I can never have? I am eternity!" he shouted, raising one flabby arm in a mocking imitation of grandiosity. "I am death!" He cried raising the other. "A one man genocide! There are a billion people out there living, loving, laughing and here I sit, the dark shadow that haunts their steps. Am I not what you expected? Not quite the wise figure of unknowable secrets you imagined I would be? Join the fucking club."
The old man glanced back at where the valet had left him but the traces of his cologne were all that belied his escort across the room.
"Oh Martien puts on a good show doesn't he? Makes the whole thing feel really dignified but they can't cover me up. 'There is no way to the Father but through me'" he laughed. "Ya hear that Pete? I took your boss' job!"
"So now I'm"
"Mortal. Yes. Or you will be once you shake my hand. The Heartseed entanglement requires physical contact to resolve, otherwise they'd just put me behind a pane of glass and spare us both this smalltalk. At least you speak English, most of the people I see don't -- geosecurity of the Eternals or some horseshit like that. They didn't tell me I'd spend my eternity looking into people's dying eyes without even being able to talk to them."
"How fast?"
"Depends on your age. At -- you said five hundred and something? -- age catches up with you pretty quick after the Resolution. A few minutes at most. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes."
A sigh
"Well come on over here; have a beer. We're watching... hell, I don't even know. You like westerns?"
And he did.
| 5 | 0 | 48 | 37,875 |
[WP] A lone Spanish soldier lost in the deep jungles of South America stumbles upon the fountain of youth, but it's very different than anyone ever imagined.
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Nobility.
Grace.
Good looks.
He had them all. But she strips it all away. Time is a cruel mistress he thought to himself. But all that will change. He pushed the strands of long grey hair away. His aquamarine eyes focused on the well water which gushed to the surfaced. The gaze which once transfixed women had dulled w/ glaucoma, but the unmistakable sparkles of youth were still etched within them. Slowly, but firmly, he lifted the water to his lips, his hands quivering in the moonlight. Vindication he thought - the fruit of laborious years. From the folklore his comrades had shared many moons ago to the escapades he lead as a rogue solider in search of his salvation, he recalled it all in that moment. His birth. His abandonment. His lust. His anger. His penance. His salvation. He had forsaken everything for this. Relief he felt, was near. The pain came all at once. The feeling indescribable. He grabbed his throat instinctively. Fear. Then rage. Had it all been for this?? In a moment of spectacular light, the solider who had once been flesh, was engulfed in flame and rend asunder. Reborn as wisps of air, he began his new journey as part of the earth for time immemorial.
| 1 | 0 | 158 | 116,485 |
[WP] Write about what it is like to be an extremely desirable prostitute.
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People think that I need to be saved. They think that I was forced into this business, that I am a "sex slave."
They're wrong. I don't need to be saved. I wouldn't be doing what I do if I didn't want to.
Every night the games are a little different. Some men just want a good fuck; and they usually don't last more than half an hour. The majority of men are into some kind of role-play, however. They want me to dress up as a nurse or a pin-up girl or a dominatrix, or my personal favorite, the girl next door.
But whatever the superficial differences, it all comes down to one thing. They all want to experience a fantasy. That's the business I am in - the fantasy business. And business is good.
I will dress up, put on the make-up, throw on a little Chanel for my unmarried clients and men's cologne for my married clients. I will smile and I will call them "Big Boy" or whatever else that they want to be called.
But regardless of what they want, they always have to pay for it. And I charge high prices.
A standard package, which is just sex, costs up to $3000.
If they want me to throw in a blowjob, that's $3500.
I don't do anal.
And if they want to get kinky, depending on how kinky they want it, it will be anywhere between $4000 and $5000.
Of course, I have to give my sponsor her due. But I always have a lot more money left after a night of work than most people have after they get their monthly paycheck.
I told myself when I started this job that I was only going to do it long enough to save enough for law school. I now have saved up enough money to go to Harvard School of Law four times.
I didn't give up on my dream of becoming a lawyer. "Giving up" implies that I tried to reach a goal and I failed and therefore decided to settle on something less. What happened was that I now have options. With the money that I have saved up, I have bought and paid for my own apartment, a car, and have invested in various stocks.
Stock tips come in very handy when some of my clientele are very wealthy Wall Street bankers. You wouldn't believe how much trade secrets they'd be willing to give up for free just for a line of cocaine and thirty minutes of what they only imagined could happen on their tv screens.
Of course, this is a job, and like any job, there are your good days and your bad days. Sometimes you bring your work home and sometimes you bring your home to work. Some days, things are just grand. Some days, I just don't want to get out of bed. And some days, I just want an actual boyfriend. A normal boyfriend who gets jealous when another man looks at me longer than is appropriate. Good luck finding a boyfriend like that in this industry.
And yes, there are your occasional creeps but you don't get to work for a high priced call girl establishment without some perks. The last time a john tried to stick his dick in my ass when I clearly told him that I don't do anal, Travis, or as he likes to be called, Linesman, came barging through the door the moment I yelled and broke the john's right arm and collar bone.
Is the job degrading? It can be. But what job doesn't fit that description?
We all have bosses, we all have clients, and we all have bills to pay. In our own way, we are all prostitutes. I just happen to be a real one, and I get paid very well.
| 6 | 0 | 13 | 5,778 |
[MODPOST] Sunday Free Write - March Is Almost Over Edition
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*My father passed away a couple of weeks ago. I had the urge to write this last night. Far from perfect but I can't bring myself to revisit and improve it.*
Two weeks ago I saw my father for the last time. In fact, I might as well say for the last three times, for no matter how hard I tried, I can't shake or forget the three last memories I have of him.
One. My father was laying down on a bed in the emergency room. His back slightly lifted, mouth wide open and a lot of cables and devices hooked to his chest. The ambulance arrived before we did.
Two. A foot. A pale foot. And that was the last thing I saw at the hospital before they took my father's body away. I wanted to lunge forward and hold it, touch it and massage one last time just like I did earlier that day. But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move.
Three. They have finally lowered the body into the grave. They revealed his face, read a few verses, and buried him. I wanted to cover his face, I didn't want him to witness his own burial. I heard a camera's shutter go off during the burial. Someone took a picture. Why would they? It's my father's funeral, who gave them the right to take a picture of the crowd? Or heavens forbid, my father's body? Later that day I understood it was a dear friend who took that picture so he would give it to me. Weird, but I am thankful nevertheless.
You see, despite not spending a lot of time with my father, I do have a lot of memories. Some sad but mostly happy. He wasn't always around but he knew that his youngest, me, is more than capable of surviving. And in a way he was right. Yet I find myself returning to these three last moments, whenever I wanted to remember him. One would think that in a period of grief, it would be better to remember the good times, the happy memories.
Not me. I can't. I want to remember the final moments of my father's death. Mainly because I want to cry. I couldn't cry that day. I did sob, I cried for a minute or two. I didn't snap like the rest. I didn't wail and fall to the ground like my aunts. I didn't have my mother's look of despair or my older brother's helpless confusion. I held my older sister for hours until the sedative worked and put her to sleep.
I just stood there. Staring the certainty of death in the eye. I wanted to be strong for my mother. An old woman who grew much older during the past 5 years. I had to be strong. For myself. My mental stability depended on it. I knew my father was dying. I knew he wasn't well that night I sneaked into the ICU to see him after bribing the nurse to allow me in after visit hours. But let me tell you this, nothing will prepare you for such a moment.
And nothing did.
We were fortunate enough to bring dad home on his last few days. Him, however, I am not sure. He enjoyed the sense of security a hospital provided him. He was even lively there. I am sure the doctor knew he wouldn't last long, so he favored he spent his last days at home. Of course no doctor would admit that, but I am thankful they did. I am happy I spent the last five days of my father's life next to him, helping him, rolling him in bed whenever he asked, cleaning him, making small talk whenever he could, and feeding him.
He must have gave in somewhere between the ambulance ride and the emergency room. I wasn't there when he closed his eyes for the last time. Did he really close his eyes? They were open when I saw his body in the grave the next day.
| 2 | 0 | 16 | 30,589 |
[WP] This is an actual study question for an evolution course I am in. I want to see who can think of the most creative response.
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"They are injecting eel sperm into their veins?" Judge Malorn leaned back in his chair, looking over both of the lawyers in front of him. They were standing side by side, waiting for him to reach a decision. The problem was, the case they were presenting him with was absurd.
"Yes indeed." The lawyer to the judge's left, the prosecutor, shrugged. "People will inject whatever gets them high. Not my place to judge."
"No, Dan," The second lawyer, the defendant, sat down and shook his head. "But it is, apparently, your job to chase down the most pointless of cases."
"Come on Pat, I just do what I'm told." Dan smiled wide. "If someone wants me to prosecute some kids for selling eel sperm, then that is what I am going to do."
"Sure." Pat shook his head. "Except this isn't even illegal yet. There is no law against injecting sperm into your arm. Are you going to prosecute kids for eating play-dough now too?"
"If someone tells me too." Dan rocked back and forth on his heels. "A few teenagers are dead. The defendant sold them the eel sperm and told them it would get them high."
"Does it?" Malorn turned his chair away from his desk to look out his window. There wasn't much scenery to see from his corner office, but he enjoyed watching the people walk past outside. It reminded him of why he had accepted the opportunity to be a judge.
"Does it what?" Dan paused.
"Get them high. Does it work as a narcotic?" The judge started to tap his heel against the wheel of his chair.
"In the correct doses." Dan shook his head and shrugged. "But you know teenagers. Nobody told them what the right doses were. They were sold a bunch, and they took a bunch. Killed them as much as any other drug kills a person."
"My client was selling it as a joke. There was no intention of his friends actually injecting it." Pat folded his hands across his lap and released a sigh. "It isn't a narcotic. It isn't illegal."
"Doesn't matter." Dan smiled again, only glancing at Pat out of the corner of his eye. "If the narcotic bit doesn't stick, there is the aspect of manslaughter. Two teenagers are dead off this practical joke." He looked down at the judge, his face stiffening. "If a practical joke was the intention."
"Right." Malorn spun his chair back around to face the two lawyers. Their demeanor were almost the complete opposite. He had worked with them both before, and he understood what their actions implied. Dan had a case, and Pat was uncertain that he would be able to defend his client. "Eel sperm is not a narcotic." He gave an apologetic look to Pat. "But two teenagers are dead because of your client. I am sorry to say, but this case is going to court."^-008
| 3 | 0 | 11 | 13,267 |
[WP] A formidable alien warlord travels across the galaxy to Earth for a single purpose. What is that purpose?
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High general Frod looked over the small blue-green planet as the legions moved in. The war would be over before a full planetary rotation. A small underling with thick rolling skin skittered across the room towards the High General.
"Your excellency, I am unworthy, but why exactly are we invading this planet? Records indicate it is only in phase 2 of development, they haven't even discovered chanatic communication waves. Surely we stand nothing to gain in this endeavor."
"Silence!" Boomed Frod, prompting the underling to scuttle quickly back to his post. "This planet is much farther along than your puny mind can comprehend. It contains riches beyond your imagination. With this invasion we will gain the wealth to conquer the multiverse."
This satisfied the underling, for a time. After several moments thinking very hard at his post, the underling scuttled towards the High General once more. "Your excellency, I am unworthy, but how could invading a planet with only crude nuclear defense systems provide us with that kind of wealth?"
"Silence!" Boomed Frod once more. "If you must know, this planet has reached phase 8 class 4 in secret coordination with the Nebrulian federation. I discovered this myself while running a search of sentient life in the region. This planet with primitive defenses is one massive undefended bank containing upon it 20,891,000,000,000,000 astero-dollars. Or, if your puny mind cannot comprehend such a number, it boasts a treasury of 20,891 star-bucks."
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 140,926 |
[WP] A well known, liked, world saving superhero neglects telling people his powers are based upon eating human flesh.
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The coroner had always performed his duties with pride, but examining the remains of a serial killer tested the typical respect he held for a corpse. This was the second cadaver he had seen that was killed by the city's notorious masked superhero. It appeared the vigilante hadn't had much respect for these men either. The first had a leg ripped off which was never found and it looked like the second had been left all night for the city's population of wild dogs.
The coroner's superiors apparently didn't have much respect for these men either since they had only ordered a minimal analysis. Seems everyone just wanted the scum off the streets and they didn't care how. He was grateful that he didn't have to do too much digging through what was likely a rabies contaminated pile of flesh. In about twenty minutes the mess would be the crematorium's problem and he could head home and watch the hero's latest escapades on the news. In fact the coroner wished all his case-loads were from the vigilante. His job would be much easier.
As expected, the coroner was in his car and headed home no more than thirty minutes later. He wanted to wait until home to watch the events of the day, but he couldn't resist tuning to the local radio station. To his disappointment, the hosts were discussing a recent series of missing person reports from the local homeless shelter. Impatient, he turned off the radio and decided it would be better to wait anyway. Who would be next? A rapist? Another serial killer? No doubt there would be one. The coroner knew this masked hero was hungry for justice.
| 5 | 0 | 89 | 32,914 |
[WP] The year is 2050. The Mars colony has been thriving for years now. The first firearm on the planet has been 3d-printed.
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Oh man, the guys over at the club are going to love this, they better, I worked too damn hard for this. Just getting the old 3d printer up and running took forever, but the new replicator-bots had safeties against anything that even looks like a gun, I couldn't even fix my hand-drill with them
But now, it was almost done, it was printing, and slowly, but surely it was starting to appear. The basic shape could be seen now, layer by layer, so close now.
It's going to take about another 2 hours for the printing to finish, might as well get Gavin and tell him about it. Gavin was in his dorm, eating Cheetos and playing Halo 14 ''Man, the classics were better, back then you could still aim manually, instead of this eye control bullshit" Gavin new things in gaming, honestly I think he'd better stick to COD: Moon Assault
"I've done it, I'm printing a gun"
"you what? You're going to get caught and exiled to earth, don't play with stuff like that man"
"We won't get caught, dude, we'll just try it out, see what it feels like, how can you shoot aliens all day and not want to fire a real, live gun?"
"okay man, but let's find a safe spot, away from Securitas and make sure no one else knows about it, we can't get ratted out"
"all right cool, behind the Filter station is an unused block we can use, the gun will be done in about an hour and I made some ammo out of old fireworks"
After another hour or 2 of Halo, we went back to the lab to pick up the gun and ammo, no turning back now. "wait, what are we going to shoot?" asked Gavin excitedly while I took the gun out of the old Makerbot. "I don't know, but we'll do it in style (I printed the gun in 2 tone red and black, first gun on mars has got to look awesome after all). From the corner of my eye I could see an old dust bin, it looked solid enough to stop a bullet, and won't be missed, with a nod I pointed out the dustbin, and we started rolling it towards the empty block.
Why the strict gun laws? I wondered while rolling the bin a bit too loudly for comfort, after all there were enough murders on Mars, people just used knives or poison if they really wanted someone dead, or maybe guns are just from a lost generation and nobody can be bothered anymore, especially not after the Zyklon C synthesis out of Chloride and kerosene was figured out.
But that didn't matter we arrived and I loaded the bullets into the gun, it made a satisfying click, and the weight felt natural in his hand. "go check if we're alone" I said, while taking aim. "why do you get the first shot?" "because it's my gun you fat fuck and I'm the one getting deported if we get caught"
That shut him up, and he shut the airlock hatches, no one was getting in.
I took aim at the top of the bin, held my breath, and pulled the trigger.
The sound was bad, the kick was worse. The sudden piercing of the night by a sharp crack, the pain in his palm, it's all still so vivid. Mars' first gunshot.
"OH MY GOD!" Gavin exclaimed, he looked giddy and excited, like a child on Christmas morning, "let me try, come on man, this is so cool!"
"okay fine, but don't shoot me, or drop it" "I won't, I'll be careful, I won't even point it at you"
Against my better judgement, I handed him the gun, it still felt warm.
First gun on Mars, still seemed surreal.
Gavin took the gun, slowly took aim at the bin and without hesitating pulled the trigger, the gun cracked, a piercing of the night and another dent appeared in the casing of the old steel plate.
Another crack, and another.
The last wasn't followed by a dent, but by a shriek of pain and surprise. The red and black pistol, which looked so solid and powerful 2 minutes ago, lay in pieces on the floor. Gavin's hand looked worse, the index finger was broken, blood splatters on the floor
"OH SHIT!" I ran over him, he had dropped to the ground by now and looked in shock, he looked up to me and said "imma need tree fifty"
| 1 | 0 | 13 | 177,771 |
[WP] "The elevator had an extra button, but instead of a number, it was only labeled with a question mark."
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A man walked into the elevator of a very tall building. He dressed in a business suit, early for a meeting of course. Though he didn't work in this building, he did work for the company. This was the first business meeting they had set in this particular building.
This man entered the elevator alone, and he pressed the single button up to the 24th floor where the meeting was to be held. The doors closed slowly and the elevator began to move. Then he saw it, the button with the question mark. It was next to the 24th button that he had pressed. Just randomly placed in the mixed of buttons.
He chuckled to himself. *Someone must have a sense of humor.* Well, he was very early for the meeting. And he wouldn't be in this building again for a very long time. He pressed the button with the question mark. But how strange. His finger got stuck to the button. He tried to pull his finger way, but the button began to take in his finger.
The elevator stopped moving.
The man began to panic. He pressed another button, trying to free his finger. Low and behold, his other finger got stuck to that button. Sheer panic. He attempted to press the emergency button with his foot and called for help. His foot then got stuck to the panel. The man screamed for help as loud as he could, considering the tap a button with his nose. Or maybe his other free fingers. He pressed buttons frantically, all of which the buttons began to suck in his fingers. The man screamed and was soon sucked into the elevator panel.
The elevator began to move again, as if nothing happened.
| 1 | 0 | 57 | 139,565 |
[WP] Two best friends are each smoking a cigarette, knowing that when they are finished, they will never see each other again. What do they talk about?
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Plumes of smoke rose from the crimson end of a cigerette. The cold air whipped it away like sprites stealing prayers from the air. A lone figure kneeled over a cold body in a field long since abandoned, his friend.
Tears streaked his young face, still not a scar after all that fighting, at least none aesthetically.
"You know I only came here with you cause you said so, to the battle I mean," the smoke billowed out of his mouth like fire, "you said we'd stay together throughout this."
His friend made no reply to him.
The solder gave a saddened laugh and shrugged, "I guess not everyone can keep every promise.". The cold wind blew harder against his bare face and he pulled the uniform tighter to his skin,"It's getting cold without you James, the winter is going to set in any minute now. Remember winter? Remember sledding? By the... I guess you don't now".
James lay deathly quiet to him.
The solder put the cigarette back to his mouth and drew a long breath, "You always told me that if we died we'd die sharing a cigarette, remember? You said specifically that was why you kept a lone cigarette in your breast pocket. In all the confusion I couldn't get you the lighter I carried with me for our... occasion." He blew the smoke out again, a mushroom cloud at the tip of his mouth.
"They're coming for you. They're coming to bring you home," tears reappeared in his eyes and his voice choked up like he had swallowed a stone, "I can't go... I can't see you again after this. I know I should. I know I should pay my respects formally, but I can't. I never did handle funerals well, you remember me at Mrs. Murphey's right? God, I was a mess," he gave another painful laugh like every breath hurt him.
He left the cigarette in his hand, the crimson end drawing almost painfully close to his hand, "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you good bye," the solder placed his hand on his friends cheek, "I thought you'd want me to. I know you're not here or whatever, you were such a Christian, what with your unconquerable soul," he drew his hand farther down and just touched the edge of his jaw, "Just know I'll remember you. I swear to God that no matter what I will remember. I know you know that I have the worst memory, but I really will try."
He paused for a moment as the wind blew a final spell over the landscape, "I guess this is goodbye then." his eyes spilled tears down and off his face as he took one final puff of the cigarette. He placed the smoldering end to his fallen's mouth and left it there, held in place by the helmet strap's pressure on his mouth. It could never have happened truly but it appeared, at least to the solder, that smoke was coming out of the end in puffs, like he was taking a final draw of breath.
The solder stood up and walked back away from the clearing and into the surrounding woods. Never returned, never forgot.
| 2 | 0 | 321 | 27,769 |
[WP] Write a story of an interesting man/woman with an interesting life, but bore me too
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It's always the same start. The first thing I hear is screaming, the wails of terror mixed with grief, It's the same feeling I get with a bad hangover. I can't imagine the other members not feeling this same level of monotony. Sure, we have the best technology, we can do things that literally seem like magic, and I'm not even one of the more amazing ones. But when you get down to it, when you lay down in bed, or that weird thing that the Martian does, does he ever sleep by the way? Anyways, I'm getting off topic. You think about the day's events. And it all just melts together. You save enough planets, or stop enough supervillains, and it just turns into another Monday.
For example, I'm doing my morning patrol. The screams start. OF COURSE! I JUST GOT MY COFFEE! We may seem superhuman but that doesn't mean we don't enjoy a nice dark roast am I right? Some woman is wailin' about her baby trapped in a car on fire, which I know…. Very upsetting! So I ride on through to check it out. Of course that idiot from the death throws is OBIVOUSLY laying a trap for me with this woman's kid! Whats his name? oddball?
Anyways, its safe to say that when you've imprisoned the same guy like ten times, you get to know the lines to this specific tune.So I handle the guy, an arrow here, a bow to his nasal cavity, and there's my morning. But the reactions of these people around me, its like they're amazed that I've done my job. Why aren't you cheering the same way for the surgeons? I couldn't remove an appendix. Or treat a cancer patient. Yeah I know 'Supes can basically rewind time and learn how to do anything he wants like that dude in the groundhog day movie, sure. But does that mean he deserves more praise than a guy who can't do what we do, and just tries hard? I don't have any powers, and I'm bored. I'm pigeonholed. I'd hate to think how speedy felt, or fuck. If superman wasn't so up his own ass with being the leader of this little band, I think he'd just say fuck it and find something he can't do. I know I would. To have all that power and no one could dare challenge you head on?! That has to get old.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 114,108 |
[WP] A Caladrius is a mythical, white bird that looks away from the sick who are destined to die, but looks toward those who are destined to live and takes away their illness. Sitting in a hospital on day, you see one.
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I had been in the hospital for nearly two months before I first saw the bird. For all intents and purposes, it appeared like an ordinary pigeon, albeit its plumage was much lighter. However, its eyes belied an intelligence that no other bird had possessed. It peered into my room before gingerly stepping in and perching at the foot of my bed. I had been nearly delirious with a flaring fever when the bird decided to visit, but I can remember the details of its visit clearer than crystal. It seemed to stare at me—it knew that I was unwell. Beyond that, I can't tell. It seemed to stare for hours before it finally took wing to perch behind me, on one of the machines that was keeping me alive. I hadn't the energy to shoo it away, or to call for help. I feel like I must have lost consciousness sometime shortly after. When I awoke, my fever had broken and my mind, while still foggy, was alert enough to search the room and try to find my feathered visitor. All I saw was my doctor, who seemed to take no notice of my sudden awakening. Not a feather remained of the bird, although I noticed that my window had been closed.
I saw the bird again several times before I was finally well. Due to the doctors closing and locking the windows, it would just sit outside on the windowsill and look in. I looked forward to seeing my avian friend—most of the people that I had been friends with had written me off for dead after the third week when I was completely unresponsive. Even my mother never stopped by, although that may be more due to our relationship than a loss of hope. The visits became rarer the longer I stayed, however. As my health improved, word got out to my friends, and a few of them even came up for a bit. I noticed that the bird was never around when they were. I never mentioned it to them—after all, what was the point? It was a bird, and just talking about it, it seems like the most ordinary thing in the world. Still, something about it just screamed at me that it was something special—something unique. The last time I saw it, I don't even think it noticed me. I was leaving the hospital of my own free will, having just been discharged. It was lucky that I saw it as I did, sitting on my windowsill. If I had to guess, it enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed its. Every time that I drive past that hospital, I always look to see if it's still there, or if maybe I would get lucky and see it visit another patient in need.
| 3 | 0 | 81 | 155,552 |
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