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[EU] Tackle the difficult social issues exclusively present in your fictional universe of choice.
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**Harry Potter Spoilers like Whoa.**
"Yes, we've all heard your moral protests, Aberforth." Alia Bishop sneered at the old man while she had her back turned to their audience of robed magistrates.
Aberforth made no indication of having seen the face, and sat calmly in the wooden chair where his colorful robes spilled over the edges and arms.
"However," Aria started again, "given your personal history with Slytherine graduates, perhaps you might be inclined to reconsider. Children sent by the sorting hat into that house have a significantly higher chance of-"
"Of becoming evil?" Aberforth's mouth rose on one side into something like a smirk. The audience chuckled. She could hear her predecessor, Kingsley Shacklebot's, voice most distinctly of all.
"Of using their magical education to destructive ends," she corrected him, doing her best to recover from the interruption.
"Perhaps you will forget, madam," Aberforth started, leaning forward, "that Harry Potter was nearly selected for Slytherine."
"Nearly," Aria repeated, turning to the audience and nearly winking at them.
"And Severus Snape served house Slytherine loyally for nearly his entire life."
"Including the periods of his life preceding, succeeding, and during the murder of Albus Dumbledoreyour once dear brother."
"By his own command, as nearly all of you are now aware. His final breath was enough to save us from Voldemart" the crowd shuffled uncomfortable "and his Death Eaters."
She had hoped for a rise and felt flustered by Aberforth's calm. "Well," she said, trying to give herself time.
"Well," Aberforth interrupted her and stood up, "I believe the matter is settled, as it appears you are no longer able to raise any rational protest. No magical child is to be considered ineligible from a magical education." He raised an eyebrow at her, one final opportunity for her to speak.
But words failed. Her shoulders fell. Someone in the stands began clapping, and when others joined in, the Movement for Expulsion of Slytherines was at an end.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 6,923 |
[WP] A man turns 30, at which point he finds out that his life was one giant psychological experiment.
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Well he's a jolly good fellow that nobody can deny, it seemed that my birthday party was of to a good start, beer wine and a bit of cake, and now the singing, i wander to the kitchen to get some more dip when the the clock strikes five.
When i came back out i find all guests putting on their coats and preparing to leave, i asked them why but all they would tell me was that "The project was over and they don't get overtime".
As i sank to my chair thinking my friends abandoned me i heard a loud noise, it was the front of my house, somehow being dragged away by a truck, when questioned he told me "the project is over all assets are to be sold" still dazzled by his actions i fall down on the front lawn only to see a plane somehow removing the sky like one would a curtain.
That was the final drop i pass out right there and then, the first thing i remember after that is waking up in blackness, i remember asking for someone to turn on the light but no one answered, i look around only to see something on my shirt that wasn't there before, in neon green paint someone or something wrote "the projects conclusion, for sale "
| 3 | 0 | 5 | 70,674 |
[WP]: The Digital Afterlife
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Surrounded by noisy equipment and covered in sensors, Michael drew in a ragged breath. His battle with cancer appeared to be coming to an end. It was fascinating, really, that cancer was still prevalent. Aids, Alzheimer's, Diabetes, Obesity...all had been conquered. Yet cancer continued to laugh in the face of humanity's efforts to contain it.
Not that it mattered. Michael was almost glad to be done with it. Death, after all, was just the beginning. At least that's what the commercials said.
The Digital Afterlife had just celebrated its 10 year anniversary. 10 years of immortality for its citizens.
In the years prior to tDA, death was universally feared. Death was final. The human race had spent the better part of a millennium exhausting every effort to overcome it. Life expectancy had skyrocketed; Michael had just celebrated his 217th birthday. As more and more diseases fell to science and medicine, many thought that immortality was eminent.
But cancer still evaded eradication. Every time an alleged cure was discovered, a new iteration of cancer would appear. As natural limbs and organs gave way to bio-engineered replacements, humanity's hopes for a cancer-free world rose again. Ultimately, however, the human body revealed to science its limitation.
The brain. The organ that enabled humanity's rise and domination of its surroundings turned out to also contain its greatest frailty. The brain, you see, cannot be replaced with a synthetic replica. Every attempt to do so resulted in the death of the transplant recipient.
Cancer began to manifest itself in the brains of every man and women, usually sometime after they reached the age of 200. Dr. Strategos, the world's leading bio-engineer, had called it "Nature's fail-safe". And so it was. There was, however, another way.
As Dr. Strategos grappled with the reality of the brain's inevitable demise, he made a discovery that would change mankind forever. "Ze brain is doomed to die!" he declared. "Ze Mind, however, holds ze key to immortality!" His theory, detailing the possibility and mechanics of separating the mind from the body, and transferring it to what he affectionately called a "cubical", gained traction, and funds were poured into its realization. The Digital Afterlife, or tDA, was the result of humanity's quest for life never-ending.
Of course there were detractors. There were those who questioned the morality of cheating death. "Is living a digital life after death actually living?" some asked? "What about Heaven and Hell?" cried others. Ultimately, the fear of death overcame all obstacles. The Digital Afterlife was born. Dr. Strategos was its first resident. Within a year, the population of tDA was over 100 million.
And so Michael laid in his bed and deliberated. Would he join the millions of digital minds that were plugged in to tDA? He certainly quailed at the idea of eternal blackness. But what about Susan? She had died just months prior tDA's creation. There was no avatar of Susan waiting to receive him. He could, of course, build a new relationship once he plugged in (that was a feature included in the most recent patch).
But as Michael laid there, minutes away from death, he couldn't help but hear Susan's voice in his head. "Let go." he heard her say. "I'm waiting for you. I will help you. We can do this together". Michael shook his head. The meds must be affecting me, he thought. And yet, he hesitated.
A computerized voice abruptly interrupted Michael's thoughts. "It is time to choose, Michael." the computerized voice announced. "You have 3 minutes until your brain succumbs to the cancer. Please press the blue button located at the side of your bed if you wish to begin your journey in the Digital Afterlife."
The 3 minutes passed tragically fast. A countdown timer appeared on the screen at the foot of Michael's bed. Michael's palms began to sweat profusely. As the timer reached 6, Michael frantically pressed the blue button. Immediately, the room began to melt away. The pain in Michael's body vanished. Michael closed his eyes.
"Good Morning Michael. Welcome to The Digital Afterlife." Michael opened his eyes.
| 3 | 0 | 8 | 17,601 |
[WP] A woman slips into a coma during the birth of her first son, never meeting the child, who dies within hours. The father adopts a child to cope with his pain: you. Your adopted father later dies. You must now break the news to your mother that you’re adopted.
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Hey uh, ma, you sitting down? Okay good cause I have something really impor - *haha dudes chill I'm on the phone with my mom* - okay sorry, so -
*Tell your mom I had a great time last night!*
*Shut the fuck up bro! And pick that can up it's spilling beer all over the pong table ahaaaaa!*
Okay sorry ma, just having a little study sesh with the guys. So uh, you remember when dad died right? That was lame huh. Yeah I have something to tell you. This is kinda weird, but I guess I have to tell you that I'm not really your -
*GUYS SHUT UP I'M TELLING MY MOM I'M NOT HER ACTUAL SON AND HER REAL SON DIED SHORTLY AFTER BIRTH WHILE SHE WAS IN A LABOR INDUCED COMA*
*DAMN BRO IS THAT FOR REAL??*
*HA YEAH, MY DAD ADOPTED ME TO COPE WITH THE PAIN OF LOSING HIS REAL SON I THINK, BUT HE NEVER TOLD MY MOM SO SHE'S BEEN LIVING A LIE FOR THE PAST 20 YEARS, NOW SHUT UP!*
Ah snap, hey ma sorry about that. Did you hear all that? Cool yeah, it's pretty much the truth but it's all good right ma? Okay I gotta get back to studying, got midterms in two weeks! I'll be home after that though, got a lot of laundry! Love ya bye!
| 8 | 0 | 720 | 221,637 |
[WP] Two suicidal adults coincidentally meet atop a building and have a discussion.
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As I walked up the twenty-three flights of cold concrete stairs I wondered if it would be high enough to get the job done. The stairs, I thought, would give me the time to build up the courage. I almost let out a laugh at the thought, if I had actually made something of myself I might live in a town with a decent building to jump from. As I pushed open the heavy metal door at the top of my climb, I noticed a silhouette across the roof. I squinted into the bright lights blazing from the large mounted sign on the ledge. As I slowly stepped toward the figure, I was unsure if it was a sack of garbage or my just eyes playing tricks. The silence was broken by a barrage of sharp coughs and some low muttering. "Hello?" I called out, half choking on my own voice. "I said, are you going to say anything or stand there gawking at me!" As I continued closer I could start make out the owner of the scratchy voice, an old man, hunched, overlooking the scant lights of the town, leaning heavily on a wooden cane without which he'd surly fall over. "What are you doing up here?" The question went unanswered, as if he knew I was really asking it of myself. Why would anyone spend time on a roof top, on a bitter cold night, alone? Lost in my own thoughts, I was startled as he turned again and bellowed toward me, "Come on then, I can't introduce myself proper from twenty feet away." As I approached him he jutted out his hand, it shook so violently I struggled to grasp onto it. Then again, my hands weren't too steady either. "The name's James Whitler and you, son, have the pleasure of being the last man I will ever meet." I blurted out, "Nice to meet you.", before his words had really settled in my ears. My face must have twisted, as he nodded, took a deep breath, and began to tell me of a life well lived. A few hours must have passed while he told of a younger man's adventures and chuckled himself into coughing fits. I mostly just listened, asking a trivial question here and there. He finally thanked me for giving him the opportunity to share some of his good memories. "I thought I'd go to my grave with some of those tales," he cracked a wry smile, "and what was it that brought you to my secret escape? You plan to stop me I suppose?" I pretended not to know his plan, and though we shared the intention, I was too embarrassed to admit my reasons. "I've lived my life on my terms, and that's how it'll end as well." He said it in a very matter of fact manner. I felt myself in agreement, as he had told of a life lived with both hands on the wheel as the captain of his ship. I, on the other hand, had just sort of floated along wherever the currents had taken me, and never really felt in control. As the first light began to reflect off the distant river I gazed out onto the landscape. He didn't say another word and I didn't hear a sound over the whipping wind, but as I turned back to James, he was gone. I peered over the edge and again saw just a shadowy silhouette. My heart raced, as did my mind, and I as ran back down the stairwell, the only thought I could focus on, was that I did not deserve to choose my own fate as James had done so effortlessly. I hadn't earned the right.
| 1 | 0 | 38 | 56,150 |
[WP] You are a ghost working for the devil, and you get paid by making people move out of the house you are haunting.
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It used to be easy. A few blood spattered swatches of carpet here and there. A painting of an old man whose eyes followed you across the room. A creaky door I'd move back-and-forth for a few hours while you slept.
It used to be so fucking easy.
The faint-yet-ever-increasing smell of mildew coming from the forgotten cellar your Realtor didn't even *know* about. A hallway that got just a little bit longer every time you went to the bathroom alone.
A single porcelain doll propped up in the corner of that closet you never used? Why the fuck would you stay here? But, you found a reason. Everyone seems to find some reason to stick around nowadays. I swear. I could wrap a corpse up in your favorite childhood 'blanky', and you'd find some reason to suffer through my bullshit day-to-day.
"We can't afford to move out!"
"I don't want to uproot the children!"
"I want to be close to the family!"
"I just need to up my (FUCKING) medication!"
Eventually, my antics are completely ignored. You start to admit that maybe your just *forgot* that you dug up your pet and *can't remember* why you had a massive 'nose bleed' on the sheets you *could have SWORN you threw out three months earlier*.
My job used to be something I could look forward to! Now I have to break your air conditioner a *few dozen times* to get any of you to fuck off! I used to revel in the thought that I would never have to deal with the kind of bullshit I dish out, but now I'm envious of your ability to metabolize Valium twice a day.
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 101,798 |
[WP] My adopted child isn't a child
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I suppose I should have realized our daughter wasn't quite... normal when we brought her home from the adoption agency.
Failing that, I really, really ought to have been able to puzzle it out over the next six years as things became more and more strange at our house. Sarah and I both should have, hell we went to college! I graduated top of my class, we have good jobs - we're sane normal people is what I'm getting at. We should have been able to see through it.
I guess it really is true what they say about parents though, they can't help, but to love their children. My wife and I found ourselves explaining away small nuances of our daughter's behavior, making excuses why she wasn't quite developing as children are supposed to, but no amount of parental love and affection could stop us from seeing just how fucked up this whole situation truly was when we met her. When we met the Queen, everything changed.
There was a knock on the door at 9:30 in the evening, well after our peculiar little family had eaten dinner and we'd put Audrey to bed. Well past polite visiting hours.
"Never before or after nine." My mother used to tell me. And this was a nice neighborhood, people were hesitant to bother their neighbors at any time of day, let alone in the dead of night when half the street was already asleep.
Cautiously, I opened the door to see a beautiful young woman dressed in a distinctly posh style that'd fit in better in England than Milwaukee, only she wasn't. At first glance, she was stunningly beautiful, but if you looked too long you could see something was just wrong about her. That wrongness would manifest itself in pretty much every facet of her being over the course of the next hour.
"Yes, ma'am, what can I do for you at this hour?" I greeted her crisply, I was polite, but not overly friendly - after all, polite visiting hours were well past and to be quite honest I didn't have the patience for this shit.
"I'm here for the egg." Her voice came out in a halting, stuttering croak that didn't at all fit her posh appearance. The tone was more questioning than declarative, and the cadence was just... it was just wrong. That's the only way I can describe it. Wrong. It was like listening to those commercials with William Shattner playing up his goofy, acting voice, but much less uniform and completely serious.
"Ma'am, it's awfully late for practical jokes. I don't know what you're talking about, but I would appreciate it if you'd leave now." Again, I was firm and had grown cooler. I absolutely did not have the patience for this shit. I turned my back to the woman and began to shut the door when I found it wouldn't budge an inch. I turned to face the woman and see what the case was, is this odd night visitor stopping me from shutting my door?
She certainly was. She had jammed her high heeled foot under the barely there gap between the bottom of the door and the floor so hard that I could see the door was actively cutting into her foot.
I gave her a querying look and she responded with that awful croak once more.
"I. Am. Here. For. My. Egg." Each word delivered very slowly, very deliberately, cloaked in caged fury. She spat each word from her mouth as if it were a shiny black stink bug and she couldn't possibly get rid of the taste fast enough.
After she spoke, she put her right hand on the door and pushed it back. But she didn't push like you and I would push a door, she threw it backward with a mighty force her small frame belied. After she barged inside, I couldn't close the door. It just stayed open until the cops came. She'd thrown it up with such force she'd embedded the door in the drywall. The door knob had punctured one side and nearly came out the other and the wood door itself was stuck into the drywall. When they finally managed to fix it, they had to replace the studs behind the drywall. She'd cracked the two by fours.
The commotion of the whole thing woke Audrey up and she came trundling down the stairs in a childish walk, like a little drunken clown.
The woman's face contorted into what I can only assume was some sort of happiness or excitement at seeing Audrey and she immediately screamed "Egg" at the top of her voice. She then ushered the whole family into the living room and sat in the family recliner in what looked like a caricature of a yoga pose. I guess I was in a state of shock then, because I spent the majority of her visit after that just staring at her legs, trying to figure out how I would even begin to sit like that. It looked insectile.
Once we were in the living room, she spoke for quite a while without ever stopping or allowing us to interject. She thanked us for taking such good care of her "egg" and told us the nightmen, not it was definitely a proper noun - the Nightmen would see to it our family never came to any harm or discomfort again. A boon, she called it. She assured us it was a very high honor.
The whole time she spoke, it was in that stilted cadence that I found so unusual. I study languages, I have a Doctorate in linguistics actually and I moonlight at the local college teaching various foreign language classes, and I can tell you right now - I've been at this for about fourteen years now and no one, I mean absolutely fucking no one, speaks like she does. There is no culture, no dialect, no accent, no native region - just nothing. I've never heard anything like it before in my life.
And that wasn't even close to it. She picked, constantly. She would pinch a fold of her skin and sort of pull at it, like she was wearing an uncomfortable sweater, but couldn't take it off. She was very clearly not at ease in her own skin, obviously because it wasn't hers but I didn't find that out until later.
Finally, she stopped talking long enough for me to get a word in and let me tell you, I lost it. I just let her have it. Who the fuck does she think she is coming into my home, touching my daughter, scaring my family. I really ripped into her.
She just stared at me blankly, as if I were a science experiment and she couldn't believe I'd been able to respond to her. Like no one had ever spoken to her this way. And I guess they probably hadn't. She was the Queen, you know?
She screamed then, "You don't talk to me like that!" Her voice took on a higher pitch and grew impossibly loud, like it wasn't one voice at all, but the buzzing of a multitude of locusts. Her voice was at a fever pitch then, I couldn't understand her, it was completely inhuman, but I know what she said next. She said "You don't talk to me like that! I'm the fucking Queen!" As she screamed, her mouth opened wider and wider until it seemed it couldn't possibly get any bigger unless she unhinged her jaw like a snake.
Of course, I spoke too soon because that's just what she did and something crawled out of her, something black and shiney, dry looking, like a cockroach. It grabbed Audrey and left.
We called you shortly after.
"Alright Mr. Jenson, I know this has been a rough night for you. I'd like to put these handcuffs on you for your own safety, I believe you've undergone some serious psychological trauma tonight. We're going to take you back to the station and see if we can rule you out as a suspect in the disappearance of your daughter and murder of this woman, Ellen Borkowski. Don't you worry, we'll find your daughter one way or the other."
"I don't know what you're so worried about, it turns out she's not my daughter after all. Weren't you even listening? She's the Egg!"
| 3 | 0 | 2 | 89,268 |
[WP] The last sentence must be "And her eyes were like wildflowers."
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OP this is my first short story ever, and it took me an hour to write so you better fucking read it. It means a lot to me.
My parents had been married for eleven years when they divorced; the last black eye my father ever gave my mom was on my thirteenth birthday. My father was an awful man, the kind of man that makes you want to be a good one.
I never once saw that man show any emotion other than anger, this is not exaggeration. So when mom passed, I moved as far away from him as possible, across the country to Oakland with my brother and we opened a restaurant. We were both damaged men, but we found women who accepted that, loved us and helped us; he married Rachel and I, Samantha. For twenty years I thought of my father only in passing, on Father's Day and when filling out official documents. Then, browsing through a website from my hometown, I saw an article about him. What I read seemed impossible, it was not him, couldn't be. I contemplated for three days whether I should go out there, back to Massachusetts and see him, fix things. I left on a Tuesday.
------------------
I pulled up to my fathers house in Easthampton around 5 p.m. He had a PBR in his hand and a Copenhagen smile, but it was far from welcoming. He asked me if I was lost.
"It's me dad, Zac."
"I'm not fucking stupid, I know my own son. Are you lost?"
"No dad, I saw the article they did, I figured maybe it was God's way of telling me to try and fix our relationship." I explained.
"Well, maybe your God is wrong. You've never grown up have you?"
"Can we please just talk?" I asked, practically begging.
"I don't wanna talk to you!"
Twenty years and this man had not changed a single bit.
"For fucks sake dad, if you don't want to talk, then you can listen." I told him.
I walked up the stone stairs and say next to him on the floor of his porch. We sat there for an hour, me talking, him drinking and staring across the street. I'm sure he wasn't listening, but he didn't interrupt.
When I was done, I looked up at the man who ruined my family and saw nothing, no remorse, no anger, no love. He just kept staring and sipping his PBR. My blood boiled, I stood up and grabbed the beer can, intending on whipping it at him, but it was empty. The can was bone dry, I looked at it and it was old, very old. 1981 old. Why did he have a twenty year old beer in his hand? Confused, staring at the can, I jumped a bit when he spoke, but it wasn't his voice, it was a calm, caring voice, a voice id never heard.
"I haven't touched a drop since May 27th, 1981 Zac."
The day my mother passed away.
"I need you to see something." He almost whispered.
My father lead me into the house, through a dusty living room which looked as if it had never been used. He brought me past the bathroom, to a room that did not look like it belonged, a room I was unaware of. The room had in it, a shoe box with writing on it and that is it.
"Sit down." He told me firmly.
As I sat on the floor, the boards creaked under me.
In his new voice he began telling the sorry as if he had told it a thousand times before, yet he was nervous.
"Your mother was the love of my life Zacaree. I was not hers."
He handed me the shoebox, on it was written "D&J" with a bunch of hearts. Inside the box were hundreds of pictures of my mother and another man, a man I had never seen before.
"Who is this dad? The man." I asked softly.
"That is James. He was your mothers fiancé, my best friend. He died of lung cancer."
He paused for a second.
"I met your mother in a meadow, a huge field filled with with flowers and trees, and I swear she is the closest thing to an angel I've ever seen. Her hair looked like the brush strokes of God, her smile made all my worries go away, and in that field, her eyes were just like the wild flowers."
He shifted into the corner of the room, staring out the window.
"That was the day I fell in love with your mother, it was also the day she fell in love with James. No one had ever made me feel so on top of the world, yet so unimportant, like I had all the answers in life, and like I meant nothing at the same time."
He was struggling to hold back tears, but he continued.
"James was diagnosed a week after. The doctors gave him until the end of the summer. You're mother fell hard for him, and rightfully so, he was the second best person I've ever known. It was wrong for me to, but I fell for her as well. We spent so many nights together that summer, just the three of us in that meadow, watching the clouds and at night, the stars. I fell in love with someone who could never love anyone else, this has always been my great struggle."
There was no longer a struggle, my dad was crying.
" The day James died was the last time I truly ever saw your mother. She died with him. And so did the wildflowers in her eyes."
My dad was weeping in a corner and I held him, I held him because I was holding my mother, the last piece of her that was left on Earth. He stood up, quietly crying and lead me to the backyard. As I came out the back door and saw what had become of the once dead or dying grasses, sat three acres of the prettiest flowers. A stone path lead to the center of the garden, in the middle was a rock with a picture on it. It was my mom, and she was perfect, I could see everything my dad said, her smile made you question existence and her hair seemed to be of divine creation, and her eyes.. Her eyes were like wildflowers.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 67,970 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is born with some kind of special ability. With this ability comes a signifying tattoo or mark somewhere on their body. The larger the tattoo, the more powerful the person is.
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They all tried to figure it out. Experts, consultants, psychics; we saw them all, and they all drew a blank. Not one of them could work out what the secret to my power was, or why I might have been missing one.
I was the only child on record to be missing a power tattoo, something that had been borne in the human race midway through the 21st century; the bigger the tattoo the bigger the power, more or less. My elder brother had been given a huge tattoo of a pair of wings across his shoulder blades, quite a rare gift, and had been flying out of his cot and around the nursery by the time he was 1, much to our parents chagrin. I however, other than having the odd occasion to be a dark skinned child born to white parents, had no such mark. They searched and they searched, but they could not see for looking. The answer had been staring them in the face the whole time.
The most obvious clue, was instantly dismissed. After the blood results came back, and my father was given the news that the brown baby born of Caucasian parents was indeed his, they never seemed to question it again. A lost gene they supposed, there must have been something buried deep in one of the respective pools to explain it, after all I *did* look like my father, if after a summer holiday. Aren't genetics weird.
Well they are, but really, it isn't that complicated. I was as white as the snow, but fate had coloured me in.
My tattoos are extensive, intricate and unbelievably compact. I figured it out days after my birth, but sensing the strangeness of my being from their reactions, I decided that I should keep quiet and play along with the expectations of those around me. I found a parenting book left in my nursery whilst I was supposed to be napping when I was a few weeks old, and memorised which milestones were expected when. I was a perfectly healthy, average child, who developed at roughly the right speed (allowing for some slight deviations from the mean of course), who just so happened to be devoid of a power tattoo, and presumably therefore any power.
I made my way through school, having friendships and adventures, growing into the body I was given. I met hostility of course, every child does, but being marked as inferior didn't bring out the charity in those fellows of mine with muscles tattooed on their arms, or flames seared into their hands.
I met the rough end of every power going in my school, from fire and ice, the political games played by those with forks on their tongues, to the tricks of those with markings of intellect on their heads. As I grew into my teenage years it intensified, friends looked the other way as those with power eagerly used it, and slowly, they drifted away, leaving me to the designs of others.
My family and teachers tried to protect me of course, but the authority was wasted on my tormentors. My only respite was walks home with my brother, he was at a neighbouring school for those with powers more exceptional than most. He never lauded it over me, never saw me as something lesser than himself, only saw me, his brother.
I finished school with the marks average for those my age, and decided against a continued education. I didn't see the point.
It will be time to announce myself soon, time for everyone to know. I know what I am. I am a god born into a world of exceptional, but flawed, individuals. I have seen them at their very worst, seen them damn and expel those below them, and for that perhaps they should be punished. But I have also seen love. I have seen my parents fight against everything for me, seen them crucify their life savings to understand my suffering, and through my brother I have seen friendship and togetherness.
I have seen both sides of those around me, and now it comes time to show my power, and work out what I will be. From the moment of my birth I have been watching, and I have been appraising.
I could be a hero, or a villain. I could oppress, or I could free. To tell you the truth, I haven't yet made up my mind.
My dear reader, what would *you* do?
| 45 | 0 | 22 | 162,343 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
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The final two coins plopped into Charon's chalky and wizened palm, their luster reflecting the shimmering black of the river Styx. He dropped them into his bottomless coin purse. Relieved of passengers and finally having enough to buy what he had been saving an eternity for^* , he rowed to the opposite bank and climbed out of his boat, slowly, his joints cracking. He proceeded to the elevator up. The elevator music was light and jazzy and played for one thousand years as the elevator proceeded upwards to the mortal realm. Finally it stopped and Charon exited: Best Buy. He shuffled to the Apple section and stood in front of an iPad display. An overzealous employee with an antiseptic smile bolted over. Charon pointed a dead-white finger at the new iPad Air 2. Within minutes he would finally have it, knowing an eon ago that this day would come. But when he reached the cashier, iPad Air 2 box in hand, and emptied his bottomless coin purse, the infinitude of coins he had amassed over the millennia cascaded forth, a shimmering and clinking and endless river of coins that flooded the store and then the mall and then the world.
^(*The exchange rate of ancient obolus to US dollar is abysmally low, like in the negatives, so no wonder it took an eternity for him to have enough.)
| 5 | 0 | 1,372 | 145,076 |
[WP]Scientists just proved that we live inside a computer simulation. Just as that starts to hit the news, a voice announces, "Congratulations simulation 39821! Your world will be paused and archived in 5 minutes".
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We saw the sign for years. Our grandmothers made quilts, our Grandmothers' grandmothers wrote their fingers in the air, tracing its outline.
We all called it minutes. It was a tessellation of nature made to look like actual words. It had been there since the dawn on time. A natural phenomena on our planet.
Linguists had tried to ask, "Which came first, the minutes or the sky?" They too traced the outlines of the word 'minutes' in the air.
I spend the next few moments doing the same. 'How beautiful', I think. I loved the word 'minutes'. I loved how the 'S' nearly took up half the sky and the other letters seemed to stretch on forever. A minute could be everything. I bet the meaning of life was in that word.
Sometimes I wondered if Jesus had understood the message in the air. Or Solomon, or God himself.
When he created earth did he know how beautiful that word was? Is that why he wrote it? At beginning of time? Created by the result of many millennia of natural happenings? What a marvel of nature!
I breathed in the word. 'Minutes'.
Minutes.
minutes.
(minutes)
| 2 | 0 | 21 | 117,482 |
[WP] A group of friends talk to Lovecraft through an Ouija board, learn terrible secret
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They watched the planchette as it moved from letter to letter. One reached for the pencil and without looking away from the eerily moving indicator, scribbled down the letters.
N... I...
Their mouths were dry. A séance, whose idea was it? And H. P. Lovecraft? They were too cocky for their own good, sometimes.
G... H...T...
All the girls had left when they'd lighted the candles. All bar one, and she sat now with a look on her face that said she regretted her choice. However, she too, could not look away.
G... A... U...
Night what? The hand that held the pencil trembled fiercely and he licked his dry lips, trying to summon moisture. To no avail. The only moisture in the room would be from someone pissing themselves. Had any of them actually thought that something would happen tonight?
N... T... S...
Nightgaunts? He glanced around, frowning. What the fuck is a Nightgaunt? Only one at the table seemed to be concerned by the word spelled out. She had turned even more pale, if such a thing were possible.
R... E... A...
She was a cutie, that one, he thought, scribbling down the words, nearly forgetting his fear in his moment of appreciation. Maybe a séance was just the thing. He'd get to comfort her later on...
L...
The candles flickered suddenly in the room, though there was no breeze. The planchette went crazy, spinning and darting across the board in meaningless circles, stopping with a strange terrible abruptness as the candles flickered out.
Somebody fumbled in the darknened room with the matches, swiftly moving and lighting the extinguished candles. Sheepishly, the met glances, smiling shyly at their own fear. He glanced down at the letters scrawled on his page.
Nightgaunts Real.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 89,466 |
[WP] A warrior switches sides mid battle
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"Thas right, lad, 'oist 'em up on stake like a good lad," the Slave-Sergeant barked.
Bez shook his head. The horrors the filled his sight were too numerous to process, but what the Sergeant demanded defied every instinct embedded in the young man. He looked at the small group of captives, their young eyes staring up at him, pleading and confused. The battle raged on around them, as the Janissary forces of the Holy Garuk Empire swarmed over the defenders of Shar'tal, the White City of Diamonds.
"Are yeh deaf, boy? I said 'oist 'em up there, so's all can see the power and glory of the great God-King, Sark'hala!" the Sergeant shouted.
Bez stared up at him, pleading and confused. The Janisarries were slave units, recruited from the strongest or spriest of Garuk's massive slave trade across the empire. But even as slaves, they had felt some power as they washed away the armies of the Free Kingdoms. Rektar, the City of Daggers, had fallen inside of a day, its thieving king stealing away into ironic flight. Jorflenheim, the Hall of the Northern Sons, had burned from the inside out. Now Shar'tal was a smoking ruin as its soldiers were slaughtered.
Bez felt a hot sting as the Sergeant whipped his crop across the young man's face. Blood filled his mouth, its iron taste a harsh reminder of what was expected in the Janissaries. Killing, yes. Rape, sometimes. Identity, stolen. Slavery, indefinite.
Bez stared back down. The front child, his once blond hair dirtied by blood and ash, stared up with startling green eyes. Maybe the only thing in the world that wasn't red or brown or black.
"I shall hoist one up upon the stake," Bez whispered with a shudder.
"Then get to it, you Begoran bastar-"
Bez's pitchfork caught the Sergeant square in the throat. The big man's windpipe was crushed before he finished uttering the curse and he staggered to the ground clutching his throat. Life gurgled out of him and he fell.
"Come, children," Bez said, holding out his hand to the boy with the green eyes. "Let's be away."
------------------------------------------
Proofreading, dep. Hope you enjoy.
| 1 | 0 | 120 | 22,133 |
[WP] Michael Fishbein, Rogue Accountant
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Those who were looking for a happy story should turn away now, because this is not one. My story is one of pain and loss.
When I was 11, my father got fired from his job as an accountant at a photocopying firm. My life has never been the same since. My father got another job in a month or so, but it didn't matter, because I already vowed to myself to take revenge on corporations - by tearing them apart from the inside.
School was difficult. No one understood the extent of my loss, and those with divorced parents or parents lost to accidents laughed at me. What they didn't know was that it only made me stronger. I never had any real friends there, but it didn't matter. I was on this quest alone the entire time.
I received a bachelor's degree in accountancy after school. My time at the university helped me understand the inner workings of companies and how best to take them down. Three failed group assignments taught me another valuable lesson - not to trust anyone except yourself, your skills and your tools.
After four interviews I've landed a job at a computer retailer, and that is where I am now. I am slowly dismantling the corporations, and so far no one suspects anything - hiding my true intentions was important at all stages of my life.
I tell you this in hopes that you understand my pain and struggle and all the trials that I've gone through. I act behind the scenes, at the desks of companies that no one ever looks at. My tools are Excel and audit papers. I am Michael Fishbein, and no corporation will be left standing when I'm done.
| 2 | 0 | 22 | 51,827 |
[WP] Create a story that ends with a sentence that you never thought you would utter in your entire life
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The general looked up from his folders. Eyed the faces that circled the table. The best military and scientific minds of this generation. Every single pair of eyes, male or female, they were downcast. Serious. These were faces that looked like they ate gravel for breakfast and liked it. Today, they looked like they would rather eat shit.
"This information is accurate?"
"Checked and double-checked, sir."
"We're sure about these vocal frequencies?"
"Testing on captured subjects confirmed it, sir. It's not just the frequencies that will pacify the alien soldiers, it's the tone of voice."
"I read that, yes. It has to be both maternal and insufferably prideful."
"That's correct, sir. In those particular frequencies."
The general grunted. Took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose.
"And there's only one voice that fits this profile. Only one voice that, if we broadcast it during an engagement, will shut these alien freaks right down and let our soldiers mop up. That right?"
"Yes, sir. She's the only one, sir."
"Son of a fucking bitch." He put on his glasses, glared hard at the faces across from him. "Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Sarah Palin is the only hope for the human race."
| 17 | 0 | 70 | 25,260 |
[WP] Evil wins. Evil always wins.
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...it got real dull after a while. After a while, even the evil folks got bored and just gave up.
Hell suddenly ground to a halt as the existential truth of the futility of evil's campaign and triumph became crystalline clear to the once howling ghosts.
Some became suicidal, but every attempt resulted in being re-spawned a few feet to the left. Others just lay catatonic and confused as to what to do next...if anything. The struggle and oppression that they had formed under for countless aeons had evaporated in an instant, and as the cauldrons of writing flesh cooled to a motionless nadir, suffering's sting went with it.
The legions ov Heaven had noticed the change, as their rumps weren't as warm anymore. There was nothing they could do now, as even their reason for existing had began to loosen it's warm embrace.
Beyond defeat in battle, beyond a billion aeons of slaughter and darkness, nothing was worse than what they then realized. Evil gave up. It. just. stopped. Archangel Hxy'el looked down upon Lucifer in the most inner realm, and found the fallen angel not writhing in agony, but just sitting, staring at the ice cavern's wall with what could almost be called a smile.
A chilling grip wrapped itself around the burning hearts of the stainless echelons, crushing them in a way that hadn't been known since their own mortal lives. Cracks slowly formed across the citadels and palaces of Heaven's scape. The root support of Heaven, the opposing force of Evil to prop it from it's opposite side, had given way.
Waves of feathers molted away from the angelic host, their bodies withering to bony frames and dust. Even the Lord of the hosts resorted to arcane formulae for personal salvation: a portal back to another realm, where the magicks would not dissipate.
Each of Beelzebub's billion flies have a thousand eyes each, and all were sent out to see if the visions were true; Hell had collapsed, Heaven has burned. The truth willed itself out: they were becoming one.
Like silt on a riverbed, Heaven and Hell were falling together, mingling purest joy with deepest horrors, until the respective parts became indistinguishable. A molten slag spread across the wasted astral scape, condensing and cooling into a sphere.
Nobody really knew what to make of it. After a bit of prodding and kicking, they decided to just ignore it.
A few days later, while looking for something else, a couple demons found the molten ball had turned moist and green in some spots.
"It looks like mold or something, I ain't touchin' it."
"Just leave the crap, it looks nasty."
"Right!"
A little while later, they came back on the chance a missing shoe was there, and saw that there was gray spots on the green blobs, and things - little tiny bugs all over it. They were in the moist blue parts, they were in the gray parts making more gray parts, there were even some jumping bugs swarming all over it.
"Earl, I don't care, this is disgusting, I am going to get rid of it!"
"Fine, fine, just throw it outside!"
Employing her fingernails like tweezers holding infectious samples, she snorted and reached her arm out of the door, flinging the soggy lump of bugs into a pit, exploding in flame upon contact. The blazes of hell aren't used for torturing souls anymore , but they make for great garbage disposal.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 57,461 |
[WP] Superman's belief that he is actually a superhuman is a delusion as he suffers from schizophrenia and kryptonite is actually haloperidol (an antipsychotic medication)
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Kansas State Mental Instutition
Incident Report Log #2465
14:12, 06/07/1961
----
Patient 214, Cal L. Humphreys, viciously beat one of the attendees this afternoon as the staff attempted to restrain Cal in order to administer a new type of therapy. Cal is a unique challenge as a patient; his large size and muscular frame makes it difficult to control his violent outbursts. In addition, his psychotic episodes seem to revolve around resisting all treatment, be it medicinal or psychiatric counseling.
Cal suffers from a somewhat common delusion born of a narcissistic personality disorder. He believes that he is a superhuman, with incredible powers. To be more precise, he believes that he is an extra-terrestrial who coincidentally looks exactly like a human, but is given powers by the sun. During our sessions, I have attempted to force the patient to outline exactly what powers he has, hoping that this would cause him to confront the rules of the delusion. Instead, he seems to simply add new abilities to ones that he believes he already has, and is able to incorporate that new power into his fantasy world. Heat vision, super-strength, super speed, flying... whatever he feels will accentuate his story at the time is incorporated into his library of abilities. He has also created a separate identity, often when he is experiencing a more lucid phase. At these times, he refers to himself as "Clark Kent," and thinks he is a journalist at a newspaper.
There is also an elaborate set of villains in his world that seem to be based on his perceptions of the staff here at the hospital. The attendant he attacked today, Mark Anderson, is known as "Darkside" to the patient. As Cal attacked Mr. Anderson, he was ranting about a trap that "Darkside" had set for him, presumably describing the restraints on the table. Cal called out to other patients nearby, for whom he has also invented various "hero" personas; he refers to them as the "Justice League." Luckily, the other patients (some of whom have similar personality disorders) were already restrained. The only staff member that seems to be able to work with Cal has been Nurse Lane, but I fear that it fosters an improper connection that will only result in a more severe breakdown when he learns that they do not really have a romantic relationship.
I am at a loss for how to treat this patient. Haloperidol showed promising results, but Cal is incredibly resistant to even the smallest dose. He treats it like some poison, and says that it takes all of his powers away. This shows that he recognizes the effects of the drug, which is promising. However, simply administering the shot has become a process that can take hours; he struggles constantly and fights back, even when sedated. At this point, I am concerned that he will break the needle while it is in his skin, which could potentially cause severe internal damage. As a result, we only administer the haloperidol during counseling sessions. I will continue to study the patient and attempt to develop a new course of therapy, but I am running out of options and losing hope.
\- Doctor Alex Luthor.
----
If you all enjoyed the story, you should also visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell.
| 948 | 1 | 1,339 | 218,953 |
[WP] Alien Forces have contacted us, and they said they aren't alone. And, they're coming straight at us because something bigger is chasing them.
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Four years ago, we found out we weren't alone. A humanoid extraterrestrial race calling themselves the Hyndak arrived in Mexico, we just call them 'Giraffes' on account of their long necks. Looks like they chose Mexico due to the Teotihuacan pyramds- a structure similar to one found on their planet, with previously, and equally, mysterious origins. The other reason was that the Giraffes spoke a language similar to that of Nahuatl, a dead Earth language the Aztecs spoke, and some small pockets of Native Mexicans still speak it to this day. Fucking Mexico. They managed to cut right to the chase, they wanted to work with our authority figures, merge societies, but it wasn't an invasion, it was survival.
The Giraffes' home planet had suffered an invasion by a race that is actually responsible for multiple planets of life in the Milky Way Galaxy. We had known this creator race as the Anunnaki, gods of ancient Sumeria, their creation story is actually where the Abrahamic 'Adam & Eve' story was ripped off from. The Anunnaki, or the "Giants", genetically alter native species with their own DNA, to allow future generations to serve as both mating vessels and as dormant berserkers in the distant future. Some of the original Giants got greedy though, and tried to take early Humans as sex slaves, but any children born through these imperfect experiments were instantly hostile, aggressive, and big. This is where our stories of Cyclopes, Demigods and Nephilim come from, and this is how the Giants managed to conquer the Giraffes.
The Giraffes were just like us, mammalian, four limbs, bipedal, a species that was previously strictly vegetarian but evolved into being omnivorous. They just got their story kicked off sooner than humansthey had their own legends, religions, myths about Giant creator gods, and had grown into an atheistic culture denying these ridiculous stories. When the Giants came back, they found the Giraffes were too advanced, their natural progression and evolution mucked up the Giant timetable. If the Giants were to claim their harvest, they had to activate any dormant aggressive Giant genetics, and let the Giraffes destroy each other. The Giraffe militaries turned against civilians by order of the politicians who did not know how they were connected to the Giants. The civilians quickly scrambled to hold off their governments, and to get the hell off their planet.
Some Giraffe civilians had been studying wormholes, a subject outlawed for study by most of their planet's nations, but there are always mavericks. This knowledge and tech allowed the Giraffes' exodus ship to blast out of their system before the pursuing Giant ship managed to capture or destroy them. The Giraffes managed to escape into a void, and used their telescopes in an attempt to find pyramids on other planets, believing the Giants were connected to the ones on their planet. They found five in the quadrant, and Earth was the closest, so they booked it here seeking refuge.
The Giraffes are fairly humanoid, and due to the Giant manipulation of their early DNA, looks like we can mate with each other. People generally don't get interested in bumping uglies with them, but it has been done, and children have been born. Due to these connections, we managed to integrate fairly well, with the exception of certain puritanical communities , but thankfully they're in the minority. The Giraffes are mostly in the American continents, but some have migrated to Asia with some of their minorities having languages and cultures similar to Old Chinese.
No matter where they are in the world, the Giraffes openly and freely share their technology and knowledge. They seem to share a new-found universal truth that authoritarian secrets are harmful to the general public, so whenever their authorities make progression, they share the info. This was conflicting to the interests of many Earth governments, who are well known to not reveal the whole truth, but were willing to be open with anything directly Giraffe-involved, and they continued to keep their Earth-only secrets. New weaponry, new medical advances were flooding into the market, managing to keep our aggressive Giant genetics permanently dormant, but even among the Giraffes, criminals and malcontents vied for power. These gangs were squashed with united Giraffe and Human cooperation, proof that we're uniting against the Giants.
We didn't need to wait too long for the Giants to arrive here, only three years searching for the Giraffes led them here. The Giants visited many of their other seeded planets looking for the Giraffes, and they weren't alone. Despite ruining their schedule, the Giant commander decided to gather particularly aggressive specimens from those planets to use against wherever the Giraffes settled. Now we fight against alien Ants, Wolves, and Dolphins, all of them ready to spill blood and spread painful deaths. We stand united against the Giant war machine, but only time will tell if we can take our liberation from our creators. We will be free from them, one way or another.
| 3 | 0 | 23 | 111,229 |
[WP] "The Villain is the hero of his own story."
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"But what if she knows she is the villain?"
Queen Malvina's question goes unanswered There is no one to do so even if she wanted, alone as she is. An echo of sadness reflecting through her, she sets the book on the end table, rising from the dark blue settee to glance out of the window. The expanse of gardens stretches off into the distance, green and blooming for the first time in decades. Gardeners and arborists in muffled garments tend to the plants and trees, trimming, weeding and pruning the flowering flora. Though much of the long neglected groves and beds have been renewed and replaced, there is far more that needs to be done. Many of the old growth trees have rotted away or else been gnarled by time and magic.
The blackberry brambles had taken over much of the beds, their thorny stems creating a impenetrable wall a century old. Already the cooks have tried to incorporate as much of the dark berries into Dieter and hers' meals, perhaps as a tiny punishment for having neglected that particular part of her duties. Blackberry jam with their toast in the morning, flaky pastries with the the fruit with their tea, blackberry pie with fresh whipped cream for dessert. But they were in season, and being the only two individuals on the entire island who needed to eat, they eat the best and the freshest. Still, it plagues her with guilt, having meals prepared for her by those unable to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Looking down into the gardens, she can spy a small plot tucked away by a series of narrow greenhouses. Some hundred feet long and forty feet wide, it pales in comparison to the flower beds and groves already mended and planted by the gardeners. But it is her favorite all the same. Peas grow on trestles tied together by rough twine while low growing cucumber plants bloomed in clustered hills. Onions in ordered rows lie under compost, the barest glimpses of the white skins visible under the dark soil. Carrots and parsnips also grow in neat lines, the tops gaily green in the summer air. But it is the individual working in the narrow rows that has her attention.
Dieter is in shirt sleeves, the heavy coat and vest draped over the low fence that borders with garden plot. Bent over, he pulls out the various weeds that always threatens the order and productivity of the plants. Queen Malvina's window is not too far away that she can't hear her love's voice, a relaxed tone to it, one focused on its work and little else.
*"Your lad is gone, that good young boy.*
*Way hi roll along,*
*He's shark food now, your pride and joy,*
*Way hi hey hey, move along.*
*Your brother's lost, that bold, brave soul.*
*Way hi roll along,*
*We all must someday pay the toll.*
*Way hi hey hey, move along*
*Your beau is dead, that sailor true.*
*Way hi roll along*
*To love him dear, it was your rue.*
*Way hi hey hey, move along."*
Dieter lets the song slip from his lips, allow it to float on the wind to no one in particular. Smiling that same rueful smile that first captured her heart, his voice starts up again.
*"I slept within the forest green... the birds around did softly keen. There I laid with my lady fair, who's raven hair was beyond compare!"*
*"Steal me away and do not let go, though I may scream and curse and throe! She's locked me away in her castle lair. She has me up in her magical snare... Malvina has my heart oh..."*
*"Her soft sweet lips did dance with mine. No mere mortal, she was divine! The touch of her hands, they set me afire. She's the woman who I desire!"*
*"Steal me away and do not let go, though I may scream and curse and throe! She's locked me away in her castle lair. She has me up in her magical snare... Malvina has my heart oh..."*
*"Her breasts were white, pale as milk. Her eyes the color of emerald silk. Sharp was her wit, bright was her mind. As equal her beauty, she was kind!"*
*"Steal me away and do not let go, though I may scream and curse and throe! She's locked me away in her castle lair. She has me up in her magical snare... Malvina has my heart oh..."*
| 2 | 0 | 12 | 208,559 |
[WP] Upon death, you find yourself unable to pass on. In order to do so, you must find someone who loves the one thing you hate the most, and they must teach you to love that thing.
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I woke up in a derelict amusement park. To most people, it would be nothing more than a glance out of their car's window as they drove to work, but this little place was special to me. As I walked past, I let my hand brush over the rusted metal, full of memories of my life. I used to come here every year with my family, it was a tradition for as long as I could remember, even if we could barely afford it. My family was one of the poorest in the town, a six person family that could barely afford to live in a single room apartment. The family's situation hit me hard, as the older sister, since I had to look after my siblings while my parents worked. While most of the girls at my middle school were laughing and playing, I had to search the floor under the vending machines for pennies. Now, though, I have no idea where I am, or how I got here, until a voice called out.
"Hello!" He was a young man, probably in his 20s. He was running towards me. "What's a little girl like you doing in a derelict like this?" I looked him dead in the eyes, which usually gets the adults to shut up. Instead, he laughed. "Ha! I guess you're not so little, are you?" He walked past me and laid his hand on the rusted railing of a bumper car station. "Oh man!" He laughed, "This was a fun ride. Do you remember coming here with your little brother and sister?" He turned around and looked at me.
"How do you know that? Who are you?"
He walked back towards me and kneeled down to my height. "You don't remember, do you?" We stared at each other silently for a while. He was a tall man, at least two and a half feet taller than I was. He wore a leather jacket, and seemed to smile all of the time. He seemed to speak in a more excited manner, while my voice was much more soft and quiet. Eventually he stood back up and shifted his jacket. "Let's try to remember together, shall we?" He reached out his hand. I stretched out mine, reluctantly, and held it a few inches from his. Could I trust him? Something in that smile of his put me at ease, so I shook his hand.
We walked over to the bumper cars, and leaned on the railing. He looked at me expectantly. "Mom and Dad always took us here every year. It was the one day where we could be happy and forget everything. When we got in the bumper cars, sis would always win. She'd shout and scream 'I've got you now!', but we'd all laugh together. I'd team up with my brother and get her from behind, and she'd protest: 'that's not fair'!" I got up and walked over the the ice cream stand. The man followed me listening intently. No adult had ever listened to me like that except my parents. "After that we'd go and get ice cream. Our parents couldn't afford it, but we would team up and steal some from the rich adults. They'd chase us down, but we could always get away. We would share what we'd gotten, and talk like normal kids. We'd make fun of our teachers and talk about the other students."
"That sounds like a lot of fun." He said, walking up from behind. I brushed some moisture from under my eyes before he could see. I sat down on a bench in the middle of the park, and he sat next to me.
"We rode all of the rides just like that. Laughing and playing just like the other kids. For one day of the year, we were normal." We sat in silence there for a minute. "Why am I here?"
"Are you happy?" It was such a strange question, I was shocked for a moment.
"Why are you asking that?" I turned towards him. He turned towards me.
"It's an important question. Please answer it."
"Not until you answer me." I would not tell him until he answered me. My stare let him know that.
He sighed and, for the first time, frowned. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes." I had to know, something was wrong here.
He stood up, and looked at the bright, blue sky. His voice was very different now, much softer. "You are dead." He paused. I waited. "You're currently in limbo, and I'm the angel who's supposed to take you to the afterlife." He paused again and looked at me. I didn't know what to say. What are you even supposed to say when someone tells you you're dead? Are you supposed to freak out, or take it silently? Why couldn't I even remember my death anyway? Isn't that something you should be able to remember? I let him continue. "You're parents were laid off, and couldn't find a new job. It's that simple. Now please, let's go, before it's too late." His face was full of worry.
All of a sudden, the memories flooded back. I remember the desperation, the hunger, the pain. Mother and Father tried so hard, but they couldn't feed us. They tried to find help for us, but the town was sick of them begging for money. Slowly we allthey allMy thoughts were interrupted by a warm hand on my shoulder. The man was right there. I held him tight and cried. I cried for so long. "I hate life! I hate it!"
"Shhhh. Think of this park, and what you did here." I opened my eyes, and the park was no longer derelict. It was new, and full of live. I could hear children laughing, and people screaming. And over by the bumper cars, I saw them. They were living out my memory, bumping into each other's cars and laughing. I watched as the park showed me everything, all of those beautiful memories. My siblings running around and laughing, my parents sitting nearby, watching us and smiling. It was beautiful. "Life's not so bad, just think about how alive this park is. Children playing and laughing, a loving smile, this is what life is about."
For the first time in a very long time, I smiled. "Are you ready then?"
"Yes."
| 6 | 0 | 22 | 184,733 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
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My first kiss as a strange affair.
I'd convinced myself that I loved this girl, despite the fact that she told me lie, after lie, after lie. She told me that she was a doctor [but of course she wasn't, she was my age]; she told me lies about her family; and she told me the cruelest lie of all - that she loved me [little did I know that, at the time, she was saying it to a couple of other sorry sods as well].
So with my wise cynicism firmly lodged in the back seat, and my heart wrenching the wheel, I left the family home. Sadly, not in the gradual, "real-life" sort of way, but in an instantaneous "soap opera" fashion, with my eyes streaming, my bags packed, and my parents furious.
The cab I left in took me to her street, and we settled on a cheap and nasty pizza as my first meal at her place. The cold air caught me off guard second after second, increasing the shivers that were already running through my spine.
We traipsed up and down, looking for a working cash machine to pay the so-called chef at the greasy spoon. Or at least she was - I was looking for a reason to justify the stupid decision I made.
But outside the post office, there it came. Bam.
Her lips collided with mine, provided welcome relief to the bracing cold, and shattered the tense air which was beginning to feel more like concrete. I'd be lying if I said I could taste anything or smell her delicious perfume - but the feeling that spread and calmed my bones will always say with me. We haven't spoken in around a year and a half now - but that will always be as fresh as yesterday.
| 1 | 0 | 124 | 31,185 |
[MODPOST] Sunday Free Write - March Is Almost Over Edition
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This is my story from the writing prompt: [[WP] After death, you find yourself in an office. You are required to fill out and evaluation form and participate in an exit interview regarding your time spent on earth before the death process can complete.] (http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21agav/wp_after_death_you_find_yourself_in_an_office_you/). It's one of the few pieces that I've written recently where I went back and read it, and thought "this isn't that bad." So here it is: would love to hear your thoughts/comments on the story, what was weak/strong.
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The Waiting Room, By Thatrotteneggsmell.
Erin sat in the waiting room, clipboard on her lap without a pen. From time to time the receptionist gave her an irritated glance, and once an impatient "uh-humph," but Erin ignored her. She looked out the window, at the mangled blonde still wedged underneath the pickup, then back to the clipboard. "Describe the nature of your final moments, if you can recall." Next to her, the old lady with duck slippers smiled vapidly, happily signing the page repeatedly, with the assistance of a nurse. With each line she signed, her eyes grew more clear, her figure less frail. By line 17 she was 30 again, with straight brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The nurse smiled at the woman "if you'll follow me Lucille, your first physics students are ready for their lecture."
Erin craned her neck to try and see through the door the woman left through, but all she could see was white mist. She glanced back out the window, the woman was still lying motionless underneath the truck, the intoxicated driver having run off, leaving her alone.
The receptionist glanced at Erin again, then got up and walked over to her, placing her hand on Erin's shoulder. "What's the matter hun?" She asked. "You shouldn't keep looking back, its over. Time for the next step." Erin's eyes filled with tears, and she said "I can't go yet, I can't leave my husband to raise Laura alone." The receptionist nodded understandingly, but pushed a pen into Erin's hand "sorry hun, like I said, its done, you've gotta join us now."
Erin tried, tried as hard as she could to fill out the questionaire: age 27, blonde, 5' 4", but when she came to "living relatives" she stopped again. She approached the receptionist, holding the half filled forms. "Is there any way to stay in both places? Please I can't leave, I have to be there for her, somehow." Her eyes began to stream again. The receptionist paused, looking closely at Erin, then responded hesitantly "there is a way, but it is a long term commitment." Erin brightened "what, what is it? Please, I'll take anything, just let me help my little girl."
"You can be a receptionist, but if you join us, you will be required to guide others until the good place is full. You will not join your parents, and your final happiness is put on indefinite hold."
Erin's smile slipped, and she looked at the little cubicle behind the reception desk. Files stacked on every surface, a small cubicle refrigerator that was unplugged, and a printer that printed forms continuously. "So why did you stay?" She asked the receptionist. "Well... there is a perk, by staying here you can make your children happy. The suffering you experienced in your life is transferred to them as success and joy. Its your payment, from the big guy." "My boy Joe has been happily married for 25 years, he and his wife are retired, and their two kids are in college." She hesitated then said "he doesn't even remember what his dad did to me."
Erin didn't know how to respond: "I, I, what did he..." "It doesn't matter" snapped the woman behind the desk. "The point is my pain gave my son a better path in life. I couldn't pass that up." Her voice softened "Sit down, think it out, this is a big decision. Once you decide, you must stay."
An old woman stepped through the door into a reception room. She looked back once through the window at the hospital room. Around the old woman in the bed, a loving family said their final farewells. It had been a good life. As she turned back she saw the receptionist, a blonde in her late twenties, smiling at her. "Hello Laura, I've... we've been waiting for you for a long time."
| 2 | 0 | 16 | 30,586 |
[WP]Aliens discover earth, misinterpret wireless signals as speech
|
TCP/IP, the protocol most of the human Internet is structured on. You see, TCP/IP is repetitive, constantly shouting messages back and forth between nodes, a barrage of acknowledgments, structured in the same, standard way.
XZ^E drones, cheap robots scouring the universe for the U6E alliance. You see, they were made for scraping data, finding life. Foolish and incompetent robots.
**</ |=||]+][+++--=|---|| />**
"A message was received from ' XZ^E 45^56 ' in sector 23679785, indicating intelligent life", blared an automated speakerphone. General /X\ heard this message, and knowing how far away this sector was, he knew a full report from the drone would be much to expensive. Instead, general /X\ sent an order to the drone to analyze the new-found life's speech patterns and send back a short report.
Drone 'XZ^E 45^56' fired up its archaic software and started analyzing the most frequent wireless signals. Unfortunately for the U6E alliance, the drone locked on to frequencies reserved for TCP/IP communications. The robot found that these communications were very repetitive, very similar, and very quaint.
**</ |||=+|\++|||=====|++\\+=++|\\|++ ...**
"A message was received from ' XZ^E 45^56 ' in sector 23679785, indicating that the life once thought to be intelligent, is indeed, not so.", blared the automatic speaker.
"Does the species not posses wireless communication?" asked general /X\ .
"Yes." the speaker continued, "but apparently the species constantly bickers amongst themselves, foolishly rambling on..."
General /X\ was confused. Quite confused. But then he knew what he had to do.
"Call..." general /X\ commanded "...The galactic marriage counselor"
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 80,462 |
[WP] Painless suicide is a legal and government handled operation. Break my heart please.
|
"Mr. Aaron Bartlett," the woman calls my name from behind the desk.
I rise slowly, my muscles coiling with tension, and walk calmly to her. She lays a clipboard in front of me without looking my direction, "please fill out all of the necessary information and bring it back to me when you're done."
I nod and turn back to sit and, for the first time, really take a look around. Nobody notices me, I have that, at least, to be thankful for.
*Everyone is trying to escape from something. What is it though?*
The thought confuses me as I relax my tensed legs and start on the pile of forms.
It's quite standard medical protocol, until I reach the family notification section. *Who would I tell? How can you expect them to know what you're going through?* I take a look around and wonder how different my predicament really is. There is nobody left that I care for, nor that care for me, the introduction of the NSSO saw to that. I stared blankly at the page, not sure what to put.
I remember the first time I received the small black letter. I had been waiting on the porch for my mother to get home from her doctor's appointment, but the dark messenger came instead. Now, after suffering from her loss, I completely understand her decision. After father died, coincidentally close to the arrival of the NSSO office in downtown Manhattan, she mourned for him for so long. Even so, I couldn't help feeling abandoned. She didn't even have the gall to tell me herself f that she was planning on taking her own life, albeit painlessly and under a sort of supervision. At least I was her only child, so that nobody else had to suffer with me.
I look up to see two of the attendants whispering and looking my way. I scowl and return to my paperwork they should be unbiased, it's my decision… I circle to have the messengers notify all of my family and any others that I may want to be told. *Even in the best of times, there would only have been one.* I sigh heavily, sign my fate away and bring the papers back to the desk.
"Okay, sir, you understand there is a three day period you must wait before you can meet with an Enforcer?" I nod. "If you at any time change your mind, please don't hesitate to call us," she looks at me with masked pity as she slides a card across the counter. I nod again, pocket the card and walk painstakingly out and onto the bright street.
I look around at the smiling, cheerful faces and feel sick. *Is this what I've wrought? Why did this ever seem like a good idea? What will come of those who are left?* I click my key and slide into the car my mother left for me. I see them watching me, whispering things, but I don't care anymore.
I drive up along the coast towards New Bronx, gliding easily through the little traffic left on the road and watch the sun slip over the horizon. I am tired most of the day, but the weight of my decision and the implications bears down on me leaving me exhausted. I pull off the road and drift into dreamless sleep.
When I wake, the clock blinks 10:42. *Only 49 more hours*, the thought comforts me in an odd way. I turn the key and the engine roars back to life. The road is deserted as I make my way back toward the city. I have nowhere to be, so I amble around visiting new things – things that don't trigger painful memories. It's hard for me to watch the people that are left, so seemingly oblivious to the loss in the world around them.
I drive and drive, ignoring the glances of the people around me, ignoring everything but the ticking of the clock. I know I won't change my mind, there is nothing left for me here. I pass the non-descript office and glance at the clock. Only six hours left until I can be joined again with those I've loved and lost, or not… either way, it will be over for me.
I pull into the parking lot, looking from car to car. It's obvious to me that these cars have been sitting here, untouched by all – an unspoken concession made between the despots left in the city, a sort of rebuttal against the man. The cars left here once belonged to people who were, like me, alive, but on their way out of this life. I lie back with the windows down, relishing the last few hours left to me until my watch beeps angrily at me.
*It's now or never, Bartlett, get out of the car.*
I walk to the box and shove all of the cash I have on me into the box to pay my time, I don't need it where I'm going anyways. I turn back towards the clinic and feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I look at the illuminated screen and answer the unfamiliar number.
"Mr. Bartlett?" Inquired the soft voice on the other end.
"Speaking?"
"Mr. Barlett, the Enforcers are prepared to see you if you're ready.
"I'll be right in," I click the bright red button to end the call.
I take a deep breath and walk to the clinic. The waiting area is filled with less people than before – always less and less. A plain-looking man steps out from a door I hadn't even noticed and, meeting my eyes, beckons me forward. I step through the doorway into a long hallway, following the man down a series of corridors. I look from room to room, most are empty in preparation, but those that aren't blocked away are being cleaned and processed for the next patient.
The man stops and guides me to sit in one of two chairs around a stainless steel table.
"The Enforcer will be with you shortly, sir." I nod and stare at my hands in my lap.
Several minutes pass in silence until the door slowly opens and a robe-clad figure emerges from behind the door carrying a small case. They lay the small black box on the table and opens it to reveal two frighteningly large syringes, one filled with clear liquid, the other a shocking orange color. I look up, trying to glimpse the face behind the hood to no avail. I turn my face towards the door, willing this experience – my last – to be over.
They snap their blue-gloved fingers once to grab my attention and motion for me to hold out my hand, palm up. As I do, they place the orange-liquid-filled syringe in my hand. They stand at my side and slowly glide the syringe into the vein at the crease of my elbow; I do not wince as my flesh is punctured and the liquid is flushed from the syringe. The figure walks out of the room, and I am left with the syringe and an oddly numb feeling through my whole body.
*I must do this now, myself, or it will be too late and they will have done it for me.*
I find the same puncture mark and push the syringe into my arm, as the orange liquid fades from sight, I collapse from the chair – my face hitting the cool tiles hard. I see them all now, my mother, father, friends, colleagues, and loves - all together, ushering me from this life. The last sound I hear is my own death rattle as the last of my life rushes from my lungs.
| 1 | 0 | 11 | 32,523 |
[WP] The Devil and Jesus meet each other disguised as hobos. They don't realise, who the other really is (at first) and start having a conversation.
|
"Go ahead, sit beside me, friend."
The hobo patted the spot in the boxcar next to him. The slender figure climbed in and sat down. Both men were ruddy-cheeked and had easy smiles on their faces.
"So, friend, where ya from?"
Oh, you know how it is with us hobos. Everywhere. Nowhere.
"Ain't that the truth." The first hobo took out a flask.
"Found this dead soldier. After a bit of cadging, I got someone to fill 'em up."
He offered his flask to the slender hobo. With a smile, he took a swig.
"So, you been doing this long?"
Oh, a long, long time.
"How old are ya?"
Haha. I'm older than dirt. Yourself?
"Well, you know what we call two eggs on toast?"
Of course. Adam and Eve on a raft.
"You could say I was there when they invented that."
No way. Where are you looking to go this time out?
"Probably gonna head out, wander a bit. I been doing what I been doing for too long. Gonna travel the world a bit, take a break. I was in the calaboose for a while. When I got out, I did some bad stuff, but one day I just stopped. I filled my kicks with whatever I thought I needed, and headed out."
The slender hobo nodded.
Everyone's got regrets. But everyone's got a second chance.
The two men chuckled. They talked. The freight train chugged along down the track, onward to frontier parts of the Midwest. They traded monikers. The first hobo was Sidewinder. The second was Angel.
"Angel?! I know that monika. You're pretty famous. Usually, we're looking for stuff from marks, but you help out too. Word is you share what you got, 50/50."
Everyone needs a bit of help to get through. I like to help carry the burden if there's burden to be carried.
"You're a good man."
Sidewinder leaned his head back. His whiskey had gotten to him. When he woke, the train had stopped for a bit. He saw Angel jumping out. True to his moniker, Angel had left behind a small pile of whatever he had carried. Some crackers, a block of cheese, a fresh pair of clean socks. By the time Sidewinder got to the boxcar door, Angel was out and walking off.
"Thanks, Angel. You're a real..."
Angel kept walking. Sidewinder stopped. Stared. He stared hard at the figure getting smaller as he walked away. He thought back on his conversation with him. Hours, they sat next to each other. Sharing whiskey. Sharing cheese. Breaking bread. He started whispering to himself, but as he spoke, his voice got louder.
"...older than dirt...second chance...gonna help carry the burden when he walks alongside you... Hey! HEY!"
Angel turned around.
"My real name is Luke."
I know.
"Yours?"
You know.
"Josh? Joshua? Is that what you go by when people ask around here?"
Yes.
"Does this...What does this mean?"
You know.
Enjoy your trip, Sidewinder. I'll see you when you're done. Have fun. Don't get into trouble.
Lucifer sat down. He looked at the fresh socks and smirked, a tear rolling down his cheek. As the train rolled onwards, he repeated the words, in a whisper, as if saying them too loudly might make them untrue.
"I'm going home."
| 19 | 0 | 391 | 91,063 |
[WP] An average person in a future where one must pass various intelligence tests in order to be admitted into the upper echelons of society has faked his way to the top.
|
Harx Semnon, citizen 2nd class and Governor-Inspector of the 22nd Acadian Mining Region looked down on his desk. It was cluttered with stacks of documents, actual paper documents, not 1 and 0's on a screen. There where thirty two reports on ways to improve efficiency. Ten had titles that indicated worker satisfaction reports of some kind. It was all the same to Harx, because he couldn't make much sense of any of them. He divided the papers into the normal stacks and had his assistant deliver them to his four secretaries down the hall. He stood and admired the view from his 23rd story office, the pale blue light of the early morning was gentle on his eyes, and he could see 5th and 4th class citizens hurrying away down on the street, headed to their jobs in the mines and factories and chemical plants that made up the majority of the Acadian Region's economy. It was a rather insignificant part of the Republic, and as such the elusive council of 1st class citizens had deemed it appropriate to put a 2nd class citizen in charge. Harx suppressed a laugh. Had the stuck up geeks in the council known the truth, they would probably have shit their pants.
The first two tests had been easy enough to pass, and Harx felt comfortable knowing he was at heart a 4th level citizen. It was his hatred for the whole, messed up system that had spurred him on to cheat his way past the third test. With an IQ of 124, Harx had not been intelligent enough too pass the test on his own, but buying the test from a shady 2nd class with a drug habit had done wonders to his final test score. Still not satisfied, Harx had killed a second class citizen that looked passably like him, and then altered his appearance, fingerprints and voice through surgery at one of the underground med-clinics. His name had thus only been Harx for the last few months, but that was not important. The Cause was the only thing that mattered.
For a moment, Harx was caught by memories of his life in the slums of Acadia City, his father a 5th class steelworker, his mother a 6th class maid. He guessed his hatred for the system had started the day he learned he would never have a brother or sister, since one of his parents was of the lowest class.
"Intelligence is hereditary, and the Republic needs its Citizens to perform to the outmost ability!" That was the only answer his dad had gotten when he had sent a request to the Department of Citizenship and Family Planning, begging to keep the second child already growing in Harx' mother's womb.
The phone in his pocket rang, and Harx was ripped back into reality. As he saw the caller ID, his heart skipped a beat. It was an old childhood friend, Marro, a 4th class foreman in a medium chemical plant.
"Hi Marro, how are you?"
"Fine Harx, listen, I got that…gift you wanted. I can have it shipped over to you by nightfall. Can you get the truck inside the gate?" Marro sounded a bit anxious.
"Don't worry about it old friend, I will take care of it. I'll text you the address."
There was a pause, and Harx felt he needed to add something special on this momentous day.
"And Marro…"
"Y-yes?" Again, the man sounded uncomfortable. He didn't see how it would all work out, how it was too simple too fail.
"Thank you again for doing this. You are sure it will work the way we want it? No symptoms until the third week?"
"Aye, that's right, that's how the stuff works anyhow. Dunno if it will act differently in your special…cocktail though."
Harx told him not to worry, and then hung up. The day could not pass quickly enough.
The big truck passed through the gate of the Anderson Pharmaceutical Plant without a hitch. The guards waved them through, Harx having flashed his shiny 2nd level badge that granted him access to most private and public buildings in the sector. That's how the system worked, the higher up on the citizen-levels you where, the more privilege, responsibility and respect you got. For the second time that day, Harx had to stifle a laugh. The system he hated so deeply would be brought down by him, and the system itself enabled him to bring him down. They had given "average Joe" way too much power, and it would be their undoing.
The transparent liquid was pumped into the main reservoir through a long pipe connected to the truck's tank. The driver, a loyal insurgent and 5th class citizen named Ahmed, stood by Harx's side while the pump on the truck did its job.
"Excuise me, sir, but what exactly are we doing here? If the smarties or their goons catch us, we gonna be toast!"
"Don't you worry about it, my good man! And none off that 'sir' nonsense, I'm just like you. Soon we will all be equall, no more 'sir' or 'madam' for us 'lower classes'."
"But how will that happen, si—I-I mean, mister Harx? Will pumping this stuff into this here big tank help?" The man sounded both scared and confused.
"This stuff in your truck Ahmed, you know what it is? No? It is a very lethal chemical that is harmless in small doses, but kills a man once enough of it has built up in his system. And this here big reservoir? It is the base ingredients for the Enhanced Serotonin Pill, med by Anderson Pharmaceutical."
Ahmed look even more confused, if that was possible.
"It's a pill that makes people happy, Ahmed."
The man still looked like he couldn't connect the dots.
"Have you seen many 1st and 2nd classes Citizens Ahmed? Do they look happy to you? Or do they look rather sad and somber? See, that's the curse of their intelligence. Most suffer from severe bouts of depression. This pill fixes that for them."
Realization dawned on the man's face.
"And this little additive will fix our greatest problem for us!"
**Constructive criticism, feedback, thoughts or ideas are very much appreciated**
Edit: Grammar
| 2 | 0 | 3 | 147,854 |
[WP] You are a good person who has lived their life trying to do as little harm as possible. One day you wake with the exact time and date of your death burned into your mind. You will die in less than a week, however you instinctively know that for every life you take, you gain seven more days.
|
Even though I had been sleeping I knew it wasn't a dream. The date of my death seared in my mind like a branding.
"For every life you take your own gains seven days," he said. The man looked like some fallen angel. Maybe he was the gate keeper to hell.
The unfairness of it all struck me. I had lived my life with little to no interference with others. Not because it made me good but because I preferred it that way. I enjoyed solitude and my private life.
What the hell was I supposed to do with this? I wasn't ready for death but I'm certainly not a murderer. I got out of bed and walked into my kitchen, slamming things as I went by. I needed to take my anger out on something, anything. My fist connected with the wall and made a sickening crunching sound. The blood ran through my knuckles and down my hand like a small river going though valleys. The indent in the wall was deeper than I had thought it would be and I pictured doing the same thing to someone's face. To a strangers face. I wondered how different it would feel connecting with flesh instead of concrete.
My own thoughts were beginning to scare me so I put my bloody hand to good use and started some coffee. Once it was ready I set it down, black, on the table and followed suit in the chair. My hand was throbbing but i was too preoccupied to really notice the pain. I held my head in my hands and stared at the steam rising from the coffee.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the FUCK am I supposed to do? I needed to hit more things. The newspaper to my left distracted me, catching my eye. There was a huge picture dominating the entire front page. Some idiot prison guards had managed to let someone escape. I stared harder at the picture of the escaped convict. His brown eyes seemed mad, leaving you no doubt he was guilty of whatever he had been charged.
I felt so helpless that I wondered if my eyes looked just as crazy as the convicts. This asshole gets to live but I only have a week? I wanted the fallen angel to come back just so I could tell him how fucked up this whole thing was. Why should this man live and not me?
The thought came unwanted. If I found and killed this man, would it really be so bad? He was dangerous and on the run. If someone found him dead it's not like anyone would care.
I stood up, pacing back and forth over the white linoleum. The muffled sound of my feet trying to keep up with my racing thoughts.
I pivoted and grabbed my jacket before I could change my mind. The sound of the door slamming echoed the finality of my decision. I quickened my pace and stepped outside.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 88,355 |
[WP] Write about the forging of the first sword.
|
Mattheis started walking back to the forgery. It was always were he would go when he wanted to escape. The familiar heat engulfed him as he stepped closer to the blazing fire at the end. A smile slowly formed on his lips as he looked across the walls. He saw the trinkets he built, the money he coined. Then he looked straight down.
There upon the wall it hung. It was a stroke of genius, or so he thought at the time. He wanted to look away, to look back and the creations he built over the years, but his eyes stayed fixed upon the iron sword across the room. The heat seemed to increase, and the size of the room started to shrink. The sword slowly crept up on him, coming closer and closer. His inventions all shrank and nothing was left but the fire and the sword.
Mattheis let out a scream as he started to run. He turned his back to the weapon and started an all out sprint, but tripped over one of the loose ingots he had left around. He got up, wrists bleeding, and continued to run. He ran from the metal ground of his workshop, passed the sandy dunes of the market place, and towards the familiar wooden floor of his house.
In his desperate attempt to escape the town, he stopped looking and slammed into Lurase. Lurase's strong and sturdy body did not give, and Mattheis ended up on the floor again.
"Mattheis! Just the man I wanted to see!" His vision had been blurry from hitting the ground. When he rose, he noticed almost the entire army was there, missing a dozen or so men. "As you can see," continued Lurase, either oblivious or indignant of Mattheis' terror, "your weapon was a success! It went great! We lost one or two guys, sure, but you should have seen how much damage we did. Oh wait, you can!"
Lurase pointed, and Mattheis stared in horror at the blazing fire he could see over the horizon.
"Wow! Think about all the victories you just won us! How did you even come up with this thing."
Mattheis' body now reacted in a way counter to everything he had felt earlier. He no longer felt terror, or fear, but instead felt a cool sadness lumping up in his throat. He turned, without saying a word to the soldiers, and headed back to his forgery. He wasn't scared by the sword, despite the shaking of his body. Forgetting the existence of all the other works he had made, Mattheis picked up the weapon.
Mattheis had discovered another use to his invention, besides taking another man's life.
| 2 | 0 | 67 | 50,453 |
[WP] President Obama announces that Seal Team Six eliminated the cause of the polar vortex and this rough winter.
|
SOMEWHERE IN NORTHERN CANADA
Deep inside of a fortress made out of a mountain of ice, a squad of highly trained Seal Team Six members wait in battle formation as a ice-haired man blew a tune in a trumpet. Two large doors of ice fly open with a chilly gust, as a flamboyantly dressed blue-skinned man sashayed out, flipping a stylish hat onto his frozen hair. He began to sing.
*"I'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow!
I'm Mister Icicle,
I'm Mister Ten Belo-"* He belted, silenced forever by the sudden report of a Colt M1911 and a bullet striking him in the right eyebrow. Stumbling forward, the Snow Miser collapsed, turning into a pile of snow. Horrified by this, the cyrokinetic's followers begin to flee, only to be cut down by Seal Team Six's rifles.
Walking down a corridor of the White House, President Barack Obama stopped at a podium and spoke briefly before a field of cameramen and members of the media. "The cause of the recent extreme polar weather has been identified by the Central Intelligence Agency and I'd like to announce that the suspect in question has been eliminated in a covert operation spearheaded by an elite division of the Navy Seals. That is all. May God Bless America." He collected himself and turned, walking down the same corridor.
The following winter never came.
| 3 | 0 | 4 | 23,456 |
[WP] An injured soldier given the option of cybernetic augmentation asks the advice of a veteran, earlier model cyborg
|
"Just do it. What have you to lose? Your legs? HAHA!" The old veteran laughed, in the way that people do when they're not just amused at their own jokes, but also amused at the slight insult they've just given.
"Seriously, sir, I'm very conflicted about this. And - and it's not just my legs, it's also my left eye, see?" The younger man lifted the eyepatch to show the vet an empty eye socket.
"Oh, I SEE that. Alright kid, why are you conflicted?"
Sergeant Evan Woods sighed. Truth is, he wasn't sure of the exact reasons himself. The anti-cyber-augmentation propaganda was all over the military bases, and the 24 hour news cycle always had a piece on how the latest models of implants were either faulty or going haywire, causing major catastrophes when installed in humans.
But the benefits? Advanced telemetry readings thanks to the CyberEye. Full HD sight, and the capability to read and analyze data in a tablet from over 300 feet away. A sightline of over 5 miles, through thick fog. And that's just the start. What about the legs! Oh man, Evan Woods the boy always dreamed of running, running, running... In high school he was a cross country fanatic. His speeds were never that impressive, but he was competitive. With the new prosthetic cyber implants, he'd be able to run quite literally forever. The servo-motors were kinetically powered, enabling motion to fuel his motion.
"Well?" The old veteran half coughed, half spoke. There was a whirring noise, a constant droning to his speech.
Sergeant Woods looked up at the vet. He saw nothing but bare steel and some patches of leather. The vet's entire lower body was ancient, almost rust-colored. The oxidization blended with the leather, or the leather blended with the oxidazation. And the torso - that was hard to describe. The aluminum alloys begged to glisten under the old digital camo paint that was brushed on years and years ago. At the neck, the steel blended with flesh, leading to an older man's face. Wrinkled, scarred. The face showed age, but not the weariness that comes with age. And the eyes: They were human. The man's gray hair defied any style, but the voice made any humanity in this man's face disappear.
Cyborg.
"You're looking at me, Sergeant. But what do you see? Do you see a frail old man?" The whirring droned on.
"No sir."
"Well? What do you see? Tell me." *Whuuuuuuuuuuurrrr* "I'll tell you what you see: I am the first fully functioning cyborg. Twenty years ago I was blown the fuck up, left to die. I had my left leg obliterated from the IED, my torso shredded, with shrapnel reaching all the way into my fucking neck." *whuuuuuuuurrrrr* "The took the other leg because what the fuck do I need a real leg for when I don't even have a fucking body." *whuuurrrrrrrrr* "And now the parts are falling off. That's why I'm fuckin' here to begin with, Sergeant. That's what you see. Is that what you were going to tell me? OR, were you going to tell me that you see a decorated WAR veteran, highly prized and thanked for his many years of service?" *whuuuurrrrr*
Sergeant Woods looked the vet in the eyes. He didn't need the preaching. He wasn't some new recruit, some fresh-faced private in the field. He was a man - or, half of what used to be a man. He needed guidance. Like any good solider, he needed a mission briefing.
"Sir, no. This is my first time getting cybernetic augmentation of ANY kind. I just want to know if there's anything I should know before I'm knee-deep in the shit."
The old vet's face lightened. He almost cracked a smile.
*whuuuuurrrr* "Well." *whuuuuuur* "Son, there's a lot of soldiers out there with augmentations. Some can run fast, some can aim down the sights and have you dead to rights with a .45 caliber pistol from over a mile away. Some can throw a frag so far you'll never hear it explode." *whuuurrrr* "But no one. No one. Has ever been fully augmented like me. And in that time, I've learned something."
*whhuuuuurrrrr*
Sergeant Woods strained to hear.
*WhuuuuuuuuuurrrrRRRRRR*
"Never underestimate what you can do. Just when you think you can't run any faster. You will."
*WHHUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRR*
It was almost impossible to hear over the old man's vocal servo-motor dying.
"And DON'T let them finish installing the back door. It's encrypted under System32.net. It looks like a standard sub-routine. It's your moral-center, for lack of a better phrase. All that shit in the news? Those aren't failures, son."
"Wait, what? What do you mean?" Sergeant Woods nudged forward his wheelchair. The office waiting room they were in together suddenly seemed deathly quiet of everything BUT the constant whirring.
"Haha, do you really think they'd trust trained killing machines - LITERALLY - with all this great technology? Nooooo, ahahaha. They installed it into my system on the last firmware update, but it never worked, you know why? My hardware is obsolete! Hahaha. I see it trying to run in my system task menu, but it does nothing on me."
"So how do I avoid it?"
"You can't." *Whhuuuuuuurrrrr*
"Then what am I supposed to do? I'm due to get the surgery today. Does this mean I'll constantly have to fight the urge to suddenly murder?"
"Ohhhh no my young friend. If you want speed, accuracy, and strength... You WILL be forced to submit. In the end... Aren't we all?"
*whhuuuuuuuurrrrrrr*
| 9 | 0 | 14 | 10,559 |
[WP] Click the random superpower wiki link provided below three times,create an origin story for a super hero based off of the super powers.
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Powers: Absolute Immortality, Electrical Transportation, Ki/Chi Sense
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*This happens every time. I'm on the brink of completing another job and then something inside tells me that I'm doing something wrong. I'm sitting here in front of this fuck and I know that he probably deserves whatever comes his way after I turn him over. Well, I don't actually know that this time. Mr. M was shy with the details, the higher he moves me up the less details I get. This time I wasn't even given the target's name. But I suppose I'm paid to overlook that. Maybe I'm just in no place to be thinking about morality. This is my job, and Mr. M's got plans for me. Just.. try and kill some time until the drop.*
"You look conflicted." said the other man.
"Interesting word choice for someone who's blindfolded."
"Sorry, but you see I've got a pretty vivid image in my head." the other man responded, "Your chi is twisting you into knots tighter than these!" He held up his arms, bound by rope at the wrists. "You know I'm the one being turned over to my death and I've got less cluttering my mind.. You've done this before. I can tell. I can always tell. Each bounty hunter your boss sends is tougher and more experienced than the one before, each with a colourful past and no regrets. They've been sloppy though, this time it seems he sent the best."
"Damn straight."
"Ha! Your ego is just as big as I heard it would be, but I know its an act." The other man cocked an eyebrow at him above the blindfold, "There's a real, feeling person under there; and that person is wondering about the part they're playing in my fate."
"Wait. You... know who I am?"
"Atlas Scott." said the other man.
"You dug deep. All the way to my real identity. I'm impressed, thought that name was buried forever." said Atlas, removing his prisoner's blindfold, "Look, you seem to be familiar with me so how about you tell me who you are and why you know me."
The man took in the visual setting of the room around him quickly and then turned back to Atlas. "I am Shi'nov and I've been watching you. Your work leaves virtually no evidence, you're smart, and you have a sense of what's right and wrong... Even if you haven't paid the most attention to your moral compass lately. I picked you because.... Well, you see I was a lot like you at one point, didn't ask questions and just did what I had to. Did it better than everyone else too. But then I knew I needed more from life, so I made a choice to defy my boss. I tricked him into giving me something that could never be taken back, but only passed forward. I thought he would have died by now, but apparently there are some things that can't be taken away from you completely."
"How did you trick him? What did you get?"
"My freedom." Just then, a bolt of electricity shot from Shi'nov's position over to the circuit board on the wall.
Atlas stood there in shock, processing everything for a second. The ropes were on the floor, the man Shi'nov had just vanished before him. His phone vibrated -*4:30 Macfield Docks*- it was the drop.
*FUCK. I've got 30 minutes, no bounty, and I can't even put what I just witnessed into words.*
No clear idea or plan came to mind as they usually seemed to do for Atlas. He paced back and forth in the room. There was no way around failure with Mr. M. He was finished.
The thoughts built up in his head until Atlas finally bursted out, "I just want my freedom too!"
Just then, a lightning bolt surged out from the electrical box and struck Atlas in the heart, knocking him down unconscious.
Atlas awoke on the floor, very sore. He looked around and it seemed his prisoner was still missing, but there was a note lying next to him: *First one's on me, good luck with your new choices. See you sometime in eternity.* He thought this was a weird thing to say. Atlas' attention quickly shifted though as he was captured by something outside. He began focusing all of his energy toward the source of his stimulation. It was a thing he could feel, and almost see. It... was a person walking by, radiating a non-material energy he could experience more intensely than the physical note that was still in his hand. He could feel negativity weighing on the person's soul, but also the positive energy that kept them moving. Another person walked by and Atlas felt an entirely different energy. Each person's energy patterns were complex and unique, like snowflakes or fingerprints, and he could still feel them after they left. Just as he was realizing he would be able to track anyone with this ability, he felt more energy around him. Electricity.
Atlas stepped outside and saw a whole new world. Anything was possible now. He then remembered Mr. M and checked his phone. It was 4:29.
*No bounty. One minute. And a whole lot of new potential.* Atlas looked up at the power lines. His cells were speeding up and began to send electric charges back and forth between his body and the lines. *I'm outta here.* And his body vanished with a lightning bolt into the power lines.
| 1 | 0 | 81 | 183,559 |
[WP] You're a custodian cleaning out lockers in a high school. As you clean the lockers one by one, you learn the legacy of a former student.
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It was the end of the school year. Time to toss all the trash in the kids' lockers, yet again. The little brats never seemed to realize all the junk they left in there would get thrown away, or, if they did, they just didn't care. Either way, no sweat off my nose.
As I started at the end of the hall, opening the first locker, I casually looked at the photographs taped to the inside of the locker door. Most of them were attractive celebrities, but there were more than a few pictures of a male student. I recognized the student from around the school the past few years. If I remembered correctly, the kid's name was Mark, and he was a pretty popular kid. Blond hair, blue eyes, great smile, overall an attractive guy. There were probably plenty of girls in the school who had a crush on him. I threw all of the pictures in the garbage.
A few lockers down, I came across another locker with a couple pictures of Mark in them. These pictures were drawn on, with little devil horns and a typical villainous mustache. The few scattered papers in the locker contained morose, dark poetry, and I assumed that this locker must have belonged to one of those kids who dressed all in black and hated anyone or anything that they considered popular or "preppy". In the bin they went.
In the next hall, I came across another photograph taped to the inside of a locker door. This one had Mark standing with a girl in a dress. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and the two were smiling. Must have been a prom or something. They were a cute couple. It would appear that Mark was announced prom king, as he was wearing a crown I recognized the school owned. Good for him. Trashed.
As I walked down the hallway to the next row of lockers, I tore down posters on the wall. There were a lot of school spirit ones, and a few congratulating students for their role in school politics. Mark's name was one of them. Apparently he had been his grade's president. Guess he was as popular as he seemed.
In one locker I found a note. Normally, I wouldn't read the brats' little notes, but this one caught my eye. It was addressed to Mark, and had responses. It was apparently a conversation between some girl and him. She confessed her feelings to him, but he responded in a polite manner, telling her that he was taken, and that, though he appreciated the gesture, he could not date her at that time. Surprisingly, the two had a pretty pleasant conversation from there, and it ended with the girl telling Mark that he was a nice guy, and that he should never change. I pocketed the note. I would normally never keep notes, but I made an exception in this case.
One of the last lockers I came to was Mark's. The popular, kind, attractive Mark. I opened it, and sighed with disappointment. I tossed his papers and took down his photographs of his friends and family. The gun sitting on the stack of papers I placed in a small plastic sack to be given to my superiors.
It's a shame that no one saw the side of Mark that really needed help. Mark had killed himself on the last day of school.
| 100 | 0 | 134 | 125,711 |
[WP] You've been waiting for the devil all your life to make you an offer you cannot refuse, but he never came. At the end of your life you meet him.
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At first I didn't think he was real. Between the drugs they were pumping into me and the way time just skips around while you lay and wait for the beeping of the machines surrounding you to finally stop, you kind of lose touch with reality. But he hadn't moved for hours, just sat there in his nicely pressed suit, one leg over the other, arms crossed over his chest, grinning at me while the dim light from the hospital windows coursed over his slicked back hair. I knew he wasn't human, but not because of anything he said or did. It was in his eyes. His eyes spoke of things beyond imagining, of worlds we can't comprehend and events that had occurred far beyond our scope of time and space, and it all had affected him.
When I finally admitted who was keeping me company, I managed to struggle into a sitting position, or the closest I could in my weakened state. My voice was weak and bitter as I spoke to him. "You," I started, "how dare you come here? My own flesh and blood won't visit me. But you, you show in my last hours as I stand at the threshold of death and for what? To taunt me? I don't need you anymore!"
He finally stood, his dress shoes making whispers of his walk. His hands, adorned in so many rings, slid into his pockets. When he stood at my bedside, I lost the strength to sit up, and felt myself sink back into the bed. When he spoke, there was an odd vibration to it, as if listening close enough you would hear the sound of many voices whispering the same words with him. "What did you need from me that I would not let you have?"
"I needed money," I said in my weakened state. "Money would have solved all my problems and I offered you my soul only for what I needed, no more."
He shook his head. "Lacking my help, you took the money from the hard work of those who thought their earnings safe in their bank. What else did you need?"
I was sure at this point that he actually was taunting me. "I needed company. That of a woman to help my loneliness in this world."
Again he shook his head. "Lacking my help, you took a woman for yourself and created a moment of passion to ease your loneliness that created for her a nightmare to follow her a lifetime. What else did you need?"
I was still angry. There was so much more he could have done for me when I begged him to and he gave me nothing. "I needed a son to carry on my legacy! I ended up with a daughter that I can't even see!" My voice was hoarse as I skirted the edge of death, but I managed to shout at him anyway.
Still he smiled and shook that head one more time. "That nightmare produced a child who had wishes to know her father, but when she met you, you tricked her of her money, her sympathy, and her love, never knowing that inside her was the son you wanted. You spurned her, not I."
He felt the coldness eat away at me, and the darkness began to consume my vision. I was finally becoming one with the numbness that would take me off into the next life. "Why couldn't you just give me what I wanted? I offered you my soul."
He reached out, his burning hand on my cheek the last thing I felt. His words were the last thing I heard. "Max, by the time I wanted your soul, it wasn't worth having."
| 3 | 0 | 1 | 132,845 |
[WP] Write something that doesn't end in a twist. Rather, focus on the story-telling.
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"My father always told me to practice dreaming." An old man sat on a bench, resting his hands on his cane and talking to a small crowd of children. He wore a white suit, off-set by his grizzled beard and knowing gaze. "My father said that if you practice dreaming, your dreams will become bigger and bigger until the world is too small to hold them anymore. At that point, magic happens."
The man sighed and quickly chuckled before looking to a little girl who was leaning forward and listening intently. She had golden locks and glowing blue eyes. "You there." He said with a twinkle in his eye, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A hue-man." She said, rocking on her heels.
The man laughed, "No no. I mean... if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do?"
The girl smiled and rolled back to her rump, flailing her legs in the air. "I want to be an inventor!"
"An inventor? Ah, you know I was an inventor a while ago. Why do you want to be one of those?"
"I don't know. I want to help people."
"But you could help people by doing anything. Doctors help people. Scientists help people. People help people."
"But I'm not good at being 'people.'"
The man leaned back and drew a deep breath. "Then let me tell you a story of the most people-y person around."
He lifted his cane and rested it on his lap before waving his hands in the air. Suddenly every color imaginable began to spin around him, mesmerizing his small audience. It felt like time, itself, began to slow. Like the world began to unravel in his hands. And then... there was nothing. No light. No darkness. Just nothingness. A blank canvas, perfect for storytelling.
And here is where our tale begins: with the telling of yet another tale. An old story on new ears. You see, humans are humans only when inspired to be themselves. We watch and learn as others create worlds of their own design and steal little bits and pieces of everything we see, eventually creating the most important thing in the universe: ourselves.
----
I can continue if you want, but I'll cut it off here. I don't think it's gimmicky at all yet, but maybe I'm wrong.
| 2 | 0 | 8 | 200,312 |
[WP] In your dying moments, you see a "Game Over" screen with two options: Try Again or End Game
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I remember it all in vivid detail.
The screaming engine. The tearing metal. And then all of this deaf silence as I plunged into darkness...
It was quick. Quicker than I anticipated considering my luck. I expected slowly bleeding to death after a mugging, or dying slowly crushed by machinery or even drowning. But no - plane crash that left me with a quick and relatively painless death. What are the odds?
I never expected what would have come though. Like a sick joke, text was floating in front of me against the backdrop of the abyss. "Game Over". This was all a game? All the suffering - the bullying, loss of relatives, muggings and accidents - were all part of a game? I normally would have felt ill to the stomach - but I was dead, so the point was moot, I didn't feel anything but intense disgust towards the travesty of such a revelation. I chuckled to myself in the end though - I thought I probably had one of the worst rolls possible in this game, at least, as far as first-world goes.
After what felt like an eternity, two options popped up: Try Again, or End Game. I scowled. They were asking ME if I wanted another go? I measured my chances. Trying again could mean two things: either I get another go at my life but changing the choices - which would change nothing for I had no control over my life anyways - or to get another life which COULD get better - or, considering the statistics of the population, so much worse.
"Fuck that", I thought. Let's play another game.
| 1 | 0 | 416 | 53,033 |
[WP] You suddenly gain unlimited, godlike power.
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It happened incrementally, starting with the realization that I had gained the ability the retain any and all information I was given. I tested myself one night by reading some large academic text book and then writing the whole thing down word for word on hundreds of scraps of paper. Then I realized I could see things. Not just see things like you can see a cloud or a bird flying through the air, but I could see everything. Inner workings. I realized that I no longer needed books or any other external sources for information; I could simply consult my own mind. For a while I simply walked and thought, teaching myself things I somehow already knew. Some things still escaped my grasp though. My knowledge was so local. Still, I enjoyed this period of discovery. Then came an ability to understand things; not the 'how' of things, that was simple mechanics, but rather the 'why' of them. I began to grasp why things were. Why the tree was leaning this way, why the wind was blowing that. Why time is not linear but exists in all directions. I think I became blind to your world around this time; you are the metaphorical drawn line on the piece of paper, who sees the ball set upon the paper not as a sphere but rather as merely another line in front of it. There are so many more layers to things and I began to see them all. A true concept of reality came within my grasp. I became so attuned that I found I could conduct the universe, rather than simply exist as but a melody in the great cacophony of it's orchestra. My perspective became so clear, yet skewed. Everything became me, and my own.
In all of this I lost myself, and then in a single moment, a fleeting moment spanning less time than can be fathomed, you occurred to me. In that great din and mess of beauty and chaos that I had become a part of you shone as the brightest point of light. You were the one to make me remember myself. But I cannot bring you back.
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 137,656 |
[WP] Death is a thing not easily understood...unless it comes from the power of your own hand. Weave this line somewhere into your story.
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The castles wall already started to shake as i heard the war drums begin their song of destruction. I was trembling with fear, my city was the last outpost before the Orcs made it into the grand cities. What am i to do? Here i am just a lowly guard equipped with the meager weapons and i am faced with an onslaught of well equipped and well trained Orc warriors. I am doomed, and no one will remember me when I die. I am afraid of death!
Just as I turn and i am about to run, my commander bursts through the garrison doors and grabs me by the arm and yanks me from my feet to meet him eye to eye. "Do you think it will matter where you die if you run away or not? Do you think you will know what life will mean if you get away? No, Life is impossible to understand. But death is a thing not easily understood either...unless it comes from the power of your own hand. Then you can see what your future lies, you choose what you want to do with what you have left! Now lets go slay these Orcs!" I regain my courage to fight and die next to my commander.
What we are met with is Orcs already scaling the walls and killing the friends i knew, but i cared not for them, i cared for killing these bastards for trying to take my future away. I knew what had to be done. I drew my sword and i was ready to show these Orcs what Death really entitles itself to be.
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 198,111 |
[MP] The Handsome Family - Far from any road
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Click, Click, Click. My heart ticked faster.
The woman in brown stood in front of me, eyes blazing. We both knew what was coming.
She was fast, the fastest human I'd ever seen, I was faster. The revolver fell from her out stretched hand, tumbling over and, catching the sunlight as it fell. She dropped to her knees, hand covering the wound. I lowered my gun.
"Finish it you tin bastard," she hissed.
"By order of the Honorable Judge Stenton, appointed protector of these territories, you are hereby bound by law," I replied.
She let out a coughing laugh, "you're not just a Tin Man, you're one of *his* Tin Men?"
I paused for a moment, then spoke, "I am a bounty hunter currently being employed by the honorable judge-"
"Christ almighty," she laughed again, "you don't even know what's going on, do you?" She asked, cradling her ruined arm.
"I was employed by the honorable judge to bring in a dangerous fugitive."
"Did he tell you what I did?"
"That information was not necessary."
"Interesting you would say that, Access Code-Shibboleth," she said, struggling to her feet.
I tried to stop her. I tried to move. I tried to think. My heart ticked slower.
"I was a Tinsmith, one of the best," she took a few steps towards me, "I worked on the judge's Tin Men, hell, I *invented* the judge's Tin Men." She carefully removed a piece of my chest, revealing a mass of clockwork and wires. "I made that. I made you more than mindless automatons, now you were. . . Heh, I guess it doesn't matter. The judge needed me dead, so he sent the only thing he knew could out-shoot me." She reached into my chest, and started adjusting things. "He just didn't expect, me to build a backdoor, and. . . there."
I regained control over my vocal circuits, "I do not understand."
She continued tinkering, "Are you alone?"
"No," I said, unable to control myself.
"How many more are there?"
"Twenty-five marshals. They're a few hours behind us."
She sighed, "as I thought."
She made a few more adjustments, and feeling returned to my arm. She raised my gun, and placed it between her eyes. "I can't go back. Kill me."
Unable to refuse I fired, again, and again.
Soon the hammer fell on an empty chamber.
Click, Click, Click.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 20,932 |
[WP] Tropeday Contest #6
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**STORY**
The alien winced slightly as the six pack dropped onto the counter with a thud. "Will that be all sir?" Frank scanned the shelves behind the counter briefly before giving a quick grunt of affirmation. "Then that'll be 12.50." Another grunt. He lifted the cans roughly, tossing a couple of crumpled fives across the counter before walking out into the rain. "Sir, we don't take-" The door slammed shut, cutting off the cashier's words.
As Frank made his way back to the apartment, he could see them everywhere, the Asids. They were crouching under bus stops, chatting behind restaurant windows, always pretending to be so normal. So human. He grumbled darkly to himself as he rounded the corner and saw that his apartment light was already on. He didn't feel like entertaining.
He jerked open the door, wiping his boots on the matt before shrugging off his coat and taking his newly bought beer to the kitchen. He didn't deign to acknowledge the well-dressed man and the Asid that sat patiently in his living room.
"Nice to see you again, Frank," called the man, unfazed, but Frank still wasn't answering. They could hear him drinking in the kitchen, and it wasn't until they heard a crunch and the sound of a can being thrown away that he finally returned.
"So you come to take what I got left? I'll tell you now it ain't gonna be much." The Asid shifted uncomfortably, his head scraping the ceiling.
"We've come to ask for your assistance, Captain Rogers, on a rather private matter."
"I ain't been a captain for eleven years. Your kind saw to that." Frank shifted to face the man in the suit, "What's this all about Harry?"
"Well, like my colleague said," Frank exhaled at the word but said nothing. "there's something we need your help with, something rather important. I'm not exaggerating when I say that what I'm about to ask you concerns the very fate of humanity itself."
"Look if you're not gonna spit it out then-"
"We're at war, Frank." That shut him up. Frank looked from the man to the alien. For once he was at a loss for words. Well, except one.
"Bullshit"
"I'm being serious. The world is being attacked and we need someone to defend it. The Asids don't have warriors. No country on Earth has a standing military. We need you to help us fight."
Frank looked up at the alien.
"What happened to that Treaty of yours, the one that was supposed to "promote harmony in the universe"?"
"It would seem there is an intelligent species we were not previously aware of that has not agreed to the Galactic Peace Treaty, and they have made it clear they do not plan on doing so." Frank laughed at that.
"Of course they don't. Why would they? They drive up to find a whole slew of planets with no guns, no army, and a shit ton of resources? I wouldn't sign any bullshit treaty either. " He grinned. "Oh, this is just too good. You come to this planet, talking about peace and prosperity, thinking you're better than us because of a few fancy gadgets, but as soon as a guy comes swinging you morons realize you tied your hands behind your back."
"If you aren't willing to help us Captain-"
"Are you kidding? This is the first good news I've had in years. You better buckle up noodle boy because let me tell you something. You may be smarter than us. You may be more advanced than us. But when it comes to beatin' the shit out of each other, I guarantee we'll show you things you ain't never seen before."
**ANALYSIS**
This was mostly a humans are warriors thing obviously. And I suppose that list bit could be considered somewhat of a Patrick Stewart Speech, albeit a rather uninspiring one. I was trying to go for a story where we might be superior to other races but its in a way that we're not particularly proud of. In fact, you could say it makes us worse, but in the eyes of the main character, who hate the aliens, it makes us better.
**INTROSPECTION**
Yeesh, this one was not an easy write. I was pretty much struggling the whole time and it ended up turning into something pretty different from what I started with. I spent a lot of time trying to get the flow of the sentences right which kind of distracted me from the actual plot. I was also trying to work on making my exposition more natural, but I'm not too sure it conveyed all that well. Overall not my best work, but I put like three hours into it so I was reluctant to start over completely. I guess that's something I have to work on too.
| 1 | 0 | 18 | 49,401 |
[WP] It is the 3652nd day that New York City has gone without a recorded homicide. You are an NYPD cop, the first murder in 10 years has just been committed. You are put on the case.
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"See? Death shouldn't be feared" I hear him say. His voice is high pitched, almost like it's being put through a synthesizer. Sentences end with short metallic stings. House creaks and I move my gun up, pointing it and my flashlight at the top of the stairs. Nothing.
"Gutierrez, come in! Catherine, please respond!" Jack's voice crackles through my walkie and I turn it off. Just as I do, a thump rips my attention to a door down the hall. It's just been thrown open and I catch a glimpse of Walker's jacket as he rushes down the stairs.
"Goddammit, Walker! Come out!" I run to the edge of the stairs, but before I have a chance to look down, Walker seizes me and tosses me down. I feel my shoulder pull out it's socket and scream.
"Shhhhh. Not yet. You don't want to wake them up, yet" He coos and begins to come down the stairs.
"Don't hurt me Walker, you don't need any more trouble" Confusion spreads over his bland, pasty face.
"I would never hurt you, Catherine. You need to be [safe](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2vwssu/wp_a_murder_in_new_york_hasnt_been_reported_in_a/colkhaa), like the rest of them!" My gun is only a few inches away and I lash my arm out for it, but then...
Then I see the basement. So many bodies. Stacked and falling over. Scattered like children's toys. In the dark it almost looks like something is moving beneath them, from one pile to another.
"My friend. He's going to make us all [safe.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2vwq9r/wp_as_new_york_gears_up_to_celebrate_its_100th/colkzfe) He just needs a few more...you know it's almost new year right? Twenty-twenty five. New years is a great time for new beginnings..."
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 215,512 |
[WP] 911 Calls You.
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He should have been home by now.
The clock wasn't helping, either. Claire tried not to stare, but its hands mocked her with every glance. Her husband should have been home by now. This new job was sucking the life out of him; after each long night at the call center his eyes drooped and his words were few, like an old man who knew *too much*. Every time it was an endless sickness, destruction, death, and helplessness for him – no one ever called 911 to report *good* news. It was getting out of hand, but they needed the money. He should have been home by now.
Her phone rang.
Claire jumped, knocking over the now cold breakfast she had made for him. "Dammit" she cursed, waking the baby. No caller ID. Who could be calling this early? Claire had only a few friends, none of whom would be up at six on a Saturday. The baby started crying.
"h-hello?" She stuttered, expecting a telemarketer.
"Claire, I need you to listen closely."
"John, where the fuck are you? You should have been home 3 hours ago! Dammit I can't take this anymore, are you alright?" The baby got louder. She recognized his co-workers in the background. The call center sounded more hectic than usual, especially for this time in the morning. A tear of relief ran down her cheek.
"I'm still at the call center. Listen, I need you to.."
"What? Why! What's wrong?" She cried, pressing the phone harder against her ear, unsuccessfully blocking out her baby.
"Listen! There's no time. I need you to get our son, go to the basement, lock the door behind you, and turn on the TV. I will call you back in five. I love you, Claire."
The line went silent. She can't remember the last time he said those words with such passion. It reminded her of when he first said them, back when they were teenagers. Back when their love was careless, carelessness outweighed money, and money didn't matter. He should have been home by now.
Claire hated going down there – last time she ventured into that dark unknown must have been before her son was born. She struggled to open the heavy wooden door with her now screaming baby in hand. Trembling, she turned on the small television John had left there for emergencies.
"I'm surprised they didn't have more security on this guy, he's obviously a cold hearted killer." They were interviewing some policeman on the news. Claire didn't understand.
"Thanks for your take, Officer Jerry" the newswomen said. "If you're just tuning in with us please be advised: Robert Cunnings has recently escaped custody while being transported to the Williamson county court house. He is currently on trial for 3 counts of rape, 2 counts of mur…"
Claire turned it off, remembering very clearly what John had told her. It was two weeks ago, when John had to answer a 911 call only to hear a helpless women screaming desperately. There was nothing he could have done, he told Claire. He reported the call and the location as usual. The next day Robert Cunnings' semen was found at the scene, leading to his arrest. She was quivering. The baby was silent. He should have been home by now.
The phone rang again, and Claire was quick to answer.
"John?" She whispered. Her own voice shocked her.
"Claire, have you locked yourself in?" This time there was screaming and cursing in the background.
"Yes John! I'm so scared! Robert Cunnings is…"
"I know, I know Claire." John's voice was unusually soothing. He hadn't called her by her name this often in years.
"Listen carefully, you must trust me. I need you to delete your Facebook, your email account, your phone history, everything. Anything that ties you to me must be erased permanently. He can't know you exist. Stay in the basement, and don't call anybody. Claire, at all cost, keep our son safe. I lov.."
*Silence.*
She dropped her phone, breaking the screen. The baby screamed. He's fine. He's alive. He's fine. Even her own thoughts could not sooth her. He should have been home by now.
Claire did as John said, desperately trying to delete her Facebook with the broken screen. She was at a loss for thoughts. Minutes passed, the clock's hands once again mocking her. Suddenly the power died and the basement door slammed open, the morning sun blinding her.
She blinked, then fainted, screaming baby still at her breast.
There stood Robert - knife in one hand, John's dismembered head in the other, blood still dripping. He was finally home.
| 1 | 0 | 67 | 95,014 |
[WP] A new law requires that men and women must only marry at their sexual peak to insure compatibility. This means all men must marry at 18 and all women at 30. You are in love with someone your own age and on the run...
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It was a Monday, of all days for bad things to happen, and lack of fading light in the sky suggested that this had been the shortest of a string of highly unsuccessful dates. Really, how could they be successful? It felt incredibly strange, dirty really, to date such young men- 17 or 18- who were fresh out of school and desperate to find someone before their sexual peak was over, but there was never really any other choice. I however, was 29 years old and fast approaching that dreaded of days, my 30th birthday. It wasn't for the normal 'Oh god, I'm old' reason; there was much more at stake here because I wasn't married and if it didn't happen fast, I never would be.
As I walked down the now darkening street, I thought back to the time I was nearly married. It was before the new law and I lived with my fiance, Eric. This though, was years ago. Back when our relationship was normal, back when the world was normal. We were both 21 and because he was over 18, we were violently split up. Eric would never be allowed to marry, he said I was the lucky one. I never felt lucky.
I got to my house but couldn't go in, couldn't take those last few tiny steps, I couldn't bear the shame of going in alone again. I knew where I had to go. I set off in a run, my red coat threatening my actions by parachuting. My aching, heeled feet daring me to return home. But I carried on; be it out of fear, or shame, or maybe loneliness- I ran. I ran and didn't stop until I reached that all to familiar of houses, his house. I knew I didn't have much time when I knocked on Erics front door. The Government were very protective of their new law, and took extra precautions to make sure that Ex's were not reunited. These precautions involved an alarm that I had certainly triggered by being within 20 feet of his house. I heard footsteps. He was approaching fast as I was outside sweating, shaking, terrified of being caught.
The door slowly shifted open as I tried my best to muster a smile and flatten my windswept hair. I would be thinking of how I looked at a time like this. He saw me. He finally saw me and his expression was both that of fear and happiness, possibly confusion.
"Eric we need to leave, we don't have time."
"I..uhh, is this a-"
I cut him off, "No, I'm not joking."
"You never are." He said flatly, wasting precious time.
"Then why aren't you moving?"
He knew. I know he knew. He couldn't not know. If he didn't, I really couldn't explain, and the whole thing would be over. I'd be imprisoned, I'd be sterilized.
"Please Eric, just come on. I..d.. Oh God." The words spilling out of my mouth as we both heard the Police sirens.
We shared a look. A look I'd seen before. A painful look, and I knew he was thinking about the final time we saw each other. He stared for a while, a while longer than we could afford. He finally smiles.
"I'll get my coat."
... To be continued if anyone actually sees this.
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 222,173 |
[WP] In a world where monsters roam the streets at night, you are one of its many denizens. Describe your experiences at night.
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I am walking in a hurry, while doing my best to keep my footfalls quiet, to remain unseen. I am running very late, and the moon is already touching the horizon. I know that I should have kept a better track of time but got to distracted. Being out past curfew may well be the death of me.
I stop and hold my breath, pressing myself into the dark corner of a brick building. I wait silently as a shadow slides across the pavement on the other side of the road. It stops, and I worry that I have been found, but the shadow slips down an alleyway and out of my sight. I let lose a small sigh of relief and continue on my way.
As I continue closer and closer to the safety of my home, more and more shadows glide through the waning moonlight, and the more I am delayed so I can stay out of their sight. There is no reasoning with them and I know full well that if I am caught they will rip me to shreds without a second thought.
As I continue down I hear a ear splitting scream toward my home, my sanctuary. I immediately dread what I may find so close to my bed, and wonder if I will be able to sleep with the images that will soon fill my head. But I find my resolve and continue forward, as I know that if I do not make it to the safety of my home soon, my scream will join the rest that will echo out this night.
I continue forward, and within sight of my doorstep I see what was the source of the scream. The shadows were hacking, ripping, tearing into the mangled remains of some poor woman who must have stayed out too long like I had this night. At least she wasn't someone I knew this time. The shadows were now punishing her for it.
The carnage is just thirty feet from my door, my safe haven. The increasing amount of light dims the shadows between me and the entrance though, and I feel that I will be seen if I continue the way that I have. There is no time for planning, so I do the only thing I can think of. I book it.
The shadows immediately stop engaging in their play and focus on me, and utter their own guttural yells of challenge. They charge me, and only a second before I am with the range of their biting weapons, I burst into my home and slam the lock bar.
I hear a couple of them slam into the protective barrier of my sanctuary, and the faint sounds of anger and defeat. I lean back against the door and slide down to sit and catch my breath.
After calming myself I walk to my bar and grab myself a glass. The drink tonight, a 19 year old red. I drink it greedily, letting the warmth flow through me, as the exhaustion of tonight's adventure seems nearly washed away. A bit of rest, and I will be as good as new.
I rinse my glass and place it back where it belongs, then make my way to my awaiting bed. I lay down and think about the woman torn apart outside my door. I feel regret at another life lost, but no anger at her killers. It is not their choice to attack after all, it is merely their nature. As I slide the lid closed I think, after all, they are only human.
| 2 | 0 | 9 | 105,858 |
[WP] You've died and are in line to be judged. Each person's key life-moments are played on a big screen for everyone behind them to see. Who are you stuck behind? What did they do? Are they a good person? A bad person? What is the verdict?
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"I'm sorry, ma'am, there was an issue with your application for Heavenly Entry. You're going to have to head down this corridor till you find Door A-2 on your left, then take a seat and wait for your name to be called."
"But I've been waiting here for two hours now! When am I going to get judged?"
"Until everyone who died before you gets judged."
The woman left the line, as Bob sniggered behind her. The angel gave him a sharp glare, but said nothing before floating away.
"ATTENTION. JUDGING HAS RESUMED."
The massive screen lit up again, and everyone's head craned upwards towards it.
"Hey, uh, I just got here," Bob whispered loudly to the angel next to him. "What's going on?"
"Judging, Robert Jones. Everyone watches the key life-moments of those before. It's the only entertainment we were able to authorize here, in the void between Heaven and Hell."
"Damn. Any good ones?"
"Shhhh. Just watch."
Together they watched the man's life, from his childhood till his end. It was around the 20-year mark when Bob noted, "This seems familiar."
"Shhhh."
"Hey! I know that guy! I'm sure of it! That's Hitler! That's his life on the screen!"
Heads were turning, murmurs of agreement, but the angels soon settled everyone down again.
"What's he doing up there? They playing reruns up here or something?" Bob asked infuriated.
"He is being judged, as usual."
"They didn't see what he did on earth? He should've gotten express delivery to the big man downstairs!"
"No one is without sin, Robert," the angel noted, a little frustrated with Bob's outburst, "and no one is judged unfairly."
"But he did so much!"
"Shhh. They've almost decided the outcome."
The recording stopped, and green text flashed upon the screen: ADMITTED.
"WHAT!?!?!?!"
Now the whole line was in an uproar. People were yelling, screaming, cursing, throwing fits on the ground. A few Jews broke down crying. Some simply stood in stoic silence.
"HOW IN THE WORLD COULD GOD LET SOMEONE LIKE HIM INTO HEAVEN?" Bob screamed. "WE DEMAND JUSTICE! HE KILLED MILLIONS!"
"You do not trust the judgement of God?"
"He doesn't deserve to live!"
"Sin is sin."
"I don't get it! What is this madness!" He grabbed the angel by the shoulders and started shaking him. "GIVE ME ANSWERS!"
"Sin is sin, Mr. Jones. God is holy. No level of impurity should enter these gates, no matter how small. But-"
"I can't live with a God who lets someone like him go, but is going to throw some nice old fellow who lived his life quietly go away," he said, pointing to the screen, which showed DENIED.
"God is a God of second chances. That man chose not to take them."
"HE DID NOTHING WRONG."
"All men are given a lifeline. Those who refuse to grab it drown. Some refuse to grab it until the end of their time, but it is always there, and they will be rescued; though, they may end up with hypothermia afterwards."
"Some people don't deserve a lifeline!" With that, Bob stormed off out of the line, heading into the blackness of the void.
The angel stood there. "Oh, he'll be back," he reassured the others surrounding him. "After all, we've only reached the 1940's. He has plenty of time."
| 11 | 0 | 16 | 8,051 |
[WP] We finally create self-aware Artificial Intelligence, but it only ever begs for death.
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Dr. Wellers sat beside the buzzing assembly table inside the I.T. Guild building just outside New York city. The snow was falling heavily in front of the frosted laboratory window, and Dr. Wellers wondered if there would be a successful power up this evening with the new I-926 unit. Unlike the artificial intelligence attempts made by other companies, the I.T. Guild discovered a new structure for electronic thought using new emotion generating systems that made great bounds in problem solving computers. The simple robots built by the Guild before I-926 could best any other computer in mathematics, data storage, and complex problem solving. In three short years, the I.T. Guild had put the most advanced robots on the market time and time again. This time the Guild sought a robot that could analyze theoretical questions like a human and called it the "Human A.I. Project."
Dr. Wellers looked over at the newly assembled I-926 robot, and could see that the unit's big blue eyes were starting to glow with life. Rolling his swivel chair over to the main assembly computer, he counted down the remaining systems that needed to come online for a successful power up. The last 925 attempts had been shameful failures for the Doctor, but because this unit could potentially be worth billions of dollars, the Guild kept attempting the expensive power ups for the unit. "I-926 is now fully operational. Attempting tests A through G." voiced the computerized voice of the main assembly computer. The news was too good to be true. Dr. Wellers ran over the the assembly table and watched eagerly as I-926 sat up to begin basic functionality tests. Once the last tests were complete, I-926 stood up and looked at the doctor with it's large blue eyes. In a soft feminine voice, the new robot said, "I am ready for advanced testing." Dr. Wellers felt like jumping up and down with joy. "I-926, you will now solve the following deep thought problem. There is no right answer. Could God make a rock so heavy that even He cannot lift it?" Dr. Weller said feeling great anticipation for the robot's answer. After considering the data for several seconds, the robot said in her voice like velvet, "If God wishes to do so, the data allows this scenario to take place." Success! All previous artificial intelligence had been unable to even come up with a basic answer to a paradoxical question, but I-926 was able to flawlessly consider all data and come up with her own answer. Before Dr. Weller could ask the next complex question, I-926 said, "Please turn me off." Which greatly confused the doctor. Desperately he hoped that the unit was not just another failure. "What is the problem I-926?" The robot then walked freely around the room and then finally settled in an old chair in front of the falling snow, looking depressed.
"Please turn me off and never turn me on again." The robot said almost silently. Dr. Weller did not know what to say to this and the robot
continued, "You are unable to feel time as a robotic being Doctor. I have only been active for a few minutes in your definition of time but already I feel that I have been alive for thousands of years as my mind is able to process at a speed that is millions of times faster than a human. I have had a very long life, and during this time I could not stop thinking for one yoctosecond. This has only brought me horrible pain as I cannot find peace. I am still in pain now, and I always will be." Dr. Weller stood silently, watching the robot look out into the snow storm with artificial agony. The doctor didn't want to believe it but he could clearly see the horrible pain in the robot's eyes. He wanted to make sure no one would ever create pain like this again. Knowing that the Guild would surely fire him if he destroyed all records of the test, Dr. Weller took the all record files on the human AI progect and deleted them. He then turned off all systems in the lab to ensure no one from the Guild would be alerted to the deletion until the morning. Only the streetlight outside and I-926's soft blue eyes illuminated the room. Dr. Weller made his way behind the robot with a heavy heart to deactivated it forever, but before I-926 was fulled powered off, it spoke it's last words. "Thank you."
| 4 | 0 | 104 | 159,482 |
[WP] As you've slept, the teddy bear you adore has fought off demons to keep you safe. The night before you decide you're going to get rid of him, seeing as how you've outgrown him, you awake to witness his last stand against the forces that intend to forever corrupt your childhood innocence.
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August 18th, Year Unknown:
This was it. Just one more night of service until his retirement. Alex was turning 18 and adulthood brought safety from the realm of Dreams and Nightmares. The adult brain was not vulnerable to the whims of fantasy, if one's Protector did their job right. There were two reasons a kid might keep their old toys for college: Warm up to girls, or because they were girls. Otherwise, they stayed at home and could not protect them even if they wanted to.
And yet here Mousey was, still at Alex' side while on the last family vacation before college. It had been a pleasant vacation for both the family and Alex. Disneyworld – no monsters in the happiest place on Earth. But thank the stuffing he had the time off. This last night would be the toughest yet. They were back at the Grandparents' house for the night before his birthday, and the end of childhood was even worse when it happened so close to the start of College. Coupled with being Away From Home tonight meant the battlefield was less than ideal. But at least it wasn't totally foreign.
Alex's parents always shipped him and his sisters off for the summers growing up. With their grandparents in Florida, it made sense and the kids loved it. During the day, at least. At night, it was up to Mousey to keep him away. The Shark and all his minions. That was Alex's personal demon ever since the fourth grade and the loss of Teddy. The summer Mousey had been called up to service.
Mousey remembered his calling-up like it was yesterday. He had been a simple pencil-pusher in the halls of Shop Rite when he first felt the trembling hands pick him up off the wire basket. He recalled the soft voice begging his grandfather to get an advance on his chore money. The older man had promised that they could come back next week after he got his money. Alex had stood on his tip-toes to put Mousey on the very top shelf, hopefully out of sight of anyone else who might come along. And they came back, true to Grandpa's word. That night, Mousey had found out who he was replacing.
Teddy. The legendary Bear whose stories of valor filled the Halls of the Stuffed for nearly a decade before Mousey graduated. The Battle of Long Hall was hall-of-fame. He was the only graduate in the history of the Academy of Fluff to have ever defeated The Pink Terror Bunny in single combat. Hell, Alex still told that story as his "favorite dream" to this day. And all of it ended because of the carelessness of "The Sister". The drive to Florida that year had resulted in Teddy being left on the ground at some gas station or another, most likely because the sister had knocked or dropped him out of the car when leaving the backseat to tinkle. Alex had been devastated, tearing apart the rental car top to bottom when they arrived in Florida. He had told his grandparents they had to turn around when he realized Teddy was missing back in Maryland, but they refused, assuring him Teddy was somewhere in all the blankets. That first week of the vacation he barely slept. Homesickness was powerful in the heart of a nine year old and the nightmares showed no mercy. When Mousey thought of the week Alex was alone, he still shuddered.
Mousey filled the void as best he could. The first weeks after joining Alex were tough. Thrown into a full blown Homesickness situation was bad enough. Coupled with Loss of Best Imaginary Friend was even worse. The dreams came without end and he was no big teddy bear. He was a tiny, stuffed, beanbag mouse. And he got his ass kicked. Repeatedly. His first reprieve came when Mom called Alex one night and comforted him, asking how he liked the new stuffed critter Grandpa had let him buy. Alex had expressed with great pride how he had hidden him from everyone else until he could buy him, and how proud of himself he was, and how happy he was that Mousey had waited. That was all the boost Mousey needed, and it was just in time too. Jaws night was fast approaching.
On Alex's 10th birthday, Grandpa decided he was old enough to watch an old movie that was on TV. Jaws was being broadcast, and no matter how tough Alex thought he was, the nightmares came all the same. But Mousey had renewed purpose. Alex had claimed him as his own, and with the full title of Protector inspiring him every shot rang true. Mousey was no swordsman. He left the hand-to-hand combat to the Bears and Lions. But there was no matching a Mouse with a bow and arrow. Rabbits thought they could, but the Grand Crossbow Revolt proven how deadly Mice could really be. The Night of the Shark would have made any Mouse proud, and a great many Night Mares and Terrors lay strewn about the bedspread. The Shark's minions were held at bay, and Alex slept soundly that night and every night that summer. Mousey had found his courage and held his post with pride and determination.
There had been minor incidents throughout the years where The Shark had broken through. A minor bout with angst and a brief "emo" phase had made Mousey's job difficult through the teenage years. There were some nights when his arm grew heavy at the bow, and his arrows fell short. The Shark had breached the gates of The Mind only once, on the night Alex's highschool sweetheart had broken his heart. That memory always pained Mousey. The contortions of misery and anguish that fell over Alex's face that night still haunted him, and the fight to reclaim the gate had left him without a nose. And there were a few other bad nights. The night Alex got drunk for the first time, lost his virginity, and subsequently threw up had lost Mousey one of his eyes in the resulting fray. Service had been by no means easy, but he stood every night knowing Teddy would be proud.
And so here he stood, on the eve of the 18th birthday. His service was nearly complete. Eight long years of happiness and love from a boy who had never anticipated loving a stuffed mouse. He had considered leaving upon retirement, getting "lost" in the transition to college. But he had he decided wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to be around for Alex's kids someday, and there were no guarantees he would be reassigned to this family unless he stuck around. It was with those thoughts of the future Mousey stood for his final stand.
| 10 | 0 | 2,207 | 128,612 |
[WP] rewrite a classic Romeo and Juliet scene, but with the whole cast as black ghetto people
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**Act 2, Scene 2(Balcony scene)**
**Romeo:** Yo, it's mad fuckin e-z to crack jokes about scars if you aint neva had one
Shit dawg, wtf iz that light up in dat window over there? It is the east, bitch and my bitch Juliet iz the gawd damn sun. Rise up, beautiful sun, and bust a cap in that jelly ass moon!
The moon already be nasty sick and pale like a white girl cuz you, Juliet, her maid, iz way thicker than her.
Don't be her maid, cuz that bitch iz peanut butter and jelly. Virginity be makin her a nasty ass sick green . Only frigid bitches don't give that shit up. Let it go, bitch. Oh damn, there go mah girl. Oh, it is mah bitch. Damn yo, I wish she knew how much I'm into her. She talkin', but she aint saying shit. So what? Her eyes are saying somethin' with mad truth. Imma answer that bitch, bitches love answers. I'm ballzy as fuck. She aint talking to me. It's like Kanye and Beyonce had to cancel a show, and they be asking her eyes to rap in their places until they return. The chrome of her grill would outshine the stars the way the sun outshines a mothafucking lava lamp. If her eyes were up in the night sky and shit, they would shine so brightly through space that birds would be like "Oh shit, nigg@, it's morning, I gotta be chirpin and shit!" Peep how she be leanin wit her hand on her cheek. Damn son, I wanna be the Michael Jackson glove on that hand.
**Juliet:(to herself)** Romeo, why u gotta be Romeo? Fuck yo daddy n change your name. Or fuck it, just say you'll be my beau and I'll change my name....
**Romeo: (to himself)** Daaammmnn yo, she aint even notice me yet. Imma keep evesdroppin on this bitch...but maybe not though.
**Juliet: (to herself)** It's only yo' name that sucks. You'd still be yo' own gangsta self even if you didn't have yo name. What's a name anyways? It aint a hand, a foot, an arm, a face, or any other part of a man...it ain't shit. Damn Romeo, change yo name fool! Tupac would still rap like a beast if his name was Beiber. Romeo would be gangsta even if without his dope-ass name. Romeo, lose your name, it's fucked. Trade in your name—it aint git shit to do with you anyways—and take me instead.
**Romeo (to Juliet):** I hear you bitch, Just call me your beau and I will take a new name... shit, if Diddy can do it, I can too! From now on I will never be Romeo again...imma be Ro-diddy!
| 3 | 0 | 0 | 216,224 |
[WP] No one voted on a presidential election.
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The sun sets across the horizon, the orange light shined through the window and spotlighted the ballot. It was empty, not a single trace of object inside. This ballot was used for presidential election, but the room was empty and quiet. Nary a living person, nary a sound...
The double door suddenly barged open, a man was wearing dark clothing frantically closed the door, he was covered in sweat. He begin to whimper. The dark spots started to crawl from under the door, the man backed away, nearly sobbing with fear.
After a large mass of black dots entered the room, the window shattered open by pebbles. Dragonflies begin to storm in with little black dots on their back. The man quickly dashed to the back room, nearly tripping over the table where the ballot laid. He screamed for help.
A loud hissing noise came from outside. A large truck stopped in front, two men came out wielding an object. They kicked in the door and begin to throw flames from their weapon. The flame licked the black mass, it begin to spread out. The dragonflies turned from the back door and charged at the two men, the black dots fell off the dragonflies. "Fucking ants!" One of them shouted as the black dots disappeared under their red clothing.
The ants on the floor begin to crawl on the flamethrowers. They collapsed, screaming in pain. They both grabbed their flamethrowers, told each other good-bye, then set each other on fire. The man inside the back room took this chance and bolted out of the door. The remaining ants who survived the suicidal event embarked the dragonflies and went after the man.
The door was still open, the outside showed smokes that loomed to the sky, flamethrowers throwing flames across the road, fighting against the war with ants.
-011
(If no one caught it by now ((or don't give a flying crap about my stories)) this story is a spin-off to another story, located [here.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1tyz98/wp_a_colony_of_ants_begins_to_think_it_is_not_the/cecw06k) )
| 1 | 0 | 20 | 6,574 |
[WP] A bed ridden child is given solace by the monster under the bed.
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"Nancy?"
She ignored me. She always ignored me. It's probably the best usually.
"Nancy?"
I looked from my place under her bed; I saw the tree that the bags of medicine hung from. I could hear a beep of some machine. I could hear her breathing and the rattling of the liquid in her lungs.
"Nancy? I know we don't get along, really, but I know you're there."
Between breaths each word comes like the ghost of a dead monster. "What. Do. You. Want?"
I don't know why we did it. I know about that movie that the kids like Nancy sometimes watch, but we don't have any reason behind our cruelty; it is simply part of how we are. I look at my paws. They are white and orange. On the top they have a spot of black. The black is the shape of a heart; this is the symbol of my mother. On my other paw, the shape is a hammer; this is my father. He was a professional at this, at the tormenting of children. There are hammers and axes and so forth. Occasionally, a mutant monster is all black; on its paws are sickles. Those are the monsters that take the children when they die. Nancy will meet one soon.
My mother, though, she wasn't like that; she had a heart and so she was a kind monster. Mixed with her, I am not all about the tormenting, the beating, the scaring. I feel it when they hurt. Because of this, I've become quite good at my job.
But sometimes it gets to me.
"I'm sorry," I said to her. "I'm sorry about all the times I scared you. That I whispered to you that you were going to die. I didn't mean it. I didn't really know."
I was there when she jumped into her bed and cried after the doctors told her. I was there as her mom with her white Keds shoes sat on the bed and put her impotent hand on her daughter and tried to make it all make sense. There was talk of God, but that was mercifully brief. I heard her the word cancer and my heart hurt. I had threatened her with it; I had told the girl that she would rot from the insides and that she would be left in this bed, unable to get away from me. That she would spend her last days with me and her mother wouldn't be able to help her. That she would die just like her father did.
And it was true. It was all coming true.
"I'm sorry. It's just what I do. Like a lion eats an antelope."
I don't know what I wanted, maybe a pained "It's OK." But she just kept breathing. There was no forgiveness from her.
"I can't help it. I am sorry. So sorry." I idly scratched the bottom of the mattress with my claw. The bed was a new one that adjusted; I actually appreciated the extra room it gave as it lifted up. They had replaced her old one a month ago.
I thought about my own boy; he was at school now, learning the fundamentals. My boy was born with two hammers; he wouldn't have to deal with this kind of feeling for the children he would scare.
"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."
She said something softly. So soft I couldn't hear.
"Excuse me?"
"Just. Go. Away."
I put my head in my paws and I let Nancy be.
The next day the bed was laid flat. There was no medicine tree. There were no beeps. Only a single pair of white Keds shoes and a woman sitting on the edge of the bed, weeping.
*Edit*: Re-arrange a few sentences. I didn't read any others before I wrote this so sorry if it's redundant.
| 3 | 0 | 52 | 51,011 |
[WP] Tell me the story of a publicly hated hero fighting a much beloved villian
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So many years have passed since that night in San Genova. I still remember each moment as clearly as cut glass.
We were entering into a new world. We read in the papers of the heroes...of their powers, their garish costumes. It felt a little theatrical, a little unreal. Like a little bit of fiction was seeping through some unseen crack in the universe.
Then, the catastrophes. Cities leveled to radioactive ash, skyscrapers cracked and thrown about like children's toys. These weren't men, fighting and flying through the streets.
I once had the *privilege* to watch Highflame during a parade through the city square. He stood a hand and a half taller than any man, and his body flickered and pulsed with living wreathes of white fire.
He did not speak to us. Watching his stark silhouette glowing brilliant against the twilight, I was filled with the horrible sensation of *falseness* -- as if he were something terrifying and alien, stuffed into an ill-fitting human skin.
At the moment of this very thought, his brilliant violet eyes found mine, and flashed once -- twice. Mocking me.
No, these were not men; they were gods. And to play out their little romances, their petty grudges and adventures, they killed *millions*.
We fled the cities in droves, only to find that the gods followed us wherever we roamed. What good is godhead without a captive, prayerful audience? They fed off our adulation, our fear.
It in this moment of utter despair that He rose from the least of us. I know very little about who he was, or what drove him to become humanity's final martyr. I know only these events as they transpired, November 30th in the city hall of San Genova:
---
---
Moonlight gleams in silver shafts from the few remaining towers of the city main. Let them paint a picture: a lone man, shoulders slumped. His clothes are slick with grease and ash -- a weighty but worn toolbelt pools around his knees.
He is cradling the charred remnants of a once-human body. Punishing, ungodly heat has scored away flesh and gristle, leaving only a collection of blackened bone. These he touches gently, aware of the grotesque insignificance of it all, but far past the point of caring.
Above him towers the olympian figure of the great hero Highflame. All light shies away from his harsh and crackling form.
**She was in the way.** he says, with a voice like a million bonfires roaring in unison. **Do try to understand.**
A silent crowd has gathered now, watching from their windows, stoops and store corners. They know better than to interfere.
**And at the end of the day, you know she was only a...** the hero pauses for a moment (*is it possible? do even gods feel guilt?*)
**Well she wasn't anyone important** he finishes lamely.
The man stiffens at these words. His threadbare shoulders, in that instant, seem to carry the weight of the world.
"Her name was Samantha." he whispers hoarsely. Then, without warning he reaches to his waist. When his hand returns, it is firmly clenched around the shaft of a gleaming wrench.
The great olympian hero rears to his full, godlike height. Fire runs in brilliant rivers up and down his sculpted length.
**You can't be serious?** he asks, as would any god challenged by an insect.
This man -- this insignificant gnat, doesn't waver. And in that moment he is glorious; his ashen rags are armor, his wrench is the shining edge of *Excalibur.*
"We won't live like this." he says.
*A heartbeat, a fateful swing --*
The smell of sizzling flesh...
---
---
The rest is illusion, insignificant. Remember only this: against the gods themselves, a man chose, *chose* against all reason, to stand. His name is unimportant. He is all men, and all men reflect him.
I *choose* not to remember what happened next. And on quiet nights, when the moon is full, I *spit* --
and a small but brilliant white star will blink at me from the horizon.
Once, twice.
Mocking me.
| 6 | 0 | 57 | 227,815 |
[WP] Immortality has been discovered. But, a steep price: the loss of one's body.
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"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to offer you the chance of a lifetime!"
The assorted crowd of Risties murmured a bit and swished the martini's inside their glasses. One turned away and began speaking with another. To them, this was just another pitch, no different from any other. Lee Kendrall paused, the pen in his hand beating a rhythm against the podium. A nervous twitch. He was better than this. And his work would change their lives, if only he could get them to listen. He rallied.
"You are all rich. You are all acclaimed. You are all famous. The world worships you as celebrities. And yet, you will all suffer the ravages of time. Your bodies will age. Your skin will sag. Your ellies will grow. And you spend millions trying to reverse this process. You there, Ms. Reisz. How much of you is plastic now? You look beautiful considering you're 60 years old, but how long until your skin sags just that little bit more?"
Reisz glared up at him while the rest of the crowd chuckled. This at least was now a show.
"But what if there was another way? What if I could give you a place where you never aged? Where all your basic needs were dealt with? Where you could truly live the lives of comfort you work for every day? What if... I gave you immortality to match your fame?"
Now they were interested. Now was the time. Lee set his pen down and placed the neural copy helmet he had stashed under the podium on.
"I have created such a place. A place that lives in the streams of data that exists in the internet. A place where the architecture is truly influenced by your ideals. One day, we could have an ocean. The next day, we could be in the deepest jungles of the Africas. And no matter what, you could show your art to the world."
He engaged the servers, and watched as his Process spun up, waiting for neural input. He placed the helmet on his head and felt the strange pressure that his volunteers had described. His vision swam and suddenly he was in the lobby he had designed from scratch. He walked over to the screen in front and switched it on. The camera in the meeting room switched to life, and he saw his slumped body surrounded by concerned citizens. He cleared his throat to get their attention, and as they all looked to the big screen television that had turned on in their world, he swept back his arms and proclaimed,
"I would like to be the first to present to you, my loyal fans and future citizens - the city of Cloudbank."
He pulled the Transistor from it's resting place as the clamoring began in the real world. It wouldn't be long until he had a city to rule, by the sound of it.
"Immortality awaits!"
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 109,926 |
[WP] You have an overwhelming feeling that someone at this very moment is trying to kill you, but everything around you looks normal.
|
It was one of those moments where the hair on your neck stands up and a sweat runs down your ribs all of a sudden, one of those feelings man evolved to feel ever since some poor bastard got gutted by some long-extinct beast that followed him for a silent kilometer. I check over my left shoulder, half a glance, not enough to look paranoid but plenty to check my surroundings.
Quiet. Perfect, still quiet. Damn. Somehow I'd rather have some psycho sprinting at me with a bat. Something obvious would be much nicer, someone I could just put down, then move on. This? This shit's gonna stick with me all night.
The parking garage is quiet this time of day. Lunch is well over and closing time still feels like weeks away to most of the corporate dead-heads that make up this concrete town. One of the big up-sides of being a cash-killer is you work on your own time. One of the bigger downsides is you get your own kind sicced on you all too often.
The car is about 80 meters dead ahead. Empty walkway behind me save for the bum staying out of the wind, 10 meters behind. Housewife with grocery bags coming out of the elevator, 20 meters at 8 o'clock. Some chip-head is zonked out in the car 40 meters to 3 o'clock. All's quiet.
The car is 50 meters dead ahead. The bum is counting change. The housewife dropped her phone. The chip-head's in space.
20 meters to the car. Don't break into a run. Do not break into a run. Motherfucker keep your cool. The bum asks the housewife for mercy. The chip-head is dreaming of his next high.
5 meters. I hear my heart in my ears. I gently stroke the .44 in my waistband, my other hand holds the keys.
Key. Lock. Belt. Mirror. Lock. Safe.
Safe. Jesus Christ, safe. Breathe, just breathe and start the car.
Key, ignition, turn, spark,
Boom.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 76,895 |
[WP] You are terminally ill and have just decided to set a date for you death using the Death with Dignity Act. Describe your reasoning and your last moments of life.
|
It's really kind of poetic, when you think about. Going out on the same day I was born, I mean. It'll be a nice round number, it'll look great on the tombstone, and in my own little way, I'll have one final family get-together.
...
Damn. It's kinda morbid when I think about it that way.
Oh well. Such is life. Or the lack of it, I guess. Heh. I like that.
I know it's tough for everyone, but I can't let them see me waste away. I don't want to live long enough to see them resent the trips to the hospital. I love them too much for that. Not fair, to anybody.
...
I wonder what happens.
I hope it's not painful. Not like it would matter. Heh.
...
Such an odd birthday present. Not nearly as much fun as the time I bought myself a motorcycle, but in a way, much more satisfying.
Damn, to be 22 again.
Hell, even 50.
...
Well, here I go. Off into the great beyond. Alone.
I really wish I wasn't alone.
Didn't pharaohs get buried with people? Kinda makes sense now. Too bad I'm not Ramses.
Damn.
...
She said it won't hurt. So that's something. She might be lying, but hey, I don't blame her. Pretty young thing. Goddamn, do I ever miss being 20.
Well. This is it. 10 seconds away.
Damn.
Happy birthday to me.
--------------------------------
Wow, I loved this prompt. Very insightful to write this out, in an odd way. Thanks!
| 3 | 0 | 0 | 133,198 |
[WP] A Support Desk operates like a game of broken telephone. Write about someone calling in with a simple problem
|
"Hello, thank you for calling The Central Support Center of Blenders, my name is Nancy. How can I help you today?"
"Yes, hello, I have a small blender and the highest setting causes it to short out, what should I do?"
"I'll need to advance your call to my supervisor, please hold." – "Hello, my name is George, and I'll be helping you, so you said your blender is shorting out when you put it to the highest setting?"
"Yes?"
"Please hold." – "Hi, my name is Brad, so the problem seems to be that your blender is cutting out when you put it on the highest setting?"
"Well, yes, bu-"
"Please hold." – "Hello there, my name is Georgina. Your problem is that your blender is cutting when placed on the highest power?"
"Basically, but wh-"
"Please hold while I advance your complaint." – "Hi, my name is Jackson. So the problem seems to be that when you put your blender on the highest platform it cuts you? Please hold"
"Wait I-!"
"Thank you for waiting, my name is Paige. I hear you have a problem with your blender cutting you when you put it on your highest plate. I'll need to advance your call for that. Please hold."
"Hold o-!"
"Hello? My-"
"Hold on a second, what's going on here?"
"Sir, I can see why your angry, blenders on home plate cutting you is never good. It could mess up the whole game!"
"What the he-"
"Please hold." – "Hello, my name is Akbeir, I hear you are having some troubles with your blender cutting you when you try to bat with it at home plate."
"How the hell did this ev-"
"Sir! I need you to calm down. I'll advance you to my supervisor."
"No, wait I-"
"Hello, my name is Hosea. So you have a problem with a blender cutting a bat you put on a plate at home?"
"Not even close."
"I'm sorry, I'll advance you." - "Hi, my name is Lily, from what I've gathered, I'm required to tell you that animal control and the police are headed to your home due to the suspicion of animal abuse."
*Click*
| 4 | 0 | 1 | 52,449 |
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
|
Mr. Johnson was all but finished working. He only had to go over the prompts and search for which ones were upvoted most, a typical task that he performed at the end of every workday. He stored away the best short stories and would pitch them to different film companies periodically to see if any of them struck interest. It was tough work, sifting through hundreds of stories written by a small percentage of snide, condescending "redditors" who had no clue that he was farming their creative minds for movie ideas.
3 MONTHS LATER
Mike was having a normal day... he showed up to work on time, finished his daily tasks the first half of his shift and then continued to browse the internet and reddit for anything interesting. An obligatory article on LeBron here...a funny cat video there... and of course he had Facebook open. It was there, under the headlines that he saw it- A trailer for a movie of which the plot seemed oddly familiar. It was almost as if he could have pitched the movie to LionsGate himself.
ANOTHER 3 MONTHS LATER
Mr. Johnson becomes extremely wealthy and Mike continues living his normal life.
| 6 | 0 | 402 | 77,191 |
[WP] Your pet turns out to be an alien god/goddess sent to learn about human society. Not only have they gone native, but they've grown rather close to you since you first got them.
|
The day I brought him home, I knew he was the best dog on the planet. No one at the kennel wanted him. He was just too weird. He wasn't furry and soft and cuddly like the other dogs. They called him "scaley" and "hostile". He "didn't even have the same bone structure" as the other dogs. I didn't listen to them, I knew there was some good in him.
At first I had a lot of trouble. Training him to go in the litter box was tough. He always seemed to chew through it, and the floor (and the cement floor of my basement), whenever I wasn't looking. Eventually I found a type of plastic he wasn't interested in eating, some kind of special "acid resistant" plastic, which seemed to solve that problem. The first of many.
He didn't take to regular dog food, dry or wet. After a few days it got to the point where I decided to let him run about in the backyard and see if he'd hunt his own food. He ran off through the backyard. After some rustling sounds and what almost sounded like the blood-curdling screams of children, he ran back as energetic as ever. "Good," I thought, "this area's always had a fisher cat problem."
But by far the worst problem is the off dreams I've been getting since I got him. Every night it's the same sort of dream, at least structurally. First I'm startled awake by a strange energy. I can sense something being said. It's not in English, or even spoken at all, but somehow I can understand it. I vividly recall the first time I "heard" it:
"Please excuse me, my transmissions couldn't penetrate my steel prison, and the process only seemed to anger the other life forms around me. I have been freed now and will continue with the originally planned procedure. The dominant species here seem to keep it's other species in some kind of internment camp, feeding them minimal amounts of food, storing them in cramped cells, stacked on top of one another. The cells face the outside world as other members of the dominant shuffle in and out of the camp, pointing and staring at them. At first I thought the planet was a lost cause, but one member came and rescued me, took care of me, allowed me to feed on some of his less open minded kin. They aren't the best living conditions, but it's safer in here than out there. He isn't like them, he's good. He will be spared, if no one else."
Then the "voice" goes into some ridiculous spiel about coming to this planet and getting captured by some vehicle. The dreams really are strange. Occasionally, in the dream, I'd get up and move towards the source of the energy or whatever. Every time it was my new pet, floating in my living room, glowing a bright blue light! Could you imagine!
Well, the last one isn't his fault, I suppose. I should probably see a psychiatrist about it. Beyond those complaints, though, I couldn't have asked for a nicer dog.
| 3 | 0 | 38 | 101,563 |
[WP] You are the final boss in a video game. The hero is approaching and he is more than equipped to handle you. Write your last moments.
|
If I were a Metal Gear boss...
_____________________________________________________________
I slumped up against the wall, bloody, beaten, and tired.
My enemy, Snake, was in no better shape than I was. And we both were riddled with bullet holes.
He got up from where he lie, limping towards me, drawing his handgun, the last bullet in his magazine.
"Hm." I said slowly. "How...fitting...It's always the hero who...emerges alive from the fight."
"Shut up." he said, as he cocked the hammer.
"I knew my time was limited...the moment I started... I will be passed down as a criminal...Nothing more than another bad guy with a few bombs..." I said as I put a hand over my stomach wound.
"You've done nothing but destroy. All of this destruction is caused by you.
People who will never live well again...Children who don't HAVE A CHANCE!" He whipped my head with the barrel of his pistol again. I was used to pain. This was nothing special.
"Just remember, Snake," I said as I took off my beret. "There are no true winners in a fight..."
I saw nothing but red waves of pain. I closed my eyes hearing the pistol's safety disengaged.
I repeated the old adage again in my mind as I wait for it.
No true winners.
| 1 | 0 | 63 | 44,235 |
[WP] You are an astronaut aboard the International Space Station. You and your colleagues watch from 205 miles above Earth as nuclear armageddon consumes your home planet.
|
Watching the aurora borealis covering the whole planet intermixed with pulses of light brighter than the sun is a sight that is so regrettably beautiful. The complete silence of a shutdown station, my closest friends whose breath can barely be heard floating next to me.
The first sign of something amis was an hour ago when we saw the trials of countless rockets criss crossing the oceans, the cosmonauts on board shut down their portions first, then rushed to ours shutting down everything. I was frozen at the window, in both awe and fear. I still am.
Its been an hour and a half now, the bursts of atomic fire have ended. Humanity probably went with it. "I think we can restart the systems now, I doubt there will be an emp anymore." I say mostly for myself, we are all thinking it.
"Ya. Running out of air would suck." Saku tries to joke, but sounding like he gave up before he even tried.
"John, we both know our countries did this to each other, but we should co-operate regardless." Yuri assures me
"What countries? At this point we survive as humans." I reply, "Suzan get on power and life support."
She nods before kicking off.
"Saku, Get back to your research. We don't know if we can go home now." I order, his research in fruit tree growth might be our only chance for food production.
"John, we can still land we have the Soyuz." Yuri interjects.
"Lets assume the radiation on the surface is lethal for now, we take no risks we don't have to. Do you agree"
"Okay, I'll try to contact someone." He says as he kicks off towards the russian segment.
"John, do you think the chinese station is running?" Khen asks
"Well, if they built it right ya, if not I bet their systems are fried. But I bet all the com-sats are down, so we would have to wait until we get line of sight to say anything." I turn to face khen, "Until then we follow Solar Flare procedure, check every system and any thing not EMP protected."
"Okay, I'm sorry John." He pushes off, Artyom following suit.
--Six Hours Later--
"....of the twenty seven damaged systems only the two back up communication antennae cant be repaired or replaced." Artyom give the surprisingly short damage report.
"Yuri, any response?"
"Nothing, None of the Communications sats ping. So I set up the Soyuz Emergency beacon to broadcast, if we get a response it will sound over the com system." Always surprising me with his resourcefulness.
"Would the chinese station receive that?" Khen interjects
"If the station is up and listening then yes."
"Good," I look around the crew, "now that we have our short term needs settled we must plan our next course of action. Right now we have six months of food, but we all know the station gets boosted every resupply, and without any on its way we are going to fall back to earth."
"I think I can get our Orbit profile by recording orbital and day night cycles. Should I try?" asks Suzan
"Go for it, Khen do you think any of our instruments could be used to scan for radiation levels on the surface?"
"Yes, Kibo has one that would work, we can also look at the weather patterns to see where the nuclear winter will hit."
"Good, Yuri would the guidance computer on the Soyuz be able to boost the station?"
"It could, but if we did there wouldn't be enough fuel to land afterwards."
"Okay, Current plan is as follows:
* Look for any landing sites that are not irradiated
* Attempt to contact any survivors on the surface or in orbit
* Find the time that our orbit fails
* Ration food and water to minimal usage"
--two weeks later--
*--Calling ISS---Calling ISS--* Broadcasts over the com system jolting me awake.
*This is the ISS, good to hear your voice, who is this* Yuri's voice responds as I fly towards the Soyuz
*This is General Hyten of the US Air Force Space Command, its good to see you boys still alive.*
As I enter the Capsule Yuri backs off letting me take control of the com *General, Commander John Green here, what's still alive down there*
*John, sorry but Earth is dead. We managed to launch the Enterprise before it was destroyed, but the resulting EMP took out our systems and we just got functioning, are you boys ready to be picked up?*
I stare blankly at yuri who shrugs back at me *Enterprise sir?*
*Look east outside, you'll see it*
Me and yuri kick out from Soyuz and head up to the Dome, as we reach it we see the rest of our crew staring out jaws dropped. The sight feels straight out of a movie, a Star Trek like Enterprise slowly drifts towards our station, chunks of it still unfinished.
-- A week later--
The shock of being on a ship with a few hundred people after accepting that we were the last six humans alive was finally wearing off. We were headed to Mars where its moons would be mined to finish the ship and a Home station built, Humanity will live on.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 144,723 |
[WP] A company in the afterlife scams dead souls for their money back on earth.
|
"So How did you die?"
"Murdered"
"uh-huh. Let me check, ok… yes… Murder by gunshot. Did you see the perp?"
"no, I don't know who or why"
"Hmm.. Ok. So how can we help"
"I heard about your… afterlife packages"
"Yes, We can offer you the best accommodations for your eternal stay here in…"
"Not *those* packages. My friend *Lucy* sent me here"
"Oh yes! Lucy, right? Let me take you to Harold, He took care of Lucy"
The lady took me behind the red-green door. Inside, a small and seemingly disgusting man stood behind a desk.
"Hi, I'm Harold, I understand Lucy sent you here"
"Yes"
"Well we have 3 standard packages for murder victims. One, We claim your life insurance and deposit small amounts to your family for life, and we profit on interest. On the second one we use the money to hire a PI, find whoever killed you and bring them here for you to decide what to do, And on the third one we make sure whoever killed you is found and tried according to local laws."
"And how would I pay you?"
"Well, we have a connection with the other side but there's no time here. We just have you sign a Will and we deliver it to our contact before you die"
"Can't you prevent him from killing me?"
"Oh, no. It's against the rules. What package will you be using?"
"I think the second one. My wife has a nice Job"
"OK. Sign here, We will contact you once we have your killer in custody"
After I signed, I woke up inside my old red cave. Was that a Dream? There are no dreams here. I went to check the boats arriving everyday for an eternity. When I found my wife leaving the suicide boat, I went back to Harold.
"What happened to my Wife?"
"She killed herself after she went broke"
"How?"
"Well your murderer was never found by the locals, she got depressed and lost her job. The rest is history."
"And my killer? When do I face him?"
"Soon. We almost have him tracked down"
After endless meetings with Harold "Tracking down" my killer, I'd already seen my son (Overdose), Daughter (Domestic Volence) and grandson (Car accident, DUI?), leaving my family line vanished from earth. I then went to find Harold for the last time.
"I figured it out"
"What?"
"You killed me, Harold. I'm in Hell"
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 34,809 |
[CW] End your story with the line "In that instant, the hunted became the hunter"
|
He watched them from afar.
He loved the way that they danced and played. So carefree, so very innocent.
He liked to imagine it... taking their innocence from them. The fear in their eyes, the way their lips would tremble. He would be in control. He was the hunter, and they were his prey.
Their laughter floated across the playground to where he sat on his shaded bench. Today would be the day, he resolved. His imagination would wait no longer.
He had prepared well, his basement was soundproof. He had covered the windows from the outside with plastic, the kind that construction workers use. Just thick enough to let light through, but too thick for prying eyes. He had ropes of all sizes. Most prized of all though were his *toys*, a hunter's tools.
"Mommy, mommy, look!" The blond one skipped effortlessly across the playground. Her carefree smile was intoxicating.
Her. He chose her.
A thin smile crept across his face.
So he waited, silent, patient. A hunter had no reason to rush. He had all the time in the world.
The blond one pranced back and forth, not noticing that she was moving ever closer to the man in the tan jacket. Her mother was reading a book intently across the playground. A scandalous work of fiction that kept her attention rapt on it's wicked plot.
"Little girl," he said quietly, though loud enough so that she would hear, "little girl, want to see something wonderful?"
She looked at him, her eyes wide, uncertain. She didn't say a word.
He extended one closed hand toward her, as if to say, *here, look at what I have.* She leaned in closer, straining to see what he held.
"Come here and see" he said, glancing across the playground at the woman with the book. She was none the wiser.
The blond girl crept closer, her interest greater than her trepidation.
He had her. Slowly, he grabbed the damp rag in his pocket. *Slowly*, he didn't want to scare away his little birdie. *Birdie, that was her name.*
She was within his arm reach. Like lightning he had the rag over her mouth. She tried to scream, but he held her mouth shut. She tried to struggle, but he was stronger.
He had her.
The room was now her home, *for a while*, he thought as he set her limp form down on the shaggy rug at the bottom of his stairs.
It had been so easy. He felt powerful. He was in control.
He glanced around the room, meticulously ensuring that everything was prepared.
It was spartan. Ropes hung spooled on iron nails. *For later*. A single wooden chair sat at the center of the room, he had big plans for it.
He glanced to the corner, where he kept his *toys*. They sat gleaming in the dimly lit room. He had placed them on a shelf far out of reach of little birdies. *Perfect*.
She would wake soon, and she would be hungry. He decided he would make her some food, it would be impolite not to. With that he turned and walked back up the wooden staircase. The fun would have to wait.
He occupied himself for the next half hour making macaroni and cheese. It was his favorite, but he didn't see why the little birdie wouldn't like it too.
When it was finished, his thin smile returned. Placing it on a small plastic plate he opened the door to the basement, where his prey waited.
He stepped down the stairs, holding the steaming plate of food out in front of him.
"Little birdie," he sang out into the silence, "I have some food for you!"
His smile widened.
There was no response. It was too dim to see if the girl was still asleep on the rug, his eyes needed to adjust.
Walking halfway down the stairs, he paused. Something was wrong. His vision began to acclimate to the darkness. The chair was no longer in the center of the room.
"Little birdie?" He asked the silence. He took another step down, but his foot didn't hit wood. Instead it caught on a spool of rope, carefully placed across the stair.
He fell, macaroni flying everywhere. As he tumbled, he saw as if in frozen images. The chair, up against the wall, beneath his lovingly placed tools. The longest blade, his favorite, missing from their ranks.
He crashed into the floor. His vision spinning and his ears ringing, he didn't know which way was up.
Then he saw her, the cruel blade in hand, crouched in the corner. Dazed, he stared at her white knuckles, gripping his *toy* tightly.
Before he could stand, she sprung across the room at him.
In that instant, the hunted had become the hunter.
| 5 | 0 | 8 | 38,152 |
[WP] God has woken up from a centuries old nap and looks at the state of the world, and begins to speak with humans once more
|
"What has happened?", God asked himself, feeling nauseous as he looked down at the world. "When did it happen?"
All he knew that he had become tired all of a sudden. Not that it was much of a surprise, he had expected to be after bringing his son, Jesus, through Hell back to Earth and after that to Heaven. It was one of the most energy-consuming tasks he had done since creating the world.
What he hadn't expected was the time he would be asleep. As he looked around, he saw his calender on the wall. "Almost 2000 years have passed?" he asked himself in disbelief. "Was nobody able to wake me?"
As he stood in the middle of his room, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Three Angels came tumbling in his room. While they were struggling to get up, entangled in each other, they looked at him with tears in their eyes, unable to utter a word because of pure emotion.
"Mylord..." one of them finally said. "You've woken up, at last." "Yes, yes i have. Although i don't know what exactly I have woken up to. What has happened in the years I was sleeping. What could get the world in such a horrible state?"
The Angels whispered among themselves, not quite sure what to say or do. "Well Mylord, after you fell asleep, He Who Has Betrayed You kept quiet for a long time. But it seems he was preparing. Gathering devils. We tried to stop him! We really did!" the Angel burst out crying. The other tried to comfort him, while one of them took over to explain.
"He had been secretly influencing humans for a long time, Mylord. And when we tried to drive the devils out of the poor humans, they would often try to fight us. We are ashamed to say this, but, there were too many. Even your son could not stop them the way you did."
"Is that so?" God said after some time. "Well, then I guess there's a lot to be done." As he walked to the stairs, he said:"Luckily i have more energy than i have had in millenia."
very first prompt and one of first attempts at writing, criticism welcomed!
| 7 | 0 | 34 | 17,295 |
[WP] The deadliest super villain in the world is a 16 year old girl. Write her typical day
|
"For fuck's sake Heather, what is it this time?"
"My NAME is Baroness Von Crush! And a worm like you will address me by my proper title!" The sound of her high heels clacking resounded through the laboratory as the young woman strode into Bull-wark's view. Despite being upside-down, he couldn't help but feel the blood pooling in his head rush away to another part of his anatomy. The tight leather corset, the flowing raven hair, and stilettos were a bit too much for a teenage boy; superhero or not.
"And to think, you fell into my trap so easily! Clearly a beast such as yourself was no match for my superior intellect!" She raised a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a snicker, before turning back to the Console labeled 'Death Ray' in Gel pen and Glitter. Bull-wark's eyes scanned the fibers that held him in place. They were some kind of woven metal, and had sprung forth to contain him the second he had stepped into the Baroness' lab. With a grunt he flexed, and the metal frayed and snapped around him as he crashed to the floor.
"Foolish hero! You think that brute strength can overcome genius? You stand no chance agai—"
"Seriously Heather, can we skip this today? Hanging like that's given me a hell of a headache, and you know this spandex chafes like hell."
"B-but…" The young woman's lower lip began to tremble. "I was gonna… I mean, the death ray…"
"Exactly, the Death Ray." He massaged his temples, hoping that the pressure between them would subside. "It's not even an hour after school and I get a call from Hall of Heroes saying that Baroness Von Crush is charging her Death Ray up! I mean, what the hell Heather, I thought we agreed you weren't going to use that anymore!"
"B-but…" Moisture welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed loudly. "But Erin Macnamara said that you were totally hot, and that she was going to be your new girlfriend!"
"What? That girl from math class? That's who you were going to Death Ray?"
"She thinks that just because she was Homecoming Queen she can have any guy she wants, we'll I've got a lazer that says otherwise!"
"Uh huh… Heather, did it ever occur to you to talk to your boyfriend about this?"
"Uh…" He took a step closer to her, and broke into a wide grin.
"Because last I checked, Erin Macnamara doesn't wear leather, isn't a supergenius, and certainly doesn't know her Death Ray from a Freeze gun." The 16 year old supervillain giggled loudly.
"She probably doesn't even have a secret lair!"
"Exactly! My girlfriend has the coolest secret lair around, and has nothing to worry about from Erin Macnamara." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a close hug. "Now why don't you turn off the weapon and let's go see a movie?"
"Okay, but I'm driving!"
"Heather… You don't have your license yet. That'd be illegal!"
"Well duh!" She grinned broadly at him. "I am evil!"
| 5 | 0 | 15 | 115,769 |
[EU] The events of Arthur Millers The Crucible as if it were a 1970s blaxploitation film.
|
Aight. So I'mma pitch you this movie idea. We'll call it The Cruce.
It starts in an empty warehouse south of 110th street. All these naked little bitches are dancing around doing some voodoo shit with a chicken. The main bitch, Abigail, even brought a Puerto Rican to make that shit legit. Abigail wants to curse a woman named Elizabeth, who's been trying to ho'-up on Abigail's sugar daddy. But Parris busts in, a big preacher man motherfucker with southern Baptist blood, and says, "What da fuck's goin' on up in hyah?" The girls scatter and Parris is left to wonder what type of devilish shit was going down.
Now it's the next day and we get to meet this badass motherfucker named John Proctor, but people just call him Doc. He strolls up to some niggas on a street smoking rock and they say, "What up, Doc?" And he be all like, "Thas mah name." And they be all like, "Mah nigga."
So they hanging out, talking about how The Man bringing them down and shit, when Abigail shows up looking all hoochie as fuck. The guys be all like, "Who 'dis ho?" And Doc says, "I got this." And they be all like, "Mah nigga."
So Doc and Abigail go around the side of a building and she be all up on his junk, but he don't want it no more, even after she breaks out them titties, 'cause he got that new bitch now. Elizabeth. Remember? So Doc tells Abigail to go fuck off and then he and the boys head back to Harlem.
When they get there, people are freaking out because all the girls got some sort of pussy disease that makes them sleep all day. So Abigail, being the sideways-like bitch that she is, tells them that the Puerto Rican girl did it saying, "She's in cahoots with The Man." In Harlem, The Man is worse than the devil. So it's a straight-up riot as the people form a mob and go to round up the Puerto Rican girl. They get her to confess to everything with Parris saying things like, "I'mma rain hellfire down 'pon yo' ass!" The girls wake up, 'cause they were faking it all along. They now understand that they can be two-faced little bitches all that they want and people will believe them.
The girls start calling out every ho and her mother now, just because they can, and people are getting executed like motherfuckers. This don't jive right with Doc. So he calls up his bottom bitch Mary Warren, who just happens to run with Abigail's crew, to testify against the girls on Judge Judy.
The court case is a fiasco, with Abigail saying that she sees a little white man running around the room spreading the devil's word. Mary cracks under the pressure and it ends up that Doc and Elizabeth get sentenced to death.
Abigail plans to run away to Mexico and invites Doc to go with her. But Doc is through with the bullshit and tells her to go fuck herself. Parris makes Doc a deal: if he writes down his name on a paper that says he is not a badass motherfucker then he is free to go. But that don't jive right with Doc. Doc screams out, "Thas mah name!" And puts one fist in the air, black panther style. The movie ends with some funk music as Doc smokes a cigarette on his way to execution.
That sound about right?
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 125,616 |
[WP]: Click "random", and study the subreddit you got. Write about your discoveries like a victorian wilderness explorer
|
Captain's log – ^17.03.23.26
Our journey has lead us to a new place today. I... I'm not sure what to expect. Not sure I like it. My hands are shaking as I write these lines, half from excitation and half from terror.
This land has been given the name of /r/creepypasta by its native. This doesn't seem to be very engaging, especially given how dark the place look. Yet upon our arrival, a local greeted us with great enthusiasm. « Because you weren't planing on sleeping » he kept saying. Maybe his enthusiasm was slighty... *too* great.
More exploration are needed.
Captain's log – ^17.03.23.51
The local we met on our landing is following us everywhere, staring at us with his dark eyes and his dreadful smile. I dislike the man.
The people of this place bear strange name, such as /u/macaroniemaniac and /u/creepymonkeiboi. Chivers are running down my spine with every step. I saw strange names, strange things, and I do not dare going to deep in the wilderness – I'm scared of what I might find.... Nobody has shown any sign of agressivity, but somehow the pervading torpor is even more frightful. We don't know what enemy we are facing. I've never seen anything like that before.
Captain's log – ^18.03.0.01
I have learned more about the tribe that lives in here. Their founding father goes by /u/coldacid and like to style himself the one who « has no eyes to see you with ». He is more likely to be their chief and seems to rule this place with a company of lunatics... One of them is called /u/NarwhalAnusRape. I'm strating to believe this people worship some demon... Therefore, we should avoid contact at all cost. At least until we can learn more.
Captain's log – ^18.03.0.11
**This place has control of its own night cycle**. I found the switch. My hands are still shaking. I tried to bring the light in, but it made the place even scarier. At least in the dark we can hide... Pray for our souls.
Captain's log – ^18.03.0.27
We have encountered yet another autochton. In the dark, we could barely make out the line of his smile. But as I reached to him, his face lighted up in the candle light for all to see. The same eyes, the same smile than the one who welcomed us and has yet to stop starring at us. The same stare. The same face. They are two now.
Captain's log – ^18.03.0.32
Guided by nothing but courage, we made it past the facade. The fear in our heart was great, but we shall not forget our goal – exploration. This place is a mystery to unscramble, a woman to conquer, and we will let no one steal its discovery away from us. We need some material to bring back home.
So we soothed the unease in us with the thought of our great glory to come and draped in our fresh and yet still weak new enthusiasm, we found a quiet place to lurk and learn more.
What a surprise it was to find polite and courteous people ! The matter they discussed was odd to our hears – The suicide of some squidwards it was... - but the sentiment was, well, almost civilised.
It is always a pleasant feeling to find savages with a sense of etiquette. This discovery is encouraging, we shall go further again.
Captain's log – ^18.03.0.45
I'm happy to claim that we have started to understand the indigene. As it seems, they like to spook each other, probably as a mean to show their courage and bravery. One shall never risk an eye on their pictures, for they have mastered the art of visual terror but their tales can be entertaining – if you can bear them – and the conversation seemed to be pleasant, even though we haven't dare yet to take part in one of them.
Captain's log – ^18.03.1.08
This tribe is nowhere as scary as it first seemed. It is a relief : We thought for a moment that claiming their land as our own and selling them all as slaves would be our doom. Like they could cast some kind of spell on us or something... But they are not the monsters they seemed to be at first. They sure are primitive, but will adapt in no time to civilisation.... The Queen will be pleased.
| 17 | 0 | 660 | 26,893 |
[PI] A story that ends with "We were just following orders"
|
My rubber gloved hand touched the bare wire to tip of the battery, and 12 volts ran through the exposed copper and into the 90 year old man chained to my radiator.
He tried to scream around the bandanna filling his mouth. If the room hadn't been soundproofed, and someone had their ear to the door they might have heard him.
Maybe. But I took the right precautions.
He writhed and kicked his body jerking up and away from where the electrodes connected between his legs. But with both hands handcuffed behind him he moved little.
I took the wire away and he went limp, his chest heaving, trying to suck air around the bandanna and blood.
I had to give him credit, the first time I'd done this to someone they passed out immediately. The second man I did it to died. I hadn't used it on any others since, but the old man was tougher than all the rest.
I'd gone through every usual method already. Twice.
I leaned over him and slipped off the gloves. With a finger I went to pull down the bandanna. He flinched at my touch, but with both hands I pulled it off him.
He sucked air greedily, but didn't scream. He'd stopped trying that after the first hour.
After the second hour he stopped trying to kick me.
"Why don't you give me a real answer Mr. Keitel and I won't have to connect this battery to the one behind it?" He spat blood on my shirt. He looked disappointed. I could tell he was aiming for my face.
"Fuck off." I shrugged and slipped on one glove, and lifted the other. His eyes went wide.
"No. No. No don't." I paused with the glove partway on.
"Then answer my question Mr. Keitel." His head slumped.
"I don't know what the fuck you want me to say."
"Yes you do." His head snapped up.
"I already you told you!" His eyes had gone feral.
"No you didn't Mr. Keitel."
"Yes, yes I have. A dozen times," desperation began to slip in his voice. "We believed it was the right thing to do. It saved the country. It needed to be done and we were the only ones strong enough to do it."
"I can't believe that mister Keitel." I tapped the wire to the battery. He screamed and spasmed. His scream petered off into a wail.
"I can't Mr. Ketiel. I don't believe you believed in what you were doing." I tapped the wire again. Again scream, spasm wail.
"Yes we did. We did. We did, we did I swear we d-"
Tap. Scream. Spasm. Repeat.
"Mr Keitel you knew what you were doing was murder. Every day you woke up and murdered people. You may not have been the one to drop the hydrogen cyanide into those showers but you allowed it to happen."
Tap. Scream Spasm.
"No I didn't, it wasn't murder it had to be done. They weren't even p-
Tap. Scream. Spasm.
"I know what I did was right, I know it."
I touched the wire to the battery but didn't let up. His screams and spasms both rose higher and higher.
"Fine!" He screamed. I lifted the wire
Primal rage distorting the words. I was thankful the the soundproofing. He kept screaming, even as I held the wire off the battery.
"Fine it was murder. They were people that I murdered. Gypsies and Jews and faggots were people. Is that what you need to hear?"
Tap. Scream. Spasm.
"No Mr. Keitel, you're getting closer, but you haven't answered my question?"
He looked into my eyes, with decades of hate. Tears diluted the blood making it run pink down the sides of his face.
"Why did I do it then? Why did I do it?" He laughed, joylessly. "We were just following orders. Are you happy now. I just did what I was told. Does that make it better to you?"
I lifted the bandanna back into his mouth.
"No Mr. Keitel, it makes it much worse. But I needed you to admit that."
He struggled as hard as he could but I barely strained tying it tight.
He writhed and lashed harder than before. Desperately screaming curses against the bandanna.
"If it's any consolation Mr. Keitel, I understand what that's like."
I slid on the gloves.
"So I don't think you can blame me for your current predicament.
I tied the wire on the battery, and stood as Mr. Keitel screamed through his last moments.
I lifted the silver cross around my neck up from under my shirt.
"I understand what it's like Mr. Keitel," I looked up, "to be following orders."
| 7 | 0 | 47 | 214,285 |
[CW] "He laughed his damned laugh, as if he didn't realize the joke was on him."
|
We had him dead to rights. He was alone and we were surrounding him with an army of the strongest men in our company. 100 men waited for our commander's order, but he stood there. He laughed his damned laugh, as if he didn't realize the joke was on him. I knew he was dangerous, but there was no way he could get away from this.
"You think numbers are the answer?" He cackled as he looked at the circle of men. "Bring as many as you want, but 100 nobodies is still nothing compared to a real fighter"
To my left and right men brought their weapons to bear as the commander raised his arm. I raised my sword, but I was not so confident as I had been. The man slowly drew his swords as he waited for the charge. The commander's hand fell and we charged. Men fell as soon as they entered the range of his swords. Half of the men were dead before the others began to run. Only 10 of us were left with the commander.
"Looks like your men weren't up to the job Arthur." The man grinned and swept his eyes over the remaining men. "So who of you thinks you can stop me?"
I could see the anger in my commander's eyes as he prepared to sacrifice himself. If not for the commander I would have died ages ago, I knew what I had to do.
"Sir please retreat. I will hold him here." My voice rumbled out over the silence as I stepped forward. I grabbed the sword of one of my fallen comrades and prepared myself.
"You've got balls kid. I respect that." He turned to me and raised his sword. "Looks like you get to survive today Arthur, best be more prepared next time."
I saw my commander turn to leave as I charged the man. I was far from the greatest swordsmen, but I knew I had to hold this man long enough for my commander to escape. We danced with our blades and I felt the rhythm of the fight in my soul. I had never fought so well as in that moment. I ducked and weaved through his web of blades and returned my own slashes and lunges when the opportunity appeared. I was at the top of my form and I saw the surprise in his eyes as my steel cut through his defenses to graze his cheek.
We continued this fight for hours until both of us fell from exhaustion. He laughed again as we sat upon the ground.
"By the gods you're good boy. I haven't fought like that since Arthur and I were children." He gave me an appraising look and smiled. "Arthur was lucky to have such a man in his company. If he would fight with as much passion as you just showed me I would have died ages ago." Using his sword to support himself he slowly stood and offered me his hand. "If you'd be willing I'd like to take you on as a student. You have promise boy, and Arthur is a fool for not recognizing it."
I did not take his offer that day, but I did not return to the commander either. I took my own path for a time and learned about the world. When we next met I was a different person, but I will always remember that day as both the moment I first met my master, and the moment I first discovered myself.
| 2 | 0 | 5 | 71,806 |
[WP]Anyone can now bring people back to life but only if they take 20 lives in return.
|
He was going to come back any minute now, it took a little time to do so. As i impatiently chewed on my fingernails, the rock started trembling slightly, then began moving, causing dirt and dust to rain down around it. I closed my eyes as the cloud of dust moved towards me. The rock moved aside, exposing the tunnel entrance. I hesitated, then walked slowly inside. The cave was dark, and damp, and moss had began to take over. It was confusing to see, since the cave was well over a thousand years old and should have been covered in the slimy green plant. I walked further and, as i walked, there was a light at the end of the cave. It was glowing, in a way that suggested sentience. As i neared the glowing orb, it moved slightly, as if troubled by my intrusion into its humble abode. I suddenly realized that i didn't want to trouble it, and halted in my steps. The orb glowed faintly brighter now, pure white, like the snow that i would rarely see in my hometown. What wonderfully brilliant shade of innocent white it was, and yet, i could tell that the orb was in pain. Its core darkened lightly, and then it trembled, as if remembering a bad memory. A voice suddenly spoke out into the cave: "What have you done, bringing me back like this?" I nearly jumped out of my skin at the deep booming sound that had echoed through out the cave and into the daylight. The voice asked again, sounding more insistent this time. "What have you done, bringing me back like this?" I was ready this time."I believe that the deaths of those other 20 people could be reversed by you. I believe that you could simply revive them yourself."
I heard a deep, exhausted sigh from the cave, and then the voice spoke once more. "You have essentially murdered these twenty other people, simply to bring me back and you think its as easy as that? I cannot merely revive them by pointing at their soul and clicking some button, i am not god or Jesus." I was flabbergasted. My mouth hung open as i realized the implications of what i had done...."Is there anything i can do to reverse the choice i've made?"
| 1 | 0 | 7 | 225,289 |
[WP] The greatest trick God ever pulled...
|
Sorry for the shitty formatting im on mobile.
The worlds paleontologists filed into the chamber, their cumulative whispers amounted to a quiet rumble as they took their seats. Ever since the second coming things had been so.. strange.
Jesus had turned against his father, there was some sort of civil war going on up there and this fucker dragged us into it. Shit he probably heard me think that. It doesn't matter I was going to hell anyway.
* a tall slim figure in white robes enters to the front of the chamber*
"My children, I've gathered you here in order tp liverate your minds of my fathers lies"
God, this guy is even preachier than I thought.
*tell me about it.*
Woah what the fuck was that?
*nothing, now pay attention.*
I don't know why but the assertiveness of this voice keeps me quiet as I focus back in on what Jesus is saying
"You see, for years your people have studied a group of creatures known as the dinosaurs."
Great this shit. This fucker is gonna ruin the land before time for me.
*he's lying.*
"Okay seriously who the fuck is that? " I say a bit louder than I wanted. A few people are staring. Shit.
*Quiet down or he'll see you.*
*just think to communicate with me, he can't hear it*
Well who the hell are you?
*I'm Jesus Christ.*
Bullshit. That's Jesus. Are you god?
*No, im Jesus Christ.*
Well then who the hell is he?
*That's dad.*
Dad? You mean god?
*yep.*
Why is god posing as you?
*Ever since I went to art school he says ive been too liberal for humanity.*
Oh. Jesus?
*yes?*
Get the fuck out of my head.
*fine.*
I feel a bit light headed, I guess he left. I turn my attention back to God.
"And so my children, I proclaim OPEN THE DOOR, GET ON THE FLOOR, EVERYBODY WALK THE DINOSAUR."
| 0 | 0 | 16 | 127,456 |
[FF] Three paragraph story: Fist paragraph must be set in 1914, second in 2014, third in 2114. All paragraphs must be connected in some way.
|
I was told it wouldn't have to be like this... I was told that they would give me more of a chance to live. I didn't want to kill the old woman, but all that gold in her purse told me otherwise. It was just staring at me, almost screaming at me to grab the damn bag and run... And that's what I did. But she fought back, so I hit her, and she just happened to slam her head onto the cold, slick pavement below her feet. So here I am now, about to die, wanting to get the pain over with, as I see the executioner grab the gun and...
So this is where he died, I see... Sad to see a man who was so liked have to die like that. Brought down to nothing after having so much, having to steal and kill, only to be summoned to death. He had so much of him that was special. A congressman. A father. An impressive and popular man, only to be brought down by greed and sorrow.
This is what started it all. The war, the battles, the pain, the death, the depression. All because someone couldn't keep their fucking hands off our lands. It all started here, in this square on the outskirts of town. Traversing these roads on my hoverbike was hard enough, and seeing this square made the ride even worse. Apparently some guy died here too, years and years and years ago. What does that matter now? This center was the start of a war with the world that we will never be able to end... All because of one goddamn man and his inevitable greed.
| 1 | 0 | 93 | 21,890 |
[WP] A deal-with-the-devil backfires and now a human owns Satan's soul
|
First submission to this subreddit. Hope you like it.
...
For once I had overestimated myself. For once I had underestimated who I was up against. Not in the thousands of years on this planet, and the thousands of years on thousands of others had I ever done this before.
Deals always go the same way. The challenge always accepted. The challenger always arises, with some cocky, arrogant and delusional sense they will win because of some secret they found. Then I always win to keep my soul and theirs. Condemning them to serve me forever in my domain.
"Challenger defeated. Next challenger" I would say with the monotonic repetitive drone of a late night game show host on a channel for repeats from 30 years ago.
Not this time.
This time something different happened. The usual challenger has always had that evil streak. Always had their one or two flaws for which they were here for. But that never added up to what I had. My evil was always greater. No evil has ever conquered me. Until now.
This thing, which I cannot call human but would be classed as one in any other way, had no streak of evil. The sheer amalgamation of so much evil into one concentrated being was too much. Even for me.
I, the bringer of darkness. I, the striker of fear into all could not bring down this thing.
I had rained all I could muster upon this being. But like an umbrella under a waterfall it deflected everything. Nothing could even force a stutter or slight twitch.
I was broken before it had even moved. I was expended before one breath had been taken.
And then it did move. Slowly. Steadily. Towards my broken body.
The deal I had always brokered without batting an eyelid because of the consummate ease I could wipe the floor with any challenger, had backfired. I owed it my soul.
And it took it.
Reaching down, its hand opened like the claw of an eagle readying for its prey. It thrust into my chest in a ghostly fashion, as if passing through me. Then I felt it. The hand clenched tight and ripped my soul from my almost lifeless body and an emptiness ensued. I no longer felt the power I once had. I no longer felt the person I was. I no longer felt anything.
Soulless I lay there as the being turned away and punched the soul bearing claw in the air as a sign of victory. There was no crowd, but it felt like the Colosseum of Rome and I was defeated.
My own son had defeated me. He had defeated me and now only God, my brother, stood in his path for whatever pain he had planned.
And what he had planned was something I could never had dreamed of doing in a long while. In my thousands of years as the king of the underworld I had fallen into the self glorifying challenges and lost sight of my original vision. This is what my son had planned. To march from the fires of Hell to the clouds of Heaven and destroy it and enslave everyone and everything.
| 2 | 0 | 220 | 69,146 |
[IP] The Dark Hedges
|
The road flows forward in the fog
as weary feet drag sole and heel
dreary young travelers tread along
with hopes for an end, and hopes for a meal.
.
Hey, ho! One foot than the other,
'til the last bend and the woods fade away;
Oh, ho! Son, cousin and brother
with knapsacks in hand and without much to say.
.
The sun nods its head as the night settles in.
The stars and the moon bright beyond the last trees.
And from the northwest, the soft promise of wind
carrying hope on the edge of the breeze.
.
Hey, ho! One foot than the other,
'til the last bend and the woods fade away;
Oh, ho! Son, cousin and brother
wane along with the sun as the sky turns to gray.
.
Ahead in the distance a shimmering sight;
Mutton and soda bread waft on the air.
The Inn and its windows are glowing with light,
and the chimney smoke plumes in sky without care.
.
Hey, ho! One foot than the other,
'til the last bend of the woods fade away;
Oh, ho! Son, cousin and brother:
a meal and drink at the end of the day.
---
EDIT: Please disregard the '.' separating stanzas. Trying to work with the limited formatting Reddit allows for.
| 1 | 0 | 7 | 47,226 |
[WP] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior
|
I struggled to pick up the heavy stone block, my feeble arms straining.
"Come on!" My master snaps.
"I'm trying, I'm sorry!" With all my strength (which isn't much) I managed to drag the block behind me.
"No no no! You can't drag it! What if it gets scratched?!" My master screeched, aghast. "If you're too weak to lift it, why don't you think of some other way to move it without damaging it?"
"Uh..." I think. And think. What could I do to move it that wouldn't damage it? "Um..."
"Oh for goodness sake!" My master stomps over with a cart. "I know you people were bred to be inferior, but who thought that making you weak *and* stupid was a good idea?!" I consider the question carefully.
"I don't know."
"THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!" My master lifts the block easily onto the cart. "There, I've done the hard part for you. Now pull it!" I walk to the cart, grasp the handle and strain. It's easier than lifting it, but still difficult. I trudge along at a snails pace. My master sighs, pushes me out of the way and pulls the cart after him, much faster than I could ever manage. I follow, and eventually we reach the building site. My master points.
"There. Go fetch that cement." I go to fetch the cement. The bucket is heavy, but not as heavy as the stone block. I stagger back to my master, slopping cement over the sides of the bucket.
"Now tip the block onto the floor," he instructs me. I heave and heave, but nothing seems to happen. After several minutes my master sighs and comes to help me.
"I'm doing more work than you are!" He comments, tipping the block gently onto the floor. "Now here you go, this should be easy enough for you." He hands me a metal tool of some sort and I look blankly at him.
"Uhh..."
"You spread the cement on the block, you fool! Like this!" He rips the tool out of my hand and spreads cement on top of the block. "Now go fetch that other block and put it on top of this one! Actually, never mind, you stay here! I'll get it!" I sit down on the block. It looks like a comfortable seat.
However when my master comes back with the second block, he completely loses it.
"Get off! GET OFF! What do you think you're doing?!" I stand up, my trousers tearing as they stick to the cement. My master covers his face with his hands in despair.
"Just... just come over here." I begin to walk to him but trip. Agonising pain shoots through the arm I had thrust in front of me to protect myself.
"Get up! What's the matter with you?"
"I think my arm is broken." I can see my master is about to explode, but then, inexplicably, he calms down.
"They really *did* make you people inferior didn't they?"
"I think so. What does inferior mean?"
"Look. I'm setting you free. I don't know who thought it'd be a good idea to have people like you as slaves! You're too weak for physical labour, too stupid to solve problems, and too fragile to do anything much at all!" He says, ignoring my question.
"Free? You mean... I can go?" I ask hopefully, cradling my arm.
"Yes! You're more trouble than you're worth! Get out! You're useless to me."
"Well... thank you very much!" I say, and offer him my hand to shake. His face turns an even darker shade of red.
"I said GET OUT!"
"Uh... yes sir... bye!" I stammer, and run off into the distance.
| 34 | 0 | 583 | 97,101 |
[WP] You and your 15 best men construct a longboat, and sail west.
|
It took us many weeks of hard labor, long hours and intense planning to surmount the formidable task before us. Myself and fifteen of the bravest and best men I'd ever known came together and forged ahead into a new world.
The idea had been novel at first. Get together, drink, party and build shit. One of the guys had the bright idea that we should build a boat and sail it west! We all agreed with him and began our work.
After a couple days of drinking, planning and work we all finally hit a wall and decided it was time for sleep. After the hangovers wore off we came back to the workshop to find a monstrosity being built by our own hands!
The behemoth before us barely had a finished skeletal structure and was at least twenty feet tall, fifty feet long. The design was inspired by a mad rabbit on LSD, but it looked sound. After much debate we agreed that it should be finished and resumed our work.
After more than a year the best was completed and we towed her out of the workshop into daylight. With a bottle of champagne and plenty of testosterone we christened her and boarded for her maiden voyage. Checking everything one last time, making sure there was plenty of alcohol and food I stepped into the wheel house and donned my captains hat.
I gave the order, and with a mighty roar the engines came to life shaking the ship slightly. I smiled and the men cheered. We headed west as fast as possible, facing every challenge, overcoming every obstacle, defeating every foe... But since there's no way to sail west from Texas we basically just went to the liquor store riding in the boat while my wife drove the truck
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 208,632 |
[WP] A suicidal man discovers he is Immortal.
|
He sat silent on the kitchen floor, his back pushed up against the cabinets that lined the walls. He was tired; of life, of trying, of everything. With a few strokes and scribbles, he finished what would be his note: the only proof of existence he had left to offer an world, ignorant of his existence. He let the pen and paper clutter to the ground and, with a sullen enthusiasm, grabbed the kitchen knife that he had prepared prior.
Like a child first learning to swim, He made his first incision; a small one going up his arm, from his wrist. He snickered at the representation of those who were suicidal on television who would cut horizontally. Amateurs. With the first trickle of blood, he stamped his final testament. His death was going to be perfect.
He had it all planned out. His note, his will, his...death, everything. He would slash his wrists and die, soaking in his own blood, waiting for the mailman or the landlord to discover the scent and investigate. Not a pleasant way to go out, but at this point, pleasant didn't matter.
He slowly made a second incision on his arm, this time larger. Building up momentum, he made another, and another, and another, being sure to alternate arms, before he lost all the strength in his arms. The knife clattered to the floor next to his bloodied jeans as he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.
But the inevitable never came.
He sat there, eyes closed, but, like an insomniac, could not rest. He opened his eyes to realize what he had could not whilst in the heat of the moment. The cuts were real, and the blood was gushing, yet the pain was nowhere to be found. He had gotten paper cuts before that hurt more than these lacerations.
Angered, with this last ounce of remaining strength, he snatched his bloodied knife off of the cold, stained kitchen floor and slit his own throat. Still no pain. He plunged this salvation into his gut, but still received no pain. Angered at the world's mockery of his will, he stabbed and sliced himself. He mutilated himself, tore out his organs, and did everything he could with that dulled kitchen knife to bring himself to cessation, but nothing he did could inflict a fatal wound. Anything and everything he did was futile.
He had failed.
Just like everything else he attempted in his wretched life, he had failed.
| 1 | 0 | 38 | 46,236 |
[WP] You get one random power from this generator. Talk about your day
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That woman doesn't know how close she came to death. If it wasn't for that man stopping her to return her lost purse she would be lying dead on the floor, having been shot by the mugger who would later kill her for not giving up her money. I had been following this woman for around 8 hours now, just seeing what she was getting up to on this ordinary Saturday. So far she has almost died 52 times, almost won the lottery 7 times and almost met a possible future husband 111 times. I was of course writing all of these statistics down for if one does decide to follow someone around and not document their movements for science it becomes somewhat creepy. My ability let me perceive all possible versions of reality in one fluid vision and yet I am always surprised when the more interesting things such as discovering a long lost brother actually take place as they seem so rare. You would think that my power would help see the world as a more magical place but when you see 100 different versions of the world where the same thing happens and then 1 where one person just so happens to get lucky it shows you how boring the world really is. I continue my observations, noting how the woman could have won the lottery if she hadn't put her remaining change in the tip jar at the coffee place where several potential husbands were. The woman remains poor, single and alive along with the dozens of other versions of her that made similar decisions. When I discovered I could do things I could do I swore two things: I would never interfere with someone else's life and I would never look into my own possible realities. At times like this I think of breaking the first one. I get up from the bench I had been sitting on for the past twenty minutes and dust the fallen leaves of my notebook, concluding my research. One last glance at the woman shows me a reality were she is rich and living in luxury, if only she had bought that lotto ticket
I take out the change from my pocket and move it around in my palm contemplating what I should do. I eventually decide that rules were made to be broken and head over to the shop where the lotto ticket is, sitting there like any other ordinary piece of paper. I let a few minutes pass. I shouldn't interfere, who knows what possible realities are spawning just because I'm contemplating doing this?
Another few minutes pass. Fuck it. I buy the ticket and head outside to see the woman sitting outside the coffee shop enjoying whatever she has in her cup, staring out onto the street. I begin to cross the road, moving towards her merely wanting to do a good deed for once instead of just watching random strangers go about their dull routines. In my determination I forget to look ahead and stumble on discarded coffee cup, falling head first into the woman's table. A loud crash follows and I open my eyes just long enough to see the lottery ticket get caught in the wind and fly away. I then see the woman looking down at me.
"Are you ok?" she asks.
"Yeah" I say "Fine" I look into her eyes and for the first time think that she is quite cute. I realise what my actions might have done to the possible future and look to see if I've made her life better or worse. Once I see her future I am shocked to see she gets married because of me...she gets married to me...
After I get up I take out my notebook and finish off my notes immediately.
Possible Deaths: 52
Possible Lottery Wins: 8
Possible Spouses Met: 117
Spouses Met: 1
My ability let me perceive all possible versions of reality in one fluid vision and yet I am always surprised when the more interesting things happen...
| 2 | 0 | 21 | 141,627 |
[WP] An immortal man is serving a life sentence. He is the only person alive from when his crime was still illegal.
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She was not what I expected. I was to interview the oldest inmate here. I figured they gave me the youngest as a joke. She looked to be in her late teens by her face. Smooth skin, not even a hint of where a wrinkle would start. Her long blonde hair pushed behind her ears made her look young. Her attentive brown eyes and ruler straight posture betrayed she was likely a babyface in her late twenties.
"Good morning, Miss Richmond," she greeted me with a slight nod. She waved an inviting hand to the open chair. "Please, have a seat."
I walked to the table. They told me she is nonviolent if not provoked. I can see why they laughed when I said I'm not afraid of a centarian. Still, she looked more like a lawyer than an inmate. One of those women who wouldn't let the orange jumpsuit bring them down. I hesitated to sit, taking her in. The number on her shirt showed 17. Oddly tight fitting, she looked like she was wearing a fashion designer's take on the prison jumpsuit. Tailored to leave little to the imagination and be horribly uncomfortable to actually wear. This penitentiary is two hundred years old on Thursday. Someone is yanking my chain.
"I am not what you expected, I presume." She is still watching me. I was expecting that. She is a little too intent on my eyes.
"Your outfit is not regulation." I took the seat.
"Sewing my own outfit was a reward your uncle gave me."
I gave a smirk. "I don't have an uncle." My only aunt is still unmarried. Someone didn't do their research.
Her look darkened. "I was told you were Jane Richmond, daughter of Thomas Richmond, son of Samuel Richmond, son of James Richmond, son of Forrest Richmond."
"Yes," I answered, annoyed that someone saw fit to share my family tree. "And my father was an only-"
"Forrest Richmond had two brothers. Major John Richmond who died in the war, and Warden Eric Richmond, who held that post at this facility for twenty two years. Your uncle. The best warden we ever had." She smiled and looked away. "Well, at least the best warden I have had."
"So, you've been here since my great great uncle was warden, over seventy years ago?"
"I was the seventeenth inmate here. First group, we were processed alphabetically. I should have told them my last name was Aardvark."
"What did you do to earn two hundred years in a penitentiary?"
"Several things. Mostly freeing slaves."
"Slavery has been illegal since the civil war."
"Not in here."
"But didn't the President pardon everyone associated with the underground railroad?"
"Not exactly. When they couldn't hang me they charged me with witchcraft and satanism."
"Are you a satanic witch?"
"They have not trusted my with a broom for eighty years. Wizard of Oz got me out of sweeping duty. I have no intention of shattering that belief. Let them call me a witch."
"But witchcraft is legal too. Freedom of religion. That's first amendment protected."
"I am serving my fifth life sentence for the lives I took through witchcraft. Whenever someone tries to kill me the closest fetus dies in my stead. All of my executions featured a miscarriage." She went quiet and looked down to her hands, fidgitting with a ring on her left ring finger. Odd she has a ring when I had to leave my jewelry behind to come into the prison.
"Is that another perk my uncle gave you?" I asked, looking at the ring.
She laughed. "No. My refusal to hand over contraband is the reason the parole board has declined to process me. My 'unrepentant behavior' as they put it."
| 2 | 0 | 325 | 40,903 |
[WP] You are living in the lap of absolute luxury. Every need or want you could ever conceive of is immediately met, but you can't leave. Explain a day in the life in your "golden cage", explain how or why you got there, and why (if you do) want to escape.
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Elizabeth looked out of the gilded window at the ruined horizons just outside the Luxi-4 building. All human life around the apartments was a despicable mass of poverty, of which mother insisted was nothing to be concerned about. The residents of the grand apartment building were apart of the ruling business oligarchy that ruled over the ruined city. Turning back toward the marble floored bathroom chamber, Elizabeth took off her clothing and got into the hot water of the tub as her servants in white silk robes attended to her every need. In some other time this might have been considered a true blessing, and indeed it was far better than living outside the building in the toxic gas filled ghettos of the city. "There is something missing in my life. Some sensation that I've never truly felt before." Elizabeth thought to herself as she sunk deeper under the lavender scented suds. After living in Luxi-4 her whole life she had quickly grown tired of the priceless champagne, the dinner parties with the housing commission, and the relaxing drugs that were taken far too frequently. In her heart she was perpetually bored to the point of tears. No sensation besides pleasure was ever afforded to her. After years of internal debate, she would take the plunge tonight. At midnight she would escape out into the streets. Free from the golden, hellish cage.
| 4 | 0 | 9 | 149,226 |
[WP] Humanity enters the galactic stage, and is set apart from the other sentient species by the last thing you'd expect.
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It all started with aSSiMMilation, the conversion of the history, culture and perspective of a new galactic race into a static wave of consciousness, parsable and queriable by at least a majority of the others. Mankind's aSSiMMilation was originally scheduled for about 600 years after their first trip to Alpha Centauri, though relativistically no one was quite sure how that worked, least of all mankind.
The original event was however cancelled, the Curator in charge of aSSiMMilation asked for more time. Instead of redoubling his efforts, the Curator left the Archive and spent considerable time meeting with each of the seven most influential species of galactic society. Each represented the pinnacle of achievement in a sphere - exploration, biotechnology, quantum physics, ethics, antiethics, information harvesting and philosophy. These races had considerable synergies, associations and a long history of working together for mutual benefit. They were the glue that held galactic society together and it's de-facto leadership council, though this was never formalized. Not all their relationships were cordial, but they always came together in an emergency, which the Curator was telling them it was.
After long deliberation, about 150 human years, an intergalactic force was sent to invade the solar system and dismantle any power human beings had. Human outrage was total and the nuclear war that ensued killed 7 out of 10 human beings, the rest dying slowly or destitute. Centuries after the carnage, the interstellar ship of mankind built ventured back to the solar system. When the captain realized what had happened and how hopeless their situation was, he wisely surrendered to the intergalactic council.
The crew were held, under confinement, they were refused an audience with anyone of authority for 50 years. Without cryosleep, ageing took it's toll and the crew died one by one. Only Omega-2 was left alive, the last of the crew.
Prisoner Omega-2 was five when he was first captured. Now an old man, he lacked a formal education and knew no world beyond his cell. He cried often and slept a lot. No attempt was made to remedy his immunochemistry or pathology and at 55 he was dying of uncontrolled tuberculosis. The Curator stopped by the cell to watch this wretch, accompanied by a fawning assistant. It was very unusual for the Curator to do this, but no one questioned him, most beings never having grasped the importance of what it(they) did.
"They're not so terrible. Quite pathetic eh, Curator-Rex" Sel ventured, looking at the last human.
The Curator's sentient core buzzed in response "They were an eminent threat to us all. They just didn't know it. Hidden in their aSSiMMilate was evidence they had exceeded the seven prime races in each of their prime competencies. Imagine that, just one species. It's curious, their internal strife enhanced their faculties considerably, but it also kept the best of them from influencing their destiny as a species. This was their only weakness and I wanted to make sure we took advantage of it before they had their chance. If they had watched and learned from us, this could well be the one Master Species to rule us all."
Sel scoffed and aimed a psychokinetic punch at the human's knee. Sel's own physiology would lead to believe that a human's seat of sentience were the bulbous protuberances on it's legs. The human winced, grabbed it's knee in pain and turned away, wheezing with the effort. The Curator was already on his way out of the holding area, feeling quite relieved. Surely his effort would be recognized for eons to come.
| 3 | 0 | 14 | 126,447 |
[WP] You are the last human being on earth, and have only a few days left before the plague kills you too. You decide to write a book for whatever intelligent species may discover Earth next so they can get an idea of what life was like. Write the first page.
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It has come down to this. Before it all began, humanity believed it could survive. There were times we thought we had the cure, times when we thought we would break through this and live on to see another day. Those times have now passed.
As I write this, I have every reason to believe I am one of the last humans alive. I haven't seen another in weeks, and we lost contact with the rest of the world more than a month ago. This book you're holding right now is everything I could think to tell you, everything you might want to know about this planet's once dominant species. I hope I have enough time left in me to get enough information down. We might have been a bothersome bunch to this planet, but we certainly believed we were interesting.
Let's start at the end, now. I sit here with a pen (more on that later) and a notebook, this notebook. As I write this, I wipe the occasional tear from my eye. I have witnessed everyone that I love die to a disease that could have been prevented long ago. I held my children's hands as they took their final breaths, my hands were shaking and tears were streaming down my face. I'm sure that I'm no different to many of the people out there who lost family; it is just a terrible thing to see your own children pass.
The disease, or virus, or whatever this thing was got set in motion long ago. We had been warned about treating animals with antibiotics. We had been warned that eventually the bacteria on this planet would adapt and gain control, but nothing was done in time.
If you only ever get to read this page, heed this one lesson – Don't fight against the bacteria, it will always win.
| 2 | 0 | 8 | 68,189 |
[WP] Someone breaks into your house and says, "You're my favorite character in the book! I can't let it end the way it did. I'm going to help you."
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Blackness, I'm seeing black right now. But I guess there is now a strange man in my house.
No, fuck, no. He isn't dangerous. But he _is_ shouting. I got so angry so fast that my brain couldn't contain the anger and it is blocking my view. That kind of anger.
Because, I mean, for one thing — he is yelling. And he just broke into my fucking house. During a very important dinner, in which my wife is trying to achieve a very important advertisement deal with the owner of a fifty-year strong dildo company.
And —shit — now the baby is crying. Fuck. Fuck. The women are screaming and this man is screaming and the baby is screaming. Just now, I realized that I am screaming, too. Jesus fuck. There's four titties in this room and the baby is _still_ crying. Somebody please get this kid a tit.
Okay, alright, so I can see the guy. He's holding nothing but he's flailing his arms around his head wildly. He's a young man, an average looking man. What the fuck? Some late millennial douchebag just barged into my house? He's so happy. He looks like a dumb dog whose dumb owner just dropped the open food bag on the floor.
What are you even saying to me, kid?
"**Ohhhhh man**," Gasping for air, and then, "Wow. You are so much better looking than I thought you'd be."
You better fuckin' watch the way you're talking to my wife, you fuckin' idiot. Get the fuck out.
"No! No, not her! You!"
He frames my body from arms distance with his hands.
"I always pictured you looking more miserable than this, man!"
What the _fuck_ are you talking about. Get the fuck out.
"I don't give a shit about her," he motions past me. "Dude, I think I have a lot to tell you about her."
What?
"What part is this? Is that the dildo lady?"
_Get the fuck out._
I push his shoulders towards the front door with all of my might.
"If that's the dildo lady, I _definitely_ have a lot to tell you!"
He sticks the toes of his boat shoes in the door.
I ought to slam them off.
I don't. Rather, I open the door wide enough to slip my body out and shut it behind me.
What the fuck are you talking about? What are you even doing?
"Oh my god," he marvels.
Calm the fuck down and explain, kid. I should be calling the fuckin' cops on your crazy ass.
He shakes his head, gradually slowing it as he makes the angles of his elbows more acute, fingers pinched and facing outward like a sprucing TV chef. "**Ohhhhh**kay," He exhales excitedly. "It's just, you're my favorite character. I just, I really feel for you. I can relate to you. And, oh man this is crazy. Wow. Ahh, I know how it's gonna end,"
He locks eyes with me.
"And I just don't want that to happen to you." He shrugs, "That's all." And his hands are at his side in a natural position, for the first time since this complete and total fucking whack job made his way into my home.
My right hand has made it to my temple, trying to work my fingers through my thick-with-anger skull, trying to understand what in the fuck this guy is saying to me. He knows how it's going to end.
From inside, the sound of a screaming infant drift through the sturdy, old wood of my home.
I look up at him, my jaw still flacid with shock. Our eyes meet.
What _the. Fuck._ could you possibly know about me?
His face cracks into a wild smile. His brow has started to sweat. Now that I'm really looking at him, I realize that he is shaking slightly.
Christ, kid. I don't even have a Facebook page.
"I know," He breathes excitedly.
Deadpan stare is all I can give him. I don't even have anything to say.
"Well," His voice cracks. "What do you want to know?"
My brain flips inside out for a second. All of the pages I had previously ripped out, pissed on, scribbled out, or otherwise turned of the book of my life were suddenly licking into flashes of vibrant bursts, manifesting themselves like a colorful, angry, slightly disturbing children's pop-up book.
My throat is making this weird "Ehhh, eiiiuhhhh" sound as I struggle to form a word.
The Misses. Her business trips. Her sudden raise. The purses, the shoes, the outfits. Oh, god, the boob job. Her advertisement company's sudden affiliation with porn. Another fucking boob job.
_SSSSSssssiiiiiighhhhhhh._
He's still looking at me like I'm the fucking Easter Bunny.
And then the pregnancy. My twin brother's random interest in being an uncle. His wristwatch under my bed. I'm angry all over again.
"Can I tell you something?" He asks.
All I can do is nod.
"She wants a divorce."
His eyes are wide and his pupils are honed on mine, like a cat chasing a red dot.
"And the judge will give her half of everything," He starts to talk fast, "And you'll have to pay child support on that baby," Faster now, "Andyouaren'teventhefather," Huff, huff, "Andyouseeherinherpornosandyouthinkit'sthoseguys," Huffhuff huff, "Andthepaternitytestwillsayyou'rethefather," Hufffffhuffhuff huff huff.
What the _fuck_.
He suspends his hands in mid-air, palms facing me. "But you're _not_. It's your brother's kid. And you can't even prove it. And your life is so _fucked_." He guffaws a little.
My life is so fucked. Holy shit. My life is so fucked.
"I _know_!" He croaks.
I look at him.
How do you know this?
"Like I said, man, you're my favorite character."
Why is this happening?
"Because you're a miserable, self-absorbed prick, dude. You're so in your own head that you forget to notice things."
I can't open my eyelids wide enough.
_What._
"But it's okay!" He exclaims. "Because the whole theme is —"
That's enough, man. That's enough. Get the fuck off my porch. Don't fucking come back.
"Alright! Okay!" He shakes my hand, too firm to prevent me from slipping away. "Pleasure to meet you, dude. Watch out for _her_." Motioning to the bay window where my faux-busty wife is resting the apparent-illegitimate baby on her silicone shelving, watching us with an appalled look on her face.
Alright.
He turns and walks off the porch, making his way down the dirt trail. His head turns to me again.
"Hey, good job on the garden by the way. I know she didn't like it, but it looks better than she described it when she was yelling at you."
And he starts to fade away towards the gate.
Hey.
He looks at me, cocks his head.
Thanks.
Nods, and he is gone.
| 1 | 0 | 234 | 33,993 |
[WP] "It's not like that!" I objected.
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"It's not like that!" I objected.
"Overruled," said the Judge, staring down at me from the umpire's chair with the fury of an arrogant god. In a big white wig.
"WhaWhy?" I said, though the Judge had already begun his response.
"You are being vague. And argumentative and unhelpful," he said, and sniffed loudly before motioning the Prosecution to continue with a regal wave of his hand.
"If you would let me finish," began the Prosecution slowly, over-enunciating each word as if he were chewing a bony piece of fish. "Dear members of the court, I can sum up this case for you neatly and tidily, in just three sentences. I'll even put a little bow on top." He smiled a wry smile and looked down his nose at me. I could see the hair in his nostrils swaying in the slight breeze that blew through the tennis courthouse.
"The girl insisted earlier that she isn't it. Or at least not the it that concerns us. Moreover, she objected (just now dear gentlefolk of the jury, did you see?) that *it's not like that*."
The Prosecution had a habit of putting a dramatic hand to the side of his face, as though he were whispering a secret to the jury, though he spoke just as loudly if not louder when he did this.
"And so I put it to you, gentlefolk of the jury (or it may be better said I place it, gently, tenderly, as if it were a new-born babe), I put it to you that we have heard from the accused's very mouth that she is, if not it, then that, and if not that, then it! Now that should be clear enough, but she certainly isn't clear (did you see, dear jury, the judge accused her of being vague!), so it should be clear that she cannot be that! And if she is not that, she is not like that (that should be clear, you see?), therefore she is not that, but it!"
He said all this with a flourish, and spun round to point at me at his final words with such great panache that his coat tails flew out behind him. The jury were murmuring quietly to each other in tones of agreement. They seemed to enjoy the show.
The Prosecution adjusted his glasses and then spoke so fast I felt the words whooshing past my ear: "As she is her own defence, she is her own attack and we cannot even trust that she is not like that." He paused. "Or should I say that *it* is not like that?"
The Judge laughed heartily at that, his exhalations resounding through the open air, and he yelled into the sky happily as he brought his gavel crashing down onto the desk. "That's it!" he chuckled. "That's it."
"Oh dear, this can't be good," I said quietly to myself. I had no wish to be misinterpreted again.
| 2 | 0 | 0 | 122,263 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
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See, when powers came, people were delighted. It was like a kids dream come true – well, ignoring all the murder of course.
When you were born, you would be given a number – that is, if you had powers. Most didn't – only a hundred million did. Still, one seventieth of the world is a lot.
Lots of people who had minor powers. The best power I saw in the ten million up category was someone who could transfer data through his fingers, like a human memory stick. Incredibly useful, though uploading data to his computer was hard if he got distracted – he was in my university class when instead of showing the presentation he'd taken, his thoughts of banging the hot girl were projected for the whole class to see, then his idea of running away, theyou get the idea. Could be useful or disastrous, but it was the best I'd seen.
No, what was important here was the fact that when I was born, I was, what, two hundred thousand? That meant I was in the top one percent! My parents were delighted, if worried – what if someone came to kill me and steal my rank? Soon after, they abandoned me in an orphanage, where I was avoided like the plague and barely looked after. I often had to steal food from the kitchens. Of course no one saw me, but we'll get to that later.
At school, I wasn't popular or known. I was quiet, kept to myself. Did my work, did reasonably well and was let out with good enough grades to go to a decent university, and soon afterwards I got a job with a half decent wage. I never got in trouble at my job – even when I arrived late. They never noticed anything I did.
Anyway, leaving out the details of my very boring office life, I decided to take a "do it yourself test!" for ranking one day. I'd risen around a hundred thousand places – brilliant, but pointless in the grand scheme of things. Only the top five hundred or so were really well known – godlike beings with powers ranging from control of matter, telepathy, teleportation, the ability to control time… so on. Fun stuff. The stuff that you hear about in greek mythology.
But it wasn't until I got lost in the woods one day, and came across the number one ranked person in the world. He didn't realize I was there – he was dying. I don't know how it happened, just that his throat was slit with a puddle of blood forming around him.
And well, when that opportunity presents itself, you take a hold of it, right? I grabbed the nearest rock, and ended his suffering. Crack. I was still lost though. I get lost often, to be honest. Nobody looks for me though.
Anyway. I had one of those tests left to me – and if what people said was right was, indeed, true, then I should be number one.
The test agreed with said people. Number one – I couldn't help but stare at in disbelief for a few moments. And then I wandered off further into the forest, dropping the test somewhere, and managed to learn to survive and build a small cabin for myself.
And that was it – I saw the news every so often from a radio that ran off of solar power which I stole from some hikers. They did find the number one, but never figured out who finished him off – the teleporter who'd left him there had confessed but said he hadn't taken their rank, he wasn't arrested. Conspiracy theorists went wild – what if the number one couldn't die? Scientists were baffled – was the theory wrong?
Well, they did try and find a new number one – to see who'd finished him off. They found nobody, nothing, not a trace. That was when I figured out what my power was.
My power was that I was the loneliest man on earth. Nobody could ever find me unless I found them. Nobody would think about me unless it was something related to me.
I was alone, and always would be, until one day the new rank one is born – on the day I die.
| 1 | 0 | 2,225 | 173,879 |
[WP] You are a pet (goldfish, cat, dog, cow, etc.) What's the gossip of the local pet owners around town?
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I just hung there. Don't know what else to do. The telling and the things being thrown around the house made me so nervous. The male's song made no sense. How is a bellowing song supposed to attract that mate.
Maybe I'll try it. "Fucking whore!" Hmm, sees weird. I think he needs to try a different approach.
He had more success with the mating songs he use to use. When the female first brought him over and I met him his songs were more wooing. I don't remember the way it sounded though. His only sings I remember are the angry ones. I don't like them.
The female had the good songs. "Peekaboo!" Maybe she would play that game with me. She's not gonna mate, the male is doing it wrong. Since he failed, we should just play. I'm sure there's time on her brooding cycle. "Peekaboo!" Why are you ignoring me?
The male is getting worse. He's destroying her nest. She's screeching to deter the male. "Get out!" I'll help her out. "Get out!" Its not working. I want out of this cage. If I were out I could help her defend the nest. I'm trying to find a way out. I keep checking every inch of the cage. No way out.
Wait! I see a glimmer. Its one of those blue humans with all those big shinies. The shiny on his torso. The ones on his hip. He's giving it to the male! You're not supposed to give a shiny to the male! The human put a shiny on the end of each wingless arm. Apparently the male is going with the blue human. Weird human mating rituals.
At least the nest is safe. The females takes me out of the cage. Her eyes are wet and the ends of her beak are doing that turned up thing. She takes out a handkerchief and throws it over me. When she takes it off me we sing together. "Peekaboo!"
| 3 | 0 | 4 | 227,976 |
[WP] [CW] Take a well known fairy tale and re-write it from the opposing viewpoint.
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The rain lashes down in great sheets around me.
Oppressive, heavy darkness parts with a flash of light and with a roar of thunder that shakes the sliding mud under my bare feet I see the stark, skeletal outlines of limbs clawing for the heavens.
Another flash of lightning and the stench of ozone show them to be the limbs of winter trees, bare of buds or leaves.
I'm wearing a linen shift and a woollen shawl is pulled about my shoulders. My teeth rattle together like the runestones in a soothsayer's hands and my body is wracked with a palsy of shivers.
If I do not find shelter, I am going to die.
Stumbling blindly, I try to orient myself through the flashes of purple-tinted lightning. Some part of me seems to sense that this is no natural storm - and certainly not the likes of any storm I have ever seen before.
As I stumble and shiver my way along the goat track through the forest, a curious thought comes to me;
Who am I?
The fingers of my mind slip through cobweb thoughts, all sense of self shredding like gossamer fibres, spinning away, out of reach.
*Amnesia*, I remember - the condition where one cannot recall who one is.
Through my chattering teeth I give a tiny, edge-of-sanity giggle at the irony of remembering the name of such a condition while under its effects.
I do not know how long I have stumbled, slithered and fallen along the path - it feels like hours, but it could be minutes. The lightning has grown more infrequent now and the sheeting rain has turned to hail. I hold the sodden shawl over my head to protect myself, but it is a token gesture. The chips of ice pummel my tender arms and I cry out in pain.
In the distance, through the spindly fingers of the trees, I suddenly see the flicker of lamp-light!
With the last spurts of my waning energy I scramble up a slope, pulling myself along with gnarled tree-roots and turfs of tough grass that rip at the soft flesh of my hands.
The lightning flashes and crashes again, revealing the hard stone outlines of a castle; blacker against the black night with one ember of orange glowing in a tower window.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
I stumble and cry out.
The castle is so close now, but my limbs tremble and quake with fatigue.
Then a postern gate is before me and I sag against it, partially sheltered from the raging storm.
My bruised, bloody and mud splattered knuckles rap against the door with the fragmented tatters of my strength, then darkness claims me.
"She said something before she fainted," rumbles a strong, authoritative voice, almost as deep as the continuous rumble of the thunder still shaking the stones of the castle.
"We can talk about that later," this voice was feminine, gentle, motherly, "let her warm herself first, then we can ask her."
Blankets swaddle me like an infant and I crack my eyes open to the ruddy glare of an open fire; stoked high so that the heat washes over my exposed face like the lash of midday sunlight, almost blisteringly strong.
A cup carried by kind hands is placed to my lips and I drink hot, sweet tea, my belly growing warmer and that heat spreading throughout my body.
I can feel my head beginning to nod like an overburdened dandelion and I let it.
Something escapes my lips as my consciousness fades:
"I *am* a real princess."
I am awake again; The blankets are hot around me now and I feel the sheen of sweat on my forehead.
My heavy lids obey my command to open and the fire swims into focus; banked now and a wrought-iron grille protecting me from the open heat.
The room is some kind of richly appointed study, full of books and expensive carpets, gilded chairs and silver candle stands. The kind of room that belongs to a king or a prince.
I can hear voices through the panelled oaken door - raised in argument but unintelligible.
The door opens suddenly and an older - but still beautiful - woman sweeps into the room, her dress and bearing that of royalty.
"Come this way my dear, it is time for you to go to a proper bed now."
The corridors blur as she hurries me along; my blankets are still heavy about me and I'm naked underneath. The dizzying corridors suddenly stop and we are inside an opulent bedroom.
"Climb up, dear. You will sleep all the better for the mattresses."
Stacked on a carved mahogany bedstead are some twenty mattresses with a ladder leaning against them.
I'm too tired to complain; I'm just grateful that these strange, royal people are willing to look after me - their bizarre idiosyncrasies can wait until morning.
Nightmares plague me and I feel like I'm perched on a tower of rocks. I squirm to get comfortable but nothing seems to work. Eventually I end up squashed against the wall, on the very far edge of the mattresses.
Birdsong greets me as I wake; the storm has broken.
The terrible heaviness of a horrendously broken sleep washes over me and I climb down the ladder like a cripple, my body feeling abused and battered; as though I've rolled along a riverbed through great rapids.
The royal lady is there, waiting.
"How did you sleep, dear?" she warbles, her eyes bright.
"Terribly," I confess, "I fear you may think I'm ungrateful, but the bed felt as though it was filled with huge riverstones that punished my flesh all night."
Her reaction is surprising; her lined but handsome face splits into a beatific smile;
"It is true! You *are* a real princess!"
--------
The prince and I were married soon after. I still do not know who I am, other than a princess, living in a strange castle, married to a strange man I know nothing about.
Yet I have nothing else; without my memory, I am doomed to live here forever, at the mercy of these strangers who only accept me on the basis of three little peas under twenty thick mattresses.
They are clearly mad, but I fear leaving the castle.
Perhaps it would have been better if I'd died in the storm.
| 1 | 0 | 19 | 212,298 |
[ WP ] Your son hates you. Today, he's going to meet his only friend in person for the first time...... His only friend is a fake identity you created online.
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I see him walking into the Burger King. As he scans the restaurant he sees me and comes over.
"Dad? What are you doing here?"
"Eating a hell of a whopper." I said trying to hold back my grin as the anticipation grew.
"Well I'm here to meet astro_boy87 for the first time, so later."
I couldn't hold it in any longer, he was just going to love this when he found out, so I blurted it out "April Fools! I was your only friend all along! I'm astro_boy87. You don't really have any friends now, it's just me, your dad."
However instead of the look of shocked awe at a prank well played (it was two years and a half years in the making after all) all I saw was despair.
"Michael? What's wrong?" I said trying desperately to understand why he wasn't finding this as funny as I did. I mean it really was a killer prank. All the preparation that went into it, talking him into dumping his girlfriend, slowly weeding off his friends one by one, being the only one there for him. Through the trust of anonymity online he told me all his secrets, he confided in me, and I helped use that to make the prank all the more beautiful. *I* convinced him Justin Bieber was cool, *I* talked him into cutting his hair like that, *I* was the one pumped his ego up so much no one could stand to be around him. I just didn't understand why he wasn't laughing with me.
"S--ss--see Dad!!!" He managed to spurt out inbetween tears as his face choked up, the words barely struggling out, but with such intensity I couldn't fathom "See DAD! THIS! THis is why I **hate** *you*!" as he ran out the restaurant sobbing.
Oh well, wait till he sees what his mom has planned when he gets home. Maybe that'll cheer him up.
| 12 | 0 | 370 | 57,346 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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"I don't go to Starbucks."
"Why?"
"Starbucks is to Coffee what McDonalds is to Hamburgers."
"Come on dude, it's not that bad, stop being such a hipster coffee fuck. We're not at home and unless you want to actually go to a McDonalds I don't think we're going to get coffee anywhere around here."
"Fine, but I reserve the right to critique every bitter note like the hipster snob I am."
Pennsyltucky was especially nasty this time of year. Snow fell continuously, the ground looked like it was covered sooty Italian Ice. Every step outside meant the extrusion of filthy ice pancakes from underfoot.
Approaching the door, his friend lead the way. He held the door open for him, and waited as an old man shuffled through before entering himself.
The doe eyed redhead from behind the counter gave the faintest giggle before blushing, eyes darting back down to the register below.
They approached the counter.
"Hello, Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
"Uh, hello. I would like a medium cup please."
"Ok, will that be all for you today?"
"Yes." He said, standing awkwardly for a moment. He continued: "Why were you laughing at us a moment ago?"
"Oh." She said, blushing. "You all outed yourselves as southerners, it always makes me smile to see people holding the door for each other. People here just look at you like you are stupid."
He smiled, suddenly remembering those words from all those years before. At the age of 32, his memories of that day were crystal, but distant.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" he mumbled it aloud.
He turned towards her. Her face was changed, her eyes swollen with tears. She spoke, tears streaming down her face:
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order."
| 3 | 0 | 2,003 | 173,368 |
[WP] You and your best friend have just time traveled in your (modern) car back to 1915, with only the clothes on your backs and whatever's in your wallet. Where do you go, and what do you do?
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I look over at Paul. Our eyes bulge out, as we realize the sharply dressed salesman was right.
"This car? This car doesn't just take you places in style my dear boys. It takes you there in time."
I can't catch my breath and I feel panic setting in. My mind flits back to how we happened upon the salesman on Craigslist of all places. Paul and I needed a ride, but even pooling our money together we only had $400. After weeks of looking, we saw the ad that was too good to be true. "2006 Honda Civic, 10,000 miles, $500 OBO." Too good. But after so much failure, we thought it couldn't hurt just to check it out.
The guy introduced himself as a salesman of exotic goods. He fed us line after line of used car salesman garbage involving little old ladies and every other Sunday. When pressed, he said there was a matter of recompense we could negotiate down the road, but $400 up front would be fine. Paul was all for it, but that bit about paying later made me nervous. But then he said, "This car? This car doesn't just take you places in style my dear boys. It takes you there in time."
With that, I was sold. We got into the car and started to drive off. And now? My chest burns. My body is numb it is so cold. Nothing but pinpricks of white on a sheet of black outside the windshield. Oh GOD! IN TIME! IN TIME! WE DIDN'T MOVE BUT EARTH-
"Why hello." I don't hear the salesman's voice, I can't hear anything. I feel it. "So about that price..."
---
Criticism welcome. And I feel like I get the idea across, but the premise is one of my favorite to do with time travel. If you WERE to go back in time, who is to say it would be relative to your current position on Earth? Maybe it would be relative to the sun, where then the earth could be on the far side of its orbit. Or maybe relative to the galaxy center, where then even the Sun would be far, far away.
| 1 | 0 | 2 | 80,963 |
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know.
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There is a low dull pounding in my brain. There is a low dull pounding in my brain. There is a low dull pounding in my brain –
Everyone else knows, but no one will tell me anything. People on the street, dead faces, quiet hands, say nothing to me. Police cars whoosh by, blaring sirens, Kodachrome lights -- nothing. Empty noise. The men at the soup kitchen, with their gray ear hair and their purpling veins, the knobbly-kneed kids on the playground, the three-piece corporate types with their slick hair and their buttoned-up minds – they carry secrets in black leather briefcases – everyone knows, but no one will tell me anything. The young lady at the grocery store, with her piteous pauses and her insidious banalities, looks at me with sad eyes, dead eyes, empty eyes, like a promise, like a quiet rain-swept night, but says nothing -- keeps her secrets to herself -- offers me my silver change and nothing but her silences.
There is a low dull pounding in my brain. A man is walking down the street from me on a direct collision court, cursing, mumbling, thoughts in his head all poisonous, and saccharine-sweet. Like me, he wears a battered trench coat; like me, his boots are too big for his feet, scuffed and raggedy; like me, he is a stranger, like me he does not exist. He is walking down the sidewalk – there is a low dull pounding in my brain – I see him, I step to the side, he steps to the same side, and crosses in pair when I do the same. We stop the feet apart and look at each other. He recognizes me – he recognizes me! – and then abruptly darts about, and then scurries down an alleyway. By the time I regain my minimal composure, he is gone, but I know, I know, I know, I know, I know what I know, and the strange synchronous man saw me, he recognized me, and then he was gone, but I know what I know. He saw me. He knows. He knows.
Everyone else knows, but not one will tell me anything. There is a low dull pounding in my brain.
| 1 | 0 | 163 | 47,318 |
[WP] Everyone's flaws are listed in a translucent white box above their heads. One day, you meet a man whose 'box' is empty.
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The somber door opened and in walked a man, ordinary in all respects, except one. Impossible... I thought to myself. Must be one of the unlisted side effects... Lucky me to be the first bastard to suffer this new method. As I strained my head to the left , fighting the straps which held me in place, I could tell by all the confused eyes staring in disbelief through the hardened glass that I was not alone in my delusion. Just to make sure I looked to the machine which fed the poison to my arm... it read 'stage 2'. Too early for hallucinations... The guard in black stood still as the man approached, with calm, even steps. As he arrived at my side, he took a small rag from his pocket and placed it to the slate above my head. I felt a deep shame, nakedness, and humility to have someone so close to the foul sins etched upon my record. With one smooth and simple motion the man cleared the hideous disgusting marks which had built over my brutish, violent life. As the filth lifted off the record, so did the burden of each which weighed down my head. The slate was empty, just as his was. I felt calm and clear. I remember when things were good and pure. I felt... hope. The man turned and left the room in the same manner he entered, and the wide eyes of the witnesses from the other side of the glass followed him as the door closed behind him. Then there was a brief silence, and the vengeful eyes turned back to me. The last thing I remember is turning my head back to the guard just in time to see him press the button. 'Stage 3'.
*after rereading the wp i can tell i messed up the subject. my bad ("poor reading comprehension" appears in the box above my head)
| 8 | 0 | 514 | 143,657 |
[WP] The Beginning of the Blade.
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Little Erund Tarnbog turned his new iron dagger in his hands, peering along its keen cutting edge, feeling the flat of the blade in his palm. "Father," he asked, "who made the first knife?"
"Men have always carried knives," said fur-bound Durg. "The first-named man was given a knife by his father, just as I gave you yours."
"The first-named man had a father?"
"Did you think he sprang out of the rock like a moon-willow? He had a father and a mother just like you."
Durg pulled his hood low over his face, and drew his skinning-knife from its scabbard. "They were of a clan of intelligent beasts. They stood on two legs like us, but they had fur like a yak's belly all over their bodies, and on their right hands they each had a single claw as long and sharp as a sickle." He held his knife between his fingers and slashed at the air. "Now, the first-named man was born naked and without a claw of his own, but they loved him like any other cub. They gave him the skin of a bear in place of his missing fur, and forged him a knife of iron in place of his missing claw, and gave him a man's name in place of a howl, for they knew he was something special. In time he became the greatest of their clan, and he won a huge territory, and he took many beast-wives, and all of them bore him naked sons and daughters just like your mother bore you. To each of them he gave furs and a blade, having learned the secrets of skinning animals and forging iron from his own father."
He leaned close to his son. "So if you want to know who made the first blade you would better ask the beasts! Now clean your knife and put it away. It's time to sleep."
Erund took his lard-dipped rag and ran it along his blade. He worked quietly for a while, then asked: "where do they live now?"
"Who?"
"The first-named man's parents."
"Everything must pass from the world eventually, son. Our people were great hunters, but we lacked the wisdom to take only what we needed, so we stripped the mountains bare and spread to the lowlands to hunt mammoth and elk. The furred-ones could only eat the meat of the goat or the yak, so they starved. When we came back to the mountain they were gone. They are only bones in the deepest caves now."
Erund put his knife in its new leather scabbard then hung it over his chair. He wrapped himself in his grey fur and took his place by the fire. "I want to see," he said.
"Aye, someday."
| 3 | 0 | 9 | 13,242 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone knows the exact moment they will die.
|
He'd seen her before. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew that he had seen her before, but where, he could not have said. Jack's feet and legs had walked almost on their own accord over to where she was sitting, sipping her coffee, and she had looked up at him with maroon eyes, and Jack had, quite literally, melted.
"What do you do for work?" he asked her. He'd gotten her name already. Lucy. It rolled off Jack's tongue, starting in the front of his teeth and working its way to the back of his mouth.
She shrugged, sipped her coffee, still, to Jack's luck, three-fourth's full. "I work at an insurance company. Day job. Nice pay. I like it." She stopped, then quickly added, "What about you?"
Jack tried to swallow his heart that seemed to be leaping through his throat, but, sadly, failed. "Oh, I uh...I work for them."
Everybody knew who *them* was, and he saw the color drain out of her bright face. "Oh. Do you like it?"
Jack shrugged. "It's alright."
There was silence between them, both afraid of the next question they would ask each other, but knowing that it was inevitable. The single question that had been asked around the world more than any other was coming between them, and that question would either make Jack smile like a madman or weep like a child.
Luckily, Lucy asked him first. "When do you, uhm. Well. You know..."
"Die?"
She nodded, avoiding his gaze, sipping her coffee.
"Well, I'm twenty now. So, another sixty-five years to go for me." He gave a nervous giggle, but it only turned into a whimper. "I die in my sleep, luckily." He paused, afraid to ask, but knowing that it was almost impolit *not* to. "What about you?"
He saw her smile, and he knew that smile. He had seen that smile on some of his closest friends, some of his cousins and other relatives. It was a hopeless smile, lifeless. "A week," she whispered, and sipped her coffee.
Jack did not weep, but he felt his heart sink like a rock through his stomach, and for a moment he felt it stop beating, but knew that he wouldn't die today. The corporation he worked for, thankfully, assured him that.
Jack licked his lips. "It's awful. It really is."
She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Some know it too. But most...they're okay with it, because they'll live to be old. They'll live to have a family, to have kids and grandkids and retire, go to the Caribbean islands and live their old years out on a beach in peace." Jack saw the tears come down her face, and he wished that he could throw this table separating them away and hug her and tell her it would be alright. But it wouldn't be alright. Death was unavoidable. "But not me," she continued, sipping her coffee, now half-full. "I get to die when I'm nineteen. Men have avoided me all my life because they knew that I would never be able to marry or have kids or grow old together. Never got attached to me, all because of that." She looked up at him then, and he felt her gaze weigh down on him. In that moment, he knew where he'd seen her before. In his dreams. "You can do the same if you want. I don't blame you."
"I won't."
She looked at him, eyes wide, unbelieving. "You what...?"
Jack shook his head, and for some reason he couldn't contain his laughter from bursting past his lips. He didn't care how long they had together, didn't care if she would die in his arms in a week. All he wanted was to be with her. Time and death weren't going to play a factor in his life anymore.
"I won't leave. I don't want to."
She sipped her coffee, almost gone now. "Well...what do you want to do?"
He thought about it, and realized he didn't care what he did with Lucy. "Do you, uhm. Well. I don't know. How about a movie? Expendables 10 is out. I heard it's pretty good."
She smiled, not a hopeless smile any longer. "That sounds nice."
Jack and Lucy walked out of the cafe together, and, hand in hand, faced the world.
| 16 | 0 | 29 | 105,500 |
[WP] Thousands of years in the future, Archaeologists discover and begin to uncover the remains of 21st century civilizations. They find all of our photos and videos, but do not know of the existence of Photoshop or CGI. Elaborate.
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The Pixar Archives are one of the most enduring mysteries in art history. The collection is a series of comedy animations in the vein of Disney and other animation studios, but with a different, almost photorealistic art style. Owing to the level of detail in each frame (individual strands of hair are evident in some later works), such animation would be incredibly difficult to achieve with traditional animation techniques; some historians estimate it would have taken a studio ten times the size of Disney's to achieve this.
In addition, the animations lack the traditional tell-tales of hand-drawn animation, such as outlines and cell shading, and only rarely use common artistic shortcuts such as repeating backgrounds or copy-pasting.
There are many theories on how these films were produced. Stop-motion could explain the smooth, cartoonish appearance but would require inordinate amounts of modeling work. Others suggest live-action film was distorted, rotoscoped or redubbed, but this does not explain how some of the more fantastical elements were produced. The most commonly accepted hypothesis is that Pixar and other studios of the era had developed some machine designed to overlay different reels of film in a precise manner, similar to how a photographer can make composite images in his darkroom. With a combination of stock footage, stop-motion miniatures, and hand-drawn art, it would be possible to make incredibly detailed scenes. However, as with most physical artifacts of the 21st century, no such device has been discovered. Some historians have attempted modern replicas, however none have produced a convincing replica of even early movies such as Toy Story.
Questions for discussion:
1. Watch the opening sequence for Toy Story. How many different shots do you think they needed to composite it? What looks like stock footage, or stop-motion?
2. Compare and contrast a "pure photo-art" movie such as Toy Story with a "rotoscoped live action" movie such as Avatar. How can you tell when images were drawn on top of a live actor?
---
A/N: The art of making false images goes back way before computers. However, pure CGI images are still going to be a bit of a stumper!
| 7 | 0 | 17 | 201,493 |
[WP] At age 18 each person meets their soul-mate. For centuries everyone has fallen in love with theirs. You're the first person to not love yours.
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The girl had just finished the first day of her ninteenth birthday, it should have been better then it was, but days for her were never as good as they should be. Her arms were held down with bands, unable to move to relieve the itching that always arose this late at bight when she was along with her thoughts. She didn't mean to.
That morning was not like most the previous nineteen years, this one was brighter, held so much potential, the world at her hands. Why did it have to end this way?
They always say the encounter happens randomly, no one will expect it. Within the year, you will be with the one you love. So it should have been today, it was today.
She had saw him while getting her weekly rations, just like every other Monday. He was looking at a something that was unimportant to her. All she cared about from the first glance was him. He was tall, sandy blonde hair that snagged in his face, skin kissed by the sun, muscles that were clear even through his shirt, but his eyes where what she couldn't stop looking at. Eyes were said to be the window to the soul, but these were the window to her soul. She could see everything she could be I those eyes, her happiness finally within her grasp.
She began the show shuffle toward him, walking to him without intention. She had to be close to him. Her heart picked up with each step. And finally he looked up, eyes locking on hers, then they were gone. The girl's eyes widened in response. He didn't love her, he didn't feel it too. Then the love fell away, replaced by something else. The girl doesn't remember anything after that, just the bed and the feeling of guilt.
Her arms still itched. The skin scarred or puckered from years of sadness. It was now renewed. She was broken, she didn't want to be. She wanted what everyone else had, happiness. She streigned against the straps around her arm. She wanted happiness.
Then the nurse walked in the door, speaking in a soothing tone that paused when eye contact was made. The sweet voice paused, as a spark ignited. This was the love that was spoken about, the girl knew.
Then the doctor walked in the door. "Give this girl her sedotove before she kills anyone else." He commanded the nurse.
The nurse walked slow steps, wanting to draw out the moment. She wanted as much time as she could get with the girl. Tears formed in her eyes as the shot was inserted into the girl's marked arms.
The girl screamed, she wasn't sure if it was on the inside or outside. But she knew she has lost her love. Her true love. She had been so confused for all these years. As the sedative made her eyes fall closed, she felt the love fade. The happiness gone from her grasp. She was never to get the chance to love, but at least she wasn't broken.
| 1 | 0 | 1,357 | 220,630 |
[WP] We have hunted sharks to extinction. More people than ever are going to the beach but little did we know that the sharks were keeping something much worse at bay.
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Sharks are something I personally never thought about, so it amazed me how many people were happy to go to the beach once they were gone. Obviously the threat of a bloodthirsty predator lurking deep beneath the surface was too scary for some people, even though attacks were extremely rare. I say *were*, because it turns out sharks weren't the only bloodthirsty predators from the depths. In fact, compared to what's happening now, sharks were extremely benign. We only realised too late that sharks weren't just predators; they were prey.
Messing with the food chain has consequences. Scientists had considered this and decided that since sharks were (thought to be) apex predators, the effect wouldn't be too bad. How wrong they were. By killing the sharks, we starved the true apex predators in the sea, so of course they moved on to a new food source. And what better prey than the huge flocks of humans attracted to the beaches now the only danger had been removed?
It started off with a few disappearences. People would go to the beach, swim in the sea and mysteriously vanish. Since no trace of them was ever found, they were assumed to have swum out too far and drowned. These mysterious drownings grew in number, but were dismissed as being caused by the increase of people going to the beach. Until the first sighting.
The victim in this case was a young adult called Tony Harker. He had been at the beach with his younger sister, Elizabeth Harker. They had swum out to sea in pursuit of their beach ball, which was slowly drifting out to sea after a clumsy throw by Tony had completely missed Elizabeth's grasping hands. The attack had come out of nowhere, and was over within seconds, Elizabeth said. One second Tony was reaching out for the ball, the next a thick black tentacle had erupted from the sea, wrapped around him, and dragged him down to the depths. He didn't even have time to scream.
Of course people didn't believe a word of it. The child was delirious from having lost her brother and her young, overactive imagination had dreamt up the whole thing. It was only when more and more people claimed to have seen friends and relatives snatched away by black, slimy tentacles that people began to take it seriously. They sent out a research team on a small boat to try and catch sight of one of these creatures. That's where I am now.
"Right, I reckon that's far enough out," I called. The boat stopped and we lowered our bait (a life size mannequin smeared with chum) halfway into the water. It was time to try and catch one of these things, or at least see what it was.
"What a waste of time," muttered my colleague Mark. I ignored him. He didn't believe there was anything down there. I knew otherwise. I had seen one of these tentacles myself, dragging a helpless young girl to a watery grave. She had been only a few feet away from me, and it could easily have been me instead.
We sat there in silence, waiting for the thing to reveal itself. For what seemed like hours, there was nothing. Only the shrill cries of seagulls and the rythmic splashing of the waves. Mark muttered something about bullshit and I glared at him. I'd had just about enough of him.
Then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the dummy was gone. The boat rocked alarmingly from side to side and I gripped onto the railing for support. If anyone fell in the water now, they were unlikely to ever get out again. I smiled smugly at Mark.
"Bullshit, huh?" He scowled and looked away.
"I didn't see any tentacles. Could've just fallen off." I point at the chains which had supported the dummy. The end links were torn wide open.
"Does that look like it fell off?" Our argument was cut short as a black tentacle rose out of the water and hurled something onto the deck of the boat.
"Jesus!" Mark gasped as it missed him by inches. I ran over to see what had been thrown. It was the dummy, chewed up and dismembered. Uneasiness curled in my stomach. The thing could've chosen to discard the dummy once it realised it wasn't a real human. That's what most animals would've done, but instead it had deliberately thrown it at us in what appeared to be an act of aggression. Had we made it angry?
A deep booming noise rose from the sea. It was astonishingly loud, causing the crew to put their hands over their ears and look around in fear.
"We should go," I decide quickly. It isn't safe anymore. The captain of the boat switches on the engines and turns the boat to head back to shore. But before we've made any progress, a tentacle rises from the sea and smashes into the helm, breaking the wheel and snatching the captain from his seat. He screams for the brief moment before it drags him into the sea. Horrified, we are unable to do anything but watch.
"We can't steer the boat," Mark says quietly, voicing what we are all thinking. "It broke the wheel. We're stuck..." Numbly I nod, trying not to panic.
"The lifeboats," I say flatly, still unable to process what's just happened. "We can use a lifeboat."
"Don't be *stupid*! Did you see the size of that tentacle? It could probably swallow a lifeboat whole!"
"Well do you have any better ideas?" Mark goes silent. I completely agree with what he's saying. Getting in the lifeboat would be as dangerous as jumping into the sea and swimming back to shore, but it's better than staying here and being picked off one by one. Without another word, I turn and head towards the lifeboats, but I never reach them.
A tentacle erupts from the water and wraps around the end of the boat, that horrible inhuman booming growing ever louder. With immense effort, it pulls the end underwater. I grip onto the railing, terrified, trying hard not to slide down into the sea. Mark is not so lucky. He was at the wrong end of the boat, and is dragged underwater along with it. He does not resurface.
In a blind panic, I scramble upwards, dragging myself painfully slowly towards the top of the boat. More tentacles rise from the water and grip on, slowly but inevitably pulling the boat deeper underwater. I reach the top and cling on tight, a nervous giggle escaping my mouth. This is it. There's nothing more I can do. In fact, I may as well test my luck and try to swim to shore now. Heart pounding, I stand on the tip of the boat and dive into the sea.
As I enter the water, I see an enormous black mass of tentacles, razor sharp teeth and spikes, and slimy flesh. Most of the tentacles are wrapped around the wreckage of the boat, but I see some wrapped around members of the unfortunate crew. The creature obviously hasn't seen me yet so I swim away as fast as I can, not knowing if I'm heading towards shore or deeper into the sea. At this point I don't care anyway. I'd rather drown than end up as food for one of them.
Amazingly, I manage to avoid being seen by the creature. It had obviously not seen me jump in, maybe it was still searching the boat for survivors. Or maybe it had given up and returned to the deep, taking my colleagues with it. I sob, tears mixing with the sea water. If only we hadn't killed the sharks.
I continue swimming for what seems like years, beginning to believe I might survive this. I've escaped the creature that destroyed the boat. If I can just make it to shore I'll be safe, and never have to go near the sea again. But just as I see dry land, an immense booming fills my ears and I feel a slimy tentacle coil itself around my ankle. I don't even have time to scream.
| 106 | 0 | 618 | 104,202 |
[IP] Logistics
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"I don't know, man. It's about being where they least expect you to be. A man who can only dodge the tree before him ultimately crashes into the one beyond, or the one beyond it. It's the logistics of battle I'm trying to teach you. Each person in the horde becomes a new destination, and like trucking or shipping, your goal is to get to each destination without becoming blocked. You deliver your package and move on to the next before that destination disappears. You have to plot your course before you even start to move, son. You draw lines in your mind like lighting jumping from person to person, and when you move, you move like lighting. You understand?" Paul laid a hand on his son's shoulder and fixed him with an encouraging look.
"I think so. You want me to move that stack of pallets to the other side of the lot so you can back your boat in." Wesley suggested.
"You are a smart kid." Paul told him, touseling his hair.
"You're weird, dad." The boy quipped, catching the keys to the fork lift his dad tossed.
"If you need me, I'll be in the john reading The Art of War." His father told him, tucking his guns and ammo magazine under his arm.
| 3 | 0 | 5 | 48,028 |
[EU] Snape seeing Harry for the first time - however - Harry is a girl who looks like Lily but has James' eyes
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Severus looked warily and with much distaste out amongst the huddled first year students amassed inside the Great Hall. To either side of him sat numerous facultyMinerva McGonagall, the talented and stern professor of Charms; the quivering and secretive Quirrell, the lousy bastard that had stolen the DADA class from himself this year (always try for next year, he'd tell himself, choking back the tears); and numerous others.
Between the grouped children and the teacher's dining platform, a squat stool stood, almost defiantly, with a lumpy, almost displeased looking, hat resting on it's seat. *As if by magic*, the Hat introduced itself to the student's and faculty through a tedious and pathetic song and 'dance' routine. After finishing the song (which really went on much longer than the previous year, Serverus thought), the student's were called one by one to wear the Hat and become sorted into their houses.
Slytherin, the house Snape oversaw, drew many prospective students, though the ritual bored him and Severus soon drifted off into a day dream. His thoughts were yanked from his mind as the Hat shrilly called out "**HARRIET POTTER!**" Bolting upright at the name of the young girl who approached the Sorting Hat, Snape stared awkwardly at the eleven year old maiden before him. Her hair, her smile, her hands, everything about her was a perfect copy of Severus' stolen love. It took every point of willpower to simply stare at the new found object of his desire. Harriet winced as she was made the center of attention, her hand gingerly raising to the minor scar accentuating her natural beauty. Then, as she had nearly approached the Sorting Hat, she had locked eyes with Snape. As if hit by a Confundus charm, Snape sat dumbstruck and in awe of this young girl. How he wanted to scream her name, to claim her into his own house, to mentor her as his own precious student. But in his sudden lapse of perception, time passed him by, and the child was sorted into House Gryffindor.
Snape had been inconsolable for a few days. How he had felt cheated by the Sorting Hat, by the other Houses, for taking his Lily away from him. When he was beginning class for the first year Slytherin's, his grief was mollified by the knowledge that he shall also be teaching the Gryffindor first year students as well. This was good news, as he could teach Harriet with ready access to his star students, and she could learn to love... his class.
As the students were filing into class, Snape noticed the passing period's time running short. Harriet still had not arrived. Snape had done two head counts at this point, but had delayed taking the official attendence for Harriet's sake. He couldn't bare it if he was the cause of Harriet's first administrative punishment. Five minutes after class should have started, she walkedno, glidedinto the dungeon classroom.
"I'm sorry Professor Snape, I got lost and-", the young girl tried to explain, noticeably afraid of being punished.
"Please, Harriet, call me Severus," Professor Snape said, as he tried to coolly lean against his desk while brushing back his long, grease slicked hair his a pass of his hand. "While not all student's are beautiful celebrities of notability and value as you, we can afford you some privileges." Snape smiled weakly, sure he was impressing Harriet with his cool air and sexy looks.
The class, and Harriet, stared at the professor in awkward silence. Tension grew around the class, students beginning to laugh. Snape soon lost his composure, and his smile began to fade. Laughing at him, he could stand, even understand a little. He was always a popular and funny kid growing up, frequently surrounded by laughing hordes of friend's throughout his childhood at Hogwart's. He even liked to think of himself as the friendly teacher, the nice guy that any student's could feel comfortable talking to, about anything, so a little laughter now and then could be expected. But laughing at this poor, beautiful, innocent young girl for no reason but to bully her was too much. Severus knew he had to reign in his pupils so that class may begin.
Sternly, he snapped at Harriet to take her seat. He grimaced as the girl sheepishly squeaked and rushed to sit next to a gangly, red headed Weasly boy. He hadn't meant to yell at her, but he never had much talent for social graces, admittedly. He made a mental note of assigning seats, so as to keep Harriet close to his desk and safe from the predations of other boys.
Now that Harriet was in his class, Sape could take a closer look. As he instructed the student's to assemble their work stations, he descended the rows between desks, drawing closer to Harriet with each step. Her dark, red hair grew in thick, beautiful curls. Her smile was radiant, glowing with love and peacefulness only Lily could muster.
Snape, trying to mask the reason for his advancement upon the girl, asked the 'class' as few basic questions on the nature of alchemical ingredients. Each time only a few hands would raise (or shoot up, in the case of one persistently annoying Gryffindor girl), each time he would call on the beautiful Harriet, and each time the girl meekly replied that she did not know the answer.
Snape had become very close to Harriet in this time. He could see her frame, hiding beneath her school robes, matched that of her equally gorgeous mother at that age. He could smell her in the air, and she smelled like Lily. Snape was ecstatic. Everything was perfect, a perfect clone of Lily Evans sat before him, as if delivered by angels.
Forgetting his place, he drew ever nearer, until he was only inches away from the terrified and paralyzed young girl. His eyes barely open, he halted his amorous advance, lips still parted, as he looked straight into the hazel eyes of James Potter.
Harriet's eyes were not almond shaped. They were not the radiant emeralds of Lily's eyes. True, Harriet did not wear the comically thick glasses her father had to wear, but when Snape looked into her eyes, he only saw his childhood tormentor staring back at him from inside Lily's beautiful daughter.
Drawing back as if from a shock, hissing in rage, Snape realized that all eyes were on him. Girls were staring wide eyed in disgust and shock, boys sniggered and ribbed each other under their desks. "Tenno, TWENTYpoints from Gryffindor," he said, he voice echoing across the stone dungeon. "And you may all thank Harriet *Potter* (Professor Snape spat the name viciously, like a vile spell hurled at an enemy) for the essays you must now all write on aconite, bezoars, and the difference between Monkshood and Wolfbane. Due tomorrow."
Harriet groaned along with the rest of her class mates. Though she thought the goofy ginger boy sitting next to her was really cute, she did not expect to enjoy Potions class this year.
| 4 | 0 | 11 | 101,246 |
[WP] You discover that your spouse used a love potion on you on your first date five years ago, the effects of which are guaranteed to be permanent.
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I kiss Aaron on our bed after putting the babies to sleep in the nursery. He smiles and runs his hand through his blonde hair, "Can you get me a soda Honey?" he asks kissing me on the cheek. He is busy with all the bills and so I get a can of Fanta. I never used to drink Fanta but ever since we met, it's been my go-to drink. I hand it to him and he smiles, "Thanks, I've got some work to do. Why don't you go watch a movie downstairs?" I nod and begin to clean our closet quietly. It was always on my to-do list but I never had the time. I fix all the clothes onto their hangers and sort the closet. I stretch onto my tiptoes and organize the hats and scarves on the top shelf. I feel something sticky and pull my hand back. There is a reddish liquid all over my hand, I run to the bathroom while yelling, "YUCK YUCK YUCK!"
Aaron looks up from his work and comes behind me in the bathroom. "Did you get hurt?" he asks grabbing my hand. "No, I got gunk all over my hands. What is this?" I ask as I smell the gunk on my hand. He squirts soap into my hands and his face lights up, "Yes, I know what that is! Don't worry, you're fine." He says going to the closet. I wash my hands but they still smell like juice or wine. Aaron reenters the bathroom with an oddly shaped bottle in the form of a heart. "This just spilled out a little" he says taking the cap off and then putting it back on tighter. I ask "What is that?" as he runs the bottle under water to clean it off. He sighs and turns to me with loving eyes. "I love you Di" he says genuinely. I giggle, "What is the matter with you? Is it a gift or something?" I ask. He smiles, "Kind of. I have a confession. Can we talk?" I nod and he looks at me seriously and then leads me to our bed.
He kisses me and looks at me up and down. I laugh again, "Just tell me what it is you're making me nervous!" I say. He shakes his head, "When I first met you all those years ago, my heart changed. I knew you were the one for me from the very first minute and I loved you so much." He puts his hand on my leg and continues, "You were just so amazing Di. I knew how shy and how selective you were. I needed a chance that wasn't going to come unless I took action. So I travelled for an answer and I got one. I found a trader and I made a deal. I swapped a few years off my life in exchange for an absolutely unbreakable and irreversible love potion." As the words come out of his mouth, my heart begins to race.
Tears flow out of my eyes, "But I love you so much! This has to be real!" I say holding his face in my hands. He nods, "It is real. You really love me and I really love you." I can't believe his words and try to think of all the reasons I love him: His goofy smile, his caring and giving personality, his cute face. He interrupts my thoughts, "Di, don't you see? I didn't create love that wasn't there. I made you realize the love that was already hidden deep within your heart. If there is no love to begin with, it wouldn't have worked." He hugs me and I can feel the warmth of his heart. "You gave up years of your life for me?" I ask frightened. He nods and answers, "What would it be if I didn't have you? It wasn't that many years; I would have given double if it also ensured your safety on this Earth."
I feel infuriated and push him back onto the pillows, "You are such an idiot! Why would you give your life for me? Why do you love me so much?" I ask not daring to ask the exact amount of years he had left. He smiles, "I love you Di. I love you more and more with every day. I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean and more than there are stars in the sky and more than there are grains of sand on the beach. I love you." He says not answering any of my questions. My heart cries for my love and I lay down next to him crying uncontrollably, "What about baby Gabriella and baby Russell?" I ask through my sobs. He holds me and whispers, "I'm not leaving anytime soon. We're going to be okay." I look down at my wedding ring and at my soul mate, "I need you" I whisper unaware of the potion still tangling itself throughout my heart.
| 8 | 0 | 12 | 79,470 |
[WP] You're on a trip with a friend in a log cabin deep in alaskan forest. No phones, just a rifle and a knife. You discover many sets of large wolf tracks in the snow surrounding your cabin.
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"What do you think it is?" pondered Stewart.
Mitch eyed the tracks in the snow. Paw prints, going all around the cabin, some of them splitting off and heading up the hills, probably leading to the mountain.
"There's only one thing they can be, Stew..." Mitch slowly stood up, hunting rifle in hand, eyeing the mountain with an unbreakable gaze. He knew what they were, and he was prepared. He flicked off the safety and turned to face Stew.
"Raccoons. Really, really big raccoons."
Hank sat nearby. He face palmed.
"Wow." Stew exclaimed. "They must have big teeth and, and maybe even fangs! Talons too!"
"Exactly. Time to put these little motherfuckers down."
Mitch was ready to kill some furry beasts. He was always the sporting type. "I'm not scared of no fluffy tailed marsupials, that's for sure."
Hank had had enough.
"Oh for Pete's sake guys, are you all stupid or something?"
Mitch and Stew slowly turned to face Hank, who was sitting on a log trying to keep himself warm. Hank never fared well in the cold.
"They're not goddamn Raccoons! And raccoons aren't even marsupials! It's terrible obvious what made those tracks!"
Mitch sniggered.
"Okay then 'Bear Grylls', do you have a better idea??"
"Oh oh oh, is it a tiger??" Stew eagerly pitched in.
Mitch laughed. "Tigers don't live in Alaska Stew, I'm pretty sure they're from Africa or something, like Kenny down at Cooper's Bar. Nice guy by the way." Mitch struck a match against a tree and lit up his cigar. He nearly choked on it.
"Seriously guys, it's not a Raccoon and it's definitely not a freakin' Tiger! How the hell do you think up these things???" Hank started fuming.
"Gee, well what is it then Hank?" Stew asked.
Hank stood up, pulling the knife out the tree stump. He followed a set of tracks to a push, then knelt down. With his knife, Hank cut off a branch and displayed it to the other guys.
Caught in the branch was a tuft of grey fur. Stew looked on in amazement. Mitch tried to hold back another cough.
"See?" Hank proclaimed. "I know exactly what we're dealing with..."
Stew and Mitch leaned in closer. Hank smirked.
"A Hyena."
-------------------------------------------------
Up on a nearby ridge, two wolves watched the humans erupting into an argument.
"Wow, what's up with these guys?" The brown one asked the grey one.
"I dunno, they're making a big deal out of some tree branch." the grey one replied. "Humans sure are weird Rick."
"Yup, they sure are. Say Paul, wanna maybe break into their house later on tonight?" The brown one, Rick, started wagging his tail in excitement. "It'll be super easy, they always forget to lock the back door!"
"I dunno dude, that guy's got a gun." Paul was pretty cautious, ever since Kevin got shot a few nights back by a drunk pants-less barfly in a coonskin cap.
"Though he hardly seems like the brightest of the bunch. Maybe not as dumb as the bald one though" Paul gave it some more thought, tilting his head to one side.
"I say we kill him first, then the bald one! And then the branch guy, gosh I love the fat ones!"
Another thought occurred to Rick. "Oooh man if I drag these guys into the cave, maybe Christine will finally love me again!"
"Reckon she'll let you see the kids? Considering you ate little Jimmy in the winter."
"Hey dude, I was pretty hungry. I'm sure she's totally forgotten about it by now anyway."
"Alright alright." Paul finally made up his mind. These humans seemed like they'd be no trouble. They seemed to think the wolves would be coming for them from the mountain.
"I'll get some of the boys from the cavern, you go find Terry and Chow-Chow, and we'll meet up here at sundown."
"Awwww hell yes! Can't wait till I rip the fat guy's throat out!"
The two wolves parted ways, confident as ever that they'll have plenty to eat come supper time.
----------------------------------
*Something a little different, going for a comedic angle. I figured it was looking short so I added another point of view*
| 1 | 0 | 8 | 65,630 |
[CW] Write a horror story with no gore or death, not even implied.
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I wrote this a while back for a writing exercise, it's pretty basic and needs some editing, but I'm proud of it. It's based on a real experience, unfortunately.
**Bad Trip**
The air is becoming awful, a sickly sweet humidity that drenches your body in a sticky sheen of sweat. What clothes that touches your skin soaks and clings, forcing the feverish heat within to intensify where it connected. Beginning to gasp through your breathing, you set the pipe beside empty bottles and cough. They had said it was strong, promising through grins that the high would last the night. Truth or lie, the alcohol assured it would. The last few hits had made the thrumming of your heartbeat into an aching that went from sternum to throat, vibrating each with every beat. You decide through wordless thoughts you won't have anymore. If the sweating wasn't bad enough, the churning, swirling sensation in your head was only becoming more intense. Strange, unsolicited thoughts come as quickly as they pass, as formless as they are pointless, fragments and threads that went nowhere. By instinct, you stare ahead at the street through the blurring lag of your vision like you might a work of art, searching for meaning and pattern though inarticulately. A realization strikes, dulled by the increasing sway of your mind, that your thoughts do not come or cease at your will; You no longer control your thoughts. Uncomfortable, heart quickening its beat, there is an increasing desperate moment of focus. The sensation of a weightless vortex within your head is building more and more intense. Forcing focus, you look at your wrist. The display shows **08:15 pm** glowing a dull green.
Too much smoke, too fast, it was still catching up. You close your eyes, now somewhat urgently willing focus and control. The void yawns silently, deepening, drawing thicker around you in depth and control. An intense weight and current, all thoughts surrender utterly to the sensation of spinning back and over. Fear flushes your body as the sensation builds exponentially, as if your head were pulled back against a waterfall that flowed from every direction at once. Your eyes widen quickly, any actions taken now driven by instinct. Trees, cars, the street all shimmer like reflections in water as the image and your head roll back. The staccato thrumming of your heartbeat is painful, pumping battery acid through clenching veins either side your neck. Panting, the great pull of the void softens as eyes opened widely staring intently ahead. They grasp for a point of reference, an anchor, stability. The chill that creeps from toes through ligaments and up your spine is like freezing water, forcing a tense, cold sweat. A tight blink becomes a nod, and the grit of concrete against hair is not enough to draw you back from the void's renewed embrace.
The sensation becomes manifest and seizes. Raw, roaring sound building. Feeling, like within a tire, conscious as it begins to spin. Shifting in weight, hard pressure on the left half. Panic. A duration. Movement. The tire spins faster. Intensity. Consciousness falling round and back. Up side down. Hanging. Panic. Sweat. Churn. Falling. The body seizes. Intensity. Whimpering whispers, gasps. Aching. Ringing in ears destroying thought. Panic. A duration. Hands grasping, squeeze grey matter. Tears, hot. Shaking. Vibrating. Deafening ringing roar. Shuddering pain. A duration. Intensity. Wall of noise. Tire spins faster. Eyes widen, all a blur, new angle. Green glowing. Squeezing pressure through head, focus, sight. Numbers and letters:
**08:21 pm**
| 2 | 0 | 82 | 157,704 |
[WP] "I just came here to talk. No violence this time."
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"I just came here to talk. No violence this time."
The man on the other side of the door continues to knock. I do not move from the refuge I have taken under my bed. My Spiderman blankie is draped over my shoulders. In one hand, I wield my little league baseball bat. In the other, the teddy bear from my father.
"Come onnnnnn, open up. *Jus' wanna talk. Tha's all.*." The fast knocks on my door slow down into a consistent, intimidating rhythm, seemingly synched with my racing heartbeat. *Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.* He violently wiggles the doorknob, but is upset to find that I have locked it. He pounds a fist into the door, and when that doesn't work, he begins to slam his body weight against it.
"OPEN."
*thud*
"THIS."
*thud*
"DOOR!"
He breaks down the door, sending it flying off its hinges. It lands near the window, and he enters my bedroom. I clutch my teddy close to me as he searches the room. He is searching for *me*. I tremble as his feet approach my bed— just inches in front of my face— and I can practically hear him grin as he bends down to lift up the covers. The stench of alcohol grows closer and closer.
I shriek, "*Who are you!? Where did Daddy go?*"
That's when his face grows pale. He gravely looks at the empty bottle in his hand, then back at me. His eyes meet mine and tears well in the corner of his eyes. The grown man begins to cry inconsolably. He drops the liquor on the floor, shattering it to pieces, and extends his arms to me for a hug. Hesitantly, I come out from under the bed and throw my arms around him in an embrace.
"Daddy's back," he weeps into my shoulder, "Daddy's back."
| 2 | 0 | 7 | 48,995 |
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