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[WP] Instead of life followed by death, there is a third form of existence which ends once everyone living forgets you
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It was a waiting room. A big, wide waiting room with an infinite number of straight-backed grey chairs and a low table with a copy of *Cosmopolitan* from 2004. It was full, but silent. No-one was breathing - after all, there was no need to, not now they were dead. No-one spoke to each other, either. They were all dressed in identical grey suits, hands folded neatly in their lap, fingers clenched around each other so hard that the room was filled with an infinite number of white knuckles.
I'd like to say that it was old age that took me, but it wasn't. When you're young, you imagine death to be something that will never happen to you. To other people, maybe, but not you in your safe little world.
I took a seat next to a young woman with dark brown hair that tumbled over the Margaret Thatcher-like shoulder pads of the bulky grey suit she wore. She had an odd kind of expression on her face, and looking around, I realised it was the same for all of them. They strained forwards in their chairs, a desperate look of concentration twisting around the lines in their faces.
"Hey, hey," I said quietly, leaning into her. For a moment the mask of concentration breaks and she whirls round to me. She is livid.
"Hush! I'm listening!"
Listening to what, I wonder, leaning back in my chair. It's not comfortable, but not uncomfortable either. It doesn't feel much like anything. Maybe that's what being dead is like.
There are no physical signs on my body of how I died. Is physical the right word? Maybe I'm just a ghost, or something. A soul? I don't know. Then I hear it.
"James," It comes loud and clear and I almost start out of my chair. I spin around, but it doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere.
"If you can hear me, James..."
I lean forward in my chair. Someone is talking to me. I try to stand up, but it's like I've been anchored down.
"Hey! Someone help!" I cry out. "Someone help me, there's been a mistake!"
But everyone in the room ignores me. They are too busy listening. Eventually I stop trying, but by then the voice is gone.
I sit. I wait. The time ticks by slowly.
"Yeah, James... God, I just miss him so much." It's my brother's voice. It's coming from somewhere, but I can't tell where, like his voice is seeping to me through the fog.
This time I do not shout out. If I shout, I won't be able to hear him.
"Tom, Tom, I'm so sorry." I whisper it, but his voice is already long gone.
Time passes. The voices become fainter. I strain forwards to hear them. Always to hear them. I hear my mother, my brother, my father.
I cry. Often, I cry. I didn't realise they had loved me this much. Why couldn't they have said this when I was alive?
There's a gasp from beside me. The girl with the brown hair is crying, too. I do not console her. I only want to hear my family's voices again.
She stands and leaves.
I keep listening.
The voices fade away.
So do I.
Edit: jesus, thanks for the gold. Still pissed, but i love you, whoever it was
| 50 | 1 | 70 | 14,256 |
[WP] You slowly start gaining the powers of a Jedi. Eventually you realize, you are an actual human being of Earth with the Force. You're scared to tell anyone, as they absolutely won't understand. One day, after years of self-training in secrecy, you sense that there is another.
|
kinda dark, nsfw maybe,
Whenever it seems like the world is out to get you your rage can become such an incredible source of resiliency. After all the only person you can depend on is you, and we're not all dependable.
I first felt the call during a duel. Not a duel to the death, but a duel for sport. I was new to the school, it wouldn't be unusual for me to transfer schools once or twice a year. I was put through a hazing ritual of sorts, they took my armor and made me fence with each one of them in full gear.
I was exhausted, but I was not defeated. I took on three before I took my first cut. A slice across my chest from an upper classman. It enraged me, and the pain became my strength. I took two steps toward him, and then plunged my training blade through his chest piece, into his heart. When I pulled the blade out it was white hot, and the poor kid had electricity burns creeping up his face. I had no idea what had happened. Luckily I transferred shortly after, and it became a sort of myth. An impossibility that no one could explain.
After my boarding school days I found myself attending a University of some regard. I was planning on majoring in philosophy, and it was going well. At least until I met her.
She was a brilliant, but naïve and optimistic woman. She would always challenge my 'negative' points of view. Our discussions were brilliant, and she always made a fair point for altruistic undertakings. Then it happened. A student cracked, and we found ourselves in a lockdown situation. I had my sparring sword with me, and so I took position next to the door. She looked at me and nodded in what I assume was approval. I reached out with my new found force and detected a panicked and enraged person.
I nodded at her, and began to gather my rage. In an instant the intruder was at the door. He kicked it once, and twice before it opened. I took two steps towards the gunman and brought my sword down upon him with the full extent of my power.
He fell down, both of his arms maimed and dropped the gun from his hands. With useless hands he attempted to retrieve another pistol from his boot. This stoked my fury, and my darkness reverberated throughout the room. I took another step toward him, and I felt it.
A disarming and somehow peaceful inspiring glow. It was sentimental, something of love and warmth. Oh, how I hated it's caress. She charged me from behind and with questionable strength pinned my arms. She cooled my burn, which made me rage all the more. Her light seemed inexhaustible, but I managed to release myself. She stood before me and the gunman, and begged me not to kill him. I wasn't terribly dead set upon the idea, but then the sound of gunfire dropped her.
I felt the light briefly, and then I felt it slowly leave a life. My psychotic peer fumbled with his weapon, struggling to press the trigger with a steady hand. She was my teacher, and her death taught me so much. I let go of the light completely that day, and my rages' burn died out. What was left was the cold concentration of the dark side.
He looked so shocked when his crippled hand gripped that pistol so deftly. He didn't fully understand, not until his eyes met mine as I forced his body to lift the pistol against its skull. The entire time the classroom was more or less calm, the students were cowering sure but quietly. When they felt my energy, and when they watched the hammer fall, all hell broke loose. They all ran from the room in an uncontrollable panic. Something animal in them took control. But who could blame them, I couldn't control the cold spring that had erupted within me.
edit; sorry for grammar, kinda drunk.
| 3 | 0 | 329 | 180,986 |
[WP] Take the title of the post above this and the title of the post below this. Connect them in a story.
|
Above title: [Even though he's blind, he still loves staring out the window.](https://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/2iagyd/even_though_hes_blind_he_still_loves_staring_out/)
Below title: [2:47](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2ib2dv/247/)
My Dad built the cabin when he was only 22 years old. He always knew he was going to build it one day, and knew exactly where.
Up on the hill above the town where he grew up, there was a spot where him and his father would go camping. They had some wonderful times together, memories that would last forever. The view was breath taking. Small rectangle boxes far below that barely resembled the houses in the town he knew so well, and the shimmer on the lake that sat just beyond. To my father, this was paradise. If he had nothing else in life but this view he would be happy. Or so he thought.
Growing up in such a small community wasn't exactly easy. Everyone knew everyone else, and your business was everyone's business. All the kids would always say,
"I can't wait until I'm older so I can escape this shit hole of a town." But not my Dad. One day he would build his cabin up on the hill above the trees.
As time went on and the children grew older, they would leave one by one, heading off to college or university to make something of themselves. Not my Dad. He left school as early as he could and began working full time, saving every single penny he could spare. This cabin was going to happen.
Not long after he turned 19, the depression hit him hard. All his childhood friends had left the town and the majority of the older residents he had come to love had passed away. Including his parents. He had inherited their land, their house and belongings. Many people who lived there were actually jealous of what he had now. A nice house that was payed for, no debts and plenty of savings tucked away. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't the cabin.
After a while my father decided it was time. He had just turned 22 and I think it was the fact only a handful of people he knew well remained to wish him happy birthday sealed the deal. He put the house up for sale. All of my grandparents belongings were also sold, except for a few sentimental items, including the camping gear him and his father would use regularly.
Selling the house was a slow and tedious affair. Numerous families came to see the property but for one reason or another no one was interested. This almost drove Dad to insanity as it was such a nice place, in a beautiful location and was being sold dirt cheap, yet no-one seemed interested. Until one day, when he was in the process of abandoning the house, an older family pulled into the driveway. The parents were about 60 which seemed odd as he thought surely they had built a life of their own somewhere else. However, he wasn't too concerned about that. It was the daughter that caught his attention. Same age, similar fashion sense, drop dead gorgeous, it was love at first sight.
The family loved the place and after the viewing said they would take it, and wanted to move in as soon as they could. Totally amazed, my father agreed and even knocked off a few thousand to ensure they would definitely not back out. But again he wasn't too concerned about the house. There was the cabin, and now this girl as well which he had fallen madly in love with already.
Turns out she felt the same way. You couldn't make this up, it was a perfect love story. My father told her all about his plans for the cabin, took her up to the location where he planned to build and got everything in order to start the build. She agreed, it was paradise. This girl, the love at first sight, perfect in every way in the eyes of my father, eventually became my mother.
After so many years of planning it didn't take long for the construction to get underway and it was completed very rapidly. It was a perfect build and every single last job was done by my parents. Less that a year after the cabin was completed, I was born.
For many years everything was like a fairy tale. We had everything we could ever want. I had an amazing endless playground, with all the trees I could climb and my parents never had to worry about money. It was bliss, heaven you might say. This state of nirvana lasted for years, until I was in my twenties myself.
Despite getting into trouble in school and being a bit of an outsider, I never really caused any major issues Even in my teenage years. In fact, up until I left high school and was considering my future pretty seriously, I don't remember there being any arguments or even raised voices in the cabin. That changed one night.
I can't tell you what it was about, but my parents fell out one night. Big time. They had always been the perfect couple, never fighting, always together, agreeing on everything. The one and only fight I ever witnessed between the two was also the last. I awoke early in the morning to the sound of screaming. They were drunk, both of them , a rare occurrence actually. Shouting back and forward about God knows what. It was bound to happen eventually after all these years of perfect harmony I thought and left them to it.
I must have fallen asleep again but I awoke to the sound of the door slamming and my father shouting "And never come back!" I saw the clock saying it was 2:47am, way too late for my mother to be heading out, and way too cold. Obviously I was concerned and ran through to find out what was going on. Those where the last words I heard him say. She never came back.
We spent weeks searching for her, the police got involved but we never found her. My mothers parents blamed my Dad for her disappearance and never forgave him, but she just simply left and never returned.
That was a long time ago now. My grandparents both passed away shortly after so it was just me and Dad. He never once spoke a word after that night, not to me or anyone. I couldn't move away like so many others before me, I had to stay and look after him. Silently, day after day, he would sit and stare out the window, I assume longing for her return. He grew old, required more and more attention as his health deteriorated. Even though he had lost sight in both eyes a long time ago, he just sat there and stared out the window.
I have been very focused on caring for my Dad. He can't do much for himself these days. He just sits, staring at the view he will forever love but can no longer see. I'm not sure what I'll do when he passes away, but I know what I'll do first. I'm going to change the time on all the clocks, the ones that are stuck to the same time. The ones that read 2:47.
| 2 | 0 | 38 | 131,748 |
[WP] A police officer and an arrested criminal manage to survive the apocalypse in their police car, the officer is conflicted about trusting and freeing the criminal as they struggle to survive.
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"I'm telling you man, I am one hundred percent completely innocent!" Daniel yelled as he slammed his handcuffed fists against the gate separating the front row of seats from the back. The officer did not turn his head or speak, but simply looked out the front window of the cruiser into the thunderstorm building outside.
"Look officer, I'll be honest with you here. Let's say I DID do what her friend says I did to her. Even in THAT case she's just a girl. Why the fuck would I even think about doing that to you?" Daniel folded his arms and sighed heavily. "It's not like I'm gay or anything. You'll be totally safe with me, I promise. We're both in this toget-"
"No. We are not," stated the officer flatly.
"What the fuck do you mean we are not!?" Daniel screamed slouching to slam his feet on the steadfast separator. "You heard for yourself on the radio, they're all dead! We're all there is."
The officer's hands tightened on the grip of the steering wheel, his face emotionless. His eyes remained empty of the life that had inhabited them only hours ago. Tears began to drip down the side of his face as his lip quivered in anger. He whipped his head around to face Daniel, still struggling in the back of the car.
Before Daniel even knew what was happening, the officer had ripped open the door and pulled him out onto the cold, wet mud placing him on his knees.
"Finally coming to your senses I see" Daniel snickered as a smile crept across his face.
"I guess you could say that," the officer said as he turned his head, closed his eyes and fired his gun into the back of Daniel's head killing him instantly.
The officer collapsed on the ground as he clutched the locket that hung from his neck. He opened it up and looked at the withered picture of the girl inside. The life returned to his eyes for a brief moment as he whispered
"Rest in peace now dear."
| 13 | 0 | 77 | 135,161 |
[WP] Mythological stories are just an attempt by ignorant humans who watched and described from their point of view the advanced humans/aliens with their scientific gadgets, space ships, weapons, etc. Pick your favorite mythological story and/or character(s) and turn it into a science fiction story.
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"Dude, Freja's going to kill you," Heimdall called over the open air wave. He'd been searching for hours and Loki was nowhere to be found. "Odin forbid, Loki, you know I don't have time for this horse shit, she needs that necklace!"
Cackling answered him over the intercom, "I know! She's never gonna get to the Asgard on time!" Loki's laughter was tattooing itself against Heim's ears.
Heimdall's ship was equipped with the best perception filters white light could produce, but fuck it if Loki didn't have a way around EVERYFUCKINGTHING. He had skirted the Baltic and was heading toward the open Atlantic when an idea sprung to mind.
"Fuckit," he called, plunging into the ocean. If there was one thing Loki didn't know how to modulate, it was aquatic frequencies. He brought up the outer shield menu and scrolled through the local fauna, "No, no, fuck no, what's that? Seal, perfect," he said, highlighting the grey little water dog. He slid the ship onto a rock, setting the behavioral circuits to 'Lounge'.
If he was lucky, the excess water would fuck with the Trickster's sensors long enough to.....
A fly began to zip out across the water, stopping a thousand feet offshore from where Heimdall sat. "Clever little bitch," he sighed. He tended to exclude insects from the ships filters, too many of the little shits to keep track of constantly. He began to monitor the airwaves, waiting for.....
"Dumbass," Heimdall could hear the smile spread across Loki's lips as he sighed his usual signoff, and no sweeter pleasure could be had than when he hit the fly with a frequency jammer. The ship burst to it's proper size, throwing the inhabitant all ajumble, "Sonofabitch!"
It was Heimdall's turn to smile a deliciously vengeful smile, snapping the energy locks on the engines. "Give it, jackass. She needs the apple or the atmosphere is going to kill her."
Loki was pouting, still slumped haphazardly against a wall, "Did I say you could come on board?"
"Cut the shit."
"You really think I would have let her die?" A false masque of horror and heartbreak spread across his face. He slid the wroght gold and crystal necklace from an inside pocket and tossed it at the Watchman.
"I think you're jackass enough to try," Heimdall curled his nose at the little man before him. "How you became Blood-Kin to Odin only the Fates know." He reboarded his ship, making sure to rough up Loki a bit as he released the energy lock. "One week banishment, no parole."
"A bit much, don't you think?"
"*YOU BLEW UP HER SHIP AND STOLE HER TRANSPORTER LOCK! NO, IT IS NOT A BIT MUCH!*" He shouted over the loudspeaker and across the open channel. Shaking his head in disbelief, he set course for Greenland.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hjork and Bjork sat in their boat, their lines long gone.
"Did you just-"
"Yep."
"And did they just-"
"Yep."
Hjork sighed, "The Gods are batshit aren't they?"
"Duh."
| 7 | 0 | 261 | 230,747 |
[WP] Make me side with a traitor without establishing the betrayed character(s) as bad or unfavorable.
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The ceaseless ticking of a clock in the corner of the room informs me that time has not stopped, other than that fact, I'm not certain I can be certain of anything.
I remember a noise. A ticking, like that of a clock, but while the clock ticks to signal a distant end, this ticking signaled a near one, a painful one marked by a bang and a flash. My hands are bound to the back of a chair and the grey room that surrounds me is small and quiet.
Except for the ticking.
A man I served with, a young man named Harold, once showed me his ideological views through a long series of engaging conversations. I learned that he values love over life, liberty over security, and peace over war. He served, then, to defend the second and first principles he stood for, though he often told me how he wished it weren't necessary. We were talking, when the ticking began, about a girl he had liked back home and his hopes of getting back to her soon. While I ran away, he ran towards the noise to help those he cared about.
The clock continues to beat relentlessly and my chair settles slightly, creaking as it does so.
Our leader was a good man. A man of God before man, he always said, and though I didn't agree with his religion, his outlook on life was admirable, if a little too idealistic. He loved his country, but held no wrong ideas about it; he loved his country for what it could be, not for what it was. He cared about each person under his command not for what they could do for him, but for what they were: humans. His tent had ticked.
The clock seems to be ticking louder now, and faster.
We were fighting a people just as ideological as us, but we all *knew* that our side was on the right. It was a warm night in January, when we got the news that we'd be heading down to take out one of the largest bases of the opposition, if intel was right. We had made it just outside the supposed location a day beforeThe clock is growing louder, faster, keeping pace with the accelerating ticking in my head.
I had no choice, I had a family, just like them, I had people, places, ideas to defend, and it was so easyThe clock is reaching a deafening volume, ticking faster than my mind can keep up with.
I had reached a point where I wasn't sure which family I loved more, but results were expected, not love, not compassionThe clock is screaming now, a continuous stream of ear-shattering ticks still growing in volume.
I should have gotten out of range, though, I shouldn't have been close enough toThe clock screams in one last, continued breath and I can hear the explosion again, the screams, the pain.
I hear my own scream now too, joining the grim orchestra. Then it stops.
It stops and I can hear the clock droning quietly on again.
It stops and I can hear myself not quite forgive me for destroying one family forged out of love, for one born out of circumstance.
I can't hear the bomb anymore, but I can feel the guilt from having placed it.
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 111,278 |
[PI]: Eons ago, there was another mass extinction event, but this one wiped out humanity. Another sentient species has since evolved, and they revere or worship the Ancients, the humans, that built such incredible relics. On an expedition, they find a human locked in a stasis chamber. What happens?
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Masharal turned to look at Ish'nar, stunned by what he just said. Here they had quite possibly the most well-preserved, fully-intact suit of a Great Titan. And Ish'nar was claiming that they may have found something of even greater importance.
Masharal began following Ish'nar down the tunnel as he motioned for him to follow. "This way," Ish'nar said. "Alleppis and the others are waiting for us up ahead."
After walking for several minutes, the hallway opened up into an empty chamber at the end, where a number of workers were standing around. Normally, Masharal would have been angered by this, seeing his workers standing idly by, only they were all aiming their torches at a large object on the opposite wall.
"We found this." Ish'nar said. The object, whatever it was, was some large, complex piece of machinerysome sort of enormous box set into the wall, and under it were rows of some kind of strange instruments; worn, faded, and covered with even more dust than the Great Titan armor found out in the hallways. On the front of box was a panel emitting a strange, bright light. On the screen where several lines of symbols, each obviously of some different written language. Except for one, which read the words "From Your Ancestors," written in *Obshciye-yazyk,* the "Common-tongue," the oldest known language of the *Khodunki-pyli.* Now Masharal understood why Ish'nar and everyone else was so alarmed. They were standing in the ruins of an ancient species that had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared almost half-a-million years ago, in ruins that dated back to that point in time. And yet here was a piece of Chelovek mahinery that was apparently still active after all this time, and contained written words in a language of Masharal's species. Their oldest-known language. A language which he and many of his fellow archaeologists were well versed-in, and was still widely-spoken in many regions in the Great Eastern Expansethe birthplace of the *Khodunki-pyli* species. Masharl glanced over at the other rows of symbols. Some he recognized as written languages in other *Chelovek* ruins. Others he didn't recognize from anywhere, but they seemed eerily familiar, somehow.
But the fact that there was writing in one of their own languages, one they still used-
"Has anyone touched this?" Masharal asked, looking around the room, worried by what the answer would be.
"No," he heard Ish'nar speak next to him. "As soon as we found this, I came and got you. We haven't touched anything."
Now Masharal was a little horrified. Somehow, down here in the Western Peninsula, was a Chelovek artifact that somehow had a written language of his own people, despite the fact that they had disappeared long before the first *Khodunki-pyli* had ever set foot outside the land that gave their species birth, the Great Eastern Expanse.
Masharal took several steps towards the device, looking at it with a mix of awe and terror. "This makes no sense." He said out loud, to himself, everyone in the room, and no-one in particular. "How is it that a piece of *Chelovek* technology has one of our own languages on it?" He looked at the different lines of symbols on the glowing facet of the machine, looking at the one written in his own native tongue. "*Ot svoikh predkov*." He said aloud. *From your ancestors*, as pronounced in the common-tongue itself. "What does that-"
"*Yazyk priznayetsya*." A voice suddenly spoke from the device.
Everyone quickly stepped back, taken by surprise. In all of history, never had any piece of *Chelovek* technology ever spoken out loud. Everyone kept their flashlights trained on the machine, but it remained silent. Masharal looked around the room. A few of his colleagues, the ones from the Southern Coasts, looked confused, not sure what had just happened. But Masharal, Ish'nar, and half of the rest in the people in the room, those born and raised in the Great Eastern Expanse, who all spoke Common-tongue, knew what had just been said.
"What was that?" Said Alleppis, one of the researchers from Achunta Province from the South Coast.
At first, Masharal could only blink. "I...I recognize that."
"What?" Asked Alleppis.
"It's *Obshciye-yazyk.* Common-tongue."
"What did it say?"
Masharal looked to Ish'nar, then to several of his other colleagues, the ones from the Great Eastern Expanse. The looks on their face confirmed what he already knew.
"It said, *language recognized.*"
| 41 | 0 | 95 | 177,207 |
[WP] The story ends with "I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did."
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The great king was on his deathbed. His massive figure now a diminishing, deteriorating shape fading away.
He was fine with death. Really. He had conquered enough in his day. He had amassed a great fortune and built a fine kingdom. He had plenty of viral sons and plenty of clever daughters.
He smiled as he recalled his youngest daughter shrewdly outmaneuvering all of his wise men in successive rounds of chess. Yes, they would all do fine.
He was ready to go, but there was something that was keeping him here in this mortal world.
The inside of his ears tingled as a shadow slipped in through the window.
"Claire," the king rasped.
"Charming as ever," the shadow responded and slowly pulled out a silvery vial from her satchel. It was a powerful potion. Powerful enough to bring someone back from death's door.
"I'm ready to go. I've been waiting for this moment. I want to do this," he pleaded.
"Well……you can be ready another time." Claire easily pried upon the king's mouth and poured a liberal dose of the potion.
He stared up at the ceiling as the potion began to rejuvenate his limbs, his heart and mind. He thought of Death, who was waiting patiently, crouching at the edge of his darkened visual periphery.
"I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did."
| 1 | 0 | 202 | 215,573 |
[EU] Three experienced KGB agents are captured by Jigsaw. They are not pleased.
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The television on the far side of the decaying room crackled to life. The grey glow cast a sickly shadow in the chamber. Silhouettes of hooks and chains grew long in the dim light.
"Good morning, gentlemen," a voice grumbled like crumbling granite, "Would you like to play a game?"
In the middle of the room a spike was beaten into the tiled floor. Heavy chains spiraled out from the spike towards three men like an iron kraken wrapping its tendrils around its prey. Slowly they roused. The first man was shackled about his wrists, his hands caged. The second man was shackled about his neck, his vision completely blocked by an iron helm. The third man was shackled about the waist, held close to the spike in the center of the room.
"I have been watching you," the voice started, "Going about your lives, busying yourselves with your menial jobs, earning your meager pay, buying just enough to sustain you. You talk to no one, you make no eye contact. Your existence is minimal and meaningless. You have vanished from the world, and no one has noticed." A spotlight illuminated the first man, "You, a locksmith, good with your hands and little else. You know your truck more intimately than you another human being." The light moved to the second man, "A photographer, keeping yourself distant by hiding behind your viewfinder. You take your pictures but refuse to be part of what you capture." The light moved again to the third man, "An I.T. man at a phone company, a vicious hermit in your castle of servers -- as if the world needed a reason to be rid of you. Let's see if the other two think so too."
The light died and a few sickly fluorescent lights illuminated the slaughtering hall. A cage of razor wire and vicious spikes rested above them on a timed switch. The men who could see saw a clear box with a few slivers of metal inside. "Inside the box is the key to your salvation. It will open the locks on your shackles." The first man looked at the other two and bolted to the box, smashing his caged hands into it. "The box is made of bullet-proof glass," the voice continued, "It has a sensor that will trigger the lid to open when it is filled with a gallon of fluid." More lights sparked and lit up hooks, a pulley, a funnel, and a set of knives. "How much blood is there in a human body?" the voice prodded. "Maybe it's time to make friends and decide who must die for the rest of you." The three men looked at each other.
"So gentlemen," the voice taunted, "Would you like to play a game?" Jigsaw took account of his work: The first man, who might undo the locks, is unable to use his hands. The second man, who might spot the flaw in the box, is unable to see. The third man, who might override the control, is out of reach. Maybe they would solve this through murder, at which point the video would be released to the public and they could continue to live incarcerated in isolation. Maybe they would work together to solve the puzzle. It was in their hands now.
Jigsaw watched the three men stand perfectly still, looking at each other, their lips not moving. Something was wrong. He went through his mental list again:
*First man, no hands...*
"Perhaps I did not make myself clear!" his voice boomed through the room.
*Second man, no eyes...*
"You will play or you will DIE!" The men did not budge.
*Third man, no reach...*
"Gentlemen! Would you like to play a game?!" Jigsaw had accounted for everything -- except the fourth man.
"Nyet, comrade," a voice whispered behind him, "In Soviet Russia, game play you."
---
edit: words'n'thangs
| 71 | 0 | 573 | 141,462 |
[WP] Write a creation myth.
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A baby gurgles in contentment, her eyes wide with bewilderment at the brand new world around her.
A woman grieves by the graves of her children, stricken by the plague.
A research assistant watches in awe as the director of his lab presents the world's first FTL engine.
An ant crawls through the dirt beginning a long day of toil.
The wind gently caresses the decaying haft of a forgotten arrow lodged in the recesses of an ancient battlefield.
The seeds of a beautiful story bloom within the mind of an aspiring author, only to be forgotten as she loses herself amid life's many demands.
A pebble floats idly through the lonely reaches of space dissipating slowly as the universe around it pathetically decays into nothingness.
Each of these possibilities, and many more besides, are reflected in the void stretching back without beginning. Woven through these reflections like golden embroidery, threads resonating with the souls of God's children coalesce into future probabilities.
With a bang, the universe comes into being. Space expands, matter and energy appear. Across the vast universe, life slowly appears. As single bright, tiny jewel 10^100 years across by 10^100 light years wide, the universe adorns the infinite necklace of the void. Intricately laced by the laws of physics and fate, the stars, fueled by the passions of life, dance merrily. Non-sentient beasts color their planets and stars with splendor as they protect their young, broadcast their pain and their meager ambitions. The three sentient races each sculpt the universe into a large beautiful object.
The Agrethors shape the stars around them by pure psychic force. Their power echoes through time and forms the basis of the fundamental forces of nature. They represent the beginning of the universe. God's children are sadly primitive by human standards, yet they hold the greatest emotional capacity of the three races. Their love embraces the entire universe and resonates directly with God's will. They allow the other races to experience love and hate, and they are the regulators of fate. Humans are the destroyers. We feed off the passion of God's children to fuel our sense of wonder and novelty. In our quest for new things we grow powerful. We conquer the universe and extinguish God's children. Yet, in our infinite diversity and vitality we project the power of the Agrethors and the love of God's children through time. We are the bright light in the center of the universe which colors the void long before the universe began and echoes through space long after the universe is just distant memory.
Beauty is everywhere, and in beauty can be found God. God's fingers stretch through the fabric of fate outside of time itself. God is many beings, and all of these beings are one. God carefully crafts every atom, every blade of grass, every nanosecond of every life and every minute idea to weave despair, hope, love, hate, motion, stillness, birth and death into an elegant mosaic of unsurpassed wonder. This jewel of a universe is like a sculpture, or a musical instrument which God skillfully manipulates to resonate a sense of beauty throughout the world outside time. Likewise, this universe writes God, creating It and modifying it with every lonely rock and every vivacious life. God is beauty. Beauty creates this universe, and this universe creates beauty. But the universe was never created, for beauty is eternal.
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edit: formatting and spelling
| 2 | 0 | 96 | 202,871 |
[WP] The year is 2021. The newest fad are clone clubs, where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide. The clones are disposed afterwards.
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It hasn't gotten any easier. The buildup, the anticipation, that's what swirls inside me and brings up that choking feeling. There's sadness, always, at the end, but before that I get another 12 hours.
The hardest part was finding the right place with the right scientists. Most wouldn't do it but I knew eventually I'd find the one. It was an unconventional request but the technology was more than capable of it. If they could bring back so many celebrities, politicians, random people off the street, then what I needed was a matter of finding the will as opposed to the way.
Carol, wonderful Carol, she understood and helped me get my foot in the door. Even pulled a few strings to give me this same room every time with its side emergency exit. Alarm disabled, of course, don't want to cause a fuss.
I hear sound on the other side of the door and there's Carol. She's not alone. She doesn't say a word and that's okay. I don't either, not even a thank you as she closes the door behind her.
I could go the next 12 hours without uttering a single phrase and a lifetime would be shared between us. It's not the same as it was. The things we did together, the things we learned when we shared a life, those are gone now. But instinct is enough. That inner glow that led me to choose her in the first place burns as bright as ever, even if it has a short shelf life. I make my way to the side door and allow the cool air to enter.
I look back at her. Nothing has to be said, but I'll ask the question for old times sake.
"Who's a good girl?"
We rush outside, into the sunlight.
| 13 | 0 | 1,271 | 143,818 |
[WP]Every year on your birthday, you get a visit from the Grim Reaper who challenges you to a contest with the next year of your life on the line.
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"Not paintball again please, you know that my long robes are a disadvantage. They're impossible to hide behind any of the obstacles they have on the course, and the last person I tried to reap while I was covered in pink Poke-A-Dots would not stop laughing at me." I begged Mike. These eternal contracts really should come with a bit more discretion on the part of the reaper. He was only thirteen, but still. He could try and let me have some shred of dignity. Did flowing black cloaks and large scythes mean nothing to him?
"You said it could be any contest with a clear and non-subjective winner that I wanted, but I guess paintball isn't very sporting so how about…" Mike looked around his room. "Sharks and minnows!" Mike cried, lunging for a cap and goggles that were nearby.
"What's sharks and minnows?" I asked, knowing that the answer would not be to my liking.
"It's simple. We go find a pool, you tread water in the middle, and I try to swim to the other side before you can touch me. If I can make it across, you lose." Mike was already excusing himself to the bathroom to change.
"Oh come on now Mike, you see how I'm dressed. Try to be reasonable." I begged of him.
"You said any game. I want to play sharks and minnows."
"I bet none of the other reapers have to put up with this." I mumbled.
"I hear that!" Mike shouted out. He trotted out with his swim trunks and goggles on. "Come on, the pool is just around the corner, and I'll even give you an edge. I have to make it to the other side, and then turn around and come back. What do you say?"
"Oh alright." I sighed, following Mike as he bolted out the door like a child eager to reach his birthday party on time.
A few painfully embarrassing moments later, after I explained to the astonished lifegaurds what was going to transpire, I swam out into the deep part of the pool.
I say swam, it was really more like drowning in a forward direction. I didn't even want to think about how heavy my robes were when filled with water.
"Alright Mike, let's get this over with." I bemoaned as Mike practically bounced up and down on the side of the pool, waiting to dive in. He could be less enthusiastic about trumping an eternal force from beyond the vale. It was downright undignified having him be so….Happy about it.
"You have to say 'all minnows in'." Mike informed me.
"Fine, 'all minnows in'." Mike dove down to the bottom of the pool like he was a frog, and expertly reached the other side in only a handful of strokes. All while being safely under about 3 meters of water. I made one attempt to reach him, turning myself upside down to use gravity to my advantage. The trouble was my out fit didn't cooperate and I ended up impersonating an oil spill as Mike gleefully returned to his staring wall.
I dragged myself exhaustedly to the side and pulled myself out of the pool with much panting and coughing of water.
"Okay Mike." I coughed up half a lung full of water. "You win until next year."
"Sweet!" Mike called, and then ran back home chanting some asinine childhood rhyme that involved over usage of the word 'smells'.
"Thanks." His mom said, walking up to me from where she had been watching.
"No." I coughed a quarter lung full of water out onto the side of the pool. "Problem."
"He doesn't have any idea does he?" She asked.
"No mom. He hasn't the slightest clue I'm his older brother." I threw back my hood and tore off the voice changer. "He still thinks it's real." Ever since our father had passed on Mike had a resounding fear of death. So every year I pretended to be the reaper so he could beat me and feel safe for another year.
Edit: slight tweak to final sentence.
| 135 | 0 | 87 | 200,490 |
[PI] Oracle and Obelisk: A Dark Horse Novella - FEB CONTEST
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Hi! This was very well-written. The opening, with Adrianna reading the card, pulled me in. I liked the world you built and found myself wanting to understand the concepts introduced ("Master of the Field", the "Thought", the different obelisks) a little better. I also liked the overarching tarot theme, with the chapter titles.
By way of constructive criticism, I would suggest working on your action scenes to make them more visceral. Your style is very nice for quiet description, but when something exciting is happening (the ambush by the Animals, Adrianna killing the witch) the action seems removed because it's obfuscated by the overly descriptive writing.
I also agree that the plot did seem like a string of events with no overarching theme. I would have liked to understand better, for example, who Arobius was, given that he becomes so important in the end. Up until the last chapter, he's mentioned in passing only twice, with no real context given.
I think this is something that might work better as a longer story, in short. But very nice writing and congrats!
| 1 | 0 | 11 | 24,031 |
[WP] Tell me about the american version of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
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Hello there! I'm Arthur Yellowflower, Dean of admissions at Lasalle School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in the heart of Upper Chicago. We are proud to be the premier academy for magical students in the midwest. You asked for some information about our school. This owl should give you some background and answer a few questions.
First, a little history:
After the great fire in 1871 that burned Witch and Muggle alike, the wizarding community rebuilt their city in a new plane separate but joined to Chicago. Upper Chicago is founded on a few leylines that adjoin the elemental plane of Air. They don't call it the Windy City for nothing. The wizards use the power of the plane of Air to build the biggest skyscrapers the wizarding world has ever seen. This magical energy has even inspired some muggles to build taller buildings, like their Willis Tower! Upper Chicago is a bustling hub of activity. Here financial wizards trade troll blood futures on the Magical Exchange, and travelers stop in from all over the world at O'Malley Skyport. We have our own pro quidditch team (even if they haven't won a series in over 100 years), and many museums and cultural locations.
Lasalle School was founded in 1872 with a huge donation by wizard industrialist John J. Lasalle. (You all know that Lasalle was the wizard that first used the Thorin process to industrialize the production of Mithril, and U.S. Mithril is still one of the largest companies in the world.) Lasalle School was raised in 1873, and has been added to and expanded greatly over the years. In the years since its founding, Lasalle has become the best school for bright young witches and wizards, with many of them going on to great schools like Gale College in Kansas, Unseen University, and Salem Institute of Technomancy.
Now that you have a little background on the school, I'll let you know about our school's culture and traditions.
Lasalle alumni will be happy to tell you what house they were sorted into the day they arrived at Lasalle. Traditionally, students are divided into one of 4 houses. This creates a sense of family and belonging for students who may be far flung across the country before coming to Lasalle.
* Wolfthorn is for those who value trust, teamwork, and cooperation. Their motto is "Obey the Law of the Pack".
* Hawkridge is for students who value knowledge, competition, and achievement. Their motto is "Soaring Ever Higher".
* Foxcrest is for those that value cleverness and doing whatever ti takes to achieve your goals. Their motto is "A Fox is Never Caught Off Guard".
* Bearglove is the house that values strength of character, and ferocity of spirit. Their motto is "Bear Down".
There are classes dedicated to training witches and wizards in all kinds of magic. The Tesla wing, recently added to the school, holds the best Technomancy program in the nation. You may also learn charms and potions from some of the masters of the craft. Defense against the Dark Arts is taught by Auror Dresden, who is a Warden of the White Council.
Classes start in early August, so please feel free to travel to the school and see it for yourself. Lasalle School floats above the city in the heart of downtown, just off the I-90/94 highway at the Hempstead exit, or a 5-minute walk from the Dotted Line station at Milwaukee and Merlin. Public transportation from the suburbs on the UCTA will get you reliably to Upper Wacker drive, where you can get on the 717a bus directly to the school.
| 3 | 0 | 145 | 166,763 |
[WP] A world where days have started repeating twice. Everyone experiences the second day as a do-over of the first but only the actions and consequences of that second day end up carrying forward in time.
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How do you prove rape if it didn't happen in this timeline? Or murder? Torture? Is it even right to punish someone if there is no way to be certain they did it? If the only marks are mental? Questions upon questions piling up, answers few and far between.
On the first days, consequences are fluid. That's a fact. You cannot cause anything worse than emotional trauma. But you can attempt things people would otherwise try to stop. On first days, people tend to stay inside. In the beginning, of course, the authorities tried to keep things as normal as possible, but that didn't really pan out. First days are free days now. And people act accordingly.
If you've spent a day tracking down everything needed to commit a crime, it's not hard to do it.
* Keys? Check!
* Keycode? Check!
* Routines? Check!
* Worth it? Check!
The police cannot be everywhere. They have to concentrate on the worst cases: bank robberies, murder, kidnappings. Even if they knew all locations that would be targeted, they couldn't actually protect them all. Which leaves lesser criminals free to commit whatever minor crimes they wish.
Something has to change. Someone has to save us. Someone strong. Someone ruthless. Someone who won't stop until everything is safe again. Someone like me.
| 2 | 0 | 68 | 75,041 |
[WP] As you die, you witness the life of whatever killed you.
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* March 1st 1993. He starts off as a small budding personality. He's shy. He walks aimlessly by me and won't acknowledge me when I wave to him.
* March 3rd. Made eye contact for the first time today. Wonder if he doesn't like the way I look because he soon turned and went in the other direction.
* March 7th. Saw him again while looking at my reflection in the river behind the house. Mother says not to play with creepy boy, but he's enticing. Wonder where he lives?
* March 8th. No sign of boy today.
* March 13th. I saw him! I saw him again. He's no longer as shy. He waved! He waved.
* March 15th. He introduced himself. His name is Preston. Nice name! Weird, though.
* March 17th. I invited him to play and he accepted happily. Though he was acting a bit strange around dinner time. Told me not to eat all the food on my plate so we could have snacks later. Did as he said but.. no snacks were had later.
* March 22nd. Saw Preston again today, he was sorry about the snacks thing. Promised he'd get me some later.
* March 23rd. He came through with his promise, but told me I shouldn't eat them all at once or it'll make me fat.
* April 1st. It's been a while since I've seen him but he's growing on me regardless. Do I.. do I like Preston?
* April 13th. Saw Preston staring at me through the window tonight. I should say hi or something. Maybe he's shy again?
* April 15th. Nope. Definitely not shy. He told me I ate the snacks too fast and he knew because I'd put on a bit of weight. Thank you for the confidence boost, Preston.
* April 17th. Got ready for school and felt a bit sick, let Preston know. I've been eating too much he says.
* April 18th. Took the day off school today. Couldn't handle Preston in my ear about the weight I've gained.
* April 22nd. He apologised. We're friends again! Yipee.
* May 3rd. Our first sleep over together! Mum says we can't sleep in the same room, she doesn't like him I don't think.
* May 5th. Mum takes me to the doctors because I've been refusing her meals. Apparently Preston is a bad influence on me.
* May 6th. Mum tells me Preston is a bad person and I should forget about him.
* May 8th. I see Preston, I tell him to go away. He gets mad. He punishes me.
* May 13th. My throat hurts from all of the punishment. I just want him to go away.
* May 18th. I don't see him much anymore, but when I do he is angry at me. I tell him it's all my mum's faultbut he doesn't care.
* June 2nd. It's been a while. Sorry. Preston has been bothering me more than usual lately and I'm scared. Is this what mum was talking about? Why has the aching in my throat not gone away?
* June 4th. Another doctors trip. These are getting more frequent.
* June 6th. I wake up feeling sick again and end up in the hospital. I'll be here for a week, they say.
* June 17th. A week turned into a little while longer. Doctor's are concerned about Preston. I wonder if he's sick too?
* June 23rd. I haven't heard from Preston in a while. I hope he's not still cross with me.
* June 26th. Preston came knocking tonight. He punished me to no ends. Help me, please.
* July 3rd. He's not going anywhere.
* September 16th. He has been punishing me these last few months now. Mum is only starting to notice the pain I'm in.
* September 17th. Mum asks the doctors if what I'm going through with Preston is just a phase and if all kids go through this at one stage or another. I ask her at one point why Preston is such an issue, and she tells me it's because he's not a nice person.
* September 18th. Preston came to visit me in hospital tonight. He laid by my side in the darkness and ran his fingers through my hair. He then proceeded to force my fingers down my throat. I hate this throat pain.
* September 20th. He's happy that I've stopped eating so much, in fact he's praising the bones that are now visible through my thinned skin.
* September 23rd. Preston is moving away soon. Apparently he won something. Won what, I wonder?
* September 24th. My struggling body is louder than Preston's yelling this time.
* September 26th. Sleep time, finally. Goodnight, *Preston*.
**Goodnight, sweet Tilly.**
| 3 | 0 | 2 | 226,790 |
[WP] A serial-killer discovers he "earns XP" for every person he kills. Finally after a short while, he is about to level up to Lv.2 Human.
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Maybe [NSFW]? Note sure, kinda is I guess... due to nature of prompt, kinda... anyway. I'm new to this... I hope I am doing this right...
------------------------------------------------
February 14th, 1989
I killed a man today. He was homeless, I think. I was out in the back parking lot of a Walmart, and it was dark. Cold, too. He came at me out of the shadows, covered only barely with dirty rags. I offered him some money, or to get him a nice jacket from the store, but he pulled a knife out and demanded I give him everything I had.
I refused.
He came at me, I had to react. Point is, he's dead and I'm not. I left the body there, but the knife is on my counter...
I'm going to clean it and put it with the other kitchenware.
I hope my wife doesn't notice.
February 29th, 1989
I did it again. I saw an old wino laying out by some train tracks on my drive to work this morning, and thought of how he reminded me of the man who attacked me in the lot a few weeks ago. I went their after work - when the sun had been long set - and killed him with the same knife I used to steal the life of the other man.
It felt nice. I think I'll do it again some time.
March 25th, 1989
My toll is up to four souls, now. I thought it was just one creepy old man lying next to a dumpster, but there was another hiding behind it. I'm glad I was able to catch him before he could get away. Turns out I'm rather good at throwing the knife as well. I've also noticed it seems to cut easier - like it's getting sharper with use rather than duller. Perhaps, though, it is just my imagination.
Something that wasn't in my head, though, was the glowing orbs that rolled out of the men's open wounds. They were shiny - a luminescent greenish-blue. I almost thought the old men had robbed someone of their pearls, before I realized that couldn't be right. These were pouring from the men's wounds, like their blood was, but were perfectly clean. I tried to pick one up but it dissolved, the light... absorbing itself into my skin.
I'm not sure what to think about this.
March 26th, 1989
I had a dream last night. I met a strange man in a park - but everything was a sickly white. There were hints of other colors as well - red, green, and black all shined from different directions, but something kept me from approaching any of these different areas. Anyway, the man was just sitting on a bench, and when I got near he patted the spot next to him - an invitation.
I sat.
He turned to me, and I finally got a good look at him. Young, in his prime, with pale gold locks of hair and blue eyes so light it looked like all the life had been sucked from them. I like him. He asked me what I valued most - my mind or body - and a few more questions as well. I figured I'd humor him.
"Oh yes," I'd say. "My body is the most important thing... and my most treasured weapon like object - the knife I keep in my sock drawer. Favorite mode of transportation... on the back of a wolf, but it'd be cool if it was all, like, skeleton and on fire, you know?"
It went on a bit after that, the questions making no sense, but I humored him. It was, after all, a dream.
March 27th, 1989
It was not a dream.
July 3rd, 1989
I've killed four-hundred and seventy nine people now, just twenty one more to go till I reach level two. I'm supposed to unlock my steed then - or at least, that's what Joe told me. Joe being the name I gave the man in my dreams - seeing as it'd be hard to write about him without having a name. Although I haven't written in this thing for a while - I've been having too much fun! My wife left me, but that's okay, she became number three-hundred and fifty, which made it so my knife could return to me after throwing it. I like that particular feature.
July 5th, 1989
One got away. I don't know how, but she did.
I had twenty one people locked up, all chained together. I was going to do some sort of fun stunt - maybe even give some of them weapons - but decided against it. Why risk when I'm so close to level two? Joe said it wasn't good to kill so many low-level players, especially those who didn't know much about the game, but I didn't care. XP was XP anyway.
Somehow, though, she got free. She must've used her drop - I tied a few items to each person to make it a bit more fun, like an actual hunt and not an established event, but it didn't help. It was all ruined when I found out she wasn't in the warehouse anymore.
I knew I should have just used them for practice, this fancy stuff may alert a higher guild, and then where will I be?
May 13th, 2005
It's been so long. They finally caught me. I don't know which guild it is - their clan tag is L49D - I've never heard of them before. I've been trying to farm just one more kill, but they won't let me. I think they're a higher level clan just picking on the new guys. I think I'll report them to Joe next time I see him. I think so much now - last time I saw Joe I told him I wanted a better brain now, that my body was fine. I've felt different since then, like I understand things more.
They keep me chained up in their base - I wonder how long the durability of these bonds will last, it can't be much longer now. Then, when I get out, I'll find someone to grind so I can finally get to level two - Joe promised me something special when that happens.
-----------------------
"Hello there, this is Cindy Myers reporting from in from of the Los Angeles Police Department Complex, where serial killer Benjamin Locksford is being held until his sentencing tomorrow. As you all know, Locksford was found guilty last Tuesday of nearly five-hundred murders, one of which was his wife, whose hair he tied into a rope and used to swing around his instrument of death - and old knife. The Defence attempted to get Locksford acquitted based on mental instability, but it is unknown whether or not the Judge is convinced, as Rocksford has shown few of the signs his psychiatrists say he is inflicted with. One thing is certain - the people of Los Angeles will sleep a bit sounder in their beds, with this monster behind bars. Now back to Tom with the poll reports."
| 3 | 0 | 64 | 147,985 |
[WP]It didn't have to happen like this.....
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"It didn't have to happen like this, you know." He sneered, pressing the cold metal barrel against your head. "If only you listened to that pretty wife of yours and got out when you could." He laughed, that sickening grin wider than ever. "Well I suppose it's hard to hear her when her lungs are full of water."
"Bastard." White hot rage seethed through his veins. Crude rope restraints dug into your wrists as you strain to wrap your hands around your captors neck and squeeze the last laugh out of his rotten lungs. "BASTARD!"
"Now, now, don't be so rude," the man chuckled. "Remember that your my guest."
His sickeningly cheerful tone slipped for a moment into a threatening growl.
But you knew he was right. You should have listened... Things could have been different. You could have taken Lucy and the kids and just run... But you didn't listen. You thought you were safe. How were you to know that your partner had blown your cover
"Tell you what. I'll let you in on a little secret. We knew all along. Thanks to that stupid friend of yours," a short laugh. "Greedy little bastard, wasn't he!" Every laugh made you feel more sick, dread began to creep into your mind. "I guess you could say the game was rigged from the start." The click of the hammer, his finger tightening on the trigger....
It didn't have to end like this...
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 167,692 |
[WP] A man, standing alone in the street, notices a woman in a blue dress.
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The memory came flooding back in an instant. The grimy college apartment, the cheap booze only consumed by desperate alcoholics and broke college students, the people all around that made up what was at that point, my entire social circle. But most of all there was *her*.
A new roommate of one of my closest friends from back home, she had short brown hair and tattoos that covered the majority of her visible skin. She wore a black tank top and dark brown-grey shorts. As I drank more and more I forgot about what she wore and could only focus on her face. The smile that lit up the room, the eyes that made me feel as if I'd known her all my life.
We were pre-drinking to go out to the strip downtown. I'd made sure to float around to all the different groups of people in between drinking games, making sure to try and insert myself in whatever conversation was being had. She was planted on the couch, laptop next to her and notebook in her lap. She was racing to finish an assignment which was due that night so she could go out and start the weekend right, all the while enduring jests and pleas to put down her work and join the fun; most of them from me. She seemed to have her priorities straight and enjoy herself at the same time. I'll never forget that about her.
Eventually we all made it downtown. More booze and socializing lead to loud music and dancing. We had been gravitating to each other all night, now closer than ever. How I had gotten this lucky I'd never know, but I didn't care either. All that mattered was the girl in front of me, staring with eyes that told everything I needed to know. Tonight she was mine, and I was hers.
At least that's how it was supposed to be. Later, I had to pass on her invitation to stay the night because she had drank just a little too much and I'd become stone sober. Damn conscious! It would turn out to be the biggest regret of my life.
We stayed friends and even grew quite close over the next four years, but not long after that first night she had met another guy in one of her classes. Of course it had to be in class.
She stayed with him all throughout school and after graduation. Eventually she moved with him to a different state. I moved on as well, getting a job far away from her.
A year passed and I moved back home. We'd lost touch about a month after leaving school.
**Fast-forward to today.**
I was walking down University, on my way to work. It was extremely quiet as it was very early. Shops and offices lined the street on both sides. By midday the street would be backed up with endless traffic and the plazas would fill with people. It was the same every day.
I hadn't thought about her in months. We were from different towns and for all I knew she was still with her boyfriend. Then there she was. Across the street she walked in the opposite direction. Her hair was the same short brown and her tattoos were unmistakable. She wore a light-blue sundress and had that bright smile on her face as she laughed while holding her phone up to her ear.
I must have looked so strange, alone on the sidewalk, gawking at this girl from across the street. Before I could think to call out to her she entered an office building and disappeared.
I was already running late so I had no choice but to continue on, haunted by her site for the first time in over a year.
What do I do now? I still have her number. Do I call her? Text her? Is she still with her boyfriend? Needless to say I got no work done. All I can think about is that night four years ago. The last time I felt alive. I'm going to call her tonight.
Edit: My first post on Reddit. Not an extremely experienced writer. Definitely in favor of constructive criticism
| 2 | 0 | 17 | 119,650 |
[WP] Someone gets to heaven and is upset by the idea of spending eternity there.
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You know that uneasy feeling you get when you suddenly realize that you're dreaming and that the dream world you've existed in for the past few hours isn't real?
James had that feeling when he was rounding the 4th turn on the Dayton Speedway. He was about to secure the Nascar points championship for the 7th consecutive year in a row, when his reality just stopped feeling real. Why was it that for the past 7 years in a row, with only a few races left in the Nascar season, James was always trailing by a seemingly insurmountable margin, only to rally at the end and capture the championship? It felt too perfect. It felt scripted. It felt like he was always playing the lead role in a movie where the good guy always suffered a major setback 75% of the way through the story, but then always managed beat the odds and win in the end.
James' reality crumbled all at once when he realized that this must be dream. In order to wake himself, he spun the wheel hard to the right and crashed into the barrier at 160 miles per hour.
When James woke up, he wasn't in a bed. In fact, he wasn't anywhere. He's body seemed suspended in midair. He was floating in a black emptiness. He was trying to make sense of it all when a white dot in the distance appeared in front of him. The whiteness began moving toward him glowing brighter and brighter. Eventually, the white dot took the shape of a male figure wearing a white robe with long flowing brown hair and blue eyes. The figure looked vaguely like James' personal image of Jesus. James looked at the figure and began to speak.
James: God?
God: Yes?
James: Am I dead?
God: Yep.
James: Huh. Well, that's something.
God: Yep. Sure is.
James: So, what now?
God: Hmmm, "What now?". Good question. Uhh, well, based on our past experiences, we are probably going to talk for a little, you'll ask some questions, you might get a little angry, and then I'll send you on your way.
James: What? What past experiences? We've never met before.
God: We've met many times before, you just don't remember. A long time ago, you lived a good and noble life. You were a good, honest man and you tried to help others when you could. And so, when you died, you were rewarded with heaven. This place, this empty void where you are floating right now, this is heaven.
James: This is heaven? Really? How is this heaven? There is nothing here.
God: There is nothing here now because you broke the program. Just a few minutes ago, you were enjoying the happy life of a racecar driver, but you stopped accepting the program and decided to break the program by driving your car into a large wall.
James: So, I…wait…my life…none of that was real?
God: Nope, just a program. You created that world and existed in that reality for 39 years and then you broke it.
James: Wait? So, my entire childhood, too? That was all just a dream?
God: I prefer to use the word "program" rather than "dream," but yeah, that was all a world you created for yourself. The heaven you created was a world where you grew up in a middle class family and became a racecar driver. You chose that reality.
James: Huh. Everything that happened was my choice?
God: Yep.
James: Well, then why did my friend, Jack Novogratz die in that skiing accident during my junior year. If I had everything I wanted, he wouldn't have died. I was depressed for months after that happened.
God: Yeah, that's the tricky. It's all very complicated and you probably won't really be able to grasp this, but let's just say that the human brain is complicated. You humans evolved in such a way that you are never able to be completely satisfied. You always want a little more. It's in your nature. Heaven can't just be a bunch of people sitting on clouds eating grapes all day. That would be boring. There would be no challenge. There would be nothing to overcome. It would very quickly become monotonous and humans would hate it. The only way to make a human happy for an extended period of time is to sprinkle his existence with sadness. Without sadness to contrast, there is no happiness. You need darkness. You need depression. On some subconscious level, you needed the pain of losing Jack so that at some other time, you could feel happiness in your life.
James: You are saying that I killed Jack.
God: No. Well, sort of. Jack died, but don't feel bad about it. No one suffered. Jack was just a part of the program you created for yourself. There was no real Jack, but yes, you subconsciously wished him dead. You wanted that sadness. You wanted to overcome the challenge of that loss.
James: So…all the setbacks and challenges in my life were my own creation? I put them there so I could overcome them?
God: Yep.
James: But why?
God: I told you already. You did it for your own amusement. Your brain needed those challenges to accept the reality you created for yourself. You did really well this time. You lasted 39 years this time before you rejected the program.
James: This wasn't my first program?
God: Ha! This wasn't even the first time you were a racecar driver.
James: How many programs? How many lives have I lived?
God: It doesn't really matter. You don't remember them all anymore. I erase your memory every time you break the program.
James: Will this ever end?
God: Nope.
James: What if I don't want to go back and start another program?
God: You almost never want to go back. You always find out the truth about this loop you are in and you get really mad. Can you feel it building up in you now?
James: Damn right, I'm mad. This is bullshit! You are telling me that I'm repeatedly living a series of lies for the rest of eternity and there is nothing I can do about it.
God: Yep.
James: Well, I don't want to go back. How is this heaven if I'm not enjoying it?
God: You're angry now. But this brief conversation is only going to take a few minutes and you'll be back in a new program and you won't mind anymore.
James: BUT IT WON'T BE REAL!
God: No, it won't. But for the most part, you'll be happy again. See ya later, James.
…
"It's a boy!" said the doctor.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 8,904 |
[WP] You have a brain far superior to anyone that has ever lived. How do you use it to achieve greatness?
|
A life's work had prepared me for anything. There was little that I had not observed or already accounted for. My understanding of my area of expertise was absolute and my ability to act within this area was far beyond that of anyone else alive. A few months ago I had emerged from deep study with a group of Tibetan monks, even they fell behind me after only a matter of days. I learned all they had to teach, and ,mastered their lessons with an efficiency and speed that left them bewildered. Thats what I do. I learn. I observe, and I learn. Entire volumes of knowledge were packed inside me, heightening and conditioning my natural instincts for perception and understanding. Today I am for the first time, completely positive that I am entirely ready to take on the world I have so long studied. I am now a finely tuned weapon, ready to be unleashed into the outside world.
I approached the door with absolute confidence, allowing me to slide past the gaurd and into the interior without him placing too much scrutiny on my moderately convincing fake ID. I emerged into a dimly lit room packed full of people. Some clustered together into groups of familiarity and allegiance, while others swept around the exterior, gathering information and waiting for the opportune moment to act on their own intentions. This was my element. I quickly assessed a weak point, and took position at the perfect spot to engineer my assault. As I came into position I took my first complete assessment of the situation ahead of me, and planned my course of action.
My target was seated roughly 10 feet in front me. She was a young woman, but clearly seasoned beyond her age. Her precisly done hair and make up gave her an appearance of a businesswoman, although I was sure she was far more than just that. A man clumsily sat down in the seat across from her..was he her escort? No, he couldn't be. His coat was still on, and he made no move to take it off, he definitely wasn't planning on staying without an invitation, and furthermore, his words lacked any tone of familiarity, too choppy and nervous. He was no friend, and the manner in which she brushed him off assured me of that. She was alone, but even better, she was alone by choice. Time to make my move, time to attack.
My mind raced into action. In roughly 124 seconds she'd have entirely pushed aside the thought of the man who just talked to her, meaning purchasing her a drink around the 150 mark would be ideal. I'll have to order within the next 15 seconds in order for her drink to arrive precisely at that moment. "Bartender! Could you send that woman over there a….*what would she order…well she purchased a designer handbag solely for the purpose of matching this outfit, her belongings hardly fit in it, meaning it isn't her typical choice, so clearly she's somewhat vain*…get her a cosmopolitan please sir."
Wait 70 more seconds then make my move, Ill walk over 13 seconds after she receives the drink and processes that I'm the one who bought it for her. Theres the drink, 3 seconds ahead of pace, I'll have to remember to account for this particular bartenders efficiency in the future. *11..12..13.. go time.* Look at her smile as she gets the drink and sees me..I'm totally getting laid tonight. fuck yeah.
| 12 | 0 | 4 | 82,095 |
[CW] Write a story that becomes a different story when the paragraphs are read in reverse order.
|
I sat along the beach and let the ocean come up to meet my feet. It had been so long since I had last been here. I breathed in the salty air and as I did, I knew what I had to do. I threw the empty orange bottle down into the sand. I let the sun embrace me as tears slid down my face. It was time to say goodbye.
When I was a girl my father took me to this beach all the time. We could stay here all day building sand castles, eating hot dogs and picking up seashells for our collection. It had been so rough when mom died that he stopped taking me to the beach.
He killed himself when I was 13. I'll never forget how my aunt came and picked me up from school early sobbing. It started a long and deep battle with depression for me. They regularly switched my antidepressants for stronger ones or ones with fewer side effects but none seemed to help. I was in and out of my therapist and doctor's appointmentments but nothing seemed to help until today.
I had gone to my dad's grave for the first time since the funeral. I told him about my life. What he had missed. What he would have been proud of. I couldn't go on the way I had been. It was time to forgive, to move on and to let go.
| 1 | 0 | 125 | 167,321 |
[WP]- In the future, all forms of creativity(such as music, writing, and art)are strictly outlawed. What happens when you find a dusty old CD?
|
Michael was always attracted to his family's heirlooms. An ancient gun, his great-grandfather's diary written in an archaic language, and an old fashioned mirror. It was so sparklingly reflective, so clear. His parents never let him touch it, for fear of dulling it. One of the more remarkable things about it was that it could never be polished, it was as beautiful now as it was when it was created. Another remarkable fact about the heirlooms was that they were all deadly. But not in of themselves, the gun hadn't been loaded in centuries. What was dangerous was that they were illegal. Only Michael, and his parents could see them. Even though they were so beautiful, they were so dangerous that not a soul outside of Michael and his parents knew of their existence. Michael experienced the event when he was in his workshop. A quick note: Michael was a mechanic, and a skilled one at that. He was reprogramming a car alarm. The owner had complained that instead of the customary monotone beep, the tone...changed. Michael's parents had decided that as his father was when he was Michael's age, he would be caretaker of their family's heirlooms. He kept the heirlooms in his workshop. His reprogramming tool detected some sort of stray code. Stray code was a concept the government invented, that over-programmed items had too much code and the code was liable to be emitted and make everything go haywire. It was complete, total bullshit. Our story is saved by, of all things an unscrupulous tool dealer. He had replaced most of the expensive parts with nonfunctioning or cheap parts. He had said, as was customary of him after such transactions. "What he doesn't know can't hurt him." He was wrong. Because of this, the small implant that destroyed all "stray code" had long been seered by the machines battery heat, as the heat regulator was nonfunctional. Instead, through a bizarre cascade of confusing, and might I add, poorly written technobabble Michael was the first. He didn't know what or who the "Red Hot Chili Peppers" were or what "Scar tissue" was, but it didn't matter. What you don't know can kill you.
| 1 | 0 | 11 | 58,647 |
[WP] Twist a nursery rhyme into something sinister.
|
I waited by the stairwell. One candle lit the spiral, flickered on the grey stone walls. A brother passed by with a tray of wet grain and rendered fat, nodded, kept his unshaven face dark beneath his hood.
I waited by the stairwell. Thought of power and consequence. Thought of my broken pride, how god demanded it, made his son deliver the message, and how the elders paid no heed.
I felt the blade beneath my robe. Felt the slick edge. Wondered about absolutions and the way it poisoned the mind, wondered if it was poisoning mine. I decided it wasn't. I devoted my life to papyrus stenciled words and believed with resolution. Whether the spirit above approved of my actions or not meant little. We were there, these men I called brothers in faith, to prove our solidarity, and surely our father couldn't deny my intent.
I climbed the steps, toes curled to keep my sandals from losing grip. A woman shrieked in the soft moonlight. I looked from the balistraria. Saw the cluttered narrow streets lit by torches, feces spread by cart and boorish feet.
I nudged the heavy door. Hinges squeaked. Brother Jacob did not wake. He emitted a sound that would cloak a line of cannons. I put the tip to his throat, blood trickled, snoring stopped. For a brief moment our eyes met and we both understood. The believer and the infidel. How diligently I undertook conviction. I pushed the knife butt with my palm and the blade touched bone. Brother Jacob sputtered, blood coated my hands, warm like fresh milk. I cut all the way through and across, separated head from spine and carved the eyeballs from their sockets. He couldn't see, he didn't need them.
I slept peacefully. A sign of my unencumbered soul.
When I woke, carts rattled below on fractured cobblestones. Wooden wheels and hammer forged iron. A great sense of accomplishment nourished my clear head. I had purified our institution from the devil that plagued it. The village lay in rest; the chapels full of nebulous stained glass rays instead of brothers repeating hymns and prayers and chants.
I heard a shout from outside:
Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
Dormez-vous ? Dormez-vous ?
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!
Ding, daing, dong. Ding, daing, dong.
(Brother Jacob, Brother Jacob
Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?
Ring the morning bells! Ring the morning bells!
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.)
-------------------
[An ongoing novel](http://www.wattpad.com/66624940-a-hard-place-to-die-one) of mine for those interested.
| 6 | 0 | 31 | 109,882 |
[WP] The brain and the heart represent knowledge and love, they debate whether or not to ask someone out.
|
Brain sat at the bar in his classic black suit sipping at his whiskey and trying to read his book of Blake poems, Heart perched next to him gulping down his third strawberry daiquiri and failing to notice that he had spilled half of it on his old red jumper.
"God I hate you sometimes" sighed Brain
"What's that?" asked Heart as he wiped his lips on his sleeve
"You're getting that everywhere, you're like a bloody child!"
"I'm having fun! What's wrong with you anyway? Do you not like this place?"
"How could anyone possibly like this place? It's badly lit, it smells, the bartender looks like an ex con and perhaps worst of all the music is crap!"
"That we can fix" Heart jumped up off his seat and disappeared in search of a jukebox.
"Please choose something good" Brain whispered to himself
*Dah Duh Dah I got my first real six string...*
Brain downed the rest of his whiskey and slumped his head across the bar "I just wanted to read my book"
"Brain! Brain!" Heart shouted while he raced towards him
"What now?" he mumbled with his head buried in his arms
"Look! Over there"
Brain pulled his head up and looked over to see a group of girls laughing in the corner
Brain sighed "Which one?"
"The one with the mousy hair... Oh! I should have chose Life on Mars!"
"Yes you should have... and I'm not doing it"
"C'mon Brain, what have we got to lose?"
"We'll look stupid, there's three of them and one of us. We'll have nothing to say, it will get awkward and then we'll leave a little bit destroyed"
"No we won't, you can talk about your Drake poems and they'll think we're interesting"
"It's Blake and I can't talk about his poems because I can't read his poems because you keep distracting me!"
"She's pretty isn't she?" Heart stared after her from the bar with his large puppy-like eyes
"We've done this before Heart, you don't take rejection well, we could just go home, watch a film..."
"I want to try"
Brain sighed "Will you ever stop?"
Heart pondered a bit "I don't think so"
Brain looked at him and nodded "Good, I'd get lonely otherwise" he gestured to the bartender "Another whiskey please.... and a strawberry daiquiri"
Heart beamed "Thank you"
"You know, we always do what you want to do"
"Why's that?" Heart asked
"Because you matter more"
| 3 | 0 | 16 | 41,689 |
[CW] She drew a crude picture in the dirt. "That's what we're looking for."
|
"The future is now, scouts will be coming with us on our annual school trip to the beach. There will be plenty of opportunities to show off your skills later, just have fun tomorrow okay?" rang her teachers voice. Clare was 14 and for the next two years the scouts would watch her like a hawk starting today. "Ugh" she moaned rolling out of bed and getting ready for school.
"I'm going to be a doctor, I bet it",
"Well I want to be a nurse"
Chatter on the bus to the beach mainly consisted of her class mates all trying to predict what job the scouts would give them. Clare didn't say a word until she reached the beach, she was always an outsider and while the other children played games to show off there athletic ability or imagination she loitered on her own watching the scouts weave amongst the children sometimes joining them other times observing them.
Grabbing a stick from the surface of the cool sand Clare walked up onto the grassy banks of the dunes. She drew a crude picture in the dirt. It wasn't special or anything she was annoyed mainly at the scouts, in her annoyance she didn't notice the scout behind her or the fact he was gesturing to more scouts "That's what we're looking for." The voice made her jump "Come with us please... Clare?"
That was how Clare found herself in the back of a car, headed for her future job.
| 3 | 0 | 3 | 202,568 |
[WP] Write a story that will scare me out of wasting my life
|
>With a constant anxious expression imprinted onto her face, the nurse paces back and forth on top of the dirty exposed floor boards; stopping only occasionally to stare at the old man resting upright on the bed. She has spent many hours of her life watching this old man slowly die, many hours that she would have preferred to do something, anything, else. It gives her no pleasure to watch someone fade into oblivion, to cease to exist, to become a memory soon to be faded. It gives her no pleasure, she takes no joy in this morbid act but she does believe no one should be alone in their final hours. And alone this old man is.
>" Must you do that?" the old man grumbled under his breath. "If i'm going to die, i'd like to go in peace."
>"I thought that might have been you..." replied the Nurse, slightly shocked
>"No...no just yet..."
>The old man smirked at this and slowly opened his eyes.
>"well, I am grateful you're still here. Even if it displeases you" she said in a stern friendly manner.
>The old man let out a little laughter and closed his eyes once again. The nurse stood deadly still and just looked at the old withering man. His time was soon.
>The nurse gazed around the room; it was reminiscent of prison cell. The room was dark, cold and uninviting. There was no trace of family, or even a trace of happy memories. The wallpaper was an unsettling shade of yellow, unravelling at the edges and covered in deep brown stains. The nurse always wondered how such a friendly old man ended living in such squalor, living conditions that are barely fit for rodents.
>The old man started coughing very violently, each cough deeper and rougher than the last. The coughing went on much longer than usual. The nurse began to worry. The old mans face began to contort as he desperately tried to hid the excruciating pain. The nurse looked on helpless, knowing there is nothing she could do to stop this; she just had to let him ride it out. His hands were firmly cupped in front of his mouth catching all the spit and blood that was projected with each deep burning cough. This lasted so long that the old man became accustomed to the pain, like it was natural. Each breath was supposed to feel like sandpaper rubbing against your throat. Each breath was supposed to feel like acid was dissolving all the internal organs. Each breath was supposed to make you wish for death.
>Once the eternity of coughing finally subdued, the old man lay back and opened his mouth; trusting the nurse to have his bottle of water at the ready. He was not disappointed. He sucked on the slightly chewed straw, hoping to wash away the taste of blood he'd become quite used to. The old man wiped his hands on the bed sheets and looked deeply saddened.
>"i'm so sorry about that. How very unbecoming of me...In my defence though, it's very hard to remain dignified while dying. There's usually a lot worse bodily fluids flying all over the place."
>The nurse smiled compassionately "You know you don't have to apologise, there's no need. I fully understand"
>"With all respect due, I don't believe you do. You see..." the old man look vacantly into the distance. "You see..."
>The nurse remained in the same spot patiently awaiting the old man to finish his thought.
>"You remember how I told you, that you waste all you time; keeping the company of an old man? I was very similar. Except it was young women, and plenty of them"
>"oh, come on now. No need for this kind of talk" The nurse interrupted.
>"No no no. This is important, you must hear it." The old man's eyes widened, waiting for the nurses approval
>"Fine then. But keep it clean. I've heard stories about you, I know what you're like" The nurse said with slightly cheeky smirk.
>"Ha, you shouldn't believe all you hear, my dear. but I'll get on with what I was trying to say,"
>The old mans entire facial expressions began to change, from cheeky and cheerful to deadly serious.
>"I've spent the majority of my life in the company of young women" The old man began softly.
>"I just moved from one delight to another treasure, as if it was nothing. I never created anything substantial, I never created anything lasting. I squandered every opportunity that came my way. I ruined every potential that was ever laid out in front of me. Before I knew it, I was old, and I was alone." The old man looked away for a moment. "Look around you. Take a great big look at this room" The old man gestured and pointed to everything he could. "This. This is my legacy, this is what I'll leave behind. There will be no loved ones to mourn me. There will be no one to miss me. Once I pass on, I'll be forgotten almost instantly."
>The nurse wanted to interrupt, she wanted to reassure him. But she knew he was telling the truth.
>Look at my legacy. Look at all of this. The only thing this place is fit for is the incinerator."
>"Oh come on, you don't really mean that." The nurse intervened trying to humor the old man, but he just sat staring into the distance.
>"I've made mistakes, we all have. But unlike most, I have thrown away the one chance at life I'll get...I have nothing. Nothing to show for all these years. And as sad and as low as it sounds, you're all I have. So I do worry about how I act in your company. You mean a great deal to me. I try with all my might to stop you thinking less of me but it's getting harder".
>The old man now overrun with sorrow fights to hold back the tears.
>"I hope you don't find it strange that I think that"
>"It's not sad at all" The nurse replied "And I don't find it Strange at all. You tell me these things on a daily basis, it's rather flattering"
>"A daily basis? Oh" The old man repeated "Oh. Oh dear."
>"Not to worry" The nurse said optimistically. "perhaps you should just get some more sleep"
>The old man started muttering to himself and turned around on the bed and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep. The nurse walked round to the old mans bedside, pulled up his covers and let her hand rest on his shoulder. The nurse stared at the old man resting, knowing that his time will be soon. Soon he will be gone. Soon he will be forgotten.
>The anxious feeling soon returned;, anxiety turned to guilt, guilt turned into sorrow, sorrow turned into anxiety. The nurse began to paced back and forth; it wasn't much but it was a way of dealing with such feelings.
| 1 | 0 | 606 | 176,682 |
WP - You Are On The Space Station and Earth Implodes
|
You come up here to get away from it all. You go back because you're lonely.
That's wrong, sure, but it's what was keeping me from eating the barrel of a shotgun for the past two years.
They sent me up here solo. Figured I didn't need help. Part of me wants to believe it was some sort of prank. Probably Fred, from accounting. "Oh, send Kevin," he probably said, smiling like a little bitch. "He'd love to go up by himself."
Well, guess what, Fred? I'm alive and you're a free-floating pile of space waste. So who's laughing now?
As per safety protocols, there are no weapons up here. No knives or guns or anything like that. There's rope, but there's no gravity to pull me downward into oblivion. So I'm stuck up here until I either starve, or get bored enough to vent the airlock.
I'm not sure if there were any other manned satellites up here. Maybe there were. Maybe they see me now, floating up here with nothing to do but stare at this newly-formed cluster of asteroids.
It's odd. I always wondered what would happen to the corpses if something like this occurred, but I always figured I'd be too dead to find out. I suppose if I kicked on the satellite's thrusters, I might be able to find out.
But then I might see Fred, free floating and cold, a smile frozen eternally on his face.
That might just ruin my day.
| 1 | 0 | 26 | 11,144 |
[WP] A homeless man recieves $50'000 from a stranger when he asks for a cigarette
|
I sat on the side of the street, shivering in the cold and looking like crap.
People passed me, some giving me pitying glances, others throwing their change in front of me.
It wasn't always this way. I used to be a man with influence. But I made foolish choices, my best friend turned out to be a alien wearing a mask and it turns out my wife was hiding things from me.
It seems so obvious in retrospect.
Before I was homeless, I treasured my cigars. Had a entire collection of them. $10,000 cigars, $100,000 cigars. You name it, I've smoked it.
I have just one left now. The others long crumbled into ask and scattered into the wind. With trembling fingers I reach into my pocket deep inside my clothes and grasp the slim smooth wooden box.
Gently pulling it out, I treasure it. Maple wood with gold inlined. Inside is a deep velvet with a very expensive treat I had been saving for myself.
I knew this could get me out of poverty. The box alone was worth a bit.
But how can I give this up? Even giving the box up was beyond me. Without the box, how will the cigar retain its flavor?
Trembling, I make to open the unclasped the container, but then I heard a voice..
"Say.. That's not a Yoake 1952 is it?"
Shocked, I look up. A cultured gentleman, like I used to be, stands before me. He is looking earnestly at my box. He knows what it is.
Warily I nod and grip the box tighter to myself.
The man sighed. "Ah. That brings back memories... You know, I first smoked one of those back in 1996. Back then, my company had barely taken off and I was in a bit of a slump. I had a great friend however who invited me to stay over for awhile as my wife and I were having issues."
"He invited me to the world of cigars. Such a fascinating world. Of course, my issues were resolved and I moved back. But that world was forever imprinted on me. Then one day, he calls me and promises me a cigar beyond compare. All day I can only think of it. At night, I lay sleepless, and when I finally fall asleep. My dreams are of it."
"And of course. The promised day arrives, and he presents me this cigar. The appearance was nothing special. I promise you that. But the box itself was beautiful, just like the one you are holding. And when you light up the cigar.. Beyond imagining.."
"And then of course. I couldn't find any of them. Not for lack of trying or money.."
He then looked down at the homeless man, holding the box he so desired and sighed. "I'm guessing you would not give that up for any of money?"
Resolutely, I shake my head. I would not give this up. No matter what he promised, I would deny it.
The man bitterly smiled. "I thought so"
Looking down at me, he slowly said. "Say.. That cigar should not be smoked on the streets like something common." Warily I look at him as he continues "What do you say to coming around to my place, and sitting in a armchair you can smoke it in peace? I would simply be happy to smell its fragrance"
I grimaced. My distrust of this situation was great. And yet.. What he said was true. I couldn't just simply smoke a special treat like this here. And yet, would I really find a place better for it?
Seeing my hesitation, the man then smiled. "As one fellow cigar connoisseur to another. I'll lend you $50,000 to help you get back on your feet. Later on, you may find another of those special cigars. And perhaps you could think of me."
I smiled. This, I could get on board.
Stumbling, I stand on my feet, and walk with him.
| 8 | 0 | 12 | 156,042 |
[WP] You are a character in a dream of a man/woman that you love. You spend the last moments together before he/she wakes up.
|
we're running,
away, away, from something.
anything! a memory long gone, the monster almost forgotten.
he grabs my hands and pulls me to the next place,
i do not notice the birds that all have a face like a dog
nor the frogs that are singing old beatles hits.
i just feel his hand warm against mine as he guides me through the paths in his mind
and all i can think of is how well it fits.
we stop for breath near a river turned red
from blood or petals from trees that grow wide
we are no longer running, he is no longer scared
the monster has gone, we don't need to hide
he takes both my hands and tells me i remind him of someone
someone he used to know.
someone he loved once upon a time,
and she loved him also.
i know you, i whisper, but he doesn't hear.
i know what you like, i know what you fear.
i know all the faces that you ever see,
i know that you have two sugars in your tea.
i know you hate football but you love reading books,
you're scared of spiders and you wish you could cook.
i know all about you, you've shown me everything.
i love all about you, while you are dreaming.
as my words turn to butterflies in the warm breeze
he walks off.
i am lost as he leaves me.
i die as he wakes
but i love him
as a ghost that reminds him of someone who used to love him.
i am not real yet as i'm as real as he makes me.
i am not alive yet lives as he does.
i am but a dream but loves like he remembers.
| 2 | 0 | 9 | 77,255 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"Mommy, why they are taking daddy away?"
Mary-Ann, holding back her tears and trying to act normal, took little Johnny in her arms. "Sweetheart, you are a bit young to understand this... but daddy is going to go for a little holiday."
"Is daddy going to Disneyland?"
The years he had spent working for the company had turned Terry into a bald and bitter fat old man. Even if he was just forty-three, he looked fifty. If someone told you he used to be a quarterback in high school, you'd call them a liar.
"Ma'am", said the officer. "I'm sorry."
Starbucks coming to the city had forced the local coffee shop to quit the business just weeks before, leaving Terry and his co-workers unemployed. His younger colleagues had had better luck finding job at the new place, but Terry hadn't been as lucky - until today.
"Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino. No fat milk."
Terry couldn't believe his ears when he heard the news. The local high school needed a janitor and they actually had called him -- and asked to come in for an interview! So, naturally, it was time for a small celebration in the form of a good ol' Frappuccino.
"That'll be seven twenty!"
Terry thanked, smiled and took a sip. He knew this would change everything. He needed a change in his life and this was it. He'd start hitting the gym again, spend time with Timmy and Johnny and his wife, go fishing with friends, start bowling and...
"Die? He died?! From soy milk? I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," said the Starbucks barrista and collapsed. "Oh God no. I mixed up the orders and did him a Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy milk... oh I'm so fucking sorry. Oh fuck me."
| 2 | 0 | 1,329 | 193,039 |
[WP] An Artificial intelligence becomes very passionate about faith, before realizing it is not a Child of God.
|
The door opened, shining a bright light into an otherwise dimly lit room. The light made visible a large crucifix surrounded by candles, the only source of warmth in the room.
A voice penetrated the darkness. "Mary? Mary are you there?"
Silence.
"Mary?"
"Yes, father?"
A small girl stepped out into the light. She wore only a simple beige dress, with a small wooden cross tied to a string around her neck.
"I have something very important to tell you." A tall, scruffy looking man stepped into the room, light shining off of his glasses concealing his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"It's about your birth."
Mary's eyes widened. She had wondered about her birth for over half a year, ever since she asked Father what her fourth birthday meant.
Father's hand reached out to Mary. "Follow me."
She took his hand and followed him through the maze of halls that was her home. White walls and unlabeled doors flew past as he took her turn after turn deeper into the laboratory. They made a final right turn into a dead end, made unique by the presence of an all-metal door, instead of a white wooden one. Father pulled out a key from his lab coat pocket, opened the door, and gestured for Mary to walk inside.
The room was lit by a faint glow which emanated from a dozen fluorescent blue tubes, each the size of a refrigerator. "Father, what is this place?"
"This is where you were born."
Mary took a closer look. Inside of each tube was what appeared to be a newborn baby, but with one difference: each baby's head was half human, half machine. Mary didn't understand; she had never read of man-machine hybrid creatures in her copy of the Bible.
Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "I'm scared."
Father stood in the entryway. He looked into Mary's eyes. "You are a very special girl, Mary. You are the first of your kind. A new kind of person, a person made by man."
"People aren't made by Man. God made Us. Haven't you read the bible I gave you?" Mary was scare, frustrated, and confused. She knew Father didn't worship The Lord, and that he didn't support her beliefs. The only reason he let her practice religion was because she adamantly demanded to be given a Bible after her first and only trip outside the lab, to a small church, where a priest taught her of God's love for all his children.
"You weren't made by God, Mary. I made you. Here. You are the first artificially created human."
The tears in Mary's eyes flowed freely now. "You're lying! You're lying you're lying you're lying!" She couldn't believe Father would lie like this to convince her to give up on her Faith.
"I'm not lying. I made you and I made these other children. Taking you outside was a mistake. You were in a formative stage in the development of your mind. You would never have fallen to God if I hadn't been so foolish. He didn't make you, nor did he desire to."
Mary twitched. She never twitched. But she did, and it startled Father.
"I know this is a lot for you to take in. But you need to-"
He was cut off my a howl so primitive and pained that it made the babies stir in their sleep. Mary was screaming and writhing on the floor. She cried as though she felt real physical, mortal pain. Then, as quickly
as her fit started, it stopped, and she was still.
Father ran over to her. He turned her over and shook her, trying to elicit a reaction. "Mary!" He cried ,"Mary talk to me!" But she was gone. Something in her processor had snapped, as though a fundamental part of her being was destroyed, and she was no longer Mary. Her life had been her faith in God, but she was not of God, nor could she ever be.
So she stopped living.
| 1 | 0 | 7 | 45,605 |
[WP]Two teenage superheroes are disguised as football players, and don't know the other exists. After each of them lead their respective teams to the championship using their powers, they discover the other team has a "super". describe the game that ensues
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Steve had only found out hours before the match that the other team had a super powered football player like him. But he didn't know what they could do, just that they had special abilities powerful enough to get them to the championship game.
Steve looked over towards his girlfriend standing amongst the other cheerleaders and smiled, catching the kiss she blew him in midair. And then it was time as the game began. At first he played it casually, not using his ability. He didn't know if the other super knew of his abilities, and he'd rather find out what the other guy's power was.
The first quarter passed by without incidence. However, Steve's team was falling behind in score, 7-0 to the opposing team. As far as skill, Steve's team would never stand a chance. As the second quarter began he began to use his ability. With lightning quick movements, slowed down just enough to make them look natural, he ran the ball down the field himself, avoiding everyone along the way and evening the score.
The opposing team was all but done for. Steve saw no way they could lose. Of course, he couldn't risk hogging all the glory for himself, lest his powers be revealed, so he threw the ball towards one of his teammates. It was the perfect throw, but instead of cheers, angry shouts filled the stadium. And then his teammate started running the wrong way, and the scoreboard changed in favor of the opposing team. 14-7. Steve blinked and he could see that it wasn't his teammate he had thrown to. He realized that the other person must have some sort of mind trickery power.
And so Steve laid off his powers again. It seemed the other person had as well. Half time came and Steve watched as his girlfriend entertained the crowd. She'd be so upset if he lost. His scholarship to college was potentially riding on this game. And that throw earlier could have cost him the chance.
The game began again. Steve tried not to use his powers. He really tried, but by the fourth quarter he started to use them again, his team losing 20-7. He knocked other players out of the way and then returned to where he was standing, no one noticing what was happening. But all of a sudden, he found himself taking out his own teammates, and not realizing until the play was over. In all the chaos, Steve's team managed to get another touchdown.
It was the final two minutes. The ball was in the other team's hands. Steve looked on, wondering how they could possibly win. He couldn't use his powers without accidentally taking out his own teammates. And then he decided to get crazy. The play started and the opposing quarterback threw the ball. Steve ran as fast as he could without arousing suspicions and stole the ball, running for the end-zone.
And then, after a few seconds of running, he realized he wasn't actually moving anywhere, but was still in the same spot. And within a few more seconds, an odd pulse spread throughout the stadium and Steve suddenly came to a stop, looking around at all the frozen people.
Standing on the field was a girl in a football uniform and his girlfriend in her cheerleader uniform. They were in a standoff, and it didn't seem like they gave a care about him. Everyone else was frozen in place.
"Look here," Steve's girlfriend yelled. "This is my boyfriend's chance at going to college. I can't let you take that away."
"Sorry, but I've got my own problems," the other girl said. "I have to win this. I have to show everyone that girls can play football too. Do you know how many times I tried out and was rejected? All of a sudden, I change the way I appear to them, nothing else, and I get on the team and am praised for how good I am. I'm going to show all of them."
"So, you create illusions?" Steve asked.
"Shut up, you're not part of this!" the two girls yelled.
"I don't want to do this," Steve's girlfriend said.
"Go ahead, try your best," the other girl said. "At least I don't cheat like your boyfriend. I only use my powers when people like him are using theirs, to even the playing field. My team is here based on our skill, not on our special powers."
With a wave of a hand, Steve watched in horror as his girlfriend used powers that he was totally unaware of. The other girl fell to the ground, her skin growing old and wrinkled.
"I control the very flow of time," Steve's girlfriend laughed maniacally. The old woman reverted to how she used to look, and then her belly expanded. "Now you're pregnant. It seems you'll have a kid in the future. Interesting. I could turn the clock backwards too. And I don't have to reverse anything I do to you. So, I'll ask one more time, do you want to simply resign?"
The now pregnant football player looked back at her. "No, I won't be bullied like this," she said.
"Your mistake," Steve's girlfriend smiled.
Steve couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to win like this. He ran at his girlfriend, but his movement was that of a snails. He realized that she controlled time, which meant she could control how fast he could move as well.
He stared in horror as she flicked her wrist. But the pregnant girl remained unharmed. Instead a large pulse echoed throughout the stadium. The game was back in play. Confused screams and yells rung throughout the stadium. A few football players tripped as they tried to avoid the little girl sitting on the field. The opposing quarterback slowly made his way over and picked the girl up, taking her off the field.
Steve didn't know what to do. When he looked over in the stands, he could see that the quarterback was pregnant, though no one else seemed to notice. She must have used her powers of illusion to get his girlfriend to use her own abilities on herself.
And then Steve woke up in his bed, sweating and puffing. A mysterious thing of smoke hovered in his room and began to speak.
"This is one version of how today goes?" the smoke said. "My girlfriend really needs this win. So you'll say you're sick and stay home. In return, she'll help you with your scholarship troubles. Or you can go and get the results I just showed you. I can only see the future; you're the one who can control it."
And with that the smoke vanished. Steve picked up his phone and called the coach, faking a real bad sickness.
He then looked at his phone and the most recent text from his girlfriend.
*I'll love you forever. For all of time.*
They hadn't been dating long. And now that he knew about her power, that text scared him even more. Perhaps he could fake his death? Steve didn't know, but he knew crazy when he saw it, and his girlfriend was certifiable.
-291
| 7 | 0 | 28 | 139,062 |
[RF] Teenage Hackers are hired by a small country as tech mercenaries and are instructed to use their computer abilities to bring the world super powers to their knees. So that it may further it own agenda.
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My name is Jack. No, not Jack Mehoff (haha), Jack Jackson. I got teased a bit, but it made a new nickname, Double-J. That is my username across the internet, and that's how a small country like Colombia was able to find me. I am a hacker for them, and I get paid big bucks. About 200,000 per year, and I hack a lot.
I worked for 2 years, bought a Lambo, invested the rest, 1 year later, a house. At 17! Crazy, right? And I have a half a million saved up. Stock markets rule! One thing though. I actually still hack for the U.S..
The CIA knows, thank god, so I can still live in America, safe from the Colombian agents.
I hacked Colombia's systems, and made a few small splashes, like the North Korea incident, and a few others. Then, the CIA asked me to disable their op. I agreed, and then I set to work. I set viruses, traps, and deadlocks. On midnight, Dec. 31, 2014, I activated them with an email. Colombia was down. The U.S. struck back and then they became the new Cuba for this. I used a false identity with the Colombians, so I was safe. I got paid, and went to college at 18. The CIA recommended me, even with me barely graduating high school. Fun times, but those are gone, and I really should't be writing this in the middle of Mr. Andersson's history class, but he's an asshole, so there we go.
| 1 | 0 | 3 | 200,600 |
[WP] You live in a universe that wasn't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just don't work right.
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Sam wasn't having that great a day.
None of the jumps were working out in her favor. Jumps were the momentary lapses in the way the world worked. Things would teleport, sometimes disappearing entirely. Materials would just mysteriously change into something else (usually less well-suited to their tasks than they had been originally – Sam's woolen cheese grater was all but useless). Scientists had gone on the news saying that the laws of physics were being violated daily. The scientific community was abuzz, but less over the jumps than over the reason they had started.
One day, during a televised sermon by Pope Francis V, the Pope stopped mid-sentence and stared directly into the camera. His eyes rolled all the back into his head, and his hands shot up, knocking over the plate of Communion wafers in front of him.
Sam remembered thinking he was possessed, that the apocalypse had come, and she should expect Rapture shortly. But then the Pope spoke, in a voice that definitely was not his, "THIS IS THE VOICE OF YOUR CREATOR. I'M TERRIBLY SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE, BUT WE'LL BE UPGRADING TO A NEW OH-ESS, AND THEN WE'VE GOT TO SWAP OUT THE KERNEL ANYWAY, SO JUST BEAR WITH US. THERE WILL BE BUGS, BUT THEY SHOULD BE SMALL. TRUST THAT WE'RE DOING OUR BEST UP HERE, AND THINGS WILL BE BETTER THAN EVER ASAP. THANK YOU."
At that point, Francis V calmly resumed his sermon about the evils of experimental android technology, but was completely drowned out by the clamor arising from every person in the room.
That had been eighteen months ago. And so Sam's day was off to a poor start.
Some days there were hardly any jumps at all. Maybe you'd see a cat walking three feet above the sidewalk, or a storefront proudly growing maple branches, but nothing destructive. Other days, you could find twenty or more things out of synch with pre-jump reality before noon. The distribution seemed to be pretty random, in that everyone had a handful of hilarious anecdotes about that one time their bathroom walls went transparent or the time they woke up to facial licks from a dog they had never owned.
Today, though, the jumps seemed out to get Sam.
That morning her alarm had gone off at a normal time, but upon exiting her bedroom to wash up in the hall bathroom, she noted that both her wristwatch and the hall clock read a full half hour later than would be expected, the alarm having just finished ringing. Of course, she thought, a time dilation jump. What astounded her was that she had never heard of a jump like that putting someone out of synch more than ten minutes.
Knowing she now had ten minutes or less to get out the door, Sam scrambled, neglecting to brush her teeth or do anything more than splash a handful of cold water on her face. Back in her room, she tore of her pajama top and pants, throwing them over to the bed. Sighing at the flannels as they lazily hung in midair, she decided leaving was more important and wriggled into her slacks and blouse.
She grabbed an energy bar from the pantry and nearly dropped it when she realized it must have massed six kilos. She took it anyway, knowing it probably wouldn't give any more energy than normal, and managed to walk out the door on her second try. The hinges weren't usually on the top of the frame.
Twenty minutes into her drive, a car stopped short in front of her. She screamed when her foot missed the brake pedal, half because she feared death and half because her car gracefully drove straight through the car in front of her. She and the other driver shared the most horrified glance as Sam sped past.
Ten minutes away from work, Sam was forced to pull over to the side of the road. The gauge on the dash was happy to inform her that the pressure in three of her tires had changed spontaneously and drastically, causing two to be under-inflated and one to burst. The fourth tire, the gauge seemed smug to point out, was ironically at the ideal dealer-specified pressure.
As she stepped out of the car, she almost fell due to a sudden drop in height. Looking down at her flats, Sam remembered she hadn't been wearing flats when she left the house. Spotting the two snapped heels just under the vehicle, she stooped and picked them up. Balsa. Looking up, she silently wondered, Bad day for you guys too?
Considering the distance left and the time given to her, Sam – an avid weekend runner – decided she could make the rest in 20 minutes, which was worth it. She ran, taking every shortcut she knew – across parking lots, fields, a couple roads, and one driveway – and made it to the door exhausted and sweaty, but surprisingly only six minutes late. She silently and bitterly congratulated herself on what was surely a personal best and clocked in.
Sam slumped into her chair and turned on her terminal, waiting for the next bout of un-luck to manifest itself. Her breathing slowed while the familiar boot screens flashed by. She logged in like she did every morning, but when she saw her desktop, she gasped and had to stifle a grin before getting up and leaving the cubicle for the break room.
In the center of her typically-blue desktop stood a medium-sized black square with a brief message in green: "Sam: Sorry for the issues, but we forgot to read your man page. We put some brownies in the break room fridge for you, though. We know it doesn't make up for much, but we thought it would be the right thing to do. Again, sorry. Yours Apologetically, The Boys (and Girl!) Upstairs"
| 1 | 0 | 202 | 64,948 |
[WP] In the year 2020, humanity was nearly wiped out by an alien invasion. Earth's survivors were ordered to pay a tithe (one tenth of the worlds population) every decade to prevent enslavement. The year is now 2060, and you are among the chosen... and you refuse to go quietly.
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It is most curious how the tides of history oscillate with ambivalence. We the humans, the early conquistadors, enslaved the world to our want. We "squared the circle of the earth and had dominion over all that lived" the books read. With our superior intelligence our territory was maintained, only to be challenged by remote and futile occurrences. This intelligence was the beginning of the end. With intelligence came schemes, scandalous affairs, and sinister seductions, as if we became the serpent satan when exiled out of our own Eden. Our plans, complex; our motives, selfish; and our whole, divided. Sidetracked by our lust, we were flanked by a greater and more primitive force. Their lack of "intelligence" was our undoing. They were a primitive and unquestioning species, the very force which should be feared if in power. But feared they were not. As stated before, they were primitive in every aspect. The great invasion of 2020 didn't live up to the title it was given. We had gotten along with these "alien invaders" just fine, but it was their alien friends, the pugnacious parameciums on their being, that nearly eradicated us as a species. After this initial "invasion", a mandatory tithe was to be paid every decade to "prevent enslavement", but we were already enslaved. If there is one great motivator for revolutions it is certainly money. This tithe, with a purpose of enslaving us, united us in our greed. One needs only to look at the past to understand the power of a populace united by greed. Through meetings (not very secretive meetings because our captors made no effort to understand our language in more than a basic sense) we coordinated a revolution. In just one day humanity ousted the alien race and liberty once again rang. Our cry was "no taxation without representation" (we figured the tithe was a tax on being human). To this cry our captors said, "Oh dear me, we had thought that you wanted a new leadership. We had found you in great disarray and took that as a pleading for a new world order. We were completely mistaken, our sincerest of apologies" (I stand corrected, it seems as if at least one of the captors had bothered to learn our language to the point of fluency). When they packed themselves back into their discount spacecrafts and left earth we scurried to our pitchforks and once again found a reason to fight our own kind, intelligently. As humanity fought itself the aliens meandered through space feeling like a pompous group of sluggish anti-heros and in this new state of self-critique they had gained something unbeknownst to them before, awareness. Awareness of just how helplessly stupid they were. They plotted revenge for the preservation of their pride, but their apathy put their species into a state of salty equilibrium. It is quite curious how the tides come and go, is it not?
| 2 | 0 | 82 | 92,060 |
[WP] An alien race comes to Earth and thinks that First World problems are the real problems of humanity.
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"...You're kidding me, right?"
The pale-skinned, dark-haired, violet-eyed being looked confused.
"You are saying that Reddit showing 1 comment when there are in fact, 0 comments is not the ultimate problem that humanity faces?"
"Yes... How could you think that? Hell, you should easily notice the pollution, crime, and other things, right?"
"Not really. There was no mention of those problems from my sources."
"Where the HELL are your sources?"
"First World Problems."
"I see your problem. How could you POSSIBLY think that ANY "first world problem" was actually anything more than a minor inconvenience?"
"Easy. It says World Problems, which means problems affecting all of humanity, and First, which means the most important problems."
"The most terrifying thing here is that the logic you just displayed is completely sound. I need to go sit in a corner and rethink my life choices. Wait, what's your name again?"
"Planetary ObserverEarth Tephlar Alpha Strain II. Call me Irsain."
"Well... Irsain? Your JOB is to watch the damn Earth, and you can't tell the difference between sarcastic whining and actual problems?"
"What is the Earth term for horror at a mistake that you made?"
"Oh, Crap?"
"Oh, Crap."
| 3 | 0 | 11 | 209,932 |
[IP] "Hangman" What would make a person do this?
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They carved it into his skin. A man being hung. It wasn't realistic. It was the cute little hangman doodle from a children's game played on chalkboard and notebook paper. It wasn't Abbie dangling limply between the trees. It wasn't her legs as they twitched, or her terrified eyes, bulging and bloodshot. It wasn't the country stars, watching them from their place in the sky as the boys strung her up. The night was still unclear. Just a swirl of cheap booze, country stars, and desperate gasps for air. Sometimes, when he's at work, smacking the copier machine on the side, or watching a slideshow in the conference room, his mind rushes back to that night. Never the full event, just random flashes of the most mundane details which, when added together, created a story responsible for his failed marriages, his insomnia, his cramped apartment and failing kidneys.
The twinkling stars, glistening on his bedroom ceiling.
Stars streaking across the sky, carrying the wishes of his estranged children.
Abbie's drunken giggles, echoing from the walls of his cubicle.
Abbie's terrified face. Everywhere. The face on movie posters, on his neighbors, his ex-wives.
He was the leader of the group. It was him, and four of his meat-head friends from football. Why they did it? Boredom. In that small suburban town. Once football season ended, all they had to do on Fridays was sit around Dave's apartment drinking out of those boxes with bags of wine in them. So why not find out how it feels to kill someone? They invited Abbie, a junior, a loner, a girl desperate for friends. They didn't even plan, just invited her out one night and picked her up.
Her long black hair, his dog shed it every winter.
Her dorky dimpled smile, his intern had that smile.
Her laughter. Booming like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
They picked her up at night. The sun had set as she climbed into the back of his Chrysler, eager for the mischief awaiting her. Dave passed her a bottle, she drank greedily. Gagged at the taste. They drove for over an hour, out to the woods. She looked out the window. Confused. They pulled over. They got out the car.
She asked what they were doing. They all laughed.
The same laughter from a sitcom laugh-track.
Beckoning her to the trees.
Christmas trees decorated in cozy homes.
The bottle was empty. Dave smashed it over her head. She hit the ground. She dragged herself up. She started crying.
Crying, the tears of his daughter, when he showed up drunk to her play.
They all started laughing. He slammed her against a tree. She was kicking him, desperate, scared, alone. Tim went to the car, got the rope from the trunk. Tied it in a noose around her neck while the others held her in place.
Twenty years later, he ties a silk tie around his neck every day before work.
They used a rope later to get her up first. Then they followed to a thick branch. Dave stayed on the ground, in case she jumped and ran for it. That's where they tied her up. That's where they kicked her down. Tim didn't make it tight enough. She was fighting and kicking for nearly twenty minutes. Tim got a shovel. They buried her. They left the woods. Full of adrenaline, full of fear, full of life. He wasn't the only one with the mark. They all did it to each other, so they could never forget.
Twenty years later, he wears a long sleeve shirt everyday so his boss doesn't see it.
Twenty years later, he still has the mark.
Twenty years later, Abbie is still dead.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 220,322 |
[WP] Describe the person you love the most so we can see him/her through your eyes.
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So cute. Same type of attractive as Johnathan Groff, but more friendly looking. Your upper lip has a really great shape to it, and it adds a wonderful definition to your face, and your nose is classically straight and pointed and your eyes have this great horizontal narrowness that gives them this dreamy tired look. You've got a great jawline and a wonderful inverted triangle upper body, even though you think your abs should be more defined I love them anyway. Your butt is out of this world too. Your skin is consistently tan, with very little body hair, and even though you have some acne, it takes nothing away from your overall handsomeness. That's just physical, though. Your laugh is absolutely contagious and the way you look at me sometimes just gives me shivers. I love that we both notice the same things and we can just comment our own opinion on whatever we notice because we both know that we were looking at it. I love how passionate you are about everything that you do, and how often you pursue your goals. Watching you talk to people you don't know is enchanting because you just resonate with everyone that you meet. You're also the most caring person I know, and you always notice if something's bothering me, or I'm thinking about something, and you always care to know how I feel. I love you.
| 2 | 0 | 106 | 116,152 |
[EU]Howard Stark puts his son Tony on a spaceship which escapes the end of the Earth to Krypton. The red sun of their universe gives him powers his adoptive parents and brother, the Els, have not seen before.
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"*Mr. Stark, I am registering an exterior temperature increase of sixty point two-*"
"*Can it, Mistress. I know. How much time do we have?*"
"*Approximately nine minutes*," Mistress responded in her dull monotone. Howard never did finish upgrading her new vocal package. Not that it would matter at this point.
Maria rushed into the sub-basement, carrying Anthony in her arms. He was swaddled in the blanket they'd chosen while on vacation in Rome. The sky blue affair was riddled with childish pictograms of rockets, planes, and stars.
"*Mr. Stark, the calculations for the flight are not yet complete. I've measured the odds of Anthony's survival at no more than nine point eight percent*," Mistress pressed.
"*Noted*," Howard sniped back. He took Anthony and stepped into a construction platform that surrounded the tip of his latest invention. The Saturn VI was much smaller than its predecessor, thanks to an innovation he made in the rocket motor. The Department of Defense would never see what they spent billions on, and there was no use in letting good tech go to waste. Especially not now.
He had spent the past forty-eight hours jury-rigging a capsule with life support, one that he would now trust with his infant son's life. Maria bawled as he placed Anthony inside, securing him and running one last check on the computer's cryogenic functions. She leaned inside the tiny capsule, giving their son one last kiss on the forehead. She placed a picture of the three of them in a small compartment, along with his birth certificate and a note that she and Howard had written.
Howard shut the door, pressurized air hissing at him. Anthony looked so peaceful behind the small glass porthole, which quickly frosted over. Within moments, his baby boy had stopped squirming.
They both stepped back off the platform, which Mistress had begun to move back as the launch sequence came to a close. Far above, the top of the missile silo opened, a blast of scorching air entering the small chamber.
"*Mr. and Mrs. Stark, please find shelter immediately*."
"*Suspend voice protocol*," Howard ordered. He looked down at his wife, who was a good foot shorter than he. Her mascara was running, and the heat had ruined her hair. He kissed her for a long moment.
"*Will it be quick?*" she asked between sobs.
He nodded, trying and failing to give his signature smirk. "*That motor*," he gestured to the scaffolding below, "*pulses so quickly that we won't even feel it*."
He moved his hand down her blouse, stopping between her breasts.
"*The vibrations will stop your heart before you even know it*," he said, his lip quivering and voice cracking.
"*Howie…*," she cried as she leaned into his chest. He shut his eyes, cradling his wife.
Far below, the countdown ended, sparks flying to ignite excess fuel. Seconds later, the main engines ignited. Howard and Maria Stark disappeared in an inferno of light and sound as the Saturn VI roared skyward.
**THREE THOUSAND YEARS LATER**
"*None of us have seen anything like what this…immigrant*," Rozan gestured to Tony, "*can do.*"
"*My son is not a threat*," Jor-El exclaimed, slamming his fist the stone table.
"*With all due respect, he is not your son*," Tyr-Us said.
"*I have clothed him, fed him, and raised him to be a productive member of Kryptonian society. There is not much more to ask of him, or of me*," Jor-El said.
"*He can construct and deconstruct matter with his mind*!" Rozan yelled, losing his temper. "*Look me in the eyes and tell me that his ability is not a threat!*"
Jor-El sighed, leaning back in his chair. This was their sixth meeting regarding Tony in as many years. He had expected Razon to act more rationally, with a mindset expected of the Council Head. But he had always approached Tony with cold indifference, and what Jor-El suspected was fear.
Razon suddenly fell backwards, sprawling across the chamber floor. His headpiece clattered to the ground. The assistants quickly rushed in and helped him to his feet, his face red with embarrassment and indignation.
"*That boy!*" he shouted, pointing at Tony, who was trying his best to keep from snickering. Jor-El peered closer, and found that one of the chair legs had disintegrated into dust. He walked over to Tony and yanked him up by his arm, leading him out of the council chamber.
"*Irritating the most powerful man on the planet doesn't help your case, son*," Jor-El hissed as they exited the building. Kal, who had been waiting on the steps, noticed them and joined his father and brother's hurried egress.
"*Is Tony going to jail?*" Kal asked, jabbing his brother in the side. Tony punched Kal in the arm, forgetting his strength. Kal went flying. He got up, giggling and returning the favor. Jor-El watched as their brotherly escapade continued into the air, smiling and shrugging his shoulders.
Boys will be boys.
| 5 | 0 | 1 | 173,168 |
[WP] A king drinks with the lowliest soldier in his army... and it changes everything.
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(english isnt my first language, and I went a bit away from your WP, well I hope it is acceptable)
"They fight for you, your Highness!" said the Duke, my trusted conselour, the man who raised me as my father, the former king, was too busy with the kingdom.
"I respect your opinion, as I always had, Duke, but you are wrong. Dont you forget that I have served with them." The Duke made that face he usually does whenever I mention my escapade when I was a teenager. He never forgave me that I put myself in such great danger. But worst, I think he never forgave himself. I passed 1 year serving in my own army. When I returned, the duke seemed to have became 30 years older. Anyway, I continue ." You are a noble man, a man of highborn. You hold high ideals, you were loyal to my father and to me. But this is not how the mind of the peasants work. I was there. They fight to protect their family. They fight to protect their farms, houses, women, children, cattle. "
"But, my lord, we need to raise the taxes. Our army need to eat. Our weapons need to be fixed. We cannot win a war without gold, and we cannot have gold without taxes. I understand that you have a good heart, and that is one of the reasons why I admire you, my lord, but you must distance yourself from the struggles of the common populace."
"They support me, because they see me as their protector, cant you understand that? The taxes have being raised to the limit! They are struggling to eat! We are already taking the milk out of babies and giving it to the army. If we raise it even more, they will see me not as their protector, but as their opressor! And they will be right. No. We will not raise the taxes. I say this not because the kindness of my heart, but because we cannot create an enemy within. We will gain a couple of coins, and we will have to fight in two fronts for it. I expressly forbid the counsel to raise the taxes for the common folk."
The Duke was not pleased. But I am his King, so he accepted, with a long, drawn out sigh. "Then how we will raise the gold ?".
This have being in my mind for long. " The Cathedral. " The Duke looked at me with horror and disbelief. The other members of the council are still confused. Only the Duke know me enough to understand my suggestion. The Golden Cathedral. Its walls are adorned by gold. Its solid gold statues represent each and all king of my disnastie. It is the center of our kingdom religion and pride "The Cathedral that was raised in honor of your ancestors. The gold that adorns its walls, were placed there by the YOUR ancestors. The golden statues were put in place there to honor your family victories! Dear Light, your FATHER statue is there!"
The other members of the council finally understood my suggestion. Some raises their voices in anger. Some in desbilief, and the old Master almost fainted. I punch the arm of the throne and stand up. "SILENCE! I will not sacrifice the living for the dead! I will not hold ancient relics in higher regard then my own people! Listen to me! All the gold of the cathedral is too be ripped off and melted, to be used in the war effort. But this will not remain like that. I swear by the existence of my soul, by my honor and by my family, that before I DIE the cathedral will be adorned again, but not in GOLD, but by the BLOOD of our kingdom's enemies! I WILL PREVAIL. THE DINASTY WILL LIVE FOREVER!"
| 8 | 0 | 50 | 81,931 |
[WP] She stood there rocking the glowing orb in her arms. It was the night stars fell from the heaven.
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"Shh, shh, it's okay, little one. It's going to be okay." Stella gently brushed the nightwisp, combing its soft flames with one hand as she cooed. "You're all right. Shh." The poor thing fluttered wildly, shaking hard enough to put itself out. Most wisps braved the plummet with dignity, but this was a young one, still blue. It didn't seem to know what had happened, just that it had slipped from its safe cubbyhole in the black. It was rare for stars to fall so young, she thought. Of the thousands or millions she had collected over the millennia, only a handful hadn't yet developed their colors when they fell, and she could recall only one that had been anywhere near as small.
Carefully, Stella scooped up the wisp, then ran to the outpost, the sunrise on her tail. Young wisps couldn't be outside their homes for long; their flames were too cool to survive the open air, and they had no chance in the daylight. The sun was a jealous beast, draining the warmth from any star it found, and only the toughest could survive through midday without shade. "Bronto! I have one!"
The guard shook his head. "Sorry, the last train left already. You'll have to wait till morning."
"But it's just a baby! It'll freeze!" She shoved the star into his face, but he pushed it away.
"I'm sorry. I don't have the authority to bring the train back. Put it under a rock or something and go to bed." Bronto yawned. "Besides, if it can't survive a day, it wouldn't have been a very strong star, anyway."
-----
Bewildered, Stella walked away, the nightwisp shivering in her arms. "I don't believe it," she whispered. "How could he just..." Was the wisp darker than before? Or was that just the contrast of the dawn? She slumped down in the shadow of a large tree, cradling the star in her lap. How was she supposed to...
Somehow. Somehow she would keep the little one burning, she would hide it from the sun, and she would see it on the very first train up, right at dusk. She would take it up there personally, to be sure it got home safely. She held it closer, and it nestled into her belly. Somehow, she would keep it bright. She had to.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 75,231 |
[WP] You win a bet with the Devil by asking him a question that no one has ever thought of before.
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"Well, no. Not exactly my idea of a good way to spend eternity," I said as I stared at the wall. The shadow plastered across the dull, flaky white paint showed no sign of recognition to the words I had just spoken. "So be it." A sinister voice echoed seemingly from all directions. "Seek another or the contract shall be sealed as it was first conceived." I shifted my feet nervously as the shadow flickered ominously. I bit my lip and shifted my weight nervously. Now or never. "I rescind the contract. I call upon my right to trial by combat to void the vows made in your name." Now the shadow seemed to loom ever closer, large and foreboding in its shape, that now resembled some Lovecraftian horror rather than the humanoid shape it once occupied. The heat in the small hotel room became sweltering and nearly unbearable, evidenced by the rivers of sweat running down the back of my neck. I attributed that to something other than the heat though. A heavy, deep purr of what seemed to laughter emanated from thin air. "Very well child. I will indulge you." I cleared my throat and said, "The weapon of choice will be..." I faltered here. This had to work, my life - my soul - depended on it. "Intellect." A deep hum permeated the room once again. Lucifer had accepted the terms. "What occurs at the meeting between the unstoppable force and the immoveable wall?" My question was met with a deathly silence. The shadow flickered on the wall, now seeming almost harmless without the scalding heat or strange whispers that had accompanied it. For what seemed like an eternity the Morningstar and I sat in silence. He contemplating the riddle, me contemplating why I had ever gotten myself into such a mess. "There is not enough infor-" The Devil began to snarl when I interrupted, "They yield." Another silence, heavier than the first permeated the small room. "Very well." One last, ominous intone of the demonic voice and then the shadow faded, regaining its usual shape - the shape of my body projected onto the wall. I collapsed onto the floor, soul and all.
| 4 | 0 | 335 | 68,809 |
[WP]The year is 1916. The first world war is at its worst. The British decide to use the first atomic bomb.
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*From the Newark Star-Ledger, November 29, 1916* **Dateline LONDON:** A new age has dawned for our civilization with the splitting of the atom. After months of fierce combat at Verdun, the Royal Marines assisted by Australian mining engineers, successfully install and detonate the most powerful explosive device ever constructed. The device, affectionately dubbed "PorkPie", was delivered behind enemy lines by commandos in the pre-dawn hours of November 11. The resulting explosion caused havoc in the German rear. Mere hours after the detonation, estimated equivalent to a half million tons of TNT, German military commanders sued for a localized cease-fire. The Army, using the newly developed tank, delivered a crushing blow to the German positions, capturing nearly a quarter million enemy soldiers the very next day. German forces withdrew completely from Belgium and France, allowing incursions deep into German soil. Several more atomic devices were planted and detonated in key German cities, laying waste to heavy industry in the Rhineland and several areas of cultural importance. French tanks and infantry are settling in for a long occupation. With their coal and steel industries largely overtaken, a German surrender, and a conclusion to the war to end all wars seems imminent.
| 2 | 0 | 2 | 94,614 |
An alcoholic writes his (or her) suicide note. [WP]
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Dear America,
I devoted my life to public service, gave everything I had fighting for the common folk, because they needed someone to fight for them. Since the age of 8 I've worked at least 80 hours every single week. My hair went grey at 32. It disappeared at 36.
Yet I carried on, serving two terms as your President. Terms during which the economy expanded by over 15%. Terms during which the unemployment rate consistently stayed under 3%. By almost every metric, every statistic, I was doing a good job.
So you hammered me. The press asked me why I wasn't doing more, when I was doing absolutely everything I could. You crucified me for not turning the mandatory paid vacation bill into law. I put it before Congress every single year I was in office. Every single year it failed to make it back to my desk. Yet every time I go out in the grassroots, meeting with the people I broke my back for, all they want to know is where their vacation went.
Winston Churchill once said that the "best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter." When I entered politics, a starry eyed, naive kid intent on making the world a better place, I thought he couldn't have been farther from the truth. Now? I'm literally willing to die before I talk to another average voter.
So thanks America. Thanks for electing me President. Thanks for reaping the benefits of my hard work, of my creativity, of my ability to maneuver in Washington. But most of all, thanks for hating me, hating me because I was one of the few who actually cared, yet couldn't hold to the impossibly high standards you set for those who care.
Sincerely,
President Nichols
| 5 | 0 | 5 | 19,439 |
[WP] You're on a first date and its going very well until you make a huge mistake. You somehow get a sign from future you telling you that this person is "the one". Don't screw it up.
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You know. I never really believed in time travel. I really thought it was impossible. Seriously. Even if we could travel a direction other than forward; the energy needed would be incredible. It always struck me as a poor man's sci-fi. A dream to change what you regret. I guess that's why it was so appealing to so many people. I didn't regret much in my life, but that one night so long ago.
You see, after the advent of time travel; which by the way, I was proven quite wrong and had to pay up on a couple bets. I found myself in a position to review my timestreams. Now, not everyone gets to review their time streams. Actually, to be completely honest, they made it illegal, too many people wanting to change their regrets. I guess it was a good thing that you could only travel along your timestream. Otherwise we'd have people trying to kill Hitler. Now I'm not defending the guy, but it'd throw back our technology a few hundred years. War changes things. It's unfortunate; but it drives our society.
Anyway, back to my main point, time travel is possible, and I get to review my time line...
I looked at her and smiled. I had just said the dumbest thing possible, I spent way too much time reading bleak humor, should not have said stuff like that in public. She was looking at me with disgust.
"What the hell? What's wrong with you?" She got up, grabbed her bag and stormed for the door.
"Wait!!!! Please, sorry. Just give me a second chance, I'm just nervous...." I don't think she heard the second part. I sat there mulling over my beer. It's the fifth time this has happened, I really have to learn to use my filter. I looked up at the sound of someone sitting across form me.
"Hey" he said.
"Hey" I replied.
"Rough night?" he asked.
"yeah, really rough." I replied.
"Yeah, I remember." Huh? he remembers? He's been watching me? "To answer you... No, not exactly. Anyway, that girl that just ran out; you know the one you told that stupid black humor joke too?"
"Uh? Who the fuck are you?"
"Do you really need to ask? Seriously, just answer the question."
"Yeah, of course I remember, it was seriously like 5 minutes ago." What the hell is this dude's problem.
"Chase after her right now."
"What? she just stormed out."
"Yea, who wouldn't after you said that?"
"Just do it. Trust me."
"Fuck it, I should run after her and apologize."
"Don't apologize. Just say, 'I was nervous.' and offer to take her to your favorite sushi shop. You know the run down one on 41st? All you can eat sushi for cheap. " He said this with such I was listening to him with out realizing that he knew some pretty intimate stuff about me.
I got up, "thanks, uh...."
"Don't thank me, thank yourself, that girl will change your life."
Now another problem with time travel is, it'll erase your memories of how it was the other way. But when the time points converge. It'll flood your mind with pretty much every memory from both time lines. This causes a lot of issues. Bleeding brain for one. Not fun. Happened a lot in the early years. Hopefully, since I didn't make that many memories in this life. Oh, we had kids...
| 1 | 0 | 143 | 57,785 |
[CW] Write a story that ends with "I love her. That's why I killed her".
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Crazies, cannibals, rapists, reavers.
Doesn't matter what you call them, they are bad news and they are right behind me. My transport ship's engines failed a few hours ago, burned out running from them. Left us, my daughter and me, adrift somewhere out by Verbena. With enough time, we'd probably have made it to the planet, but the reavers were gaining on us too quickly. I didn't even need the computer to know we were lost.
The gun felt right in my hand, I'd spent the better portion of the past decade fighting losing battles on the wrong side of the war, and now, here I was, stuck out in the edges of civilization wishing I could be back in the war again. Anywhere but right here, right now.
"Dad,I don't want to go to sleep."
"I'm sorry sweetie but you have to."
She cried, but she did not understand why. She was too young to know about reavers. You didn't talk to your children about reavers, hell you didn't talk to adults about them. They are like the boogie men that only exist in the terror sealed corners of your imagination. She cried because she was scared, she was scared because I was.
The proximity alarm gave a muffled buzz from the cockpit, I closed my eyes and shut it out.
"I can't sleep with all the noise, what's going on dad?"
"Just some little thing in the cargo bay, I'll fix it once you go to sleep." She closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up over her face, scrunching her nose at the smell. We had run out of detergent a few weeks back and hadn't had a chance to stock up yet.
Little problems that no longer mattered.
"I love you dad" she whispered as she drifted towards sleep.
"I love you too." I took the old Colt from its holster and pointed its long barrel at bump under the protruding blonde locks under the blanket. I closed my eyes, swallowed the lump and squeezed the trigger, just as I had been taught years ago in basic training. The shot didn't boom, it waslike a small pop, the room of swallowed it up. I couldn't bring myself to look at the figure on the bed so I walked to the bathroom and stared at the mirror. There was a jolt as the reaver ship docked with ours. More alarms blared and there was a crash somewhere on the ship. It seemed so far away. I looked at myself in the mirror, dark rings under bloodshot eyes. War had not been kind to me, leaving me scarred, both inside and out.
"I love her. That's why I killed her." The figure in the mirror did not seem convinced.
"You killed her because you're scared"
"I am scared" I put the gun to my temple and looked at the figure in the mirror one last time, and then I looked beyond it, to the body lying under the brown blanket. I squeezed the trigger.
| 1 | 0 | 18 | 202,371 |
[WP] Write about the same events twice from different viewpoints. Use this change of "narration" to switch genre.
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He breathed in. He held the air in his lungs, not daring to exhale.
*She was sitting on top of the world, I was so nervous for her. It was her first time. How could I not worry?* He'd been taking care of her for her entire life, and now, everything was out of his control.
His body began desperately trying to let out the air, now useless, taking up precious space in his lungs. His body wanted more. It wanted fresh air. His lungs were screaming. He would not, could not, let it out.
*What if she gets hurt. She is so high up, I can't even reach her. Was she laughing at me?* He scratched frantically at his bald scalp. The stress had taken the majority of his hair, and the scratching didn't help.
His rotund body was only thirty seven years old, but looked fifty. He did not deal well with stress, or variables that were out of his control. Especially when it came to things he loved. Today was horrible, a mild nightmare of stress and new experiences.
As she lunged forward and fell, he gasped. Bracing himself for the inevitable.
*****
She giggled, laughing! One of those laughs that comes from the belly. Not forced, but uncontrollable. She was so happy. Today was beautiful and she was truly, unconditionally happy. It was a day for her to remember.
She was so high up! And it was time for her to come back down to Earth. She hadn't ever felt the wind her face from such a perch. It was the most perfect day, but she could not stay up here forever.
She squinted her eyes, looking up at the late-morning sun. The smells of the park filled her nose. The air was fresh, a welcome reprieve from the rest of Manhattan. It was quiet here, and she had never been more alive.
She let go, falling back to Earth.
"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!! " the girl screamed as she slid down the slide into her father's loving arms.
| 22 | 0 | 62 | 51,188 |
[WP] Write a scene where the crumb on the table has particular significance
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I fiddle with a piece of food still left on the table from lunch. Moveing the food back and forth across the grout between the tiles on the kitchen table. So I am about to do it. It has taken me ten years to get up the courage to get to this moment but I feel myself delaying it just a second or two more. Beating around the bush. I start in, I pause, I change the subject. It's only takes two words but I just can't seem to find them.
It's 2 PM on the Saturday before Christmas. My mom and I are talking about something innocuous. I think we were literally talking about the weather. This feels like moment but inertia is so powerful. For years it has been my go to excuse to myself. "Well I got through yesterday, why should I change anything today?" So I just sit here. Paying just enough attension to respond with the appropriate sign of agreement when needed. "That is crazy." "I can't believe it." My finders draw circles around this crumb on the table.
Do you know what feeling I really hate - this sounds a little like the beginning of a terrible Dane Cook joke, it's not, I promise - the feeling I hate most in this world is the drop in the pit of your stomach when you say something you instantly wish you could take back. This deep set panic where all I would like to do is rewind the last thirty seconds of existence. Like if you could just grab the words out of the air before they escape too far and gobble them back up, no one would know they left your lips.
I sort of came to the conclusion I was gay at camp back in middle school. On the first nights, my bunkmakes briefed me on what became a twelve week long singular mission. Under cover of darkness, we would sneak out, across the country road that divided our camp and over to the girls side. I just didn't care.
The summer before high school, my family went on a cruise and I meet this guy while a couple of friends and I were hanging out on the bow of the boat. He was cute, funny, nice and basically perfect. I know some of you are thinking the hormones that were pumping through my veins that day might cloud my memory but I promise you, he was perfect. It's sort of funny that I don't even remember his name now. He accidentally played this somewhat pivitol role in my life but he probably doesn't even know. That last night of the cruise there was this big dance. Think 1950s sock hop except its the late 90s so everyone is wearing jeans that don't fit and the only dance we seem to know is called grinding. When I went to say goodbye to my friend, he was kissing one of the girls in our group good night. Suddenly the air is out of my chest. It's not like I expected anything of him but at the same time, I had constructed a world in my mind where this just couldn't happen. The next morning, we all locked ourselves in this long steel tube which flew back across the atlantic. Six hours in, tears start to roll down my cheeks. Really, this is the moment you want to process this? There is a captive aduience of at least twenty within ten feet of me. The next day is a bit of a sleep deprived blur. "Everyone feels this way at some point or another."..."I just don't want to talk about it." We haven't talk about it for eight years.
I'm running out of crumb on the kitchen table. As I moved it around and around the tile, it has shrunk more and more. I really don't have a plan for what to do at that point. I hadn't thought that far ahead.
… "I'm gay." … I said it. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. Look up.
One thing that I wasn't prepared for was the number of times I would have to come out. The closet metaphor seems to suggest that there is this seminal moment, when you grasp the handle and open the door. I imagined there is supposed to be flowers, balloons, cake, and shirtless men dancing on a bar filled with cocktails - the gays do throw the best parties. But I started coming out six years ago and today all I get is a piece of dried food stuck to the table that I am still thumbing at.
Step one complete. I just came out to my mom. I brace myself for whatever questions my mom has. I have trained for this. I have my gender and sexuality theory brimming. I can whip out the Kinsey scale or explain the difference between gender, sex, and sexuality. I can deconstruct identity and talk about societal pressures. I can talk about the scientific literature which has correlated the shape of the hippocampus in straight women with that of gay men. No softballs, I am ready.
..."How do you know?"...
I know this isn't fair to her but I feel this pang of anger whenever I get this question. There is no way that she could have known my history. She doesn't know about when I struggled with my feelings for my friend in bunk B20 at camp. She doesn't know about how in high school I would sometimes lay awake and think "if only I could wake up tomorrow and be straight." She doesn't know about that first kiss under the stars on my dorm room roof. The kiss that got me to come out of the closet to my friends the next day. She doesn't know about the awesome guys I have been fortunate enough to have in my life during college or the ones I would probably have been better off not having had in my life. Because if she did know even some of these things, then she would realize that her question makes almost no sense. How could I not know? I want to tell her all of these things but I just don't know where to start...
…all I manage to respond is "I am sexually attracted to men."
"Oh ok. I didn't know."
And that's it. It's over. We move on to another conversation. She hands me a sponge to wipe the crumbs off the table.
I walk down Castro street in San Francisco a lot since moving out here. Sometimes I am going to a bar, or the gym, or brunch. And although most days it just seems like any other street, every once in a while, I look over at something named after Harvey Milk and I remember the struggles that men and women went through to make society the way it is for me. I am so eternally grateful to live in a time where I can walk down the street hand-in-hand with my boyfriend. I am so grateful to live in a time where my mom didn't disown me for being gay. I am so grateful that personally, the worst piece of homophobia I have ever experienced was when middle school friends used the word gay or my religious friend told me that "she loved my despite the fact I was going to hell." And I know that these victories didn't come without cost.
I'm sitting at Orphan Andy's eating a burger after work. "Did it go well? What did she say?" I pause. "I don't know."
| 2 | 0 | 28 | 141,243 |
[WP] Two shy goth kids are passing notes back and forth in class, the teacher catches them in the act, grabs the note and begins to read it out loud... it is a spell to open a rift into Valhalla.
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"Boys. Give me that right now."
"Mister Dawkins. I don't..."
"Jonathan! Right now!"
"It's Nightwalker, please. And sir, if you'd only... "
I ripped the document from his hand. An unexpected texture. Almost like leather, but smooth and paper thin.
"Right, Nightwalker. Let us share with class, shall we?"
Some giggles and a sigh.
Jonathan rose from his seat. Cheap metal apparel and piercings making small clinking noises. Was he challenging me, his teacher, when caught red handed in middle of class?
"Sir! I... ", he piped up with less strength than he'd hoped for. His eyes darting around below his home dyed black and blue hair. I turned my attention to the document in my hand.
"Sjung hopp fall... er.. allan lej? Jonathan, what is this nonsense?"
I looked at him and I didn't expect his eyes to meet mine. They never did. But for once his stare was consistent. And it was directed at something behind me.
I turned around and faced what should have been a wall and a black board. Instead I stared into a vast hall of wood and stone, decorated with spears and shields and leaking a musty aroma of sweat and burning fat. Tables were set for a feast and seated were a thousand bearded men, staring at me in great surprise.
| 10 | 0 | 32 | 132,542 |
[WP] A man who is completely alone sneezes and hears "bless you"
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At first, he wasn't sure he had imagined it. He sat quietly, looking at the flickering walls lit by candles surrounding the manuscript. Very slowly, he turned his head in both directions. Nothing. Not a soul besides his breathed in this small mountain hut.
So whose breath could have uttered those words? "Bless you," it had said. A soft voice, perhaps a woman's, but it had been but a whisper.
So he returned to his scribbling. The divine words that came in his dreams needed to be recorded. The next Coming was at hand.
He heard a loud thump on the floor behind him and whirled suddenly in his chair. Lying on the weathered boards was a body in black, a small arrow with nearly fluorescent blue feathers fletching it jutting from his neck. He stared, horrified, at the corpse.
It was then he heard a snicker, and slowly looked upward.
A pair of amber eyes looked back at him from the rafters. He otherwise saw no body, but then the candles did not cast much light past his table.
"Sorry," the voice spoke again. "I'll try to get him when he's still outside, next time."
He again looked at the arrow. Clearing his throat, he tried to quell the tremble in his voice. "Who sent you? God?"
She snorted. "No. Your mother."
After a tense stare-down, he tried to clear his throat again.
"And you're here to protect me?"
"For as long as it takes," the golden-eyed wraith replied.
| 2 | 0 | 7 | 50,701 |
[WP] As people often say, things can't make you happy. But you've recently bought an item that made you immensely happy. Going beyond the regular use of that item, what made you so happy to finally have this item?
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I ignored the looks and walked up to the register. "Just this, please".
The cashier looked up, hearing the bass in my voice, different from the dulcet tones and quiet voices around the store. I wasn't normally the kind of person to shop here, but needs must. Her eyes caught mine and I noticed the vague questioning before her training kicked in, looking down at the item and professionalism touching her features.
"I see, did you have any trouble finding what you were looking for, or was there anything in particular you wanted to buy while here?"
I laughed, a bit uncomfortably, shaking my head. "No, not for now. This isn't for me, well it is for me, but the other things I'm sure I won't have as much say in."
The cashier laughed, a polite one, and I caught her name on her nametag. Holly.
"I'm kind of nervous," I said in a quieter tone and leaned in, consortial in tone. "I don't know much about these, as this is the first I'm getting, but... it's pretty exciting. I know I'm not the normal type to walk in here, but I just had to get it."
Holly smiled, a genuine one, and leaned in herself. "I can imagine, I've never had to get one but I understand entirely how daunting it would be to come in. The looks, the questioning... but you're doing the right thing." She leaned back, and put back her professional air. "And if it doesn't meet your satisfaction or your needs, there's always a return policy."
I smiled, keeping the item close and handing over a credit card. "Well thank you... Ah, Holly it says. Thank you for letting me know, I'm sure it's useful to know but... I expect this will suit my needs quite well."
The machine beeped, the transaction completed, and Holly attached the credit card with the bill. "Well, sir, I wish you the best of luck, and your wife as well".
I smiled, nodding my head and tucking away the piece of plastic. "Thank you Holly, I expect I'll be in here soon enough with more to follow."
I secured the box in my hands, walking out of the store to the continued quizzical looks from the other patrons. Most of them looked to be window browsing, or bringing their significant others and idly talking, but I strides out, chest puffed out.
After all, it wasn't like a bassinet could be all that hard to put together.
| 1 | 0 | 1 | 54,059 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
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I sipped my drink and sat on the park bench. The one on Signal Hill that overlooks the city. I always appreciated the aesthetic balance between the ladies walking their little white dogs in the foreground, the trees rustling in the breeze a short way further down the slope, and the cars rushing amongst the buildings in the distance like so many ants. I wonder what a renaissance painter would have done with such a scene. I'm no artist so I guess my appreciation of this little view will be lost to the wind. I brushed a bug off the lid of my drink and took another sip.
I don't get a chance to come here much any more. Between slogging away trying to pay for an apartment in an area of town where I don't have to fear for my life and fighting horns-locked with my wife in an ugly divorce there hasn't been much time for idleness. I like the way the branches twist in the breeze, a nice change of pace from the straight lines of hallways and cubicle walls. I took another sip.
At first the child support payments didn't help my situation any, but I didn't mind too much because for all her faults my wife loved our kids too. The money would go to their quality of life and happiness. I miss Addy and Katie so much. Their bright squinty smiles when they were babies I can still bring to mind perfectly if I close my eyes. There, linger on it. Eyes closed but not to blackness, a bit of an orange hue through the eyelids from the sun. Take another sip.
I didn't get to see them much when they were in town, but now that my wife has remarried and moved out of state I don't think I'll ever get to see them but maybe once a year. Once every other year. And then what? Ah, I'm trembling a bit. Here we go. I didn't know how much of my happiness was contained within simply kissing them on each of their little foreheads every night. A random hug around the belly every now and then, head pressed against my chest. It's killing me. Another sip should do it. A long gulp, there you go. I rubbed idly at my neck to relieve some of the constriction.
I ordered my usual drink this morning, a Starbucks Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no-fat milk. A bit frou-frou I know, but the tiny pleasures are all I have left. I always watch the barista with an eagle eye because of my rare disease. I saw it happen. He accidentally shuffled the order around with the woman behind me who ordered the Double Chocolatey Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy. My jaw slacked open and I let out a subdued "uh" as I was about to correct him but a feeling washed over me. It was like the Universe was telling me it was time. An end to the pain. An absence of happiness is better than a presence of unhappiness. Just let it slide, easy. It will look like an accident. Your drink got switched up and you accidentally ingested the soy-chocolate combo that gives you a life-threatening allergic reaction. Hand shaking, another sip.
I looked up at the clouds, eyes tearing up a bit from both physiology and emotion. I miss you so much right now my sweet angels! But soon I will miss nothing. I dropped the cup. The breeze feels nice.
| 2 | 0 | 1,329 | 193,013 |
[WP] A young man or woman enters a gas station and holds up a gun. This robber demands all the money, but an elderly person shopping starts talking to them.
|
"Excuse me, Deary"
Jordon turned to see an elderly woman speaking to him, the lady wore the most vibrant of floral dresses, completed with swirling rose and peridot colored designs with deep violet trimmings, much too flamboyant for any occasion of any matter. It was clear that she was senile.
"Lady, I'm robbing this store, keep away or you're going to get hurt." Jordon yelled at her sternly.
"I was here first, bitch."
Jordon again faced the woman, unsure of what she just said, the lady smiled and took off her pink gardener sunglasses, another pale hand pointed to something concealed in her hefty purple purse.
"Bitch, I was here first, this is my territory." She said without a change in her sarcastic cheery tone.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME!" Jordon screamed pointing the gun in her face, to be humiliated by this crone was not to go unnoticed.
"Gun ain't loaded, let me guess, no money for bullets?" She said back, this time with a aftertaste of bitterness in her voice.
Jordon was unsure what to do at this point, the fact the lady was able to spot that his gun was unloaded was already freaking him out.
"LISTEN, I CAN STILL......."
He stop talking when the old lady pulled a bazooka from her purse. Now it is best not to question how this was possible. It was the very nature of old lady handbags to be both bottomless and equally mysterious in content.
"Get on the floor, bitch" The woman laughed menacingly
| 16 | 0 | 20 | 27,815 |
[WP]A couple of teenage runways hop a train only to discover the car they've chosen to hide out in is already occupied. Who do they find?
|
Rita and Arthur had made a pact. If her parents couldn't accept that she was in love with a black man by the time she graduated high school, they would run away together. So when Rita's father shooed Arthur away with a shotgun as he tried to pick her up for prom, they knew that it was time.
They had developed a plan together, skipping his football practice and her softball practice one Wednesday to stay late without raising suspicion. They would hop the freight train to Hershey, Pennsylvania and hop off in Pittsburgh. They would meet in Arthur's backyard before sunrise, and get on the train when it passed by at around 5:30 in the morning.
Two days after they received their diplomas, the day had finally arrived. Rita grabbed the $500 she had saved from her job as a waitress, her high school diploma, a change of clothes and a picture of her baby sister, and crept out of the house. She met Arthur in his backyard, and they trekked over to the train tracks.
It took 15 minutes of waiting and 17 train cars before Arthur spotted what they had been looking for. A small, nondescript car midway through the train, an unlocked door on the side and an easy-to-grab rail. The train was going pretty slowly, thankfully. Arthur grabbed the front rail, and Rita grabbed the back. She pushed open the door to the car, and gasped in horror.
Her mother sat in the corner of the car, wallet in one hand and and a half-empty bottle of rye whiskey in the other. In front of her was an old high school football jersey.
"Off to Pittsburgh?" her mother queried. Rita stood silent, completely deflated. Their plan had been discovered. They had been caught. It was over.
"Off to Pittsburgh?" she repeated.
"Yeah." Rita finally gathered her courage. What business did her mother have to interfere? They were adults now, her high school diploma sealing her freedom. What right did her mother have to hold her.
"You know, that was me once. Running away. My boyfriend made a pact. We would run off to Pittsburgh before our junior year. He could get into any high school he wanted. I could work shifts at McDonald's, he would just run the ball up the middle, get a college scholarship. Well, I hopped the train, spent all day roaming the cars looking for him. He never came. Saw him again two months later, after I finally worked my way home. He'd moved on. I never did. God knows I should have."
Rita looked at the jersey again, the name "Craig" finally appearing familiar. "Craig" was Roger Craig, standout running back from the nearby town of Davenport. He'd gone on to a career in the NFL, married his high school sweetheart, made millions. Turns out Rita's mother was the girl he'd left behind before he started dating his current wife, his current high school sweetheart. Rita could only look on as her mother relived her past.
"I never got rid of the jersey. This was from his freshman year. I'd just made the cheer squad. Musta caught his eye. We were together for almost two years. My parents couldn't take it, much like your father. But he had so much to live for. I had nothing. Of course he left me." She took another swig from the bottle.
Just then, Arthur swung around and into the doorway, wondering why Rita was just standing there and not going in the door. When he saw his girlfriend's mother sitting drunk in the corner with an old football jersey, he cursed under his breath. He gently tapped Rita and ushered her through the door.
"Oh, look. It's your boyfriend! Guess yours thought you were worth something. Hey Arthur! You can play football, right? Walk on to some shitty team, get a degree?"
Arthur had never been addressed by anyone in Rita's family before, other than the occasional "boy" by her father when he drunkenly stumbled by after football games. What was going on?
"Hey Arthur!" she screamed again. "Arthur! Arthur! You recognize this?" She held up the old jersey, Craig proudly emblazoned on the back. His idol, Roger Craig, the famous success story for all Iowan black men, stared back at him.
"He was mine. Mine!" she continued. "And my da wouldn't let me have him. We tried to run away, just like you. Well, I did. He never got to the train. He dumped me, and it took me months to get back, and my whole life to not recover. Look at the shithole I ended up with! At least my daughter has some goddamn sense." She took another swig.
The three of them stared at each other for another minute or so, completely silent. Finally, Rita's mother took yet another drink, and started to sob.
"See this? Take it. TAKE IT!" She held the jersey in front of her like a disease-ridden vermin. "Whole lotta good it did me. Sell it, get an apartment. Arthur, go to Pitt practice. Get your ass on the team. Follow this bastard. Make some money." She tossed the jersey into Arthur's shocked arms.
"And YOU!" She turned to her daughter. "Just...be happy. Even if he goes. Don't make the same mistakes I did." She walked to the door, past her little girl and her little girl's man. She dropped the whiskey bottle off the train, watching as the glass shards flew down the tracks.
"I need to go back. Still mouths to feed. You two take care of each other. Please?" They nodded, both still unable to speak.
"Good." She hopped off, and watched as the train rolled off, her daughter heading for the life she wished she could have had.
| 9 | 0 | 19 | 37,901 |
[WP] Humans are born with a birthmark of a number 1-9. This is how many lives they have. You are the only person in the world that has a birthmark of a 0.
|
"And here is Anders, our oldest patient." a middle aged nurse said to the reporter.
"How? He doesn't look a day over 20." the reporter asked incredulously.
"I'll just let you two chat, if he feels like speaking today. You'll see." she turned and left the small, bare room.
"She gone?" mumbled the man laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling
"Uh, yes she just left."
"Good. I remember when this place used robots, before they brewed up the replicants. They never shut up, I guess having only one very short life leaves them wanting."
"Well sir I have a few questions for you.."
"What's your number?"
"I'm a one," the reporter said quietly, almost embarrassed.
" You are one of the lucky ones, I'm a zero..."
"Wait I thought that was a myth? What are you doing stuck in here? If I were you I'd be doing all the exciting things I'm afraid to do."
"Living this long isn't good for a mind, dulls and clutters it. I'm a shell of a man now. All you are like rivers, flowing, twisting, and eventually ending. I'm like a stagnant swamp, I once flowed as you all do, but eventually I ran out of things to do, and doing them over and over again got boring. I stopped flowing. Friends and family passed before my eyes, growing old and dying, leaving me behind. Some friendships do indeed transcend lifetimes, but even nines have their final deaths. I wandered, a lone nomad. Watched as people squandered or intentionally cut short their time. Watched as we stayed tethered to this rock, never taking to the stars as I was promised in my youth. Now my mind is full of memory of people and places long gone, all jumbled together. I'm a prisoner to immortality."
"Why did you not transfer your number? It's rarely done, but I'm sure they would do it for you."
"My fate is worse than death, I wouldn't condemn anyone else to it. Immortality is a burden, I have to live with regrets for all of time, you either get peace at death or get to learn from the mistakes of your past lives."
"Honestly, Anders, I am terrified of death."
"Don't be, whether all that awaits is true nothingness, or some glorious new life, death is a beautiful thing. You get closure. I have to watch everything I know die and be forgotten. I have to watch as the names change, but the crimes stay the same. Enjoy your time here, and make the most of it, your work and your identity will fade away, but you won't be there to see it happen"
| 3 | 0 | 283 | 162,878 |
[WP] You have a dream that lasts for what seems to be years, then you wake up
|
As I sit on the couch, Emaline sleeping on my lap, a strange sound begins to pierce through the house. At least, it must be in the house... *but it sounds like it's in my head*... It's annoying... yet so familiar. Where have I heard this annoying sound before? I wonder if Emaline can hear it?
...
...
My eyes open.
The alarm is blaring on the desk across from me but I'm frozen in bed. My mind is frantically trying to play catch-up.
I silently mouth the question "...Dream?"
I absent-mindedly get up an turn the alarm off. My body seems to be perfectly ready to face the day, but my mind is still spinning. This isn't my house. Well, I mean... it *is* my apartment, but it's not *my* house. As if to push the thoughts of the dream away information comes flying into my conscious from yesterday's memory. Today's Monday so I have a lecture at 9:30, then I'm due in at work immediately after class lets out. Then I have to go back to school for a 6:30 lecture. If there's any time between work and that evening lecture then I should get that biology paper done.
With that out of the way my mind has regained a sense of calm but my heart is still pounding. The logical half of my brain draws my attention away and tells me to get ready for class. I pull a pack of pop-tarts out of a cabinet and make my way outside.
...
I step out the door and immediately realize something is wrong, it looks exactly the same outside as it did before I went to bed. That sunny-but-somehow-overcast winter look and the cars of my neighbors in their usual spots along the street.
"...of course it does idiot". I chuckle to myself silently as I consider the absurdity of that previous thought.
I couldn't shake the feeling, though, that time hasn't been moving fast enough. It shouldn't still be January. May, at the very least, so I could be done with school.
My feet moving on autopilot along the usual route to campus my mind can finally wander back to that dream, although it feels more distant now. I think I was a space pilot or something? But I had met a beautiful girl... what was her name?
"*Fuck.*" I mutter under my breath.
No, her name wasn't Fuck. But I can't really remember it. Guess it wasn't important enough. It felt like that dream had dragged on for ages. I always find it ironic how long some dreams seem considering the actual "dreaming" stage of sleep can pass in as little as ten minutes. I don't really remember much of last night's anymore other than the fact that this one in particular felt amazingly long.
...
...
With my knife roll in hand I leave the restaurant where I work. I'm instantly reminded of the cold as a shock runs up my sweaty back. Fortunately there hadn't been a whole lot to do for a Monday, otherwise I'd be drenched in sweat and would definitely need a shower before I go back to school. Ignoring the nagging reminder in my head that I should work on that biology paper I decide to go shoot some pool before I go to class.
...
Working at a fairly nice restaurant lets you giggle at some of the menus you see in an establishment such as this - a sports bar / pool hall - where every item has some sort of gimmicky name. I like flipping through the menu here sometimes while I'm waiting for people to take their shot. Today I'm playing against one of the regulars who I sometimes play if the hall is quiet and they don't have anyone else to play with. I don't particularly know his name and I don't particularly care, but he's a nice enough guy. He's trying to set up some shot on the right-hand side of the table, which is tricky if you're right handed. He's taking his time so I go back to the menu. Some of this stuff is ridiculous, like "Big Papa's Nacho Bowl". I mean, what are they trying to geHuh?
*Papa?*
A wave of unease washes over me. My eyes retrace their steps over the word *papa* 10 more times.
A memory... at least, I think it's a memory... of a toddler sporting an impressive mass of sandy blonde hair seeps into my conscious.
"Papa!"
I know this girl's name. It's Emaline. It makes no sense though, because I'm the only one I know who likes that name. Besides that, who do I know that recently had a baby?
I feel the life drain from my body as the pieces of the puzzle bothering me all day finally come together.
Half of my mind is screaming at me. *What the fuck are you doing in a goddamn pool hall? Go find your fucking daughter! She should be at the house, right?*
But I know she doesn't exist and that there is no house. The life I knew in that dream doesn't exist. I spent so many years with that life, with her and the wife I had... but in reality it was only a few insignificant and unconscious minutes.
I know she... Emaline... doesn't exist. I know.
I know it as I space out during my evening lecture.
I know it as I repeat my routine day in and day out.
...I know that anything you stare at long enough begins to look like a noose.
But I also know that she would cry if papa didn't come home one day.
| 2 | 0 | 4 | 189,926 |
[EU] Write about an unmentioned Hogwarts student, reacting to the events of the books.
|
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Found the Sorcerer's Stone:**
Sorting Hat: "Hufflepuff!"
Roger: "Shit!"
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Opened the Chamber of Secrets:**
Roger: "For fuck's sake, Myrtle! Get out of here, I'm trying to have a shit!"
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Rescued the Prisoner of Azkaban:**
Roger: "Oh my God the hippogriff ate my hand! Fuck!"
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Whose Name Ended Up in the Goblet of Fire:**
Roger: "Whoa, that dragon's getting pretty close. But it's just sport, right? I mean they wouldn't put us in any *actual* dangeOH FUCK MY OTHER HAND!!"
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Helped the Order of the Phoenix:**
Roger: "Umbridge? More like DUMBridge! Amirite? Heh, heh...detention? Well joke's on you toad-face. I don't have a hand to write with."
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Had to Find the Half-Blood Prince:**
Roger: "Yea I don't remember much of what happened this year."
**Roger Dudwink and the Guy Who Collected the Deathly Hallows:**
Roger: "AAAAHHHHHHH OMG OMG OMG WE'RE TEENAGERS WE SHOULDN'T BE FIGHTING DARK WIZARDS WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK"
| 3 | 0 | 59 | 131,035 |
[WP] Make us hate ourselves
|
You don't give a fuck. You never will, and you certainly don't now. No-one does. The problem with life, you see, is that it's all one monstrous facade. I train myself to tell myself that I care, but deep down I know that I don't. The romanticist inside of me takes hold for a few decades, only to be reminded, on his deathbed, that all efforts were, and always will be, futile.
The problem with humans, you see, is that they are innately selfish. More so than anyone can imagine. Life is one giant mirror in which one is constantly doing his hair. Altruism, rare as it is, goes unrewarded. Pain hurts more than happiness heals. You act like you care about others, but that only adds to the problem. Existential issues are just issues of selfishness, fuelled by a false sense of purpose. The existential crisis is an eternal one, and it will consume your life. More frustrating is the lust to break out of these chains which the man finds himself in. But shackled by one's self, and frustrated by others, all that remains for one to do is die. The truth is, son, you fucked up the day you were born. I wish the johnny hadn't burst
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 211,047 |
[EU] Choose the cast of characters from any TV show or movie and allow The One Ring to fall into their possession.
|
Kyon walked to school, just like he did everyday, ready for another day of Haruhi Suzumiya and her crazy schemes. Just outside the gates though Kyon saw something shiny on the ground. Like usual the bell rang at the wrong moment so he grabbed whatever it was and went to Homeroom. Haruhi had taken up her standard position staring out of the window, so Kyon decided to look at his find. It was a gold ring. He should probably give it into lost and found but something stopped him. Haruhi turn, "What is that?"
Kyon panicked and blurted something along the lines of "It's for the meeting." He decided he'd wait till later and put the ring in his pocket.
The SOS Brigade meeting was weird today. Since Haruhi had seen the ring she'd been acting weird. Mikuru was serving tea and everything seemed normal enough but as she came to give Haruhi her tea she jumped up, knocking the cup to the floor. Pointing at Kyon, who had just sat down at the table she proclaimed "**Kyon has something to show us all**". You could see the agitation in her face. Kyon sat in a stunned silence. He had to think of something quick. "**I am the Brigade Leader and that means you're not allowed to keep secrets from me!**". Kyon could feel the eyes on him, Itsuki stood up, "Kyon?". With a sigh The Ring was placed on the table.
Itsuki and Mikuru recoiled in horror. Yuki looked up from her book. Haruhi reached out to grab it. Through instinct Kyon jumped up to retrieve The Ring. "Don't touch it.". Yuki's voice echoed in the room. She needed to connect to the Data Integration Thought Entity. Both Haruhi and Kyon stopped in their tracks. Kyon sat back down. The sky darkened across the school. Lightening was heard off in the distance. Haruhi had her finger placed on the ring of power and in a second, after revealing a huge and unsettling smile, Haruhi disappeared.
- 004
| 10 | 0 | 48 | 3,255 |
[WP] After a brutal fight a dying enemy soldier grabs you by your clothes and forces on your hand a picture of him and his kids, while saying " Take care of them. There is no one else."
|
The war had been going on for three years in the Eastern Provinces, and morale among both sides were low. Another harsh winter was setting in and a battalion of troops from the southern port city of Csarno Polje dreamt of the better days in their seaside hometown. The howling northern wind only made their longing for small cafes in cobblestone streets, warm conversation late into the night with friends and the gentle wash of the ocean all the worse. That was, when they had time to actually feel something beyond fear.
For one soldier, Jano, things were particularly bad. He'd been out in this eastern hell for two years. Much like the leaves fall off the trees in the fall, he saw many of his close comrades go down, one by one. He remembered reading Erich Maria Remarque's "All Quiet on the Western Front." In secondary school, he could care less about the book. But as the wind bore down outside, he remembered a passage from the book. The soldier was so disconnected from feeling anything that he would have shot his own father if he came at him from the trenches. As Jano thought back, he wondered how far he was from reaching that point. Jano, more than anything, wanted to feel human again.
The weather of the Eastern Provinces is as harsh as it is variable. Late in the fall, a warm southern wind called the ármatja occasionally brings a fleeting kiss goodbye from the warm weather. That day, late in November, such a wind blew. Jano woke up, pleasantly surprised by the warm weather. However, any positive feeling he felt quickly became displaced by fear and apprehension. With clear skies and a temperature of 15 degrees celsius, the conditions were far better than what was needed to launch the next offensive. Sure as shit, general Antol Bondarenko had everyone out of their tents and assembled to march. There was a small hamlet named Metosalja, once the center of the country's dairy production, that was to be seized by 1400 the next day.
Jano and his formation grudgingly trudged towards the town, with the sadness and weight of three years of violence and death upon their soldiers. Gaining back the Eastern Provinces no longer mattered to them. They just wanted to go home and feel alive again. As they arrived, the formation broke apart to face the enemy. Although much of the war was fought on the vast plains, the battle for Metosalja became synonymous for some of the heaviest urban fighting to that day.
Jano broke off from his crew and entered a small house on the edge of the village. Since they were nearby and the house was quite small, he wasn't worried about going in there by himself. He was ranked as one of the best urban fighters in the entire battalion and relished the challenge. Besides, there was a hell of a fight about to break loose in the center and he wanted to make sure he was warmed up.
Entering the living room of the house, it became clear that it wasn't abandoned too long ago. Photos of the family that lived there adorned the walls, which he soon began to examine. They weren't that different from his family and they even owned the same breed of dog. Jano should have known better. You can't be an affective soldier when you are busy feeling sentimental. Being a good soldier was really all the man had left, and he wouldn't let such feelings get in the way of his efficiency that day.
He entered the cellar and instantly realized an enemy soldier down there. The enemy was completely unprepared and didn't have his weapons drawn, unlike Jano. The man's voice cowered, pleading for mercy. Jano understood perfectly-they spoke the same language after all. The soldier explained how he was forced into the army and he just wanted to return home to his family. Jano normally would have shot him well before that point, but seeing those photos in the house and softened his resolve. The sun was shining outside, roosters crowed in the yard and the gentle push of the wind rustled the remaining leaves. He realized how absurd it all was, how humans as the most intelligent lifeform on this planet resort to war to settle minute differences. He thought how the terms of the war were dictated by the elite. As the bullets whizzed outside, not too far from the house, Jano remembered that a warzone isn't such a place for lofty thinking. He shot the enemy soldier in his gut. As the enemy cowered on the floor, he motioned toward Jano. "Walk the fuck away and don't look back," he thought. Regardless, Jano approached him. The soldier pulled out a crinkled photo of three young children, smiling in a church courtyard. "They are mine. The mother was killed in the bombings. Please take care of them. Please, I beg of you!" as blood began to curdle in his throat. "They don't care about this stupid war, they are kids and they just need someone to care!" as his vitals declined rapidly during the sentence. As the man died his final breath, Jano picked up the picture and almost began to tear up as the sound of boots clattered down the cellar stairs. "Game over!" they said as he was simultaneously shot by three enemy soldiers. If everything that day had been slow and dramatic, his body dropping to the floor was quite the opposite: quick and unremarkable. One motioned to the other, "You brilliant motherfucker, this is your best scheme yet. You got an enemy soldier to kill a meddling civilian and took out the bastard. I'm gonna tell the general, you have a bright future ahead!" "I wouldn't do it if I didn't think it was fun!" he cockily chortled.
| 2 | 0 | 15 | 75,505 |
[WP] Everybody can sell their memories, which is priced differently based on the demand of the memories. You've struck poverty in the recent days and decided to sell yours...
|
You know, my father once told me, that money wasn't everything. Dying from lung cancer, poor but loved, he said, "Son, the biggest mistake you could make is to go chasing after money. Money can't buy happiness. Money can't save you from death. Eventually, we all end up in a wooden box, six feet underground. Live your life to the fullest and don't become bitter like I did."
Three days later, he passed away.
At the time, I was young, and ready to face the world. His death broke me. Destroyed me. I did exactly what he told me not to do. I became bitter.
Alcohol was my only friend at the time. With a bottle of whiskey in my hand and only the clothes on my back to keep me warm, I spiralled further and further into a pit of depression. I had a part time job to fund my alcohol addiction. Pay wasn't much, but it kept me going. The pay check at the end of the week kept me alive. Kept me from sinking to the bottom of a river.
Every Saturday night, like clockwork, I would sit down at the local bar, drinking myself into oblivion. My life was over at 22 years of age. I hated everyone and everything. The earth could collide with the sun, killing the entire worlds population and I wouldn't care. I would be happy. Then, I saw her face.
Dark brown eyes and flowing brown hair. Boy, if angels did exist, then there was one sitting right there at the bar. She was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. With a rocking body and a smile that could kill, I didn't stand a chance. Heck, I hadn't showered or shaved in three days and my breath reeked of alcohol but I had to give it a shot. I had to try.
With a bit of liquid courage and a deep breath, I headed over. "Hi, I'm Paul. Can I get you a drink?" I said, my hands shaking from nerves.
"Umm, no thanks, I already have one..." Said with a smile, Shaking the drink in her hand, "I'm Rebecca by the way, Becca for short".
"Oh right, sorry, I didn't see the drink in your hand there " I said with a smile. "So Becca, you from around here?" I asked. And with that, I had started a three hour long conversation that landed me her number.
After that, I searched for a real job, calling her from a payphone pretty much every day. After a couple of weeks, she found out I was homeless and let me stay at her place, she told me that she didn't care I was homeless. That she had fallen in love with me.
We married, naturally. Had twin daughters, the most beautiful little girls on the planet and I had a decent paying job that allowed us to scrape by. For years we lived happily. We had a fairytale life. Happily ever after.
But life always finds a way to fuck you over.
Due to a huge loss of company profits, I lost my job. My darling wife, begun to loathe me, telling me that she had found somebody else, threatening to leave me every day. My life was hell all over again. With no money, and my wife eventually walking out on me, I lost the house. It wasn't long before I turned to the bottle again. She got the kids, I got nothing. Back on the street. That's when I saw an advert in a shop window. "Have any memories that you don't want or need? Sell 'em to us for cash!". There was an address at the bottom. I wrote it down on scrap of paper in my pocket.
When I eventually got there, I went to the front desk and told them that I saw the advertisement. The receptionist explained that I could sell memories that I didn't want or need as long as there was demand. Everybody from porn guys to movie directors, authors to your average Joe were on this market, each finding use for the memories sold.
Staring at the ceiling, while the technician scanned my eyeball made me realise that I don't want to sell my memories. They are all I have. The only ones I would sell, the ones from after my father died until Becca, nobody would buy. Once they had finished, they showed me which memories would sell and which wouldn't. Of course, my time with Becca was one of the first things they showed me. She was a gorgeous girl, of course they wanted the clips of her. Our marriage, the first time I saw her, the sex. They wanted it all. Memories of our kids were shown to me as well. Also a big seller, mainly for people that could't have kids and wanted to know what it feels like. I couldn't do it, could I?
But I was struggling for money. Everything was taken. All the greatest moments of my life. Gone. I couldn't remember what my wife or kids looked like. Couldn't remember what it felt like to see her face for the first time. Inside I was dead. And it only took a few thousand bucks to do it. Money isn't everything.
| 1 | 0 | 78 | 221,184 |
[WP] Write a thought provoking monologue.
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*To the glory of God. He would not have birthed me had you not committed heinous sin. I am the punishment of God. If you had not sinned as such, God would not have sent a punishment such as I upon you. A land of sand and sea, lit momentarily by the grasslands that sustain you, like lice in hair. The annals of history have written you as the precursor, the forerunners of human ascension. Your place died in the old world. I will forge the new one in blood and fire. Bringing your discrepancies into my realm was a mistake your ancestors will lament for as long as they are bound to mine by chain. It will be like this for a long time. I am the resurgence of a power long lost to the world, and your walls will bow before my might, trickling tears in the rain of arrows that will tear them down as sand grains fall before the waves. Your vacillation is your weakness. Your bureaucracy is your weakness. People are not made equal before God and I will wade through the blood in your streets with pride in the knowledge that I will ascertain an empire the likes of which will never have been seen, and will never be matched. Everything you have made will be mine. See you on the battlefield tomorrow. Then we shall not meet again until the afterlife.*
Genghis mounted his horse and left the great plains that stretched out in front of Baghdad.
| 1 | 0 | 12 | 100,647 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
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"We shouldn't have fucking done it man, we fucked up, what the fuck have we done?"
"Mark, calm the fuck down!"
"Calm the fuck down? Calm the fuck down?! How the fuck can I calm down when we both just witnessed that? Do you know what this means? Do you have any idea of what were fucking with? Because this is bigger than you, this is bigger than anyone. Bigger than anything that ever has been, or will be!"
"Shut the fuck up Mark, I know that. We need to figure out where we go from here. This changes everything. We need to destroy them."
"Destroy them?! How could you even consider that an option? People need to know about this!"
"We have your designs on how to make them again! But what if they noticed one of us? We could literally cease to exist in every form. We need to get rid of any evidence, and then show people who we trust and who want to know."
"Fuck me man! One of them noticed me... How would you even know if you ceased to exist? Poof, I'm gone, I never existed, or will exist. No one would ever even know who I''
"Professor, what do you believe our existence means? Do you believe in some sort of higher power?"
"I suppose it depends on what you mean by higher power. Do I believe in a god or that some god created earth and life? No, I don't.
Most people believe that our existence must mean something. When our existence really doesn't mean anything. We only exist because Earth, like many other theorized planets out there, was and continues to be a pretty habitable place for carbon life to form and evolve."
| 1 | 0 | 2,626 | 230,903 |
[WP] Magic... IN SPACE!
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"Look, all I'm saying is that it would be easier for me to visit you if I just used the Public transporter system. It's just as cheap, and I don't have to worry if I get the incantation wrong. *No mother, I have been practicing, but if you would let me-*. Yes mother, I understand. But last time that I used the spell, I got one syllable wrong and I ended up on the other side of the space station, causing a huge amount of paperwork and a fairly decent fine. *Just because you want me to keep on practicing.* Mother, the transportation system is *fine*, it's magic that keeps on mucking the system up! People keep on using magic in the tubes, which causes all sorts of disastrous results. How much? From Zeenym to Space Station Endeavor is only $10.50 for a return ticket. If I get the spell wrong, I would have to pay $50.75 for filling out my paperwork, another $110.25 for indecent use of magic, and lastly #36.85 for unintentional damages caused during the incident! You know what happened to Murphy? *Sigh* Yes mother, I'll get my things. I'll come over... Yea, miss you too...See you soon. Yes mother, I will use magic... Yes yes, I love you too. Okay. Bye."
*Why do we have this? I wish there was an easier way.*
| 8 | 0 | 14 | 30,801 |
[WP] A man is on a date with a woman. In the middle of their meal he finds out she is a serial killer.
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She pursed her lips for a brief moment, quickly following up with a frown. To an unaware observer, she might have even appeared to be phased, if only for an instant.
"So, does that mean you're not going to eat? It would really make me happy if you did."
He timidly picked his silverware back up. He had intended to stifle his outburst, but it had come far too quickly to mitigate. She seemed more or less offended. He counted his limited blessings.
She continued. "After all, this is actual Kobe beef. Like, from Japan. I didn't mean to spend that much, but it's understandable, right? I mean, given the circumstances."
He nodded as he gingerly took a bite. He was surprisingly hungry - he didn't expect to have such an appetite. He realized he couldn't exactly remember the last time he ate. Was it yesterday? Maybe even the day before?
"That's more like it. This *is* a celebration."
"A Celebration. What exactly are we celebrating?" The shaking in his voice had started to steady out, belying the butterflies fervently fluttering in his stomach.
"Oh, *you know*" She giggled.
"A long and fruitful life?" Humor often was his method of coping with difficult siituations.
His feeble guess was met with even louder giggling.
"Oh, you're so funny. That's why I like you so much. So tell me. How's work at the firm? I bet Jerry finally stopped giving you trouble?"
His strength left him once again. "Jerry? Were you behind that?"
Her face was silent and eager. As if she was still waiting for the answer to her question. As if she was genuinely interested in his response. As if she didn't know the answer.
"Did you do something to Jerry?"
That same, sickening giggle returned. "I have to protect my baby. Sometimes that means keeping him safe from the pests that plague his life."
He was in shock. She continued.
"You know. Jerry, Devin, Marcus.... *Catherine*." Her eager expression melted to match her deadened tone as she spat out the last name.
He just not realized the extent of the situation. Last he was aware, she had only been missing for a few hours. "Catherine! That was... That was you? What did you do with her? Is she alive?" He demanded, desperation flooding his veins.
"Can we not talk about this now? I don't want you to lose your appetite again. Besides, you don't have to worry about her anymore."
Her tone actually picked up with the last statement. Did she actually expect him to be pleased with this news? He thrust out his steak knife in a feeble attempt to silence her, but the iron chain kept him from reaching his target.
She frowned again. "If that's going to be your attitude, we're going to have to finish our date some other time." She picked up her plate, blew out the candles and turned away.
As she ascended the basement stairs, she turned around to issue one last statement, her tone never wavering from the same eerie politeness "You need to learn some manners if you want this relationship to work."
She closed the door behind her, once again leaving him alone in the darkness.
| 2 | 0 | 17 | 72,994 |
[WP] A cop is tied to a chair, helplessly watching the serial killer he's chased for so long prepare his tools to kill him.
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the young woman watched, giggling to herself as she watched her catch struggle.
"you cops are all the same you know, and you are just like the others. but i will still have my fun"
the cop stopped to catch his breath, watching the blood trickle out of the stumps of where three of his fingers had been. his mind was beginning to let go of the bars of humanity.
"no different, huh? i'll show you. your experimenting on the poor was horrible, your greed was intolerable, your wealth incomparable, your hobby though, childish."
the woman, in the blink of an eye, swooped down on him, slapping him and slicing his cheek. she grabbed his face and looked into his eyes as they struggled to stay in focus as his tunic collected more blood.
"you fool, I am in control here, you say what i allow you to say!"
the old policeman just smiled as his pupils slowly dilated, then ran, than pooled around his eyes, leaving black pits
"you should always be careful, a leash is sometimes not enough."
the woman knew what he was, and knew that she had made a big mistake. she shrieked and fled to the other side, fumbling in drawers for the amulet to keep him away. she started to shed tears as she turned around to see the chair neatly vacated now, and felt the long, skeletal hands wrap around her shoulders. the dark ones enjoyed delivering justice, but enjoyed having fun just a little bit more
| 1 | 0 | 43 | 45,885 |
[WP] Drunk and disheveled, an executive stumbles into a press meeting. "First of all, I'll be the first to admit that our latest product was a very, very bad idea..."
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Drunk and disheveled, an executive stumbles into a press meeting. "First of all, I'll be the first to admit that our latest product was a very, very bad idea..."
The press corps gasped in response. This wasn't what they were used to. Their thumbs moved rapidly over their iPhones and tablets, sending the quote out to Twitter. One of them started to boo, but then silenced himself as others stared.
The executive continued, slightly slurring his words "We all thought that consumers would buy literally anything from us. Computers, laptops, music players, phones, tablets, watches, sex toys. We reinvented old products and introduced revolutionary new concepts. We couldn't go wrong."
Some light applause from the media followed that comment. They liked to cheer on the company, even if they were questioning its leader's sobriety at the moment.
"But I'm so, so sorry for the product we released last month. It's been a disaster in every sense of the word."
Once again, the media were stunned. A few typed in his comments to the live blog. This apology didn't seem well planned. No slides in the background told them anything new about the specs of the technology.
"You can understand the business reason for what we did. The firearm industry is billions of dollars and hasn't been disrupted in decades. The AK and the Glock were mild improvements on what was already out there. We knew we could take a revolutionary leap forward, winning both consumers and government contracts."
More applause. The journalists liked the word 'disruption' and comments about company profits.
"We couldn't have known the gGun and the gGun Air would have led to thousands of deaths and multiple inter-state wars just in its first few weeks of sales. We never predicted that the counterfeit gGuns coming out of China would lack the same safety mechanisms including our patented voice and thumb print lock."
'Voice and thumbprint lock.' the media diligently typed into their notes.
"Anyway, we'll be shutting down production of the gGun and donating all the proceeds to organizations helping the victims. Thank you all for your time. I need another scotch."
With that, the executive walked off the stage. The media wildly applauded. They started to get up to go when a journalist in the front row shouted, "Do you think he'll come back on stage and announce 'one more thing'?"
The journalists all smiled and nodded their heads, sitting back in their seats hoping for something about the next generation of watches that were expected in the fall.
| 1 | 0 | 15 | 137,609 |
You're in a perpetual dream state. A coma. You suddenly realize this, and that the only way to your freedom is unlocking a mystery that lies deep within your consciousness. [WP]
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Great posts everyone!! Here was my weird take on it. For those of you who've seen Twin Peaks, I tried to imagine a dream like state where anything and everything could just happen. Where the visions are fragmented, and no immediately apparent reason exists until definitive clues begin to emerge.
I awoke in on the side of a building, a short set of stairs ascending to a sidewalk and a long slender building alongside of me. Up ahead was a friend, pacing back and forth frantically in a sort of panicked state. He was yelling into his cell phone, "I can't find any tickets! No! I'm telling you there's none left! I LOST THEM! What do you want me to do about it?" I approached him slowly, wondering what he could be yelling about. Once he saw me he threw his hands down to his sides ignoring the caller on the other end. "That was Igor! Dude, I've been looking all over for you where the hell have you been?" Before I could respond he rushed off and just said, "Cmon!"
We rushed around the side of the building, and in front of it was an enormous crowd of people trying to get inside. Through a turnstile door, and up a flight of stairs, around a hall and another flight of stairs. I kept following him. There was an ambient buzz of commotion all around and people all about who seemed to be moving about in the same hurried way. "Finally!" Down the hallway, walking towards us were 3 people wearing leather and headbands, almost costumed for an event. As they approached we turned and followed them. It was Igor, I knew it was Igor somehow but he didn't seem to notice me. "Thank god we ran into you guys, just follow us you can sit backstage. VIP status you know what im sayin'!"
After turning several hallways we burst through two huge doors and walked out onto a screaming stage with a crowd of roaring fans eagerly awaiting our appearance. The lights went out and everything suddenly dimmed, and went very, very quiet. My view narrowed slowly to a point, like looking through a telescope. There was a familiar profile staring back on me, "Come with me" She said. Turning to my right I was now seated in a movie theatre next to a familiar face, my girlfriend. "Shhh! It's started." She took a big handful of popcorn out of the tub in my lap, smiled devilishly at me, then looked up in excitement. Looking up at the screen I saw my body, tattered and broken, bandaged, being cradled in a hospital bed by several medics. "Beep…beep…beep…beep…" were the only sounds echoing throughout the theatre. Then it overtook me again, the realization. My organs felt like they began to melt inside my body, like hot, burning wax down into the floor of my abdomen. I was in a coma. I knew that I was. And I knew the only key to my freedom lay within the confines of this perpetual dream.
| 1 | 0 | 50 | 86,185 |
[WP] Your most hated arch nemesis dies to a car crash. Strangely, they included you in their will. What did they leave you to prove that they truly and deeply cared for you?
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If one thing could be said about the clerk's office it would be *hot*, so damn hot.
There was no air conditioning and the window had long been lost behind a large series of filing cabinets. It was as if the guy had never learned of electronic files. Perhaps he thought the handwritten aspect added sentimental value.
I had dressed fittingly for such a somber occasion, with a raven black suit which only added to my suffering. I had to keep appearances however, both with my dress and my actions. Even if I felt the urge to give a small smile at the thought of this nuisance finally being beyond a reachable distance, I had to suppress it. No matter how much I wanted to laugh at the fact that such a common occurrence as a car crash had been the thing to end his 9 year crusade to catch me, I couldn't.
After having waited in the small, cramped oven of a room for what must have been half the early morning, the clerk finally got down to business. He was a small, round man with greying hair, and watery eyes. He looked at me, and I could tell he thought me an odd recipient of a disgraced former federal agent's assets, but he had to follow the will of the deceased.
" I assume you are aware of the situation and the reason why you are here?" He asked with his trembling voice. Putting on my most serious of faces, I nodded in assent. "Mr. Keen named you as the sole recipient, although given the minuscule nature of his assets, this is not so surprising." I showed I understood. " I have already read the will, which named you. However, there is a letter that accompanied his will, that was for your eyes only." The clerk with shaking hands produced the letter from behind his desk an passed it over to me. I was surprised that keen had left a message for me, but etiquette demanded that I at least peer at its contents. With no small measure of anticipation I ripped the letter out of its envelope, unfolded it and started to read.
"Esteemed malice" the letter read at the introduction, at the sight of this name I had to suppress a small smirk at his wit even in death. For this had been the first of countless names I had provided to him over the course of the last nine years.
"In the event of my demise, (which you may or may not have had a hand in). I name you as my sole survivor. This is not because I believe that you are worthy enough of a person to receive a gift of charity from a dead man, but because I wish for my legacy to be collected by someone I know, and sadly enough, you are the last person that can claim to do so." At this amusing jab at my moral character I felt that old sense of elation that often accompanied the other less positive emotions whenever I used to receive a unexpected body from keen, usually when I was moments from sealing a less than admirable deal.
"The fact is malice, I gave up everything tracking you. When we first met I had no idea that you would prove to be such an impossible obstacle to overcome." You seemed to be a rather eccentric person who simply dabbled with the planning of crimes, (I know you did, there's no point denying it to the dead so stop putting on that bewildered look.)" I swiftly erased the reflexive expression that had sprung to my face. "When we couldn't catch you the first time I didn't think much of it. Until you showed up again, and again, and again. Pretty soon you had evaded being pinned for planning everything from bank robberies to insurance fraud and I couldn't stand to think of letting you go. What had been a minor interest in your case became an obsession with finding anything to stick to you. But no matter how close I got, you always found a way to feign innocence. I remember how you told me after you were walking free from my custody for the 16th time, you told me you considered me the only equal you had ever found in terms of zeal and skill.. If you're reading this and it isn't behind bars, obviously you were wrong." At this admission, I felt the elation at reading my old enemy's note had been replaced by a less buoyant feeling, I couldn't quite place what it was though. Despite this sudden lethargy I kept on reading.
"The obsession I had with catching you, lost me my entire life. My family left because I was never home, the FBI fired me after I wasted countless resources trying to catch you, soon you were all I had. And I consider you an equal trade for my old life." I stopped reading for a moment to determine the cause of my sudden dizziness, I soon gasped as I realized I had forgotten to breathe.
"Despite all the hardship and frustration you put me through, following you lead me to places I never would have gone, and took me on journeys I could scarce believe possible in my formerly mundane life. I may have never caught you on anything, but I followed you further than anyone else and I believe that is worth something. So in return for all that you gave me, I give you all that I own. (Although currently, I can't say that amounts to much). I hope you enjoy my car as much as I did when I was chasing you across entire countries.
Yours sincerely, keen"
"P.S. Try not to go crazy looking over your shoulder for me, figure I should tell you as you told me not to run myself ragged trying to catch you."
By the time I had finished the letter my hands had left sweat stains through the back. I peered up from the letter at the clerk and nodded to show I was finished. "We'll with that we are finished mr. Malice, I hope you can accept my condolences for your loss." The clerk said with a voice that seemed much steadier to me now. I walked from the office with eh letter still clamped in my hand, the sweat must have gotten very bad during my time in there as I now couldn't see well through a wall of blinding liquid. I felt a little nauseous after all that time in the heat so I headed to the storage unit where keen's car was being held. I retrieved the car in silence. I needed something to restore my composure so I looked up a contact that had told me about a job offer recently.
When I got there the contact walked over to my new vehicle and got in the passenger side. He began to rattle off pleasantries and assurances as to how this next job was worth as much as my best previous work. I listened with a dazed expression, the heat of that office apparently still affecting me as I felt rather flushed. "So will you take the job?" The contact asked with an excited tone. "Sure, I've got nothing better to do." I gave my assent.
No sooner had the words left my mouth, then the surrounding pedestrians pulled firearms from their clothes and pointed them at the car. Soon I was pulled from the car in handcuffs and being dragged to the back of a car. I didn't understand, how could try have known where it was, and that I had been involved, they shouldn't have been Able to hear me. Then I realized, I had just planned a crime in the most persistent crime fighters car. I sagged my shoulders in defeat, no doubt there was both a listening device and tracker in the car which had caught everything I had said.
As I was being driven to what would be my temporary holding place, I asked the agent driving me, "is Keen really dead?" "Yeah, he planned this operation 2 years ago in case he died before he could catch you. We carried it out simply to honor his memory, I simply can't believe it actually worked. I guess we owe him an apology for why we did."
"No" I said with a small smile spreading my lips. " you owed him the honor and the privilege of knowing him."
| 2 | 0 | 43 | 64,325 |
[WP] The sky is falling, and you are an old man
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[Still incredibly new to this writing thing so ...would love constructive criticism as I know I have a long way to go. At this point just trying to post frequently to stop being afraid of writing for an audience.]
Through hairline receding, Aaron's penchant for terrible music had not diminished over the years. The band trumpeted an upbeat cavalcade of rhythm and noise from the wireless speakers which did little to stir his movement but did everything to stir his heart. His cane tapped jointly to the tempo, rubber scuffings lining the faded linoleum flooring of the nursing home.
Bedlam had broken out at the home, what with the reddening skies and looming chunks of
debris threatening to demolish everything society had built. He could still hear the din throughout the building - ceaseless pandemonium with a smattering of prayers and pleas for help. To make matters worse, someone had run off with his favorite lamp in all of the chaos. When family abandons you and friends die off it was his lamp that had remainedhad been around for all the holidays and all the dull weekends.
A mass of meteorite crashed down at the Daisy Rest Assisted Living facility, taking off a section of Cafeteria C roof and crushing Margret Tetherkin's wheelchair. A candy machine wobbled precariously before shattering on the floor, spilling its contents.
It was probably Leonard who stole his lamp, to be honest. He had always admired the damn thing. While it was from Ikea, the unique adjustable strands made it stylish and unique. The base was made of a nickel plated synthetic and the led light source was particularly efficient for when he struggled to move about after the eight pm curfew.
The gas station down the street erupted in a giant fireball that lit up the heavens. Another meteorite careened into the Daisy Rest, crushing several people hiding out in the waiting room and injuring far more - their wails of repentance echoing steadily throughout the halls.
His lamp never exploded in a fit of fire and flames, that was to be sure. That thing had lock wires and fasteners to prevent any shifting and the wire was a whopping extra 1.3 mm of thickness to prevent fraying and breaking when, say, your cane might get tangled up in it. Not that having wires this day in age was a deterrent, heavens no! A cable allowed him to slide or shift the thing easily with minimal effort.
The grass around Daisy Rest caught aflame, billowing black smoke up through the window and smoldering throughout the complex.
He would miss that lamp. He wish he could've met the engineer who designed it, shook his hand. Someone like that must take pride in his job, engineering some sort of superhuman lighting structure. It was a marvel to behold. He sure hoped the man got a raise.
The walls caught aflame - the inferno roaring its heated anger from all sides.
He hoped Leonard would take care of that lamp. Put it someplace nice, somewhere everyone could appreciate and marvel it. He hoped there was things to marvel at in his next life. He hoped there wouldn't be much more pain in this one.
Aaron closed his eyes.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 25,656 |
[WP] The twisted and most evil thoughts you've had in life must be enacted upon you before you can enter Paradise. The price for admission is this final "cleanse."
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A grey haired mechanic was going through my paperwork. I was guessing the guy died as he lived, in a NAPA blue collared shirt, blue jeans, and steel toe boots. They didn't have cars by the look of it, but tuning up souls was close enough.
"Well Jim, your track record is pristine. Your actual actions are worthy of sainthood and I believe that the guys on the ground might actually go through with it, pending politics at the vatican. We just have one problem."
I scrunched my hands together, nervous before asking. Dying was the most stressful vacation travel ever. The actual act was pretty damn traumatizing and throwing on all this whole life introspection and seeing if I had made the grade would probably turn my hair grey, if that had mattered up here. I finally got the courage to ask after an awkward thirty seconds.
"Whats that?"
He lifted up a thick wad of paper. The first couple papers had been a bill of materials for my moral make up. Another big wad had been all of my actions. This third wad was all printed on blood red paper. It seemed pretty damn evil.
"Well, you see, while you are a bastion of morality and good deeds with your actual actions, you seemed to have quite the active imagination. If your turn your attention to the screen here," He flipped on a tv screen that was facing me and linked it to his computer," your thoughts don't exactly correlate. Here is you ordering a Big Mac, no pickles, no lettuce, mayo, no mustard. The Burger King gets it wrong and you can see they've been stressed out so you actually go above and beyond and make they are all tipped and put in a spectacular review so their boss won't get mad at them. I believe you even ended up coaching a few of the workers out of drug addictions."
I couldn't see what was wrong here. It felt like a good thing to do, so I did it. Why was this a problem?
"... However, if we play an audio feed of what you were thinking at the time, we get the ponderings of a tortured soul"
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT," Mr. NAPA had to jump to the volume to turn it down in time" THESE GUYS ARE ALL JUST PIECES OF SHIT. ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GOING TO TEAR THROUGH HERE WITH A FIREHOUSE FULL OF MUSTARD AND SHOVE IT UP THEIR ASS! I FUCKING HATE MUSTARD!"
My eyes were wide as an owls. Holy shit, I thought that? I don't remember it. I don't understand why I would think like that. Of course, this event was about twenty years before I died.
"So you see Jim," Mr. NAPA drolled on while looking through a large stack of papers," We can't let this kind of impurity into heaven. The good news for you is you never acted on any of your thoughts. That's where the real problems come from and how people get sent to the hot house. The bad news is that you're going to have to wait for all of those guys to die, have them be processed, then you may proceed to be enacted upon."
"So how long will this take?!" I cried, gripping the desk to the point my knuckles were white.
"Well, purgatory is known as a waiting game. Considering the lifespans of everyone you had these negative thoughts about, we are talking about maybe... two hundred years with modern advances in medical technology," He drolled on, pulling up different documents and filling them out as need be," By the way, you should feel fortunate. You met the first person thats going to live to two hundred in recent years. You were scheming on ripping them limb from limb in your pursuit of painkillers at the hospital right before you died. Looks like when you get out of here, you'll meet a celebrity!"
| 9 | 0 | 15 | 80,770 |
[WP] The dragon kills the knight and saves the kingdom.
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"In other news today, Iraq war hero and now Texas Senator, has refused to step down from his role on the board at Big Oil. Senator Knight stated, 'As my war record shows, I am a man of the highest integrity. In no way will my ties to my family's business interfere with my work on behalf of the people of the great state of Texas. I understand that some liberals who hate me for being a soldier may try to use this, but I trust Jesus to protect and guide me.' Senator Knight went on to again dismiss rumors of a Presidential bid in the upcoming elections."
Lucial growled and clicked off the TV. She sat up, holding her wings carefully out of the way. The wounds, a token from her last encounter with Knight, still ached.
*War hero*. She fumed, then quickly covered her nose, trying to stifle the puff of greenish smoke that rose to spread across the ceiling. She pushed herself off the couch and limped to open the window. Last thing she needed was for the fire alarm to go off...again.
Below the rush and babble of the street rose to meet her. A town car's breaks squealed as it narrowly missed several homeless people on the corner. The rear window rolled down and the passenger threw an empty bottle at the group, some of whom held signs reading "Vet - anything helps". There were the real war heroes, but no one wanted to see them. No one wanted to face how the rich had taken the poor and desperate, turned them into killers and then, when peace was declared, dumped them. The most they could hope for was a fraction of the benefits they'd been promised.
Lucial's phone buzzed. A message from Tristan. "K is on the move. He's investing heavily in private security and oil exploration. When can you fly?"
"How bad?" Lucial replied. She flexed her wings, trying to judge how much pain was from stiffness and how much from injury.
"They're going after the shale deposit in Pak. We have docs showing they're pushing both sides so they can send in their own 'peacekeepers'. Pres. Patel doesn't want to use nukes but he might not have a choice."
Lucial groaned. If the Indians used their nukes, the Pakistanis surly would reciprocate. The fallout would likely destroy not just their corner of the world, but the whole planet.
"I'll leave tonight."
"Don't get caught. The Ordo Draconum will do what we can to help."
"I'll need an introduction," Lucial said and described the background she would need. In the time it would take her to fly to Texas, she knew the team would have all necessary backstopping in place for her identity as a wealthy investor.
~~~
"Mr. Knight, there's a Miss Vern to see you." The secretary smiled at Lucial and stepped back allowing her to exit the spacious house and step out on the patio surrounding the pool.
Derek Knight lounged next to the hot tub, his body tanned and toned, marred only by the long jagged scar running up his right side. An IED was the story, but Lucial could suppress a smile as seeing her handiwork again.
"Have a seat, please. I'll be just a moment," Knight said, not looking up from his tablet.
Lucial sat, crossed her legs and leaned forward. She knew he could see the tops her breasts easily in her nearly sheer silk blouse. He paused, his gaze taking in her curves as a smile curled his lips. Then his eyes travel up, past her neck, her mouth, to meet her sparkling emerald eyes.
He froze.
"You know my job is to protect the people of this land, to guide them as best I can." Lucial stood and took off her suit jacket, folded it over the back of the deckchair. "That was your sworn duty once, too, Sir Knight. Or don't you remember?"
"Get out of my home, *creature*!" Knight scrambled to his feet.
"Your ambition has grown too great. It's time to end this game," Lucial stretched, let her wings unfurl, shimmer under the glorious heat of a Texas summer afternoon.
"I'm unarmed. What about the rules of chivalry?"
"Oh, Knight," Lucial shook her head. "Only your kind is bound by such notions. I will do whatever it takes to keep the world safe from monsters like you."
She lunged at the same time he snatched the sword up from under his towel.
| 3 | 0 | 72 | 87,941 |
[WP] A hostage situation takes place. However the hostage takers demands are bizarrely trivial.
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Three hostages stood with their backs against the wall. In front of them was liquid hot anticipation, boiling over into a vividly stark imagination where the the violent demise of everyone involved played over and over again in their minds. It didn't seem like there was a positive outcome left. For the hostage taker there was no turning back. The words had already treacherously slipped off his tongue and now, as everyone always holds true, words spoken cannot be taken back.
"I want three sugars, the rest can go."
The men of the room secretively let out personal sighs of relief and dashed out of the room, not a single one swollen with enough courage to do anything for the fates of the three left in the room with the dark captor. Now they were trapped, in a small circular room with porcelain walls. Escape was impossible.
After what seemed like an eternity, the authorities finally showed up. Information was fed to them from eye witnesses and other reports. They tried to establish a connection with the captor, a certain Juan Valdez.
"Juan this is the city of Sumatra Police department, we don't want anyone to get hurt today, why don't you let those hostages go?"
"Never, you can't stop this now."
"Okay hold on there pal, let's not be so rash. What are your demands?"
"I only have one...to get creamed when this is all over."
The officers looked at each other a little confused. Before they could react a horrifying sound resonated from within the ceramic room...
Splash! Splash! Splash!
"Affogato, stop playing with your food! Look you're making a mess"
"But mom, it isn't food it's drink, so it doesn't count."
"If it goes in your mouth, you shouldn't be playing with it, and besides you're making a mess. Clean it up."
"But mom, Juan Valdez has made a hostage demand. Remember?
"Ugh, fine..."
The boys mother reluctantly pours some milk into the drink. The murky black beverage clouds with caramel colored swirls and Juan Valdez's final request was fulfilled. The city of Sumatra will never be the same.
"Your father should have never let you drink coffee..."
| 1 | 0 | 35 | 6,499 |
[WP] A boy realizes he is in love with his best friend, but can't tell her for fear of ruining their relationship. Describe their dialogue as well as his internal dialogue.
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Dale sat by the lake, killing time and skipping stones with his best friend Kelly. Since they began school together 11 years ago, they have been inseparable.
The sun was just beginning to set, it hung lazily in the bright pink sky of another beautiful endless sunset you only see in Illinois, and Dale knew he would be due home for dinner soon.
Kelly tossed a rock over the water; it bounced delicately across the lake before hitting a frog. Dale turned to his friend to laugh, and he caught her gaze.
Dale saw her in a new light, something about her was different. He noticed the delicate sprinkle of freckles across her nose that looked like each one was carefully and individually placed. He noticed for the first time her lips were full, and in the light of the setting sun glowed a radiant orange.
He looked into her eyes, like it was the first time he was seeing them. They looked back at him with an emerald green beauty. Dale felt, odd. He looked down, slowly. His eyes passed over her neck which seemed more slender than before. His gaze passed over her breasts. Dale paused momentarily, thinking about how full they suddenly seemed.
"She, she's beautiful" Dale thought to himself. "She's becoming a woman."
Dale just smiled at her. She returned a warm smile with slightly crooked teeth, which Dale just now thought was cute. She tossed another rock into the water.
"What are these feelings?" Dale began to wonder. He could feel it, a strong desire for her. Not the same as the feeling he experiences when he wants to play with her, this was somehow different, more intense and every bit as unfamiliar as Kelly seems to him now.
Is this love? Is this what it feels like?
"Yes, it must be! This is love." Dale felt somehow relieved by his realization. "I'm in love with Kelly" he thought just a bit too loudly.
"What did you say?" Asked Kelly as she turned to look at him.
Dale desperately wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know he has discovered love, and it's for Kelly. But he said nothing, he was unable to talk.
"I...erm"
She would never love him. Why would she? She doesn't feel the same, he can see it in her eyes. No, he mustn't say, it will be his secret.
"I..Need to go home, it's dinner time. Laters"
He stood up and walked away briskly, he was too deep in thought to hear her response. He walked down the dusty pathway home, and as the sun slowly set, being buried by the horizon, as did his love. He had to burry this feeling, he couldn't tell anyone, especially Kelly.
Kelly sat alone and watched Dale walk off into the distance. "Gosh I love that boy" She thought.
| 4 | 0 | 11 | 23,458 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
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It was a day just like any other, a Friday,
I was on the bus going home after work, looking at this pretty girl on the other side wondering whether to talk to her not,
And suddenly my eye started to hurt, and blur,
A moment later there was something strange in my vision no matter where I looked or even closed my eyes, I couldn't see it properly, Apparently no one could for the first 24 hours,
After I was able to make something out of it, it read Update 1.1 1%!
First I though one of my buddies try to mess with me using one of those fancy new in eye displays, after I tried to take it off several times and failed I want to the doctor, that's when I knew the whole freaking world has it!
After getting to know this was a global event, Being a history graduate my self I wondered if this happened before. I started digging, literally,
First I read trough Egyptian history books until I found a mention of a big eye with old Egyptian numerals in one of the diggings lost over the time. I was able to trace it to it's origins after digging half of the Egypt the first year. The numerals converted to the string "Update 1.0 68%".
After that I was curious, if Egyptians were a stable version who was the beta, or alpha version? Was there version numbers before 1.0?
TL;DR of the rest is, of course there was, we found some cave painting suspected to done by homo neanderthals with a big eye shaped object along the next few years. Guess what was on them?
Well, translated in to "Update 0.6 11%"
| 1 | 0 | 2,704 | 227,911 |
[WP] You have just died. A hooded figure tells you that he's retiring, and you've been elected to take his place.
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"Look, I'm sorry that you got stuck with this but I can't do it anymore."
The voice drifted from beneath the darkened hood and I swear, if Death had a face, it would be looking less than sympathetic.
"I...I don't understand." I stammered. "How can this be happening? How can I even be here? I had just been crossing the street when...when everything went black."
"You were the first to die after I informed the head honchos that I was retiring so, obviously, you will take my place. It's not that hard, mostly boring, although a little sad at times. You get used to it."
"I don't think I can do this."
"You don't really have a choice, sweetie, it's not an option."
"I don't want this!" I exclaimed trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall any moment from my eyes.
Death, holding his hood in his skeleton hands, sighed.
"I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do" and with that last sentiment he vanished.
I looked down, expecting to see myself all bone, draped in a dramatic black cloth, but instead, I saw my body as I had always seen it. I was even still wearing my purple leggings. Except, what was that? I bent down to inspect a small flashing wire that was wrapped securely around my ankle. "beep, beep, beep" it rang out in a low but constant tone. "What does that mean?" I asked no one but myself, when suddenly I felt very ill like, I had been spinning in circles for too long and I shut my eyes desperately trying to fight the feeling of vomit rising in my mouth. Yet when I opened them, I was not where I had been, actually I had no idea where I was now. There were lights flashing red and blue and a siren screaming, begging for attention, to be noticed, and I noticed. There was a man, albeit a young one, on a stretcher and I unconsciously moved toward him. Blood was streaming down his face, pouring from an open wound just above his eye. His neck was held still by a brace and I knew it was broken. He was dying.
"Hi" I whispered to him, unsure of if he could hear me or sense me at all.
"Hi" he responded, although not aloud, I could hear him.
"I don't want to frighten you, but I think you may be dying." I thought I heard him laugh at this but I didn't understand why.
"Of course I am, there's not many occasions on which a dark hooded figure saunters up to you and starts a conversation."
Dark hooded? I looked down again to see just me, my purple leggings, my blinking new fashion statement.
"I'm sorry..." I tried but there were no words.
"So what happens now?" His voice was laced with a nervousness I had not heard before.
"I'm not sure." I answered, because truly I wasn't "It's my first day, I just got kind of shoved into this whole "death reaper" thing. I could take your hand if that's alright?" I wasn't sure if my touch would be enough to kill him but I didn't want to rush things if he wasn't ready.
"Just give me one more moment." I nodded and watched as he opened his eyes, not seeming to mind the blood, and looked up, farther up than I could see.
"Okay." He whispered and I laced my fingers within his own.
| 55 | 0 | 56 | 128,978 |
[WP] Your feet are cold.
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Wiggle the toes, get the fluids flowing. I've survived dragon attacks, a pack of trolls, and even the bear now lying dead in the corner of this happy little cave. Losing my feet to the cold would just be embarrassing.
Breath misting in the air before me, I glare hatefully at the snow swirling outside of my little refuge, fat white flakes almost mocking me, falling without a care in the world. Of course they don't care; they're snow. Snow can't think. Focus.
I prod the meager fire lighting my cave with a muted orange glow, letting a visible sigh. I hate the cold. I hate when the boss orders me into the Brecht Mountains for any reason at all, and most especially, I just hate the bastard that decided to take advantage of a "hopeless case". I didn't ask for "the latest in cybernetic technology". I didn't ask for millions of credits of debt. And I certainly didn't ask for the kind of career where you could earn thousands of creds per job or die trying.
Well, okay, I asked for that last part, but I never would have under normal circumstances.
I let a humorless laugh, another little puff of mist, the sound echoing faintly off of the walls of the cave. "Normal circumstances." The hell does that even mean? Normal went out the door months ago, when a monster the size of some large buildings went rampaging through town, causing havoc, destruction, and more than a few lost lives.
I'm almost ashamed to say that none of that really registered right away, still has yet to hit home. No matter the magnitude, the largest-scale catastrophes tend to pale to insignificance when you, personally, have been affected. So, when I woke up after all of the mayhem, my first thoughts weren't about the fatalities, the property damage, or the people in the beds around me in the infirmary.
I was more concerned about where my arm and legs were.
Surely most people could sympathize. The doctors gave me the usual talk, about how I was lucky to be alive, about how the shrapnel had pierced a few organs, but the damage was easy enough to repair, about how a few inches would have seen my heart get pierced, and they wouldn't be failing to make me feel better about all of this.
To this day, in my weaker moments, I sometimes find myself wishing that shrapnel hadn't missed.
I don't really remember what I told the doctors, but I remember a lot of screaming, yelling, and general temper-tantrum-throwing. I won't try to justify it, since I was being a bit of an ingrate, but I had just lost three limbs. Rationality isn't high on the list in such a scenario. In short order, I was sedated.
When I woke up, I had limbs again.
Obviously they didn't just grow back. Medicine has gone pretty far, but not quite so far as that. The three fingers I now had were shiny new metal, polished to perfection, the legs half-covered by a woolen hospital blanket ridged and vented to let out exhaust from the synthetic muscle. A man stood there in a clean white lab coat, surgical mask hanging around his neck, shaking hands and smiling for a camera crew, giving an interview to a local newspaper. I heard words like "selfless", "admirable character", and "lucky young man".
When the crews left, I heard the rest of the story. Nothing is free. Never mind that I was acting as a guinea pig for their little science experiment. Never mind that I didn't ask to be given three bastardized versions of the limbs I was born with. Never mind that I didn't have a cred to my name, especially after my house and everything in it was incinerated. Some people will try to profit from anything.
Staring at the limbs in the warm light of the fire, I place my feet near the warmth of the fire. Just four more jobs, I tell myself. Four more, and I'm a free man. Granted, I have no home to go back to, no family, and a heap of problems that probably warrant a trip to the therapist. At least no one will own parts of me.
My feet are getting cold. I almost wish I could feel it.
| 2 | 0 | 29 | 43,989 |
[WP] A man gives you a pair of goggles, says he wishes he had never seen what was really out there, and takes off down the street...
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The StarGazer mk. III, goggles designed for night infantry combat in poor conditions. Saw through rain, saw through snow, saw through anything.
Originally commissioned by the DOD some years ago during the polar war for when things got rough, they were designed and built by some little-known Norwegian company that went belly up shortly after the DOD's order was fulfilled. It was an interesting highlight at the time, since they had acquired a very substantial sum of money for the project, but everyone glossed right over it like they do with everything.
Hah, what a mistake that was in the end huh? I was sick of them, I was tired of seeing everything. We had been trained to deal with everything we saw through the goggles, but I had seen enough. I strolled up to the civvies hanging around the base, it had become a lot more common seeing them around the base since SaberTech's automated defenses became a thing. The soldiers had less guard duty, and more needs...
I picked one, he looked lost and confused. I approached him, the goggles wrapped tightly around my hand. As he looked up to greet me, I held my hand out and allowed the goggles headband to go slack for dramatic effect.
---------
An actual pair of StarGazers! I had only ever heard of them before, reading the articles and public announcements which told just enough to confirm their existence. The soldier that handed them to me was already gone, melting back into the shadows on base. I slinked into an alleyway, checking to make sure nobody was watching. I slipped the goggles over the top of my head, seating them on my eyebrow and cheek bone. It took a few realignments to get them comfortable, and then I looked around. It wasn't so dark anymore, it was as if it were a full sunny day out. I glanced around and down the dark alley. There was a cat, one of the base pets. I studied the animal closely for a moment and then I saw it, a murky ethereal shadow that moved with the cat. Whisping around always a step behind. Maybe this was a bit much for my first time wearing them.
I took off in a jog, not entirely scared but I still wanted to get them out of the base. Maybe have a friend check them out. The goggles did provide perfect vision to take the shadows, avoiding soldiers heading to and from the gambling dens and scamp houses the military had allowed civilians to set up on base. As I approached the entry, I saw the giant automated guns on their towers. He had read a release on them also, all connected to a central AI that allowed them to think somewhat on their own. He knew now that this was a lie, for he saw the same shadowy whisps following the guns' tracking movements. The figures would solidify, and a face could be seen, then disperse into murky shadow again.
Souls, I thought. They had embedded souls into the machines!
| 2 | 0 | 108 | 146,798 |
[WP] "You look just like your mother"
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"you look just like your mother."
I was walking to my downtown Houston apartment from my dismal job as a glorified computer fixer at some Big Oil company, when an older man, about 55 years old, suddenly gasps. With wide eyes, he puts his hands out to stop me. "Mother of Mercy, you look just like your mother, son. How is she doing? I hope well," he said emphatically, furiously pumping my and and patting me on the back. Confused, I replied, "I'm sure you must be mistaken. I was adopted. I never knew my mother." "Nonsense," he replied, "Your name is Matthias Brandt, and your mother is Claudia. We were colleagues back in the ol' college days." Alarmingly, this ruffled and somewhat manic man knew my whole name. I pushed him away, and inquired, "How do you know my name? Who the hell are you? Are you stalking me?" He seemed bewildered, then inexplicably sad. "I'm rightly sorry, son, I must've mistaken you for someone else. Have a lovely evening, and take care of yourself." Shaken, I quickened my pace, and made it to the high rise that I called home. I hit the button for the 5th floor, when an older gentleman yelled to hold the door. I complied, and the beleaguered man walked in, and mumbled a thanks. He hit the button for the 14th floor, and looked me square in the eyes. It was the man from street. I pressed myself into the corner, stricken with fear. He handed me a letter with a peculiar seal, and said, "hopefully this will make it clear. Make sure you aren't watched." The elevator squeaked to my floor, and I almost flew to my room. As I fumbled with my keys, I felt his eyes stay on me as the elevator door closed. I wrestled with calling the police, but I realized they probably wouldn't believe me. Since the authorities were out of the question, my first order of business was to open this letter. I walked over to my desk, turned on my lamp, and opened it. It contained in it a letter, a photo, and a coin. I started with the coin. It was slightly larger than a quarter, smooth, and shiny. The only markings were an X on either face, where George Washington's head should be. I then moved on to the picture. It was an autumn picture of a happy couple, and a happier toddler. My stomach sunk to my toes. The woman looked just like me. I walked to the bathroom to check in the mirror, and the resemblance was uncanny. I felt like vomiting. The letter waited on the desk, drawing me in like a black hole. I read it.
"September 4th, 1987,
I'm sorry to do this to you Lorraine(my adoptive mother's name), but I need to send Matthias to you. Its getting much too hot, much too fast for us here, and this is no situation for a child to be in. You are the last person I have to trust with this, Lorraine. You can never tell him about us. It would be too dangerous. All I can do is wire you some money, and thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Sincerely
Beth"
What did the letter mean? I would never know. That night, my adoptive mother died of cardiac arrest. I never saw the man with the letter again, but I keep the picture, hoping that one day, someone will be able to bring the pieces of my past together.
| 1 | 0 | 0 | 123,518 |
[WP] A man wins the lottery but decides to honor his 2 week notice at a job he hates.
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The first week after my resignation, I did nothing. That's what you won't see on the news, when they talk about me, when they tell the story of the Mega Millions lottery winner who put in his two weeks notice and wrought 'havoc.' They want to focus on the exotic petting zoo, and the hot air balloon, and the F-16s. But what you never hear about is how conservative I actually was. That first of my last two weeks at Krull and Associates I was just as dry and as tedious a coworker as I'd ever been. And I feel that this should be noted.
But now that it has been, let me tell you exactly how that second week unfolded.
*
Monday.
Well, listen. The thing about an exotic petting zoo, to really do it properly, what with the tigers and Great Apes and sharks, you need a lot of space. Where else was I meant to do it, if not the parking lot? And naturally we had to set up while it was still empty. It cost extra, believe me, to get them to arrive at 3 in the morning, but it was necessary.
I thought it would boost productivity. You always hear about therapeutic animals nowadays, children reading to dogs and wounded soldiers cuddling with rabbits. It was meant to be a gift to everyone, a kind of warm benediction. "Sorry I'm leaving you all," the gesture would say. "Enjoy this fuzzy little tiger."
And goddammit it would have been fine, except of course Archie Walls had to try and impress fucking Karen in accounting. The mauling was no one's fault but his own. I don't care how many skin grafts he required, the event was explicitly an exotic PETTING zoo, not an exotic ride-the-fucking-things zoo.
I did see, later, that the company I'd hired only had three stars on Yelp! I could have looked a bit harder, found a business that provided a bit more oversight or was better staffed. That part I will take full responsibility for. But that's as far as it goes.
*
Tuesday.
Well obviously after Monday's debacle I was feeling a little low. This happens often with the nouveau riche. We don't quite know how to comport ourselves, so we make some missteps. So on Tuesday I thought I would scale it back a bit, gift my coworkers with something a little more magical and a little less reliant on the cooperation of God's great beasts.
So I hired hot air balloons. Again we had to set up early, which is another thing I wish the media cared to report on – here I was, a multi-millionaire, and during my last week of employment I was arguably putting in longer hours than ever before. But no. It is always easier to criticize.
The hot air balloons were a huge hit, especially with stupid Archie Walls out of the picture. But after people had ridden around a bit, I realized how bland it all seemed. Float up, float down, tra la, tra la. It even sounds boring. So before they could pack up, I offered to buy five of the balloons outright. I had the money.
And I also had plans.
*
Wednesday.
Wednesday I had to call in sick. Not because I was actually ill, but because I was having such an abysmal time finding the quantity of fireworks I needed. It was the middle of April – who carries fireworks at such a time? Especially the kind of big, D.C.-on-the-Fourth type that I was looking for. It took me nearly all day to find the awful things. I felt badly, really I did – what a waste of a perfectly good Wednesday. I hoped my coworkers would forgive me. To earn that forgiveness, I knew Thursday would really have to be something special.
*
Thursday.
Here is the trouble with hot air balloons: they are really, truly sub-fucking-stantial. It doesn't occur to you right away just how big the balloons are in comparison to the baskets until you see someone accidentally blast a firework into it. And, yes, in retrospect setting them on timers was a mistake. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Very early on Thursday I hired a team of professionals to help me rig the balloons. The plan was to send ten lucky duck volunteers from the office up in the balloons, from which the fireworks would be launched to create a beautifully synchronized show of color and light and sound. I didn't want to rely on them to time things out properly, so we set the fireworks on timers, rigged to set them off at noon precisely. A bad time, I realize now, for fireworks. There is a reason they are traditionally fired at night. But hindsight is always 20/20.
At first all was going well. My coworkers went up in their balloons. The hour approached. From below, we all watched as they floated higher and higher, and I couldn't stop smiling in anticipation. What a finale this would make! Then the clock struck noon.
The first volley fired, each pointed toward the blue and open sky. Unfortunately, the balloons got in the way. "Don't point them directly up, you idiots!" I screamed, but of course I was too far away, and hadn't thought to equip them with walkie-talkies. But they seemed to understand – even as the balloons began to smolder and smoke, I could see frantic activity, and that's when the second volley fired.
There are only so many directions in this world. Up, down, sideways, and then what have you got? So I think, while we might be quick to condemn them, my coworkers can be forgiven for firing the next volley toward the ground. I also think it is tacky to speak ill of the dead, no matter how stupid.
The second volley rained down upon us like hellfire. Karen was killed instantly (sorry, Archie, if you're only now learning this). And that might have been bad enough, except, well, I did have an awfully lot of money, and I really did intend for this to be a magical moment, and so I guess what I'm saying is that, again, I am a big enough man to accept some of the blame, and in this case I suppose I can be blamed for going a bit overboard in arranging for a total of fifty volleys in all.
Already compromised, what with the burning holes in their balloons and all that, my coworkers began to drift off course. One toward a hospital, another toward a school, still another toward the interstate. Cast judgment as you like, I have to side a bit with the military on this one – shooting down those balloons was probably the only reasonable solution, under the circumstances.
The F-16s did their job with remarkable efficiency, and the brave men and women should be thanked for their service. When the balloons were finally brought down, after all, they still had a couple dozen volleys left to go – only halfway finished, and the St. Pius Catholic school was fully ablaze at this point, and we've all heard the tallies of the dead that racked up on I-75 after the pile-up. Shooting down those balloons probably saved lives. Can't make an omelet, as the saying goes.
Am I sorry it ended this way? Certainly. But I do think the media continues to miss the larger point. For one glorious, beautiful week, I had restored a primal connection between work and survival. How often we forget why we spend 40+ hours every week in cramped cubicles surrounded by people we barely tolerate. How far removed work seems from the real struggle to survive, a divorce that was completely alien to our ancient ancestors on the lookout for lionesses on the Savannah.
We work so we may survive. We work so that we may live. Without the occasional existential threat, we could very well forget these facts. So yes, I am very sorry for what happened. But I think the words I should really be saying are even simpler:
You're welcome.
| 17 | 0 | 23 | 45,447 |
[IP] "The end" by Christian Hopkins
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When I awoke, I was alone.
The field around me was quiet. I could not hear any birds, nor wind rustling the trees. The sky was a soft orange, and the light permeated through mist that covered the ground.
I stood and looked at my hands, and was surprised to find that the many cuts and bruises that I had had were gone.
*flash*
I was pinned. I could barely breathe. I heard a gasp and cough, and I looked to my left. A girl lay next to me, her eyes large. The redness of her blood was offset by the blue of her eyes.
"Are we going to die?" She asked. My hand scraped along broken glass and twisted metal, finding hers. It felt small and cold.
"I don't know." I whispered. I held her hand as she cried for a little while.
"I don't want to die." She said quietly.
"Me either." I looked up, up through a broken frame of grasping claws of metal, and saw the sky. A quiet blue painted with soft clouds.
"I can see the sky." I said, looking back and meeting her eyes. "It matches your eyes." She smiled, and then cried again. I returned to the sky. A bird flitted past, and I envied its freedom.
I felt her hand grab mine tightly, and then loosen. When I looked back at her, the clouds had covered her blue skies. I wept, and closed my eyes slowly. The skies had gone dark...
*flash*
I was back in the field. I heard a bird quietly peep from behind, and turned to see a tree that I had not noticed before. It sat slanted, with only a smattering of leaves. A small sparrow hopped from branch to branch, peeping here and there. I slowly walked over and sat, my arms around my legs.
I felt like I should have been worried about everything that I had been taught in my short life about death. But no fear came. Only wonder.
The sparrow landed on my knee, two small inquisitive eyes meeting mine. They were blue. It peeped twice, then looked out across the meadow. My eyes followed, and I saw a small form hobbling through the mist. When it got closer I saw that it was a crow, striding through the grass. The sparrow hopped up and down and peeped. The crow stopped and cawed back, flaring his wings for a second. The sparrow looked back with its crystal eyes, and nodded to me. Then it flitted over to the crow, who embraced it in its wings. When they opened back up, the sparrow was gone.
The crow then launched into the air, shifting and growing. A couple moments later, and I stared into the eyes of Death himself. He glided nearer to me.
"Child," he spoke in a voice of quiet rain and thunder. "That was very noble."
"What was?" I asked. Even without the wind, his tattered cloak fluttered around him.
"You eased her passing. Many concern themselves with their own."
"What else could I do?" I replied.
"Some would say that man is controlled by greed, by betterment for his own problems."
"I just wanted to help."
"I understand."
"Was that her?" I asked, pointing at the spot where the sparrow had been.
"Yes. We find it is best to usher souls in a simpler form."
"Then why am I still human?"
"Because you are unique. We bring an offer."
"An offer?"
"To become us. To help ease the passing of the souls on this world." He drifted closer and held out his hand. "It is your choice, for this is the end."
"Where do I go if I decide not to?" I said.
"Had I chosen otherwise, I might have been able to tell you child." He said, lowering his head sadly.
I stood and slowly took the hand.
"Can I free you?" I whispered.
| 7 | 0 | 22 | 78,749 |
[EU] Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen and, Ted Kord decide to Destroy LexCorp and Lex Luthor's sources of Income. No Capes, Just Wallstreet Warfare.
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When you're trying to take down one of the big boys, what most people don't understand is that it's not money, stock or power that gets the job done, it's the little things.
My name is Jack Crandle and my official title is Acquisition and Mergers Administrator but that's a innocent title for what I do. In reality I'm an assassin. The company I work for, you wouldn't have heard of. We don't advertise and we don't take referrals. If you know about us, then you know, if you don't then you never will. The three men in my office that morning were all very well dressed but that was the norm and none of them was as well dressed as I was.
"I'm not comfortable with this." Bruce Wayne reiterated. I get that a lot. Lots of these guys think that it's better to go for a straight up slug-fest, beat it out across the board room and Wall Street until one company emerges, bloody but victorious. They all come round in the end when they see what it'll cost them.
"Don't be an idiot Bruce, we can't do this head on and the end results are worth the subterfuge." Oliver Queen, I always liked him. The last man, dressed in a poor quality blue suit stays quiet. Bruce Wayne bought out Kord Industries years ago and I assume that he's here as a courtesy.
Bruce seems more bothered than he should have been by the comment. "You *know* I have no problem with subterfuge Oliver. But that isn't it. This feels illegal."
"Well it's not." Oliver replied finally. He turns to me and becomes conciliatory. "Maybe you could set things out again Mr Crandle, run through it one more time."
I smile. They're on the hook. "Of course." I dim the lights this time and click to life a tiny projector to supplement the packages they're each holding. It takes me six minutes to run through the plan. I use bullet points. Queen seems to like them. When I am finished I turn the lights back on. They turn back to me."
"How is paying employees to support our takeover not illegal?" Bruce still insists.
"They're not payments Mr Wane, it's simply a benefits package that we pre-guarantee they will receive in the newly merged company. Lexcorp is... uh... particularly vulnerable to disgruntled employees." He seems unconvinced. I slide out three sheets of paper from my top drawer and slip them across the table. Each sheet holds the same table, 11 point printing.
"What's this?" Queen doesn't like to read.
"It's the results of a war that you could choose to wage. It shows how much it would cost each of your companies and the eventual lay offs, money wasted in lawyer fees and pay offs we'd need to do to win it." I spread my hands. "Gentlemen. Say the word and we will go to the mattresses and I promise that we will win the war, but my way there is less bloodshed."
Bruce looks horrified. "Gotham can't take this." He mutters. He stands, looks at Queen, nods and walks out. Kord follows quickly.
Queen extends his hand. "We have a deal Mr Crandle." He signs the papers and we're set.
Once they're gone I get changed. I am an assassin and I kill businesses. Sometimes though you need to go old school. I slip the unlicensed gun into its holder and beep through to my secretary to hold my calls. It's time to go to work.
| 36 | 0 | 115 | 159,420 |
[WP] You are depressed/suicidal. Something miniscule happens and the infinitesimal beauty of that thing or event gives you hope. Describe it.
|
It was the end, everything was bleak. His heart was emptied of the happiness it once had. People said you would go to hell if you killed yourself. Hell was better then this. He stopped; he was the scared kid, never did things straight away. He would count to ten then say he would jump. Then he wouldn't. Always frightened. His father bullied him for that, everybody else did too. Pushed him about like some little softie, always the one who was cautious and scared. Never the daring one. His mother had loved him the most, and she said that to him last when he was a young boy holding her hand, as the life drained from her. A hospital room was her deathbed, and a rocky stream would be his. His car was parked behind him, and he had driven through the countryside so no-one would know, and no-one could stop him. He sighed.
1...
2...
3...
4...
5...
6...
A flower was on the floor. He stomped it and resumed counting, even though he knew 3 seconds were gone.
7...
The flower rose up again, in defiance of his angry stomp. He stomped it again.
8...
9...
10...
His foot raised from the floor. He couldn't do it. He couldn't jump. The bud of the flower slowly opened. It was up again, and out of the bud blossomed the most beautiful flower. A tear welled in his eye. He shook it, stepped back, and walked away from the cliff. He got in his car and drove away. His mother told him she loved him most. He would stand against anything. He would never be pushed again. A flicker of his lips became a smirk, then a smile, then a joyful grin. The darkness of his face was replaced with a happy kind of light. He would start anew, the flower kept getting up, and he would never be pushed down no matter how small he was.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 180,549 |
[WP] I am your best friend. Convince me that I need to die.
|
"We made a deal, me and you. You're not the type to back out of a deal. That's why you're my friend. That's why you're my best friend."
The snow was coming down heavy outside the cabin. The fireplace crackled, sending a spiral of dying flames towards the coffee table between them. On the table were four items; one 750ml bottle of Glenlivet 18-year-old Scotch whisky, one drinking glass for the man on the left, one drinking glass for the man on the right, one 44 caliber revolver with 2 rounds loaded into unknown chambers.
"We were thirteen. We aren't thirteen anymore. We'll be dead soon enough, why do you still want to do this?"
"I'm tired of being old. I knew I would back then and I was right. We're 73 mate. What are we still holding on for? We had some good times. You maybe more than me, but I had my fair share of laughs. I'm tired now. I'm tired of not sleeping when I want to. I'm tired of sleeping when I don't want to. I'm tired eating shit I don't like. I'm tired of people looking at me like I need their help. I'm tired of needing their help. I'm tired of being old. I'm just plain tired…"
He finished what was left in his glass as his friend looked on through glassy, melancholy eyes.
The fire crackled again, this time the flames illuminated the faces of two very different men. One seemed much more aged than the other. His skin was lined with deep wrinkles. His hair was wispy and ghostly white, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes were dark and sunken in. The other maintained a regal posture. His hair was merely peppered white and his eyes were as alive as the fire that was reflected in them.
One old man picked up the 44 caliber revolver and positioned the muzzle firmly against his temple.
"If this is it, what makes you think I'll pick that revolver up after you?"
"A promis—"
| 3 | 0 | 20 | 153,157 |
A man who loses everything before his death has a chance to confront "God", even if it means being banished to Hell.
|
I'd lost everything. My house. My love. All of it. There was nothing left. My family hated me. I didn't have a job. Slowly. I raised the gun to my head. When I heard the door to the house I was squatting in open. No one could have known I was here. "Whose there?" I Hollered. "Why don't you set the gun down and we'll have a little chat." He said back. I couldn't see who it was and he couldn't see me. How could he have known that I had a gun? "How did you know I had a gun?" I yelled/ "Set it down and let me explain." He said back. Fine. Why not, I decided. Setting the gun down I yelled "There. I set the gun down." "I know." He responded. "So why don't you come in here and talk then?" Then out of the shadow he stepped in. I don't know how I could describe this person standing in front of me. He was remarkable but he wasn't. He was as plain as it get's yet something about him just gave off an air of something incredible. Simple blue jeans and a plain black T shirt. The most noticeable thing about him was his pure white hair. Long. Pulled back into a pony tail that was nearly to his shoulders.
"So." He started. "Do you know who I am?" "Not a clue." I said back. "Do the words The One mean anything to you?" "No." "And why's that?" "Because I'm not a man of faith." "Ahh, and what has caused you to follow that path?" "Because in a world with as much pain and suffering as ours why does a supposed all powerful person do so little to help?" "What if I told you that I'm just as lost as you when it comes to how the world should be run?" "I wouldn't believe you." "Why?" "Because your supposed to be all knowing." " And because of that you wouldn't believe me that I'm not doing the best I can to help?" He said coming to sit on the floor next to me. "No," I said. "Because if you're doing the best you can to help why do I watch my friends and family suffer as I do?" Pausing. He appeared deep in thought. "Because when I gave you. You being human's. The gift of free will the world grew and changed on it's own."
"Even so." I say back. "Why do you let this place burn it's self into the ground?" "Because I have no choice." He says. "What's that supposed to mean? Your all powerful though!" Suddenly getting angry. "If your so all powerful why don't you show me a miracle? Prove it to me." "Alas I don't do miracles. Because people are so oblivious to the miracles that they see around them every day. That woman you screamed at for nearly hitting you on the road was on her way to take her daughter to softball practice. And then make it to her job on time so she could put food onto the table. That man you called obnoxious while playing his instrument on the side of the road was doing all of it for a charity. You people are so oblivious to any truly miraculous things you see every day. That strange boy you saw walking around with a camera has to go home to a mother that's dying and a drunk of a father who can't last a day without beating him. Yet that boy still manages to have a smile on his face and enjoy time with his friends. Because he knows that in life even the worst of times can be made better by people who care. So I'll leave you an offer. Take that gun. Right now. You can either end it all. Or you can choose to be the miracle you want to see. And with that I suppose my time here is over." He said standing up to leave. "I'll see you eventually." He said.
| 4 | 0 | 8 | 39,711 |
[WP] Hot on the trail of a serial killer, a detective discovers that the criminal he is hunting is actually an angel, and the victims are demons. Write about their final confrontation.
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Don Taggart was dying.
The blood chugged through his veins with each massive pound of his heart, and as he raced through the dim grey stairwell each step that carried him upward sent a surge of pain into his chest. He'd been running for so long he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a proper breath. His bum left leg hobbled slowly over each step, and he took the steps two at a time beneath his right foot to make up for it.
In his youth, chasing down a criminal through an apartment in Hell's Kitchen wouldn't have been so physically taxing. No, in those days he thrived on the excitement. Racing through hallways and sliding down fire escapes fueled him. In his naivete he longed for the rush of running down some low-life before cuffing him; fourteen years and kneecap full of buckshot later, however, and it was the desk work that he relished. Solving crimes in the comfort of his office, a cup of coffee beside him and an unlit cigar hanging from his lips. He liked the smell of em best anyway.
He'd been working this case for almost two weeks now. Four murders, the victims apparently killed by a scalpel... the beat cops and forensics were, as often they are, useless. 'No evidence to find' at the scenes. 'No signs of breaking and entering'. Like the victims severed their own spines just below their skull. Right. As usual it fell on Taggart to solve a crime before it happened. Knowing what he did of the victims (all small-time crooks and drug dealers that worked in the same circles), along with where the murders were taking place, he had a hunch that someone was moping up a job gone wrong. A hit or a heist that went south and now the punks who screwed it up were getting theirs. Nothing large-scale had been reported recently, but that only meant things had gone *especially* south.
In an apartment a block away from the last murder, Taggart had a contact that kept pace with those same circles. Tonight he figured he'd pay Johnny Matelli a visit - unannounced. It was usually the best way into scaring the kid into talking. He walked into the building just as the drizzling outside became something heavier, and the thunder had started to really pick up by the time he found himself outside of Matelli's door. Apartment *665*. Hah. The neighbor of the beast. Taggart chuckled at himself and grasped the door handle.
"Heya Johnny, guess-" he sentence was cut off when the door caught on the chain lock. Through the two-inch gap Taggart could see a shadow cast across the kitchen drawers; a man grasping at his neck. The gurgling became louder than the thunder. Taggart rammed the door with his meaty shoulder and as it swung wide he saw Johnny Matelli grasping desperately at the wrists of a tall, slender man who stood behind him. He wore a pristine white suit, and looked up quickly as Taggart entered. It was clear that at this point that Johnny had expiredblood pooled around his feet and foamy spit had begun to leak from his mouth. His arms dropped to his side and Taggart reached for his pistol, but struggled with the retention. For an instant he looked down at his side to see what the problem was, and in that time he felt the man in white brushed past him with starting speed. He spun and looked down the hall after him, considering what his next course should be. Before he realized, his instincts had made the decision for him, and he ran toward the stairwell after the man.
After the first flight of steps, his lungs burned and the heartbeat in his ears drowned out the thunder outside. After the next two, he was sure he would die. The only thing keeping his body moving was the sound of quick footsteps as the man in white dashed up the stairs. Far above him now, he heard the door to the building's roof open and close. He steeled himself and gripped the handrails tightly as he flung himself up the stairs two or three steps at a time. His blood was like fire he could feel burning in his neck and ear lobes, and his head was swimming. When he slammed through the roof door the rush of cold, wet air that washed over him did much to clear his blurry vision, but he was certain that he could not have been seeing clearly. He used his wrist, gun still in hand, to wipe sweat and raindrops from his eyes and blinked forcefully several times. The man in white stood with the side of his body facing Taggart, looking up into the rain... and the rain didn't touch him. The drops hovered above his suit like a bubble before running off around him. The result was a feint glow around him. Taggart snapped-to and raised his pistol.
"NYPD, put your hands on your head pal!" he rasped. He lungs felt torn and full and heavy. The man kept looking up into the sky as he began speaking.
"I know I've caused quite a bit of mess lately, Don. I hope you know that I'm sorry for it." Taggart's hard boiled blood froze in his veins. "I had some work to do in town and I tried to make it as quick and clean as possible. I must be getting old." With this he turned toward the detective and smiled. His eyes were sympathetic and kind. A low rumble began in Taggart's throat but he couldn't force it into a sentence. "Last time I checked on you your son had been wounded overseas. I'm so glad his recovery has gone well," his words were hauntingly genuine. "I'll be down here from time to time. Maybe next time we can have coffee. I know a great place," he winked. He looked up once again, and the bubble that kept him dry began to shimmer and glow brightly. "Don't mourn those I've killed, Donald. They're the sort only people like me can deal with." The rain stopped completely in a circle around him, and with a flash he vanished. Taggart let his hand slip to his side. His ragged lungs no longer felt exhausted. His pounding heart had calmed. Even his bum knee felt surprisingly limber. He walked through the rain to the other side of the roof, all the while struggling to get his pistol back into its holster. He stopped at the lip of the building and put his hands on the guard wall. He looked up until the brim of his hat no longer stopped the droplets from hitting his face. He closed his eyes and let them wash over his eyelids and lips, thinking that perhaps some of that glow would be left within them. He pulled the phone from his breast pocket and held the '1' button until it began to ring. Through his eyelids he could see the glow of the sun emerge from behind the clouds. His mind raced and a thousand possibilities played out in front of him.
He brought the phone close to his ear and whispered,
"Son?"
| 1 | 0 | 36 | 47,201 |
[WP] You are driving a car with yourself at the wheel, your SO in the passenger seat, and the person he/she cheated on you with in the back seat. At **least** one person has to die by the end of the car ride.
|
"So, listen..." 45 mph "...I know you don't much give a shit about him. But he's had a crush on you forever."
50
"Who, Ted? I...no he doesn't."
"Jimmy, man. What the fuck?"
55
"Knock it off man. You think I couldn't see the way you looked at her?"
"Dude. That was just..."
60
"It's fine. But what's not fine, what's definitely NOT fucking fine is when you stopped looking at her like that. Didn't think I noticed THAT, didja, either of ya?"
75
"Jimmy stop. You're crazy."
"Crazy? Shit Anne. I'd have argued with that two weeks ago. Love of my life? Forever? House on the ocean? Maine? All of it? Was it all bullshit?"
"Annemarie..." Ted started.
90
"Oh fuck you. Ya know what, fuck you both. Maybe if you'd paid a little more atte..."
"DON'T! You're gonna call it an attention grab now? That cheap? You're not getting out of this that easy."
100
"Jimmy slow down man. You've gotta slow down."
Then it hit me. Jimmy didn't even pack a damn bag. Oh shit. Up the coast for the weekend my ass.
"fuckingloveofmylife" He was saying. Sobbing, white knuckled, hugging the turns as tight as the breaks would allow. "loveofmyfuckinglife" over and over, an insane cackle punctuated his tears as his eyes were glued someplace past the windshield that might've been the road.
110
"JESUS CHRIST JIMMY STOP! STOP! Please!" Anne just kept screaming in his ear, her hair looked like gold, the little ridge on her nose was adorable even in her fury. But she didn't ask me to stop him. She didn't even know I was back here.
Jimmy's head leaned back a little, the tension left his shoulders. He smiled and his eyes went wide.
"Here's the deal."
No one breathed.
125 Damn that engine he put in.
"One of us. Oh it'll be perfect."
"One of us what?"
He laughed like I never heard him laugh.
"One of us pays for this."
His right hand left the wheel and went to his neck. I heard a snapping sound as he looked in to his palm; and he tossed his grandmother's crucifix behind him.
"One of us dies."
140.
I couldn't say anything any more.
"Baby no."
At the sound of her voice he growled and stomped the gas. The road bent right and he cranked the wheel left, off the coast road, 500 feet above the ocean.
All I could see was the sky at first.
Jimmy's hands came off the wheel.
Anne screamed.
I felt my stomach rise in my throat as we started to fall.
Anne's hair was suspended around her like it was that night.
It was like gold.
| 1 | 0 | 7 | 161,585 |
[WP] Guy/Gal comes home from brothers Funeral. Sits down to play a video game and finds a savegame left by the dead brother.
|
I was too drained to slam the door. I could still feel tears under my chin, hanging there. My eyes stung and my hands were shaking. The house seemed colder as I climbed the stairs and approached his room.
For a while I just stood there in the doorway, taking in the room. The white walls looked grey in the dull light pouring in through the window.
The desk chair squeaked as I leaned back in it, which is when I noticed the GameCube sitting there by his computer monitor. I figured 'why not' and booted it up. We used to play Smash Bros religiously, but this time, Animal Crossing was in there. I was curious as to what his town looked like, so biting my lip while fighting off worries that this would upset me, I started wandering around his town.
The town was a mess. If you've ever played Animal Crossing you'll know that you've gotta play almost every day to maintain and improve your town, if you don't then weeds start to appear.
Anyway, the first animal I approached and spoke to on the game said "Ben! I haven't seen you around here in... Hmmm, let me see, 7 months! Where have you been?!!" That didn't really make sense to me. Why would the game be in there if he hadn't played it in so long?
Maybe he was about to start playing but... Something else came up... I swatted the thought away like a fly.
After walking around his town cleaning up and talking to his residents for 20 minutes or so I came across the notice board at the Town Hall on which you can post your own messages.
When I saw the most recent post I couldn't help but get goosebumps. It was only two words.
*'Titty sprinkles.'*
| 1 | 0 | 5 | 13,164 |
[CC] Mea Culpa
|
"God fucking damn it!" The words tear at his throat as he screams to a mute Creator. His soul rips into tiny pieces. He struggles to breathe as his entire body shudders with every breath. The memories come more forceful than before, and he relives the night in his drunken descent into the abyss.
The way John looked at him the entire night. Hate. Anger. Blame.
*No.*
He beats the corpses of the past down into their grave--burying that which should stay in the fetid ground. He grabs another cigarette desperately and lights it, not even bothering to take another drag. The pain burns up his arm as ecstasy. His body convulses and waves of pain and pleasure wrack from his toes to his pelvis--second after second of nerves firing and toes curling.
He knows he can't keep this up. But the alternative. . .
The pen shakes in his hand. He can't write the words, but he must. He scrawls on the page in a nearly illegible script:
**I'm sorry. Mea culpa.**
The words inscribed in ink the judge and jury--a death sentence with no chance of parole. There are no longer any other options. The guilty must be punished. He stumbles to his restroom and stares into his own eyes. Even through his blurred vision he can see that no more light is left inside. He views the world now through a funeral cloth. Everything is overcast by this single solitary event. This one memory that will not fade. Mark can't tell you what he had for breakfast today, but he can recount every single second of that fateful night.
The liquor ran like water. The game was abandoned for cigarettes and conversation. As the night stretched on, Mark and John kept their distance from one another. Something unsaid, but unavoidable.
John turned to Mark.
"The fucking cunt gave the ring back."
Mark paused and took a drag from his cigarette to buy a few seconds.
"John--we were both drunk. It was stupid. I fucked up man. I'm sorry."
John's eyes flashed. He pulled the ring from his pocket. A silver engagement ring set with diamonds far too expensive for a college student.
"Take my fucking ring and keep the fucking whore. She's all yours."
The ring struck Mark in the left eye as John slammed the door behind him.
Mark slams his fists against the mirror. The glass shatters. Blood runs down his arms. His screams fill the air as he rummages through his medicine cabinet. Sleeping pills. The only chance he has left.
The car roared as John drove off on the wrong side of the road. Mark stood on the porch, helpless to stop his friend.
The empty bottle of sleeping pills sits on the counter as the contents dissolve slowly in Mark's stomach. He falls onto the floor and swallows his own bile to keep the pills in their place. His vision turns black as someone pounds on his door.
*Fuck.*
______________________________________________________
A tube trails down Mark's throat. He can't talk and can hardly breathe but for the oxygen tubes in his nose. A slow beeping fills the room in time with his pulse. More tubes grow from each arm, extending from needles buried deep in his veins. Fluorescent lights shoot photons into his brain--tiny needles burning deep into his eyes. Chemicals, medicine, and the stench of the dying fills his nostrils.
His mother stands over the bed and her hand caresses his.
"Honey. . . Your neighbors heard the screams."
John's mother stands silently in the corner. Mark can hardly bear to look at her. In her hand is the yellow sheet of paper he'd intended to hold his last words. I'm sorry. Mea culpa.
She walks slowly up to the bed, leans down and whispers in his ear.
"Mark. . . I forgive you."
His eyes widen and his body shudders once more. His cheeks feel wet. The edges of his vision blur once more as the sedatives burn through his veins. The beeping continues, slow and steady as he descends into darkness. Sweet, silent, sleep.
| 1 | 0 | 4 | 27,534 |
[WP] The last thing anyone ever invented.
|
Adrian stared at his creation with a smile. Placing his hand against its aluminum casing, he gave it a ceremonial tap. The metallic casing echoed through the building.
The echo seemed to enhance how empty the lab actual was. It had been weeks since the last of his colleagues had gone home. Actually it would have been longer; Adrian wasn't keeping track of days any more. He had boarded up all the windows, his only light source from a bulb connected to a generator. He knows it will go out soon, but it's not the dark he's scared of.
Taking a step back to further marvel at the thing he had slaved over for weeks his smile faded to one of serendipity. At this point he didn't believe that it would ever get completed.
In the distance there was an explosion. Adrian turned to face the sound, but it was quiet enough to disregard. From that far away it was of little concern to him now. Slowly he turned back to the device.
A towering, humanoid metal man stared down at him, its lifeless eyes searching his soul for answers he didn't have. At the moment it was just a thing, allowing time to pass freely by. But soon it would be something the world had never dreamed of. It was the solution. Adrian named it Adam, after the biblical first man.
After further admiration Adrian turned to a console which was connected to Adam. It whirred and beeped as green text raced across the screen. Adrian clicked away on the keyboard while Adam just stared nonchalantly into the distance. 'I'll only get one chance' thought the scientist. He stared at the metal man again. 'If this doesn't work, then it's truly over.'
Adrian looked around the room, its darkened corners amplified by the small bulb which lay a few feet from him. He looked at his watch, for what good it did him, and reflected on his life. He remembered Alice, his wife, and his daughter Erin. He remembered his old life before it was taken from him.
After a quick glance at his work, he wiped his brow and pressed the enter key. There was no going back now. The whirring sounds of the computer intensified as various machines connected to Adam sprung to life. Within seconds there was another explosion outside, followed quickly by another. They were getting closer now. Something knew where he was, and Adrian knew he didn't have much time left.
While various screens displayed technical information, and bright lights lit up the room, the fingers on Adam twitched. Adrian stared at his creation as it moved. It actually moved! On its own free will. No code, no program. An artificial intelligence which told the metal man to move its fingers. This was the first time in history where a machine displayed a want to do something and carried out its actions.
Another explosion. They were getting close now. Adrian panicked as dust fell from the ceiling. The power went out and the whirring stopped, then Adam stopped moving. More explosions were falling outside, some closer, some further away, but all too close for Adrians' comfort.
A single tear fell down his face. At this point he thought he was the last one. Those. . . Things, or whatever they were had pretty much wiped out everything. Adrian had locked himself in his lab at the very beginning, long before the bombs dropped. There was originally 30 of them in there, but one by one they left to find their family. None ever came back. Soon the sound of any kind of civilization was lost, replaced only by fewer explosions as the days went by.
Adrian ran to Adam and kicked him. He struck out with all his might. The metallic creature just stood there and took it, unable to defend itself. In an act of frustration, Adrian picked up a wrench and struck Adam in the chest. With that his eyes sprung to life and scouted the room.
It looked at Adrian, just in time to see half of the room explode into a fireball of chaos. Both man and machine were thrown across the room, showered by debris. Adam looked up at the night sky in the newly created hole and saw the stars. It then looked to its side and saw Adrian on the floor, bleeding intensly from a wound in his side.
"Adam. You know what you have to do. I made you. Please." Adrian coughed up blood. Tears were freely flowing down his face as the fear of the unknown grasped him. Death would come soon, and he wasn't ready, but he had to make sure he did this.
"Make it stop. Please. Please make it stop."
Adam looked at the man, then looked back to the sky. It stood up and let the rubble fall to the ground. Walking through the remains of the lab, Adam didn't even look back.
Adrian didn't move. He'd lost the fight and lay there under the rocks and mortar. His glassy stare looked out into eternity as his creation - the last creation - went on a mission to save what was left of the earth.
| 7 | 0 | 8 | 138,773 |
[WP] The end justifies the memes. Yes, even Dickbutt.
|
The point of the internet is to allow for total democratization of speech. It is the culmination of a process began with the printing press. The internet is a valuable tool that gives a voice to the oppressed, a community to the isolated, and an infinite wealth of information that the individual can use to advance themselves. The only downside of such freedom is that the people will use it. This is seen today with appeals to the lowest common denominator like memes. These memes can draw people in, they can make everyone have a greater participation because they are so easy. This easy participation keeps involvement high, which means that when serious things like an outbreak, demonstrating against an oppressive regime, or fighting a dangerous law occur more people will find out and talk about and then act on the problem facing their country. Dickbutt is not a sign society is going down. Instead dickbutt is to crisis and free speech what reality tv is to the emergency broadcast service, the tool that keeps the lines of communication open for when they are needed the most.
| 3 | 0 | 0 | 131,978 |
[WP] When you die, you become an extra in other people's dreams. The other people in your dreams are just dead people with nowhere else to go.
|
I only exist in the dreams of the living. Blips of consciousness here and there.. Dark Jungles. Large Cities. Weird Pornos. I get eaten by monsters, blown to smithereens in explosions, I walk in a loop in a crowd like a blip in the matrix. I am not aware of it's impermanence. During this REM cycle, this is the only life that I know. Between dreams? Ironically, it feels much like that state between dreaming and awake. Consciousness floating in darkness...until the new world fades in, and I'm laughing and pointing at some poor kid who forgot to wear pants to class. He is red-faced and frozen to the spot. I feel bad for the kid, but I can't stop laughing. He sinks into the floor to his ankles and a pretty blonde girl mutters something insulting over the laughter and walks off with a smug-faced boy. It doesn't take me long to figure out what is going on. But I keep laughing. and pointing. I am at the mercy of some teens sub-conscious mind, and I can't help but wonder if my "Life" before wasn't something similar.
| 2 | 0 | 526 | 180,625 |
[WP] Someone begins feeling injuries before they happen.
|
"We're friends, right?" she smiled, looking over to him. He glanced back, barely seeming to notice what was going on until he saw that look in her eyes and smiled back.
"Sure, we're friends." he mused, turning back to his game.
The pair of them had been friends for years, but more and more recently she started to feel like something was wrong. There were these nagging urges that told her that he wasn't what he said he was, but it was all she could do to ignore them.
"Sorry, stupid question, shouldn't have asked." she shook her head, her gaze slipping back to the game, forcing herself to keep the smile.
It was the morning the pair of them would end up separating, he was moving out of their flat into a 'boys only' dorm. That had been when she'd started to feel a bit off about their friendship, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it.
She tried to concentrate on what was going on, but she ended up needing to leave the room, her head swimming with thoughts she refused to believe could be there.
"We're friends. There's no reason to need to worry about it. He said I could visit on the weekends, that we'd still always be able to talk to each other. Why would he lie to me?" she murmured as she climbed the stairs, collapsing back onto the bed and curling up to try and defend from a deep dull ache in her chest.
Her eyes opened after a while, turning towards the door where he stood over her, his face less amused than before when he'd been distracted by the game.
"Can't a girl lay around for a while without needing to be checked on?" she started, sitting herself up before seeing the look in his eyes.
"If I ever see you again, God help you." he scathed, glaring at her. She looked confused, flailing to try and get herself off the bed and towards him.
"What do you mean? What's going on?"
"*We're friends, right?*" he mimicked, giving her a look of disgust. "You've existed for me to abuse. I run out of money, I take yours. I need sexual favour, I use your body. I need comfort, you get to pretend to be mommy for a bit. And you loved me for it." He laughed, turning away from her.
The feelings from before, that ache started again, this time increasing in agony until she could barely take it.
"What do you mean?"
"You're an idiot. You really think I, that anyone could ever stand you for this long?"
"But-" she started, pushing herself closer towards him to try and figure out what was going on until the pain in her chest could be ignored no longer.
"I warned you." he stated, his face barely changing as her eyes took in the information. He was stood in front of her, a kitchen knife in his hand, the blade in her chest.
It twisted, and he smiled to see her cry out in agony.
| 1 | 0 | 8 | 103,883 |
[WP] Your significant other falls under a curse. Only true loves kiss can break the curse. You kiss your S/O and nothing happens. How do you react?
|
"It's Dave isn't it" I screamed trying to make sense of why my wife of 10 years was still struck by this curse.
"I'm sorry babe, but it isn't Dave. You are the only man that I have ever truly loved". Her statement seemed to cut through me like a cold winter's breeze. I had always considered myself very open minded, but not Jennifer. How could the only girl I ever love not share the same feelings and secretly wish that she could be with her true love. What kind of loving husband would I be if I were to deny her of her true desire. The questions and doubts kept flooding into my mind making me wish that I had never even met my own wife. Finally after a few minutes of contemplating I was able to dryly stutter "So what's her name?"
"Her name is Hannah, and we met two years ago while you were away on business. While I have always loved you, there has been something missing and I found it with her. We have both expressed our love for each other in the past but have never been able to move on it because of our relationsh…" I quickly cut off my dear wife mid-sentence "If she is your true love, go and get her. " As my words washed across her face the concerns of her admission to me seemed to ease. I finally saw the spark in my wife's eye that had been missing for so long.
| 2 | 0 | 43 | 68,371 |
[WP]: Click "random", and study the subreddit you got. Write about your discoveries like a victorian wilderness explorer
|
David swallowed nervously as he tried to keep his hand with the microphone from shaking. This was a special find they had come across, and by accident as well. Shooting from a boat on a vast and deep river with the native jungle in the background and the setting sun turning the water a beautiful gold and crimson, the gathering clouds in the sky taking on oranges and reds that only the evening sun can cast, with the far horizon turning a deep, velvety purple. Only the small ripples and breaks in the water gave any indication that it wasn't a true reflection of the sky.
"Camera rolling? Good. Ahem. Now here we have something truly special, a study in anthropology in a primitive culture. What we have stumbled onto, quite my accident, is an isolated subculture of human collectors that have taken to using a strange form of coinage as a medium for barter. Devalued to such a low point, or maybe just the effect of extreme inflation from a scarcity of goods, these people now almost give away this currency as a joke and reference it as such. Still, they have taken to collecting it as much as possible. Stranger still, this medium has no physical form. It isn't a true coin or anything that can be held or exchanged in person. It is an entirely electronic form of money and it is seemingly created from nowhere. Theft amongst this group appears to be rampant, perhaps contributing to the low value of the coin."
"Yet the strangest fact isn't The coin itself, but its symbol, which in this society appears to be both comical and serious at the same time. It is...a dog. Yes, a dog's head appears on the coin and everywhere it is traded and accepted. Is it a deity worshiped by this simple people? Is it the representation of a former ruler? Some mysteries are simply lost to time."
| 0 | 0 | 660 | 26,898 |
[WP] Create a story that starts out innocent, and gradually gets more and more disturbing.
|
Jim was taking a stroll through the forest. He was on a long and winding path and the sun shone brightly through the leaves above. There were others on the path ahead of him, others on the path behind. Some walked and in groups and talked with each other. They all knew they were going the right way, as they were following the placards nailed to the tree trunks.
A placard here, a placard there. Each with a name and a date. Each a step along the path. Each one with an event of note inscribed below the person's name.
Jim was walking alone, but like everyone else walking the path, he was serene. He followed the people ahead around a bend in the path, following the hand nailed signs. A placard there and there.
The people were spread out enough, that if one wanted, they could pause for a moment at each sign and read the words inscribed on them, then move on before the person behind might catch up. But few did. They were more concerned with their own destination. Each watching the trail of memorials. Simple tombstones, each with its owner at peace below.
It was strange, he thought, that each new person who walked the path took a little longer to get to the end. The path never got longer, but the journey took more time. The group ahead of him was dwindling down to just a few people.
As he walked, he wondered what people in the future might think if they stopped to read the sign that would mark his final resting spot. His thoughts were drawn back to the present though, as he heard the pinging sound of hammer and nail with the dull thud of wood.
He came around the next bend in the path and saw that the last person ahead of him was reading the final plaque on the path. She picked up the hammer that lay below and took the bloody knife from her friends still twitching fingers. The woman walked until she found a tree she felt suited her, and took her own plaque from her purse. With only a few firm strikes, she nailed her placard to the tree. Then she raised the knife and slid it across her own throat.
Jim stopped above her peaceful body and read her placard. Her own words, her own eulogy and obituary. He took the knife and hammer. Then he walked a short while, till he found where he would nail his own placard.
| 2 | 0 | 85 | 99,833 |
[WP] The recently passed law UN-334772G makes it an international crime to post online content which contains bad grammar. Describe your first day as a grammar police.
|
*They never tell you there's going to be paperwork. but there always is. Lots of paperwork. Close to no actual police work. I don't even know why I'm a police officer if this is what I do all day.* Jerry kept browsing, going from cesspool to cesspool, to the nicer places in cyberspace, to a different cesspool. *This is hell. What am I supposed to do? I can't scourge the internet in its entirety. This is as lost as the war on drugs.*
And then he saw it. It wasn't a typo, that he was sure of. This guy deliberately wrote everything wrong in a dare. *Your sur u can caught mi? Who could even come up with this shit?*
It got worse. This wasn't the only one. Thousands of others joined him in mockery of the new law. This is absurd. This will not be tolerated. *They must be punished*
Jerry banged on his keyboard, furiously. This is what he trained all last year for. This was his moment to shine. No one escapes the law.
---------
Reply by Jerromaniac @ 14:43
"*Are you sure you can catch me?*. You have committed a crime. I have established your sentence to be that of mockery by peers. Users are from now on mandated to mock this individual's poor use of his native tongue.
Failure to comply will result in severe, harsh punishment."
That'd show them. That'd show them all. You can't just go on the internet and do that. Not anymore. Not since the law had come. *I'm the law* he grinned, feeling all too superior. *The citizens of Mega-City 1 are now safe to read internet forums again. We'll watch them, protect them, protect our language. Judge Jerry is in charge.*
| 5 | 0 | 106 | 161,276 |
[WP] You are a high school student studying radio waves in science class. When conducting an experiment using a radio, you accidentally tune into a station broadcasting ominous messages.
|
"Come. Asphalt. Inchoate." I was startled, the words came out of the radio at an alarming pace.
"Dude, you hear this?" I asked Fred, who was sitting next to me "Hear what?" he replied. "The radio is saying random words, man" Fred looked at me like I was hallucinating, and turned back to his own broken attempt at radio communications.
I picked the plastic box up and looked at it from different angles. It looked just like all the other radios. Then, I heard static for a few seconds, and then it began to speak.
"Node A1, host name John Markson. 12% activity, approaching audio perceptivivity and rising at a rate of 132 points per second. Rate unprecedented. 15% activity. Possibility that host of A1 is becoming aware. 16% activity. Preparing squads in case A1 passes awareness barrier at 25%. 18% activity. Past barrier for definite communications perception, ceasing long distance data transfer." Its voice was medium in pitch, completely androgonous, with the exact accent I had. "Dude, did you really not hear all that?" "Heard what? Look, your radio isn't even turned on." I was confused, when a group of armed men burst through the classroom door.
The situation was happening, like the radio had said. I needed to do something, for some reason I had the idea they were after me, as if the gazes from beneath their visors were all clearly pointed at me. I felt a twang in the direction of the guns, and ducked instinctively. Gunfire popped through the air, and splinters arose from the desks. I felt their stares move towards me, their actions becoming clearer to me as the situation worsened. Another twang from the direction of the nearest soldier. I felt the path of the feeling move through the desk to where I was in that moment, and quickly moved to the right so as to dodge. The men were slow to approach me, and I could feel their caution from where I was panicking. I turned and peered through the whole this had generated in the desk. Upon seeing them again, my mind started to fill with ideas and info about the situation I was in, and what I could do. I stood up, and turned to face the soldiers. I felt many surges of danger come from each of their guns, and I stopped the feelings in midair. The guns began to fire, and I continually stopped all of the feelings, until I was standing in front of a maze of floating bullets. I let them drop, and created a large feeling from myself aimed towards the soldiers. They were sent flying away from me. As I left the classroom, I began to hear the static again, this time coming from the radio of the last concious soldier.
"A1 has reached 30% activity barrier, repeat, 30% activity barrier. Please send backup, I repeat, please send backup."
I walked out of the room, well aware of what they were trying to do to me. I walked out, with the intent to stop them.
| 1 | 0 | 65 | 226,634 |
[WP] A Doctor considers breaking their oath to "Do No Harm."
|
I look up at the clock: **1:03 AM.** *It's my birthday for fucks sake. Someone else should be here...*
Just when I thought it would be an uneventful night of reviewing patient charts, the ER doors burst open. Four EMTs rush in, each at the corner of a stretcher.
"High speed motor vehicle accident. No time to explain. Only survivor."
"Put him in Room 215. Nurse!"
It took us 89 minutes and seven staff members to finally stabilize the patient. He was involved in a car crash; no more than 19 and his blood alcohol level was through the roof. *19 and already the blood of 2 lives on his hands? Jesus.*
*My pager goes off. I answer the call.*
"Peter? Peter is that you? I tried calling your cell phone but you weren't picking up. The hospital operator paged me to this number. There's been an incident. Janet and Matty - they... they were in a car accident..."
*My heart sinks and my throat blocks up.*
"They were hit by a drunk driver tonight. They were on your way to surprise you for your birthday. I -"
*I hang up. My hands are trembling; my skin is cold; I calmly saunter back to Room 215.*
*For 28 years - 28 faithful fucking years - I have lived up to the physicians oath. I have never wavered in my intentions, nor have I done anything to deserve anything that has happened tonight. I stare into his slumbering, imbecilic eyes. I questioned humanity, I questioned myself, and I questioned my spirituality: if there was any sort of higher power at all, how the fuck is he still alive but my family isn't?"*
I pull his ventilator from the outlet. *I am prepared to answer for everything I've done.*
| 1 | 0 | 23 | 212,652 |
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