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[ WP ] The History textbooks you ordered finally arrive in the mail . However , you notice an error - these are the wrong edition . Instead of the 2014 Edition , you received the 2024 Edition . The last few chapters appear to be accurate .
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The package, in it's brown covering and all, had on it's cover the standard globe of the world. The 2014 Edition, being written largely by European and Asian scholars and edited others had Africa showing.
Except, it was n't Africa. It was Asian, China at the center of the book.
*Huh. I suppose I'll send this back to Amazon. I'll check my order to see whether I ordered the right book. That's odd. I did. *
I looked back at the book. *Well. Must be the right one. I'll check whether this has the correct content. *
I flipped to the middle of book. It read:
`` Chapter 13: Collectivization and Economic Socialism in China
This chapter will cover the origins of China's re-emergence into Communist ideology. While the 2008 financial disaster spread to Europe, America and many parts of Asia, China stood strong. Reversing the role of the exploiters and exploited, China began influencing countries by providing investment into infrastructure, extracting rare earth minerals from countries with natural endowments and began building up a social network to replace Western institutions.''
*Well. This is new. I'm sure I'll have fun learn about Mao again. Although this is slightly odd, since that there has n't been much news about the acquisitions from China... *
I flipped to a later chapter. It read:
`` Chapter 20: Rise of the Asian Alliances.
This chapter will explore the motivations for NATO's intervention in Eastern Europe and how the revolutions of Ukraine, Armenia, and Greece influenced the Re-Unification of the Korean Peninsula. In addition, the beginning alliance between China and Vietnam will be discussed thoroughly alongside the military developments in Russia.''
*Okay... this is obviously not the right book... * But I could n't turn away. I turned to the last chapter. It read:
`` Chapter 25: Taiwanese Integration: The Rise of the Middle Kingdom
This chapter will explore the difficulties that the NATO nations had in recovering from the land war in Russia as well as explain the rationale for China's military strikes against Japan.''
... This was clearly the wrong book. I turned to the beginning of the textbook to see what edition the book was and which scholars had written it. It only said, it large bold letters:
**LONG LIVE THE GLORIOUS CHAIRMAN MAO. **
**毛泽东万岁!!! **
**毛泽东万岁!!! **
**毛泽东万岁!!! **
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[ WP ] You stand at the edge of the roof , the streets twenty stories below your feet . You do n't jump . Why ?
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As the wind blows my tears back, the dryness stains my cheeks. Just like Mama's scent stained my heart. An Image of her smile was imprinted in my mind. I endeavour to forget her and proceed to jump. As I looked down for one last time. The wind wooshed by my ear. It was n't the wind that startled me, but the voice it seemed to carry. `` MAX!'' It echoed... my head started to spin. And i fell back... tears streamed my face. And everything became a blur. I opened my eyes to see Mama standing over me. She was crying. Bewildered, I tried to sit up. She hugged me and shook me at the same time. I felt stupid, for that moment I realized I could n't leave this world. No matter how cruel and horrid this place is, I could n't leave my mother behind.
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[ WP ] Write a story where the protagonist dies at the end but it turns out to be a happy ending .
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I liked this prompt! My ending got a little lazy though, because of time constraints, so it is n't the ending I wanted, sadly. Please, forgive me for that! Thank you!
Joe Pratchett glanced over at his partner, wondering if he was ready. They'd trained for this moment, although training never could *really* prepare someone for the real deal. He sighed quietly, steering his Toyota Camry down an alley and switching it off. `` You ready to do this?'' His voice was strong and forceful, a tone he used when he did n't want questions.
`` Of course.'' His partner, a 20-something male by the name of Richard, was unbuckling, having already gloved his hands in his nervousness. Joe followed suit, gloving up and then unbuckling the seat belt. He pulled out wipes and handed them to Richard so he could get rid of any fingerprints.
Finally, they were ready. They took a quick look at the building, a small town bank, giving themselves just a moment to pump themselves up. `` Alright, get the guns.'' Joe commanded, his voice unwavering. He'd done this a hundred times before, he was sure it would be the same this time.
While Richard walked to the trunk, Joe leaned down and strapped a pistol he'd kept under his seat to his ankle. This was in case he became disarmed and needed to save himself. He'd covered it with his pants before Richard even had the duffel bag out of the trunk. `` Here.'' He tossed the bag at Joe, who caught it with ease and unzipped it in one, fluid motion.
As always, he grabbed a large semi-automatic machine gun that took up most of the room in the bag. That left an revolver for Richard, who had claimed to be more of a pistol man anyways. He grumbled something about Joe compensating, then reluctantly took the gun and checked the clip. Full.
Joe motioned for his partner to go, then opened his door and sprinted up to the back entrance of the bank. Richard went to work picking the lock, and after a minute or two the door swung open. Instantaneously, alarms started blaring, alerting the one security guard of an invasion. Joe took the lead, holding his weapon at the ready and keeping his knees bent. Richard took the rear, keeping his pistol pointed at the ground but his arms straight in case he needed to shoot.
Everything went smoothly as they approached the safe, a large metal door with a code lock on the door. This was where they'd gotten lucky. They'd had an inside connection. Joe smirked and tapped away at the keypad, inputting the code they'd been told. The numbers lit up, then turned green as Joe finished the code, and they heard a loud metallic *click*.
Just as the door opened, a single shot rang out, and Joe stopped suddenly. Slowly, he looked down to find blood leaking from his chest, soaking his black shirt and making it slightly darker. `` What the...?'' He wheezed, and then fell over, his breaths short and labored.
Richard glanced in the door, and noticed a small, barrel sized hole in the wall on the back of the vault. Knowing protocol, he grabbed the SMG and stepped over the dying body of his partner and began to loot like they'd planned. Joe watched as it became harder to breathe, trying to put pressure on his wound. This was not what he'd planned.
Fighting his pain, he reached down and grabbed the pistol he'd strapped to his ankle, taking careful aim. He would aim for the head, but he needed to have perfect aim or it'd be a waste. `` I'm sorry, Dick.'' Richard stopped and turned, having never been called that by his partner. However, instead of a sincere moment, the last thing he heard was a gunshot.
Joe laid back, his breathing slowing and finally stopping. As he drew his last breath, he smiled. He'd done this a hundred and one times. It was fitting, that as he'd ended the lives of so many thieves with a bullet, a bullet should be his undoing.
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[ TT ] Your ship 's dead in space , nothing working but life support . You 've still got momentum from when the engines worked , and with no way to `` steer '' , you 're months away from crashing into the very planet you were supposed to colonize . No one can reach you in time to help . How do you tell your crew ?
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You do n't.
`` Good morning, this is your captain speaking. We're on a slow and steady descent to about 350 km/s. You can expect landfall within the next 24 hours. Again, thank you all for making this journey on behalf of the Motherland. Please enjoy your time on the ship while you still can.'' Arthur pulled his finger off the comm button. On his desk stood a few empty shot glasses and a broken vodka bottle.
You never tell your civilian crew they're about to die. That's one of the first things they teach you in pilot academy. It's sickening but this is space. Nobody can come to your aid on the frontier so there's only two ways this can go down:
Tell the crew and have them break out in panic. Either a small group assumes control and the rest are hacked to pieces, maybe eaten, or, impose martial law and keep the ship under control. Then everyone dies, scared and slightly deranged.
Or do n't tell the crew and crash into the planet. That's a quick and painless death. These people deserve at least that after all the shit they've gone through.
Holding a secret like this would drive most people insane but Arthur had a trick. He stumbled to the closet and pulled out another bottle of vodka.
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[ WP ] You thought about moving away for a long time . Today you finally pack your bags .
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Tensions are building steadily at home. The atmosphere is getting thicker and thicker. I ’ m unable to control my reactions like before. I ’ m not just scared anymore. I ’ m getting angrier. I ’ m really struggling to control myself on a daily basis. Fear is barely keeping my mouth shut now. My sister ran away 18 months ago because Dad tried to strangle her. Even though I know that if he loses it I might end up dead, it ’ s killing me every day keeping my eyes down, saying the right things, placating his fucking temper. He can see it though. He knows I ’ m close to snapping and he ’ s waiting. If I don ’ t get out of here soon, I ’ m going to break.
So, I go. Pack my things into bin bags and fill my backpack.
Leanne ’ s agreed to meet me outside my gate at half seven to help me move my stuff quickly. I ’ m moving as quietly as I can. I can hear him snoring in bed still. The kids aren ’ t up yet, but Mum is awake. I dump all my bags by the front door. Mum turns to face me.
Mum: “ Are you doing what I think you ’ re doing? ”
Me: “ I can ’ t be here anymore. I ’ m sorry ”
Mum stares at me for a few seconds. She looks defeated. I think she ’ s going to beg me to stay. Not sure if I can take that.
Mum: “ What am I supposed to without your child benefit money* ”
I don ’ t think she ’ s ever said anything so hurtful to me. I look away; my eyes are filling. Is that all I ’ m good for?
I pick up my bags and start moving them outside. Thank god, Leanne is here, she hasn ’ t let me down. I get everything out, and go back inside. I lay two notes on the table, one for Mum, one for Dad. Mum ’ s back is turned. She doesn ’ t say a word.
She doesn ’ t even ask me if I have somewhere safe to sleep.
I leave.
Walking as fast as we can, Leanne and I head for the bus stop. A bus is due almost immediately. Hop on. Sit down. Exhale.
Drive past the house. I won ’ t see inside it again. The front door is shut.
Head to the nearest town, where I ’ ll be staying with a friend. I ’ ve known him for a while. He used to have a major drug and alcohol problem, but he ’ s been clean for about six months and he ’ s doing really well. It ’ s a good arrangement for both of us. He really needs the company and I really need somewhere to stay!
It ’ s going really well at first. His friend Charlie** is staying too. Charlie is a sweet kid, a runaway like me, only I ’ m pretty sure he ’ s underage. I ’ m teaching my friend, Stan**, to play guitar and some basic cookery skills. I don ’ t think he ’ s ever used the oven!
Money is tight for that first week and a half, but we don ’ t mind. We get so excited when we go to the shop and find cheddar cheese on offer! Cheese is too expensive when you ’ re trying to eat on five pounds a week! I ’ m sleeping on the couch in the spare room. Stan offered me the bed, but to be honest his hygiene isn ’ t amazing so I decided to stick with that couch! Charlie is bunking on the living room floor on a mattress. We ’ re like a little family. Charlie doesn ’ t really talk. I wonder what happened to him.
It ’ s all been going so well. Am I surprised that it didn ’ t last?
I have to up for work early tomorrow. Stan and Charlie came home with a litre of Vodka. Stan has definitely taken something. Phet I think…he ’ s twitchy as hell and he ’ s gurning like nothing I ’ ve ever seen. He ’ s saying that someone gave him the vodka as a gift…bullshit. They robbed it. This is going to get messy. I retreat to my room.
It ’ s 12 am now, and they ’ re blasting happy hardcore. I have to be up in six hours and my patience is wearing thin. I ’ ve asked them twice to keep it down. I can hear crashing now. I poke my head around the door. Their jumping on and off the sofa like maniacs. I eye the vodka. It ’ s nearly gone. I ask Stan again. He comes nose to nose with me and screams at me to shut the fuck up. His eyes are wild. I go from pissed off to fucking terrified on about half a second.
I take a step back, put my hands out, palm open. “ Ok Stan, I ’ m sorry. My bad. ” I know that look. My Dad gets that look right before the violence comes. He ’ s lost it. He dashes into the kitchen. I stand there frozen. He comes back and runs full pelt at me. There ’ s a fucking knife in his hand. There ’ s a fucking knife in his hand! I ’ ve never moved so fast in my life. I just manage to get my door closed before he reaches me. There ’ s no fucking lock! I ’ ve never needed a lock before! Stan is stabbing seven shades of shit out of the door. I drag the couch in front of the door and brace myself between the couch and the wall. He ’ s kicking the door now; if he gets in here I think he ’ ll actually kill me.
I don ’ t have much credit on my phone. It ’ s 1 am now. It doesn ’ t even occur to me to ring the police. They would just take me back to my parents. My friend Mickey offered me his spare room last week. I call him and hang up; pray, pray, pray he calls back. He does. I can come to his but he doesn ’ t know anyone who can come get me. Ok. I call my ‘ surrogate brother ’, Matt. He ’ s in bed with his wife. He ’ ll be with me in ten minutes. I thought his wife would be mad, but I can hear her in the background, telling him to get me out of there. Bless her, she ’ s never liked me much, but she did the right thing that night. He would have come anyway.
The door is starting to splinter. I ’ m a bit worried about Matt, Stan having a knife and all, but Matt is 6″2, weighs about 18 stone and is one of the toughest people I know. I warned him about the knife.
There ’ s banging at the door. Stan ignores it for a bit, but it doesn ’ t stop. He stops kicking the door. I hear him tell Charlie to act normal. He opens the door. Matt tells him to sit down and stay down. He must have looked like thunder, because Stan obeys him without a word. I push the couch away from the door. I ’ ve never been so glad to see anyone. We get my stuff out.
As I ’ m leaving, Stan calls out to me. I ’ ve avoided looking at him this whole time. Tears are pouring down his face. He ’ s wailing at me, begging me not to go. I just shake my head. He picks up the knife and starts slicing into his arms. He ’ s begging me to stop, pleading with me to come back. Cutting deeper and deeper the whole time. I can ’ t stop looking; there ’ s an emotional car wreck happening right in front of my eyes. There ’ s blood fucking everywhere. He ’ s almost screaming now. There are ropes of drool hanging out of his mouth. Blood is spreading over the carpet. Charlie is puking in the corner. Matt comes back up stairs; the car is packed. I ’ m in shock I think. How can I leave him like this? Matt takes in the scene, puts his arms around me and pulls me down the stairs, out the door. I ’ m not putting up a fight. I just can ’ t physically walk away from that.
We drive for a little while. He pulls the car over and holds me in silence. He never asks me if I want to go home. He knows how bad it was there. I chainsmoke for about an hour, let him hold me and give what comfort he can. He ’ s crying now. Crying over me, my life, my situation. I should probably cry. I think I ’ ve forgotten how. It ’ s been years since I ’ ve shed a tear. I wish I was exaggerating.
On to the next.
N.B this is n't actually fiction. It's an account I wrote of my first few weeks leaving home at 16. There is a part two, if there's any interest.
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[ WP ] Elon Musk is actually a disguised alien who bet his friend that he could bring Earth to `` Technology Level 10 '' in one human lifetime .
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`` Sir,'' she came into the office softly stuttering, silently weeping, her arms extended as though cradling something sublime and wonderous. `` S-sir, you've done it. You cured cancer.''
`` GET THE FUCK OUT BRENDA!'' Elon yelled and shoved the office door into her body. When it closed, he locked it and ran back to his Paramator.
`` Paramator!'' He hollered,'' Cue screen!''
A hologram shot up into the air and presented the tactile data dashboard.
`` Shit, shit, shit,'' He said. `` Level 3. Level fucking 3. We were supposed to have cured cancer three months ago!''
The Paramator queue'd an incoming call.
`` Answer!'' Elon yelled while applying pressure to his temples. Into the hologram presented a smooth skinned, hairless biped. Its features were long and narrow, and eyes large and dark.
`` Ah, yes, Elon. I see you are falling off schedule.''
`` Fuck you,'' Elon said. `` Where's my shipment of quantum transistors?''
`` Coming, Elon, coming. But at this rate, and I've done the computation, the chances of project completion are slight.''
Elon narrowed his eyes until they were sharp as falcon claws. `` Never tell me the odds,'' he said.
`` 97.36 percent,'' said the creature. `` Of failure, that is. You'll be slurping my jerjew to its moist, coily tip before the next nova expansion.''
`` Fuck you. Transistors,'' Elon said, and snapped his fingers to hang up the call. `` Paramator! World map!'' The Paramator displayed a map of Earth with lines of longitude and latitude. Musk took his hand to his chin and studied it. `` Come on, guys,'' he whispered while dragging his index finger across South America. `` If we're going to pull this off,'' he spun the map with a flick,'' Everyone's going to have to help...''
`` Elon! Elon!'' Someone was furiously pounding on his office door. `` It worked! It worked! The new boner medicine worked! Now we can have boners all the time!''
Elon's thoughts drifted and he idly mumbled to himself,'' Permadicks? But that's a level 6 technology...''
A light went on behind his eyes. He ran to his desk and pulled out his top drawer. From it he took crayons and a legal pad.
`` Think, Elon, think!'' He said while bopping his forhead. `` Dicks,'' he started to say.
`` Dicks,'' he said.'' Dicks, cocks, socks. Rocks—no, goddamit Elon. Cocks, socks...'' He scribbled furiously on the legal pad. `` Cocks, socks, sockets... rock --''
His eyes went wide, shining with epiphany.
`` Hot carl,'' he whispered, and sat in his chair and marveled silently.
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[ WP ] One if by land . Two if by sea . Three if by air . Four if by ...
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`` There are four lights.''
`` What do you mean, four?'' My partner replied. We had been assigned here by a higher up officer to monitor whatever was coming. But all I knew was that it was cold and I wanted a damn coffee.
I pointed off to a distant tower, where four candle lit lanterns were hanging. `` We were told to wait here for the signal, right? There are four lights. What do you suppose that means?''
He mulled over the idea for a moment. `` One by land, two by sea, three by air.'' There was a squint on his behalf as he looked off at the tower. `` Wait, you said,'there are four lights.'?''
`` Yeah, there are four lights.'' I looked him over like he was an idiot.
`` There! Are! Four! Lights!'' He shouted in a defiant manner, using his taller height to loom over me in a menacing fashion.
I did a hop back and put a hand over my gun. `` What the shit? Do n't shout or anything, we're supposed to be lookouts.''
`` No, dumbass. It's a quote from Star Trek. Captain Picard gets taken by the Cardassians and they try to brainwash him or something.''
`` What the fuck are the Kardashians doing in Star Trek?'' I had my suspicions that this man was a dumbass before. Now I just knew it had to be true.
`` But you said there are four lights.''
`` There ARE four lights!''
`` Then we're getting invaded by brainwashing aliens. That's the only solution. That's what we need to be on the lookout for. That's what we're supposed to warn people about. Now get on your horse and spread the news!'' We did n't even have horses. Mr. Paul Revere here was taking things to seriously.
I shook my head and stood my ground. `` Look, let's say... Hypothetically... Extremely hypothetically, that it's aliens.''
`` Alright, go on.''
`` Aliens are from outer space. Space is a part of air. If the enemy are coming by air, there would be three lights.''
`` But there are four lights.''
`` Exactly.''
`` So then it's mole people.'' He stomped his feet on the ground. `` One by air, two by sea, three by air, four by ground. Obviously it's mole people.''
`` Why the fuck would you think it's mole people?'' I had started to go for my radio so I could call it in, but i really had to hear an explanation for this one.
`` Bare with me.'' I bit my tongue, saying nothing. I think I had already bared enough of him. `` The likelihood of hell demons or spawn or whatever is very low. So we can strike those out. Giant man eating worms is more of a thing they have out in Nevada, we're just outside of Boston. The only thing left that it could be is mole people.''
`` Giant man eating worms?''
`` No, idiot. Mole people. Call it in, and tell them that it's mole people.''
I go for my radio and decide that I should just call it in and ask them what four lights are supposed to mean. Instead I just get static. I bang the thing against the palm of my hand in a vain effort to get it to work.
`` Probably interference by the mole people.''
`` Just shut the fuck up about the mole people.'' I bang it again and am greeted by a low, rumbling noise. The ground has started to vibrate and my attentions are drawn up towards the sky.
There was a series of lights. Shooting starts that flared across the night sky all around us. A particularly bright one shined above, coming to a stop above. It looked to be some sort of flying vessel, with strange swirling lights that spun around along the bottom.
`` Ha! I told you! I told you that four lights meant aliens!''
A beam overtook the both of us. I started to feel light on my feet, so much so that the soles of my boots had stopped touching the ground entirely. `` Just... Just shut up.'' I hissed back, even as the both of us were being abducted by this unknown force.
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[ WP ] After the Dark Lord conquered the realm everything turns out really damn good .
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20 years. Had it really been that long? The news crews were coming in later today to interview me.....I hope the drones can guide them in without any casualties this time. The volcano lair was... mostly dormant. When I first settled here, I never planned on visitors. At least, none I actually wanted to survive the trip. I still cant believe its been 20 years. Two decades since I finally won. All the capes were dead, and I was the absolute lord and master of the entire Earth. The hardest part of winning had been realizing that I finally had to put up or shut up. How many times had I told that insipid Captain Supreme that I could change the world if only he'd let me? And now I had. The first thing I did was cure cancer. My gift to the world to atone for taking their hero's. After that it was heart disease. A nanite in the form of a pill that scrubbed the arteries clean and extended the human life span by at least 30 years. There was nothing I couldnt fix. No one I couldnt save. And all they had to do was bow down before me... which they did. It was childs play. Everything was childs play. Everything was....boring. There were no challenges anymore. I had killed them all.
It was time to make my appearance. I lifted the gaudy tinfoil lined helmet to my head and attached my velvet cape. Christ... velvet and tinfoil. I really was an idiot. Still, its hard to change your look when you're on every piece of money in the world. The news crews had landed... only one hadnt made it past the lasers, and it was from FOX so no big loss there. As I made my way down to the landing platform, a familiar face caught my eye. Her. Of course she was here. She was the only thing the idiot and I had in common... she was the only thing in the world I still felt anything for. And she hated me. Ever since I killed her hero. That redheaded idiot of a cameraman was with her... the one who had been his sidekick a lifetime ago. I remember he had actually cried on TV the day I won... that had been pretty funny. He was older now... the years had not been kind. He looked like life had kicked the shit out of him....but she was still beautiful. Looking at her, I felt the way I did back in school. Nervous... shy....too scared to even make eye contact. For gods sake man, get it together! You're the absolute ruler of the world... you can damn well make conversation with a nosy reporter and her idiot cameraman. Besides, maybe if I was nasty enough, I could make the ginger cry again. That was something to look forward to. With my hands on my hips and a sneer on my face, I got ready to give them a monologue for the ages... and then the gingers camera exploded.
....The hell??? My ears were ringing and I was flat on my back. I tasted copper and my chest hurt like hell. Whatever they had hit me with had made it past the body armor. Fuck... thats a lot of blood. Off in the distance, I hear more choppers....sounds like military. So this is how it ends? I give them the world they always wanted, make everything perfect, and this is the thanks I get? Fucking normals....I should have just let the Justice Battalion send me to the penal colony on Mars all those years ago. I could have taken that place over in no time. But she was here. So I stayed. I always thought I could make her love me, if she would only give me half a chance. If only HE wasnt in the way. Everything I had done, I had done for her. Didnt she realize? And now here she was... finally... looking down at me. God, the look on her face....how can she hate me that much? She says something, but I cant hear over the buzzing in my ears....the last thing I see before my heart breaks for good is her spitting in my face. Fine. Let them eat cake. As soon as my heart stops, the self-destruct sequences will activate. The volcano will be the first thing to go. Then the EMP's in orbit. Then the moon. If I had to go, I was damn sure going to take every single one of them with me. Maybe in the next life, she would see the light. Maybe then I could make her love me. I could make everything perfect again. If only they'd let me.
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[ WP ] A man and a dragon cooperate to run the most successful farm in the region .
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`` State law section 30.4 article 5 states that all slash and burn methods are expressly prohibited,'' said the prosecutor. `` I do n't see how this is n't a cut and dry case, your honor. It's juvenile.''
`` Objection!'' protested Dermit.
`` Sustained. Prosecution, tighten your tongue, son.''
`` My apologies.''
`` Your honor,'' interjected Dermit, `` My clients' property is healthier than all the other forest plots in the county. We've heard from the Forestry Board expert, who has already confirmed this fact.
`` Furthermore,'' he continued, `` neighbors are free to contract the services my clients offer for their own plots.''
`` That's all well and good,'' said the judge. `` But the prosecution does have a point -- burning is illegal.''
`` Yes, I understand that sir. But do we sue the sky when lightning sparks a fire?''
`` Objection your honor,'' said the prosecution.
`` Sustained. Defense counsel, what's your point?''
`` I submit to the court a document by an expert in Agroforesty. This document clearly demonstrates the benefits of naturally-occurring forest fires. It also makes a compelling argument for limiting forest fire prevention, and instead carrying out controlled burns.''
Dermit approached the bench and handed the document to the judge. The courtroom was empty save for a few pensioners. Dermit was sure they'd commit this day to gossip and further hinder his clients' reputation. But he'd thwart the rumors, he always had.
The judge scrutinized the document, sighed, and removed his spectacles.
`` I'm calling a short recess to deliberate. Reconvene at 4:00pm and I'll deliver my decision.'' He pounded the gavel. Ruffling sounds of a tired court echoed off the wood-panel walls.
Dermit gathered his papers and started for the door. The prosecutor came up behind him.
`` Dermit wait,'' he called as he caught up. `` You know if we do n't get him this way we'll find another.''
Dermit chuckled.
`` I mean it, Dermit.''
Outside Dermit slid a few quarters into the coffee machine. The cup dispensed and hot liquid began sputtering into it. He scratched his forehead, waiting. Then his cell rang.
`` Hello? Yeah. It's fine. No, they have no grounds. Old laws. What's that? Yeah. Yes. I would n't worry about it.'' Dermit grabbed his coffee, took a sip. He laughed. `` Of course! What? Why? Well, because there are no laws against his kind. Not yet at least. A cow? Sure, I'll pick one up on my way over. Ciao.''
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[ WP ] Write an epilogue to a story that has n't been written .
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*Chapter 2* ( Scroll down to see explanation of this )
-- -
Nolan still held the crowbar firmly in his bloody hand, as he woke up lying in a shallow creek, his face barely sticking above the water, only allowing him to breathe. He tossed the stained crowbar to the side as he got up in his soggy clothes, grabbing the crowbar again as he looked around. There was no time collapser, no trace of Oblivion, Daniel, Maria, or Samantha anywhere. Just a forest, like... like before. He felt around in his pockets for the Orion 3, and felt nothing, except the small half-empty magazine of pistol ammunition in his right pocket and the various coins he had.
`` Nolan!'' He heard a female voice call out relatively close to him. `` Nolan.'' She was walking towards him, but he was facing away from her, so she tapped him on the shoulder as he turned towards her.
It was Janise.
He was actually home again.
-- -
The reason I used Chapter 2 as the epilogue is because the chapter scheme went like 1, 1.5, 1.75, etc; because it took place in a world where time cracked down due to much too many paradoxes happening at the same time, so I believe the chapter right before this one would be'Chapter 1.99...' repeating.
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[ WP ] Science has allowed humans to `` give '' another person some of their years of life , and soon after , this process became cheap enough that it has been commercialized and accepted to be as normal as giving another person your kidney .
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No one stays in the business of reaping very long. Well, almost no one; I guess I'm an exception. I've seen the most hardened, gangster thugs break down crying after only a few days of this. How did I stay in it for years? Maybe I'm just a naturally heartless person. But it was drugs, mostly. Anything I could get my hands on. It's not like money was an issue; do you *know* how much a year goes for on the black market? The drugs always drew the police, but they crack down on us reapers whenever they can anyway. Luckily they have no jurisdiction in international waters.
Another key to staying in the biz for this long was a steady supply. I had a few regulars, taking up residence on the ship and producing regularly every 9 months. Those are always hard to find; that job will burn a hole through your soul. Most suppliers quit after their third or fourth. Some of them just commit suicide. The regulars became burnt out husks, numb to the world. Hardly even human anymore. Their addictions were so bad that coming down from a high would probably kill them. And it's not like they needed to be sober to get pregnant, right? Sure, the drugs would limit the number of years we'd get from the product, but it was a small price to pay.
The regulars were n't the hard cases, though. The hard cases would be some bright, fresh country girl, down on her luck, showing up at the harbor. `` Free range,'' we called these. `` My mother is dying,'' she'd say, rubbing her swollen belly. `` She needs the years.'' I'd nod understandingly, sympathetically, and direct her to a room below deck to wait for the birth. The baby would be born, squawking and filthy and covered in all sorts of bodily fluids. The mother would want to hold it; we never let them. They'd only get attached.
Then we'd divvy up the years. `` Here's fifty for your mom,'' we'd tell her, and send her packing back home with a `` I went to the reaper ship and all I got was this lifetime of guilt'' T-shirt. We'd all skim a year or two off the top, and the remaining 20 or so would be sold, usually to some banker or CEO. Quick, painless, profitable, and soul-killing.
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[ WP ] In a world where male virgins who reach the age of 30 turn into powerful wizards , a 29 year old 's birthday fast approaches .
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kenny24
Nov. 13, 10:30pmcst
Um... okay, this is embarrassing. I do n't know if you guys have ever been in this kind of pikkle, but my friend Scot's birthday is coming up soon. Oh, I know what to get him, but I do n't know if he'll want it.
Ya see, he's turning 30, and all of you know what that means, but my buddy Scot seems to like the power more than the sex; go figure. I guess it's because I always got it so easily, but Scot was kind of shy and never really knew how to talk to girls. Of course, that wo n't matter tomorrow. He'll have chicks on Facebook coming out of the woodwork either proposing to him or offering him a postbirthday hook-up. They'll be careful to wait for midnight, because he'll be twenty nine til then. It's the power they want. If you're married to a powerful man, you're powerful too no matter what kind of power it is.
Either way, I have to get him layed. Ya see, neither one of us has been doing that well recently. I lost my job a couple months ago. One day, I go out to drive to an interview, and halfway there, I notice a problem. I eventually ca n't drive anymore. The problem was pretty simple. The main seal of my transmition had broken, and all the fluid had dribbled out. Had I noticed the big ( and growing ) puddle under my car, I would've only needed to have a seal put in and refill the transmition with fluid, but I was in a hurry, so instead of asking my friend for a ride to the interview, I ended-up begging him for twelve hundred bucks.
The interview went well, so I said I'd get it back to him really soon.
He gladly handed me twelve hundred bucks, but then, his troubles started. He had a big trustfund from his grandpa. He was apparently super rich. Well, all of the grandkids got a share, and two of his cousins, spoiled little brats, wanted a bigger share. They found a really good lawyer and said in court that Scot must not have been part of the will, because he was n't mentioned by name.
Scot's dad was not the guy who raised him. The grandpa was the stepdad's dad, and of course Scot was included, but they wanted to say that Dilbert nevered claimed him, because he did n't come from his son's seed. Well, the judge must've had dementia or something, because he actually ordered Scot to pay the court the remainder of his trust fund, and it would be divided amung the others.
He sold the house and the nice car and got a job at Mcdonalds, a small apartment just a block from said Mcdonalds, and started walking to work and taking the bus everywhere else. He got screwed real bad. The worst part is, a week ago, I got this scratchoff ticket worth six grand. It was n't the big winner, but it was big anyway. Like an idiot, I jubilantly posted a celebratory status on Facebook with a pic of the ticket. He has n't said anything, but I'm sure Scot wants his money. Yeah well, that's going to be a problem. What, six grand is only six grand. Yeah, I've had a lot of fun, but it's all over now. I have, like, a hundred bucks left.
I have to find someone who will convince Scot to give her some before midnight tomorrow, or I'm fuckity fucked big time.
I'm not even going to ask Kieth. He's been thirty for about a year now, and he's loving it. He made it, so he'll never help me stop another guy from getting there. I'm just scared shitless about what Scot's going to do when he finds out I do n't have it.
kenny24
Nov. 14, 10:24amcst
Okay, I have an idea. There's this girl, Megan, she never gave me any, but she could always make me want her. It was best not to even talk to her, because she would never give you any. She only liked certain kinds of guys, and yes, she was hot, but it was more than that. She got in to your head. You'd think you're okay, then she'd come to mind. She has some kind of power, but she acts like she's just normal. Either way, I have n't seen her for a few years. We all kept in touch after high school, but she was having too much fun getting guys to do all kinds of stuff for her. I still had her on Facebook though. I messaged her last night, and she said her shift ends about two. I'll go over there when she gets off and talk to her. She only has to work now, because everybody's kind of shunned her. It's actually kind of sad. There are still guys who fall under her spell, but it's not like it was.
kenny24
Nov. 14, 3:15pmcst
Okay, that went better than I thought. She's going to the party tonight with me. It's going to be awesome.
Hey, I wonder why nobody's replied to this. Oh Well, it might be better if everybody waits until the outcome. I do n't know, maybe no one really cares about my predicament, but it might be an entertaining read for somebody.
Either way, Megan was being her usual self. She was kind of flerting with me, and I was falling for it when I remembered Scot, so I brought him up. She gets this mischievious little look on her face and says, `` I love virgins. How old is he going to be?''
`` Thirty,'' I said.
She knew, so her look gets more mischievious. `` I love it when they're almost old enough. They think they can handle it, but they never can.''
She explained that she would always give a 29-year old virgin some which was honestly bullshit. I'd been trying for that for years, but I had to stay focused. I'l tell you guys what happens.
kenny24 Nov. 15, 8:59amcst
SHIT SHIT SHIT! It must've not worked. What happened? They hit it off early. We all went to Hobo Jungle to celebrate with Scot, and as soon as I walked in with Megan, she goes over and starts talking to Scot. I did n't see her anymore that night, but honestly, I do n't remember much after twelve thirty or so. Now, I'm hungover, and I have no dick. Yeah, no fucking dick, and my boobs are huge. I just checked my email, and sure enough, there's one here saying, `` Pay up ladyboy.''
It does n't show Scot's email, but it has one of those footers that says it's from a phone, and it was sent from a number. I really do n't have the money. I do n't know what I'm going to do here.
kenny24
Nov. 15, 9:20amcst
Okay, at least my boobs are gone. That was a strange conversation. Here's how it went.
First, I called Scot. He was a little hungover too. I tried to act like everything was cool. `` Hey, it's the 30-year old virgin, does it feel any different?''
He said, `` Well, I'm still hungover. It's nine a.m.''
I suddenly realized this, so I said, `` Oh shit! Sorry dude, I did n't realize. I do n't remember everything.''
He kind of chuckled, `` Yeah, it got crazy. You know what's weird though?''
I took the bait, `` No, what?''
He says, `` Megan texted me at, like, 330 this morning. I just saw it on my phone. She's telling me to tell you to call her.''
Then, he got all worried, `` Oh shit, Kenny, you guys were n't serious, were you?''
I calmed him down, `` No, she was just my date. I was just talking to her on Facebook yesterday, and I just asked her.''
He comes back with, `` Oh thank God/! Ya know why?''
Again, I took the bait, so he told me, `` I'm not a virgin anymore bro. Damn, it was good! She taught me all kinds of stuff about pleasing women, then she was real close, so she said just to go ahead, ya know,''
I stopped him. I really did n't want to know, `` Yeah dude, that's pretty awesome, but if that happened before midnight, you would n't be a wizard.''
He said, `` Oh yeah, she made sure to keep me from sticking it in before midnight. It was really nice. She did n't want to take my powers away.''
I made small talk for a minute, then told him I had to go. Something was wrong, but maybe Megan could help me out.
That call went like this.
Megan, yawning, `` Hello,''
Me: `` Hey, Scot told me you wanted me to call you.''
her: `` Kenny?''
me: `` Yeah,''
her: `` Oh, yeah, I did.'' She laughed a little. `` Notice anything?''
me: `` Yeah, I don'thave a dick!''
her: busts up laughing and starts sounding more awake, `` Yeah, ever since you and me had sex last night, I have physical control over you. I can do all kinds of fun stuff.''
me: `` What the fuck!'' in a high feminine voice.
her: laughs histerically.
me: `` Dammit, come-on Megan, fix this for me, please.''
her: `` No way. You got the email.''
me: `` pay what?''
her: `` Pay Scot you asshole.''
me: `` I ca n't. I spent all my money.''
her: `` Hmm, looks like you're fucked.''
me: panicked, almost crying, `` Come-on!''
her: `` Your face, I know, you should clean that.''
me: `` What?'' Then, I finally got the joke.
her: laughs again. Finally, she calmed down, `` Just start paying him, and I'll at least make your boobs go away, so you can go to work on MOnday. You wo n't get your dick back until you pay it all though.''
I said that was fine and agreed to go give Scot my last hundred bucks. She told me that after they had sex last night, she came back to Hobo, because she was n't really all that drunk, and she found me. She gave me some, and of course, I jumped on it. `` It really showed how desperate you are.'' she said.
Either way, we went back to my place and `` fucked like rabbits,'' her words, now, she can totally mess with my body. If she wants to make me never able to get it up for anyone else, she can, but she says she's more interested in Scot, so she'll likely leave me alone after the whole money thing is sorted out. I do have this little hole to pee out of, but I have to sit down. Well, I guess you should always pay your bills, and do n't go nuts with lottery money. Oh, and do n't try to get your friend layed, so he does n't make you pay up. That can workout pretty badly.
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[ WP ] After dying , God asks you : `` So , how was heaven ? ''
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*'' SO...'' * God bellowed, *'' HOW WAS HEAVEN? `` *
I paused for a moment. Everything my consciousness had been taught until that point had prepared me for the opposite of this moment. Church told me of God, and that I would only enter heaven if I lived a good life. My rebellious teen years had pulled me away from that ideology, rejecting organized religion in favor of atheism. I had lived a good life, but on my own terms.
And then one night, when I was an old man, I stopped breathing in my sleep.
God towered above me, booming as I stood in shock.
*'' DID YOU LIKE IT? IT TOOK ME DAYS TO CREATE IT. `` *
I froze, unsure of how to respond. Do I speak of the wonders? Do I speak of the love of my family, the warmth that their love offered, making me feel whole? Do I speak of my works for charitable organizations, or would that sound to boastful? Would he favor honesty, for me to tell him of the hardships found there, the struggle that such a large portion of the world endured through generations?
It was at this point God could not contain his laughter.
*'' OH MAN, I REALLY HAD YOU GOING. I LIKE TO HAZE THE ATHEISTS A BIT WHEN THEY GET HERE. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE. `` *
`` Wait,'' I inquired, `` So this is really Heaven, then?''
*'' YEAH, BRO. COME FORTH, AND ENJOY THE PLEASURES OF ETERNITY. `` *
God then pulled out a bong the size of a mountain, and took a long, slow hit.
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[ WP ] While light takes a tiny fraction of a second to pass through a normal window pane , it takes 50 years to pass through `` slow glass '' .
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He takes her hand, wrapping her frail fingers in his shaky grasp. “ Come now, ” he says, and the elderly couple walk slowly, hand in hand, to the far side of the podium.
Her eyes don ’ t leave the ground as she ambles past the velvet ropes encircling the towering pane of glass in the center of the room. Her husband glances at the placard to the right of the window: “ Slow Glass. ” He squints, but the fine print under the bold label is too small for the old man to make out. *No matter, * he thinks. He ’ s been here before. He knows of the wonders of Slow Glass.
It wasn ’ t always called Slow Glass. “ Dark Glass ” was the preferred term seventy odd years ago when the material had been newly created. A substance so dense, yet structurally nearly identical to glass, that light was all but halted in its tracks by the material. The first manufactured pane of Dark Glass was a wonder to behold even in its early years. No light, not even the slightest reflection, emitted from the glass. Absolute blackness. It was like looking into a hole in the world.
Scientists knew of the incredible potential of Dark Glass even before it was obvious to the human eye. Light wasn ’ t halted or even fully absorbed by the substance, it was only delayed. The first Dark Glass public attraction—quickly renamed “ Slow Glass ” —was installed in the Smithsonian only three years after the material ’ s inception. A microscopically thin sheet of the glass, protected by infinitely more durable panes of plexiglass, stood in display in its very own room. Because of the incredibly thin width of the glass, the delay was mere seconds. Adults and children alike marveled at the impossible window, waving their hands frantically on one side of the glass and running around to the other side, just in time to see their delayed images repeat the motions.
The first exhibit, along with each subsequent installation, deteriorated quickly. The fine sheets of Slow Glass proved too brittle to withstand the test of time, and due to the high cost of producing the material, manufacture of the glass was soon for scientific use only. The public could only learn of Slow Glass through articles and old videos.
Until one day, nearly a decade after the invention of Slow Glass, a wealthy entrepreneur purchased one of the oldest panes of Slow Glass, a three-and-a-quarter inch thick slab that towered over eight feet high. “ Dark Glass ” would ’ ve still been an apt name for the massive window, as no light had penetrated through to the other side in all that time. Its creators estimated that it would take up to a half a century for light to pass through, if at all. No one was entirely sure that the glass wouldn ’ t stay just as it was—pitch black.
Still, as soon as word got out that this mysterious “ window ” was open for public viewing, the masses flocked to see it. The crowds came and went with varying reactions—mild wonder for some and disappointment for others. This was nothing like the interactive Smithsonian display they ’ d all read about. This was a dark—though impressively dark—statue, and nothing more. Still, though the wave of viewers slowed to a trickle, the Slow Glass monument remained open.
Today, the Slow Glass Monument is a much more popular attraction. A line runs all the way through the front doors and around the corner. A specialized clock stands by the entrance, but it doesn ’ t tell you what time it is at the moment. It ’ s set to a time and date exactly 50 years, three months, one day, and seven minutes in the past. The exact length of time it takes for light to pass through the Slow Glass.
There ’ s only one way to skip the line—no fast track purchases or reservations, just the possession of a valid ID that matches a name from the visitor ’ s logbook, 50 years, three months, and one day ago. On this day, there was only one name.
He stops in front of the monument, and she falls into place beside him. She ’ s tired, he knows. It ’ s been a long time since she ’ s had the strength to leave her bedroom. He clutches her hand tighter, and the shaking steadies. She glances up at her husband, weary, but a smile crosses her face, wrinkling the already-present creases at the corners of her eyes.
He smiles back, but says, “ Don ’ t look at me, my love. Look there. ”
Her eyes follow his raised finger, and she turns to look at the window before her. Through the glass, she sees the room is empty. It ’ s strange though, behind the window, the wall seems to be painted a different color. The floor tiles look different as well. Something nags at the back of her mind. What had Henry told her on the way over here? They were going to see a special sort of window, she remembers that much.
Then, she gasps.
A young man with wispy, brown hair appears behind the glass. He seems flushed and he bends over to catch his breath, smiling as he does so. The man is clad in a black tuxedo.
“ I know him, ” the old woman breathes, her hand moving towards the rosy-cheeked youth.
Behind the Slow Glass, the man speaks. No sound can be heard, of course, until the old man opens his mouth, his words matching the movements of the young man ’ s lips.
“ You asked me the other day, ” he says, “ if I was sure about this. If I was ready. You wanted to know if I ’ d still love you in a year. In ten years. In fifty. ”
Her eyes begin to glisten.
He continues. “ Darling, a whole century could pass and my love for you would only grow stronger. Maybe these are only words now, but time will be my true answer to you. I love you, Hannah, and I always will. ”
Through the glass, the young man checks his watch. He glances behind him, then back to the glass, and then darts away.
“ Sorry to keep it brief, ” Henry says, his voice rough from age and emotion. “ I didn ’ t want to be late for our wedding. ”
-- -
Fifty years, three months, one day, and seven minutes later, a young couple stand on the other side of the Slow Glass Monument.
“ What do you think they ’ re saying? ” she asks.
He puts his arm around his girlfriend and shakes his head. “ No idea. Wish this thing came with sound, huh? ”
She rests her head on her hand and watches the misty-eyed older couple embrace through the glass. “ They really look like they ’ re in love, don ’ t they? ”
“ Yeah, I suppose. ”
“ I wonder what they were watching, through the window, I mean. Imagine—whatever it was happened over a century ago! ”
A bustling family of five crowds in front of the Slow Glass, and the two move onwards. He glances back at the window, though, just before they leave. The old man and woman walk slowly away from the glass, hand in hand, returning to the past.
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[ WP ] Everybody who turns 25 learns a reality shattering secret about the world . Nobody has ever leaked this secret to somebody under 25 . Today is your 25th birthday .
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`` I've laid you're clothes out for you Ricky.'' My mother says as I lick the milk from my cereal off of my lips.
`` Oh yeah, it is.'' I say slightly nervously as I get up from my seat at the kitchen table. My mom then hugs me while I put my bowl in the sink.
`` Happy birthday, Ricky.'' She rubs her hand through my hair. This is the last time I'll ever see my mom again. She's part of the old generation, meaning that she was too old before the rule was put into effect by the Master Unit. And because of her age, this means that she does n't know the secret. Those who do n't, and are past the age of 25, are set aside as outcasts. Once their children are of age, they are sent to the Outer Lands to die.
`` Thanks Mom.'' I say with a sniffle. I have no idea what my life will be like without my Mom in it. She's the only one I've ever had. I never knew my father. He died in The War. He was one of those who opposed the Master Unit at first. As a punishment for his disobedience, the Master Unit had everything that even slightly acknowledged the existence of The Movement destroyed. This included my Mother's memory of my Father's appearance. The Master Unit was gracious enough to allow my Mother the knowledge of my father's existence and what happened to him. But my Mom wishes otherwise. For if she had n't known of his death, then maybe she would n't sorrowfully weep every night.
`` C'mon now.'' She says. `` Let's get you dressed.''
Hours Later...
I ca n't help but think what horrible secret is about to be told to me as Mother drops me off in front of the Master Building.
`` It'll be fine.'' She says to me reassuringly. `` Who knows, It may be a happy thing after all.''
`` Even if it is, Mom, I'll never be able to tell you. For if I do, they'll kill the both of us.
`` Then do n't tell me. I'd rather die not knowing what it was, than dying because I knew what it was.'' There was a sincerity in my mom's face. A sort that I'd not seen before. I wondered what would happen to my Mother in the Outer Lands. I hope it is n't the desolate wasteland that they say it is. A great person like her does n't deserve to be ended by a wild animal. She deserves a quiet, peaceful death. `` It's time.''
`` Alright.'' I say as I wipe a tear from my cheek. `` Goodbye Mom.'' I say as I hug her and refuse to let go. After about a minute, I have no choice but to let go, because the Master Unit's guards come inside the car and tear us apart. `` I LOVE YOU MOM!'' I scream out as I fill my eyes with tears - not being able to see my Mother for the last time.
`` I LOVE YOU TOO. REMEMB-'' I do n't hear the rest of her words, because the doors to the Master Building shut loudly before I can hear her.
The guards drag me to The Control Room, and sit me into a chair. I'm in a dark room, and I have no idea of my surroundings. Then a large flash occurs on what appears to be a large screen in front of me. After the flash, a man's face shows up on the screen. This must be the Master Unit.
`` Hello Ricky.'' He says
`` H-hello Master Unit.'' I say reluctantly.
`` Are you ready to harness the knowledge that has been held from you for the past twenty-five years?''
`` Yes, Master Unit.'' I say
`` Alright.'' He says. For the next hour, I am told the truth about our society. It's a horrible one. I truly do wish I could tell you about it, but there's one problem:
You're not 25
edit: grammar
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[ WP ] There lies a kingdom where as long as you 're king you are Immortal . The only way to become the King is to kill him in combat . The kingdom has been ruled by a King Olaf The Mad for over 1,000 years , every warrior or assassin the subjects have found have all failed to slay him
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“ Poison doesn ’ t *work* on him! ” Ilya slammed his hands on the table in frustration, then pushed his chair back and lurched to his feet to stalk over to an antique display case. “ We ’ ve tried it all. The man can*not* be slain. ”
He almost snapped the leather cord as he yanked a key from around his neck and jammed it into the brass lock on the case, then yanked the aged wooden lid open. From a selection of fat leather tomes he lifted the freshest-looking one, carried it back to the table, and slammed it down in front of the stranger.
“ You can look at the Book. It lists everything, every *one* we that ’ s been tried. Myths from the first two centuries, and then everything we could learn in detail starting from the third century of his reign.. ”
The stranger flipped through a few pages, then grunted. “ All this, ” he muttered, sounding slightly impressed.
“ There ’ s more, ” Ilya admitted, slumping back into his chair, which creaked under his tall frame. “ That ’ s just what we *know* about it, but there ’ s more. Trying to kill His Majesty was something of a national pastime for a few hundred years. Toward the Seven-Hundreds, you ’ ll see it. ”
The room was silent but for the rustling of pages. The format went from paragraphs of details to terse entries.
> Summer 792
> 20 assassins: 13 daggers, 2 garrotes, 5 poisoners. All put in stocks, then sent home. No new poisons tried.
> 5 Single Combats; Sword & Shield, Axe, Mace, Whip, Joust. Whip survived, joined Royal Guard.
> 2 Curses, rebound as usual.
The stranger grunted again, the seasons differed only in the number and proportions of attempts.
“ In the back there ’ s a list of all the poisons tried so far, ” Ilya added. He was cradling his head in both hands, eyes closed. “ Exotics from across the sea have as little effect on His Majesty as swords to the gut. He laughs and the wounds close. ”
There came a sigh from the stranger, then a question. “ Is there anything that causes him ill-effect? Does he ever grow sick? ”
“ It ’ s said before he was King, Old Olaf was allergic to goats. Now he makes his jesters ride goats around the courtyard on the anniversary of his crowning, while he laughs and drinks until he can no longer stand. ” Ilya shook himself and sat up. “ Well. Most people have given up. There ’ s one or two assassination attempts a year lately. Only the mad try it anymore, and to be frank, we ’ ve enough of *one* Mad King. We don ’ t want to be rid of the madness we know to find ourselves with something worse. ”
The stranger nodded silently, and paged through the book again. “ Thank you for your time, Ilya. I will see what I can do about your problem.
Ilya snorted with derision and got to his feet again. “ Take your time, leave the book when you ’ re done. And … and don ’ t kill yourself trying. Those of us that remain here … well, we ’ ve learned to cope. ” He left the room.
-- --
At High Summer, for the first time in almost a decade, someone challenged Mad King Olaf to single combat. The challenger was a young man, handsome and tall, clothed like a merchant ’ s son. The courtiers clucked to one another. Such a shame. What a loss.
Cackling, the king called down to the petitioner from his throne. “ Name your weapon. ”
“ My weapon is spirits. ”
This caused a flurry of whispers. No one had yet tried *ghosts* against the king. How could this young man command the supernatural?
Olaf only shrugged. “ Fine. Do you want to get this over with today or wait the traditional time. ”
“ Today is fine. ”
This sparked a flurry of activity. The Arena was swiftly prepared and the stands filled with maybe a dozen curious onlookers; the King ’ s routine slaughter of challengers had lost the status of “ spectacle ” long ago. A feast was prepared for the King ’ s traditional victory celebration.
On the young man ’ s side of the arena, men were stacking small wooden casks and erecting a small table and setting up two small chairs on either side. All was ready shortly after lunch.
Those who assumed the young man meant to fight the Mad King with ghosts were mistaken; when the combatants took the field, it was to seat themselves at the table and take up tankards of strong, harsh alcohol.
The afternoon passed, and the two sat across from one another, matching tankard for tankard, expressions of gritty determination fading to inebriated confusion.
The young man vomited first, but this did not disqualify him. This was drinking to the death. He sat up, washed his mouth with a sip of water and a spit to the sawdust and dirt of the Arena grounds, then downed another tankard.
Periodically one or the other would stagger off to piss, and the crowd grew, hooting and cheering as the men lurched from side to side. The challenger vomited again, splattering the dirt with the contents of his stomach. When he recovered, he took up his water goblet and downed it instead of his tankard, to the howling amusement of the audience and the King.
Some hours in, the King called for meat and bread, and the two shared a meal, drunkenly exchanging stories that meandered from topic to topic in such a way that the guards standing nearby could make no sense of them.
Toward evening, the two passed out within minutes of one another, and were left in their seats. Every hour, one of the guards would check their pulses. Still beating.
They woke with the morning, and with groans of displeasure, resumed the contest. The crowd gradually returned. The young man seemed in dire straits, drinking as much water as spirits and pissing twice as often as the King. Olaf had become completely incoherent but poured each tankard down his throat in time with the challenger.
By lunchtime, however, he passed out again, sliding under the table. A guard checked him. The king ’ s heart was beating, he was breathing, but as the challenger waited and watched, the king convulsed, heels drumming in the dust, face twisting into a rictus.
The arena grew silent, the king thrashed and gurgled and twitched, and then with a long, relaxing sigh, he died.
And so began the reign of King Ulmec the Sober.
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[ CW ] Make me cry my eyes out in a single paragraph
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The syringe slowly emptied its opaque fluid as the technician depressed the plunger. The little girl held the paw of her friend tightly as he lay on the metal table. She wanted to say something, but her mind was suddenly empty of words. The dog's breathing began to slow down. The little girl made no effort to wipe away the stream of tears that were running down her cheeks. Her friend took one last shallow breath and let out a long exhale. The little girl's face was now heavily contorted in pain. She tried to say a'thank you' that she knew was too late, but her throat was too tight to speak. She mouthed the words carefully and gave in to her sobbing.
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[ WP ] Shortly after arriving in Heaven after being brutally murdered , you bump into your killer .
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I've always been a pretty religious person. My mom sent me to Catholic school when I was young, and I've attended church—dutifully, if I had to admit it—for the past seven years of my adulthood. But nothing quite prepared me for the way I would finally meet God. I had pictured my final moments at bed-rest, my body failing slowly but gently. Maybe my husband would be at my side, my children clutching their handkerchiefs at the foot of the bed. I would close my eyes and request my termination. The life-support would turn off. I would slowly fall asleep, eyes shutting and hands folded perfectly across my chest. Then I would wake up in Heaven, where I would prance freely around in my youthful body.
That was not what I ended up with.
For starters, my death was on the other end of the spectrum. Pregnant with my first child, I had started my day out normally. I was working online, messaging a co-worker about some system failure in the main building. Then I heard the bell ring downstairs. Figuring it was the crib I had ordered a day or two prior, I made my way down the stairs and opened the door.
What I faced was definitely not the mailman. A nice-looking woman with black pants and a white vest pulled over a grey shirt was standing at my doorstep, holding a knife. This was n't just any woman. It was the lady who had been pursuing my husband for the past three years of our marriage. She was a stalker, a former criminal, and quite possibly messed up in the head. I let out a scream, holding my belly, and tried to turn and run. That did not work. The crazy lady was called Alisa, by the way. Alisa let out a maniac laugh.
`` I just got of prison, husband thief,'' Alisa told me, holding the knife against the back of my throat. It was cold on my skin.
`` And I'm not going back in.'' She said this in a sing-song voice as she traced the blade around the back of my neck. Blood started to run down my back. I let out a choked sob.
She continued the silent knife stroking for a while, until I heard a horrified scream from outside. Quickly Alisa plunged the knife into my neck. I now know that she killed herself soon after, and the scream came from my neighbor walking her dog nearby and seeing me.
But as I waited in line for the Heaven Hotel pass that would be granted at the front desk, I definitely did not expect to see Alisa—not her doppelganger or look-like. The lady herself—standing in the lobby with a silver card on her chest that read `` Mentally Fixed''. Out of curiosity, I abandoned my spot in line to question her.
`` Hi Alisa,'' I said tentatively, touching her shoulder.
She jumped up, and when she turned around she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. `` I'm so sorry!'' Alisa shouted, dropping to her knees and clasping her hands together. `` I was mentally insane! But now I'm fixed and I get a second chance here!''
`` You—you killed me,'' I said in a shocked tone. Why would she even ask?
A stocky looking angel walked over to me. `` God says to always forgive,'' the angel told me, unfolding his wings and crossing his arms. `` Forgive.''
I waved my arms around. `` Hello, angel dude! This lady fucking killed me! Am I supposed to forgive her for that!'' A little girl standing in the line gasped. A young man who looked to be a minister threw his hands in the air and dropped down into a bow, mumbling prayers for my sanity. Which was very intact, thank you very much.
He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. `` Guards, throw her into Purgatory. Ten years or so. She needs to to learn to forgive.'' A pair of angels grabbed me under my arms and stomped on the ground. A swirly blue portal opened up, and they tossed me into it.
The murderer got to stay in Heaven, I guess.
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[ WP ] A group of scientists are awakened after an undetermined number of years in cryosleep to discover humanity has culturally reverted back to the Dark Ages .
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As the great door opened and we stepped into the ancient holy grounds, I checked on the brave warriors I had brought with me. Baldric, our archivist, nervously adjusted his pack as he took notes in a small leather book. Since he was the group expert on the ancient ones, he carried the enchanted inkless quill we had found on a previous expedition. Toram, the group's weapons master, was checking his steel plate mail one last time before he advanced. His battle hammer hung against his belt, clinking quietly as it rubbed against his steel-encased leg. Alton, our tracker and the best squirrel chef this side of the Poisoned Lands, nocked an arrow to his longbow as he examined the dark hallway for any hidden dangers. Satisfied that my allies were ready, I lit a torch and began the descent.
The hatches that protected the entrance were large enough to lead two horses through abreast, and were made of a white stone Baldric called conacretium. He claimed that the ancients knew how to create liquid conacretium, which they would pour into various shapes. I recalled that the Duke of Losan was quite proud of the conacretium roadways in his capital, with their vast bulk arcing impossibly over the wooden huts of his people.
Inside, as had been the case with the previous ruins we had explored, we found sets of doors flanked by large mirrors. We were on our guard- one previous expedition had almost failed because we had n't expected there to be a room hidden behind the mirrors, and bandits had seen us coming. Toram stepped through the rectangular arch and immediately drew into a battle stance as it let out a loud cry. Baldric jumped, suddenly looking eager.
`` Oh! What good fortune! The ancients' wards seem to yet function here! Friends, do not be alarmed- the ancients set up these gateways to warn of anyone bearing metal into their temples. If the wards function, so might other things. Let us press on, we may find more evidence of the ancients' magic!'' Alton did n't look pleased by our comrade's words.
`` Well now anything that's in here knows we're coming. Just because the gate was locked does n't mean we can be off guard. Toram, check the right room. I'll check the left.'' The larger man nodded and drew his war hammer as he moved around the corner.
The next few rooms were useless to us, but Baldric was ecstatic at the fine condition of the various books and papers lying about on tables. We could n't read any of them, of course- Baldric knew enough of the language to understand the basics, but the magic they described was `` utterly incomprehensible, I would have to spend a month deciphering the equipment alone''. We descended further into the temple, wary of the oppressive darkness... Until Alton, believing it to be a trap mechanism, flipped a small switch on the wall that ignited strange tubes of light in the ceilings. Their alien hum only added to the strange feeling of being in a place untouched by mortal hands for generations.
We found little of value, though Baldric nearly fainted when we discovered a small room packed with shelves of paper and more enchanted quills than he could use in a lifetime. Finally, we reached the end of the temple, a large room filled with the rumble and ticking of strange machines. There was a set of metal doors at one end, with eerie green lamps stuck to the walls overhead, but even Alton's keen eyes were unable to find a hinge or lock on them. We had just given up, when I jostled a table by mistake and a black tablet mounted to it came to life with a click and a whirr. Baldric had a terrible look about him, and I braced for a lecture... But then he realized there were words on the glowing tablet, words he could read.
``'Subjects... alive and stable, backup... power reactor (? ) normal. Last... evaluation:'... many days ago. I do n't think I know the word for a number that large.''
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[ WP ] An ancient cult preforms a dark ritual in 1914 to summon someone from 100 years in the future . You are that person .
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`` Pour the goat's blood and begin the sacred chant,'' the priest said. He looked over at the men circling him. All wore dark cowls and that were faintly illuminated by the lights of one hundred candles.
In the center of the cave lay a pentagram, glowing red with power and energy. The priest himself was laden with blood gold and a deep rouge robe.
At his command a high ranking man stepped forward and procured a clay bowl that emanated an odor most fowl. As he poured the liquid onto the symbol of death, pestilence, war, darkness, and famine the other members of the occult began to chant in an ancient tongue.
The priest allowed himself a faint sneer, the closest he had come to grinning in years. Finally, his time was here. To bring someone from Two-thousand and fourteen to 1914? The world would bow to him.
As seconds grew into minutes, the chanting rose and the illumination of the candles began to die, caused by a mighty wind flying through the cavern. The candles died and all at once the smell of the blood on the pentagram intensified. It glowed, casting a crimson hue on the walls and the priest stepped forth in front of it.
`` *MY LOYAL FOLLOWERS, *'' his voice boomed across, `` *TODAY, WE CELEBRATE A GREAT VICTORY! *'' With his words he drew a knife from his cloak and threw it down into the center of the pentagram. For a third time it glowed with awesome power, and the chanting ceased.
They waited for a moment. The glow of the pentagram died.
Then two seconds passed.
Then three.
The space where the demonic symbol once was exploded, and the occult was knocked back with the explosion.
The Priest was the first to recover. He saw the man they had summoned, shrouded in a blue haze.
He was large, no not large, fat. He was fat. He reeked of sugar and the smell one has when one does not bathe in a long time. He wore a peculiar pair of earmuffs over his ears, with a long wire leading down to his pants. It was obvious he had not shaved in a while, for his beard extended down his neck. His clothing depicted small colored horses frolicking with each other.
Truly, this man was their savior. The priest bowed, and his followers followed suit. This was the man that would lead them into a golden age.
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[ WP ] You only have to perform one more ritual on your quest for your most desired item . However , this last ritual is kind of ... weird .
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So there I sat. In a completely white room with white walls, a white chair and a white table in front of me. It contrasted with my appearance. My black hair and dark skin was shining against the facade of complete purity. I was also clean. That was the strangest thing. The crust of dirt had been washed off my skin, the wounds treated, the knots combed out of my hair. They removed the rags I was wearing, and replaced them with a white robe. Yet more white...
So this is what this entire journey was leading to. A white room. Could it be death? I highly doubted this, since I had succeeded in killing the demon. I could remember that clearly. His translucent skin, revelaing the free-flowing fiery bloodstream in his body. His horns that were so black they looked like portals to another dimension. His eyes so deep and complex that no human eye could ever match their terrifying beauty. His screech when my blade pierced his face...
That was the eigth of the nine rituals. Any human who could complete these rituals would be granted the control board. The control board was an amazing thing. It allowed the user to maniulate *probability*. What are the odds of me finding a million dollars on the road? 0 %? Well, let's change that to 100 %. The odds of Maccaroni and cheese appearing in my bathtub? Make that 100 %! But I for sure did n't want it to fill my bathtub with pasta. What are the odds of someone who has died coming back to life? 0 %. For now...
Anyway, I divert. He has promised us humans that anyone who completes the nine rituals will be the owner of this board. He never told us the rituals. All we knew was this:
One would test the body
Two would test the mind
Three would test sanity
Four would test kindness and good will
Five would test endurance and spirit
Six would test dedication
Seven would test fearlessness
Eight would test true courage
And Nine would only be completed by those with the coldest of hearts...
I completed the first eight. After I killed the demon, I was here. I did n't come here. I just *was* here. In these strange conditions. I do n't know how long it's been. Maybe days. Maybe seconds. I could not feel time passing. The only thing I could think about was this:
And Nine would only be completed by those with the coldest of hearts...
This was the ninth ritual. I was sure of it. I had no idea what it was. But I knew that it would probably happen in this very room. I do n't know if you could call it a room, though.
`` Congratulations''
A voice behind me took me out of my thoughts and released me from the everlasting echo of the word'Nine' in my head.
`` You are the only one. The only human who managed to pass the rituals. The only being with a fit body, a good mind, a healthy sanity, a kind soul, an everlasting spirit, a sense for dedication and relentlessness, a heart without fear, and the courage to drive you forward.''
The voice had no body. It came from nowhere. It was the voice of the man. The man who had promised this board, who had demonstrated it's powers. Slowly, his physique came clear before the table I was sitting at. His bright red skin almost reflected on the walls, and his hoofs made screeching noises on the floor as he walked towards me.
`` But now, you know there is one last ritual''
`` The coldest of hearts'' I said. It sounded nowhere near as casual as I had expected it to. The hint of a smile appeared on the cheeks of the man, showcasing for a moment his pointed teeth.
`` Indeed. If you complete this challenge, you shall have the board. It will be yours, and with it, the world will be yours.'' He had reached me, and rested his clawed fingers on the table. He stared at me for a couple seconds, maybe hours. I could not say
`` And what is the challenge?'' I asked. I had been through too much for this man to stare me down from my prize.
`` So eager to find out...'' The man said. Three items materialized on the table. Three ordinary, everyday items. I stared in shock. Starled, I jumped backward and fell out of my chair. I knew exactly what I was supposed to do. Just seeing these three items, I knew why this challenge would test a cold heart. I saw these items every day, but now...
The man laughed. He laughed so loud and roaringly it filled the chamber, reflected off the walls and almost made the room shake. He tossed back his head, causing his horns to scraoe the ceiling, and laughed.
On the table stood a bowl, a jug of milk, and a box of cereal.
`` And for your final challenge...'' The man said after he calmed himself `` Pour the milk first!''
I screamed. The sounds of the man laughing mixed with my screams to create one gut-wrenching howl.
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[ WP ] A young student is drafted off to fight in a bloody foreign war . He quickly finds that war is the most enjoyable thing he has ever experienced .
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*Journal entry 4th of may 2030. *
Man, considering how bad war has been talked up to be I'm kind of enjoying this. I get to camp everyday with people who have become my most trusted friends, the weather is fantastic, and though the food might be lackluster when luxuries like fresh meat or sweets come through this camp becomes a party!
*Journal entry 15th of may 2030. *
Saw my first bit of combat today. We were going on a supply and secure mission for a village up north from camp. I was just talking to a little girl who had come up to me and asked if I had seen her dad when the shooting started. Without thinking I picked her up and ran behind cover with her while protecting her with my own body. I got struck a few times but my armor stopped most of the shots. I spent most of the fight trying to redirect the Russians' attention from the civilians. It was scary sure but also kind of exciting. I've never felt so alive. The best part though, was after the shooting had died down ( I got one of them in the leg ) and the the Ruskies retreated. The girl's mother came up to me teary eyed and just gave me this great big hug.
*Journal entry 16th of June 2030*
Shit! I've been bad at updating this but I've been kept busy. Between providing care for the civis affected and the ruskies launching another offensive it's been busy this last month. Eric and Anna got shot and I had to carry them almost three kilometers through thick forrest in the rain. they survived but Anna has been sent home, it's her arm. It's likely paralyzed. We've been mailing each other, she even visited my parents for me. I've been given the nickname Grand frère by the locals. I've been trying to learn the language, though it has proven hard with only a dictionary and the basic grammatical thing we got when we left. They really seem to like me here, no one seems to mind my face or my size. Back home they just called me mutie before running away.
*Journal entry 3rd of July 2030*
I think I'll miss this place when my tour is over. I'm useful here, I can help. Major Sandersson even said that they're talking about awarding me a medal when I get back. Some of the people I set out with have been killed in combat. I cried when we held their viking funerals. There is n't enough time to send them home. The enemy's front has been pushed back. Me and the squad has been spending most of our time with repairs to the villages surrounding us. We are going to move forward with the rest of the army in four days, I'd be lying if I wrote I was n't excited. I've done most of what I can here I could do so much more at the front.
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[ WP ] Write a story based on your last 5 Reddit posts .
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The TV was blaring in English, the topic was the weak Pound again. Mental calculation tells you that one Real is now worth about 50 Pounds. A pleasant exchange rate for a foreign visitor like you. You look back at your computer and type, slowly and erraticly in English, a language you only learned late in life. You just want the day to be over, but instead, work still has its grip on you now that Brazil starts its workday. You were sent to thus country to scope out whether the phone support for American customers could be outsourced here, and while it seemed like a good idea at first, you stumble into problem after problem. You sigh and in that moment, your computer crashes and upon attempts to reboot is shows a kernel panic. You dial the number of the computer manufacturer and a very chavy voice greets you. You explain your problem inn adequate amounts of detail, but the chav interrupts you: `` Yeah, they do that here too!'' and hangs up. You beat onto the table, repeatedly. You really wish this failure would have read an ettiquette book ( or listened to it, as if he failed to realize that this behavior was offensive, he could not be too clever ). Or that someone beat him up with one. You take deep breaths until the rage subsides. Latvian music is blaring from the TV, some artist you never even heard of. You just about had it. You call your boss and inform him that you lost all faith in this working out, maybe in the EU but sure enough not here in Chavistan. You smile. You no longer have to fight. You will be home soon.
Posts:
Real outperforming the Pound: https: //www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/57lrp7/what_will_cease_to_exist_in_2017/d8tjxff.compact
Typing in a foreign language, after normal work time: https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/57mkf0/ot_satchat_how_long_does_it_take_you_on_average/d8thzvk.compact
The callcenter incident: https: //www.reddit.com/r/talesfromcallcenters/comments/57i1iw/the_week_that_the_an_executive_got_to_see_my/d8trhn1.compact
Ettiquette book: https: //www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/57mzc0/whats_the_most_insulting_gift_youve_ever_received/d8u6mz0.compact
Latvian artist: https: //www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/57pd62/weird_al_yancovic_has_remained_more_well_known/d8u99mr.compact
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[ WP ] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster . Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world , all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison , after the superheroes defeat them .
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`` Aw jeez,'' I thought to myself, `` Which one is it?''
I jingled through the mass of keys attached to the Keymaster's Ring: a ring about 6 inches in diameter crowded with master keys to most of the planet's prisons.
`` I should probably organize this thing, huh?'' I nervously laughed, a bit flustered and hoping The Cryomaniac would n't immediately freeze me once I set him free from his cell. Some supervillain I was, always afraid of the guy I'm trying to set free.
`` Yeah...'' He replied absently, clearly getting a bit frustrated with my fumbling around.
A few minutes and many keys later the heavy iron lock opened with a loud clank.
`` Ah, there we are!'' I said, trying to act like I knew what I was doing ( I did n't ), `` and here is your Freez-o-Ray from the armory, you should be all set.'' I handed him the ray-gun and flashed him the double thumbs up in a weak attempt at camaraderie. It had taken me 20 minutes to find the right key for armory, which I immediately lost on the key ring upon entering the armory, resulting in 20 *more* minutes of looking on the ring once I got to his cell.
`` Great,'' He said, clearly not thinking I was great, `` thanks a lot, uh...''
`` Keymaster,'' I supplied, holding up the key ring and pointing to it.
`` Right, Keymaster. As repayment for setting me free, do you have any requests for who I should target next for Cryolimination? A specific person, perhaps, or a group of people?''
Now, this was the part of my job that I *lived* for. The Cryomaniac's question set ablaze a fire in my eyes; igniting an inferno of hate in my soul that burned me to my very core.
`` Just one request.'' I answered slowly, in a voice of newfound weight that can be heard in the voice of one speaking directly from the mouth of their maker.
`` Yes, anything.'' He sounded a bit taken aback.
*'' The Locksmiths. `` *
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[ WP ] A boy asks a girl out . It 's high school . It 's awkward . Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary .
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*Sweeping panoramic shot of a grungy inner city school. Majestic music plays in background. *
NARRATOR: Unlike the dominant species of the desert planet of Grizek, the inhabitants of this little world have tentative, almost ambivalent, courtship rituals.
*Cut to empty corridor. Bell rings, and a bipedal humanoid species appears in great numbers in the hallway. *
*Focus in on one member, a short individual with short hair. *
NARRATOR: The male of the species spends many months, even years, considering his potential mate. First he eyes her from a distance, taking great care not to be observed lest his attentions alert her to his presence.
*Camera pans to opposite side of the corridor, where a taller, long haired member of the species is walking towards the camera. *
NARRATOR: And this is the female he has chosen. The sideways glances of the males she walks past attest to her status as one of the most desirable mates in this environment. She walks past our male without acknowledging him. Now he must decide: is she ignoring him as a sign of interest, or is she truly oblivious to his presence.
*As the female walks away, the male watches her walk, his eyes fixed on part of her body that bounces in an uncomfortable looking manner. *
*CUT to scene of male sitting at table, his eyes staring at something out of focus in the distance. Focus changes to show that the object is the female. *
NARRATOR: Thirteen rotations of this planet later, the male has still not made his approach. But he must beware. He is not the only one interested in this female.
*Camera pans to show the female talking to another male. This one is much bigger than the first. *
NARRATOR: What will our young male do? Nothing, it seems. The other male is too big for him to defeat one-on-one. He must bide his time, waiting until the female is alone.
*CUT to the female opening a metal locker. The male approaches and drops a book next to her. *
NARRATOR: Finally! Our male is making his play. Under the pretence of an accident, he engages her in the rudimentary discourse that this species calls communication. Thanks to our discovery of a series of texts by somebody called'The Bard' we have been able to translate their discourse into Galactic.
*The male makes squawking noises. *
MALE ( SUBTITLES ): Good morrow, my lady?
FEMALE ( SUBTITLES ): Dost I know you?
MALE ( SUBTITLES ): I am that merry wanderer of the night, that layeth near you during Chemistry class.
FEMALE ( SUBTITLES ): I know you not.
MALE ( SUBTITLES ): *Stammers* Um... wouldst thou accompany me to the dance next week?
FEMALE ( SUBTITLES ): Urgh, thou cream faced loon. Get thee away.
*Male flees. *
NARRATOR: Alas, our male has failed. The female proved unreceptive to his advances, and he will flee. Unfounded reports suggest that after unsuccessful courtships, males can turn such a vivid red color that they actually explode. Hopefully this fate will not befall our young male, as he is still young and has many more mating seasons left in him.
*CUT to two humans individuals walking down a street in the evening. *
NARRATOR: Members of this species often develop advanced methods to fool gullible females during courtship. Join us after the break as we take a look at a two more seasoned members of this planet engaged in the final stage of their courtship, a ritual misleadingly named: Inviting-Her-Up-For-A-Coffee. We'll be right back after this short message from our sponsors.
-- -
*And do n't forget to tune in to* r/jd_rallage *at the same time next week, when we will show you never-before-seen footage of the unusual eating habits of this primitive species and their three staple food groups:'chips','pizza', and'beer'. *
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[ WP ] During the night , the hero and villain are always at each other throats . During the day , they 're unknowingly coworkers at day care .
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His hands were always in gloves,
Black leather that baked in the sun's rays.
His manager was always in reach,
A hand always near a blunt object.
& nbsp;
She was smiling, beautiful, inspiring,
Children laughed, she told stories, he grouched.
When it was his time to lead activities,
He always picked the silent game.
She would do arts and crafts and bows and ribbons,
Markers and pencils, pens and paper.
& nbsp;
At the end of the day,
He would never clean-up,
`` I'm tired.''
She smiled and bid farewell to him and others as she stayed late.
& nbsp;
Twenty-three hundred,
The darkness hides a demon descending,
Into the National Gallery,
The alarm's off, the guard's out, the painting secure.
This would put the thief in favorable light
to the Don.
& nbsp;
Black gloves grabbed the painting,
Pulling it out from under her arm.
Her knife appears,
She kicks, stabs, fights,
He dodges, blocks, parries.
`` Police are on the way,'' he growled.
She chops into his thigh,
Blood gushes out and she runs.
& nbsp;
The kids want to play dodgeball,
He wakes up from his nap,
shrugs and points to her,
She is too busy,
`` Please!'' they defiantly shout.
He limps to go play.
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[ WP ] Arthur C. Clarke said that `` Two possibilities exist : either we are alone in the universe or we are not . Both are equally terrifying . '' What he did n't know is that there is a third possibility ...
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`` If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?'' he asked, his dark eyes staring intently at me over his tall glass of orange juice.
I fought the urge to sigh, instead replying `` It will make pressure waves in the air, but sound is the subjective perception of these in our minds. So no.''
The red-cloaked minister flashed a brief smile.
I shook my head, `` I really do n't see how that has anything to do with a Keeper of the Course though.''
He spread his arms in an overly dramatic fashion, his cloak billowing majestically in the low-g, and exclaimed happily `` Pray you never will!''
With that he walked away, leaving most of his lunch uneaten on plastic the tray.
The next morning I caught him lost in thought, sitting at our usual table, the intricately carved Keeper medaillon held loosely in his hands.
`` So it's a time machine right? ``, I asked as I sat down and nodded at the device.
His fingers clutched around the metal disc for an instance, `` What? No, no. It is THE time machine''.
After a brief moment of consideration he added: `` Actually it is not really that either. It just takes time and nudges it a little. Changes the course. Though I keep it, that's what makes me the Keeper.''
I did not see him again until the Contact. Every member of the ship, us included, being to busy with preparations and too wrapped up in our own anxiety for socializing. Now we stood side by side facing the main display on the primary deck, and the tension was palpable. The normally rowdy room was dead-quiet, a hundred spacers collectively holding their breath. Even the usual background noises of the ships machinery seemed eerily faint somehow.
We were making first contact with another species.
We in the broad sense that is, as the display showed the ten thousand other ships of our fleet, suspended like glittering motes in interstellar space. Since the discovery of the plates we'd had 70 years to prepare for our galactic blind date. We had arrived a little early, 4 years early that is. Our fleet of envoys, ambassadors, warriors and us. Like a nervous suitor we'd scoped the place out, but had found nothing out of place. No rogue planets, no alien ships, no markers, not even a single stray chunk of exotic metal, to suggest that someone was ever here. Yet now the ever present countdown had reached the last minutes. If we'd read the plates right, and if whoever had left them them kept their promise, the wait would be over soon.
I tore my eyes away from the screen for a brief moment, to look at my fellow shipmates. To an outsider, we'd look like a fashion show gone horribly wrong. A representative of every major faith was gathered here, and all dressed for the occasion. I had made it my task to learn as much a possibly about all of them. I knew most of them desperately hoped, if not believed, that no one would show up. I could n't blame them, after all I did n't really look forward to another rewriting of the Bible either. Only the Keeper, the minister in red, had remained a mystery. All I really knew was that the Keepers had come from a group of scientists working at the LHC, where it had started as a Pastafarian-like in-joke. Somehow, along the way they'd convinced someone to let them join this lone ship of faith.
The final 10 seconds announced themselves audibly and I turned back to display. Was I crying? 9 second to go. I rubbed my eyes, but they seemed dry. 7 seconds. I blinked rapidly, but the blurry spots remained. It was n't me. 3 seconds. If the fucking display picked this exact moment to break down, I'd denounce God myself right here, aliens or no. 1 second.
I feel my stomach dropping. The screen is n't broken. The blurry parts are ships. Were ships. Our ships.
I can see them, winking out one by one, leaving clouds of debris and gas. Whole groups disappearing now. Rapidly. Closer and closer.
I am crying.
`` Goddammit, not again. Ca n't we ever get a fucking break?'' It's the red minister.
I hear the snap of a cord.
I look over to see him palming the medaillon. He does n't look surprised, or scared, or sad. Just tired.
His thumb presses into the center of the medaillon.
It clicks.
I did n't know it had a button.
=============================================================================================================================
`` If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?'' he asked, his dark eyes staring intently over his tall glass of apple juice.
The man suppresses a sigh, instead replying `` It will make pressure waves in the air, that is what we have defined as sound. So yes.''
The red-cloaked minister flashes a brief smile.
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[ WP ] A student accidentally uploads the wrong file to his school website . Just as he notices , his teacher takes away his phone .
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Ryan exploded from his seat, fist connecting with his teachers chin.
“ Fuck me I am special. I am deep on the wrong side of some spectrum ”
Inner monologues were not of particular advantage to him at this time.
He caught his teachers head before it smacked into the ground, as the rest of the class watched in a stunned silence. Scooping his phone from the floor, Ryan quickly made to delete the file.
‘ You do not have permission to edit or remove files on this domain. Contact an administration for assistance ”
“ FUCKKKKKK ”
Ryan slung his bag across his shoulder, making quickly for the door, which was unfortunately occupied by the large frame of the principle, an ex-pro rugby hardass.
“ Ryan? What the f..UCKKKK ” The staunch man crumpled to the floor, a stun gun pressed into his ribs.
Ryan stepped over him, stun gun stowed back in his back, quickly thumbing a number into his phone.
“ Hi, This is Grant Air-conditioning and electrical, how may we help you? ” a warm voice answered.
“ Code 11056, I ’ ve had a small mishap. You ’ re going to want to shut down the school website, pick me up at Taco Bell ” Ryan remained walking, keeping to suspicion to a minimum. It wouldn ’ t be long until the school called the police.
“ Luka? What the fuck is it this time? Someone is on their way, don ’ t tell me you ’ ve done another Montreal. ”
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[ WP ] A magical mirror shows your reflection and your future soulmate . You only see your reflection .
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Jake couldn ’ t believe Trish was dragging him along to this thing. She knows he doesn ’ t believe in this crap. Typical of her lately.
The mirror was touring the country and was only in town for one day. They ’ d been in line for hours now waiting to enter the tiny brick building the mirror had been placed in. Jake looked across at the exit to the building to see those who had just looked upon this nonsense. The reactions were mixed. Jake heard a shriek as a teenage girl exited the building. She ran across the field and was embraced by what was obviously her boyfriend. Meanwhile, sitting in the gutter another young man quietly wept into his hands. The happy couple gave him a quick glance of sympathy before quickly heading off through the carpark.
“ Jake…Jake we ’ re up! ”
Jake shuffled towards the door behind his wife. Their tickets were taken and the cashier asked if they would like to go in together or separate.
“ Together! ” Trish practically sung before Jake could so much as bat an eyelid.
A door was opened and they were ushered into a room. The room was bare other than the mirror. This wasn ’ t exactly what Jake was expecting. This didn ’ t look so much a mirror, as a jagged piece of glass approximately 12 feet in height. It was at least 6 inches thick and it ’ s surface was covered in scratches.
“ Who ’ s first? ” Trish asked.
Jake merely motioned towards the mirror with an outstretched hand. Trish took him by the hand and they walked towards the mirror.
“ Close your eyes, baby, open on the count of three ”
“ one…two….three ”
Jake didn ’ t open his eyes. He wanted to hear her reaction first. Immediately her hand closed like a vice on his, and he heard her breath escalating. A small whimper came from Trish and he couldn ’ t stand it any more, it was time to see what was going on here.
His heart leapt in his chest. What was he looking at? There were three people in the mirror. On Trish ’ s left she was holding hands with a tall black haired man wearing a military uniform. Trish was standing there, mouth wide open with tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then there was Jake. The look on his face was that of someone who had seen a ghost. Eyes were wide and his jaw hung at an awkward angle. Jake was alone. The other figures had now disappeared from the reflection. His mind was struggling to comprehend what it was seeing. It just wasn ’ t registering. He looked over his shoulder to find her huddled in the corner silently weeping.
Jake ’ s mind wheeled and he was beginning to feel dizzy. He crashed to his knees and vomit flew from his mouth. He stayed there for a minute. Head drooped to the ground and sweat running off the tip of his nose. He wasn ’ t sure he dared to look in the mirror again, but he had to be sure. He looked up and saw only his own dishevelled face staring back at him.
Jake ran for the door and barged through it. He ran through the parking lot and just kept running. He heard Trish calling his name behind but that quickly faded. He continued to run until he had to stop at the highway. His eyes were full of tears and his head and heart were both pounding. He stood by the side of the road for a minute with no idea where to go. Then it all made sense. A truck was roaring up the highway in the near lane. Jake did the only thing he could. He waited for it to close, stepped out and embraced his fate.
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Meet and Greet/Question of the Week # 2 : When did you discover that you enjoyed writing , and why do you do it ?
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I've enjoyed writing since I was a small child, to be honest. I have vague memories of having to write and illustrate a story about a duck in like 2nd or 3rd grade, and I think that is what got me started. It was n't until about 9th grade that I got any good at it, to be honest. Since then, I've been writing random poetry and short stories when the mood strikes me.
I keep writing because, like many others, it's a way to escape myself for awhile in a productive fashion. I've always been a daydreamer, writing just lets me put a lot of those daydreams down on paper. I get ideas or I need to vent emotions, and I get an image in my head of a scene that I just need to express in words, so I open up the laptop or grab a piece of paper and I start writing.
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[ WP ] A superhero fight from a normal persons perspective .
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*BAM*
`` That's one.''
*BAM*
`` Two.''
*BAM*
`` And there's three.''
Jim and Bill flinched as Captain Incredible threw Doctor Disaster into the neighboring skyscraper, the crushing of glass mingling with the creaking of metal. Unfazed, Doctor Disaster blasted from the crater back into the air in a blur of black and grey spandex.
`` I'm telling you Jim, every three punches they break something.''
`` Yeah, and I'm telling you that's observer bias.''
Three rapid fire bangs came from the sky, followed by a bright yellow blur flying down from the sky and an earth shaking impact from the street below.
`` Tell you what, I bet fifty bucks that this stupid pattern is n't going to keep up.''
`` Deal.''
The two combatants flew to meet each other, right within sight of the pair of office workers. Doctor Disaster led with a punch, then another, then a kick. Captain Incredible was flung to the side, punching straight through not only the windows of the skyscraper, but also the water cooler between the co-workers.
`` Son of a bitch.''
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[ WP ] A muggle buys a magic shop from a wizard and must now cater the magic and non magic customers who come by , without completely understanding how everything works
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My lovely wife, she is a witch. Not that there ’ s anything wrong with that, she just born that way. The first witch from a muggle family. I still remember the day she brought me to this Diagon Alley, I could not believe nor understand two thirds of what was going on, she laugh and laugh at my dropped jaw and pushed me inside this toy store on a corner. There a red hair man was telling a joke and kids around him where clapping.
`` That's George Weasley,'' she said, `` I told you about him already.'' and she had, that secret war that run about 20 years ago, she was a little kid back then not even having received her acceptance letter. But now she was a witch, a proper witch, and I am her husband, which is nice, do n't get me wrong, but its so weird. Specially at the store.
I bought the store 3 years ago, as I'm a veterinarian I though I could do it, I mean, I just have to sell kids pets, how complicated could that be? oh... boy... you have no idea. I do n't know why, but beast behave different around wizardry people, I employ a kid that just got out of `` hag warts''! he, if Amanda hears it she'll kill me, anyway, this kid can talk to spiders and they do whatever he wants, I have to be wary of him asking them to build nets in the door frames and not eat them every time i go by, but I could not expect less of a Weasley I guess.
And then the frogs, did you know you can buy a potion that will send frogs to sleep? and that you can buy them by barrel because they wont stop singing if you do n't? I did n't knew
I have been working on fixing a dog's bad teeth and then having a pixie wanting to steel it from me, that was fun. Or when the house elfs came by and ordered and cleaned the store, what's with that, they didn ’ t even asked for anything and where just happy and chapping all the time, I almost shat my pants the first time.
Just the other day there was an old woman who wanted me to find her a vulture bird because she needed a hunting companion... luckily my lovely wife told her that that was illegal both on the muggle and the wizardry worlds.
But what weird me the most are all those cages my wife and our employee handle all day, those that seem to have nothing inside, they give me the chills.
Luckily I ’ ve made some friends with the locals, specially this incredible huge guy who hangs at the bar frequently, he is always interested on hearing me talk about normal everyday animals, and then he talks and talks about things i can hardly believe, dragons and mermaids, nargles and hypogriphs.
I love my wife and the world she lives in, and i love that i can see at least part of it, but some nights i ca n't sleep thinking about those empty cages, and what if my wife and myself are not seeing even weirder things out there.
===========
I'm not good at English: (
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[ MP ] What the Wind Said
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I used to walk to the park near my childhood home and lay on the hill. I'd look up at the ever-changing clouds and feel the breeze that moves them. What amazed me most was how something so weak could move such behemoths without effort, yet it felt gentle as it brushed my cheek. Persistence is key.
I revisited the park today. The trees have grown from the sticks they once were, but everything else remains the same. I sat in the grass watching the leaves dance to a random beat only nature can provide. Then, as I had countless times before, I leaned back and let the grass caress my neck. As always, my thoughts were jumbled, and even though there were more of them now, the well-groomed lawn seemed to help me sort through them.
*The election is tomorrow. One more speech tonight. Did I feed the dog? Yes. What will I say tonight? I do n't know. Well, there has to be something. *
The wind picked up again, soothing me.
*Well I ca n't do much, anyway. I'd only be a mayor. City Council proved a moot point, how will this be any different? It's a stepping stone to greater things, I guess. But the people ca n't know that. Think of it as a job interview. I ca n't see myself in five years somewhere else, lest the people find me apathetic to the position. What will I say tonight? Reiterate my platform, I guess. So indecisive. Should have brought paper to write on. *
Dried leaves scraped across the asphalt of the parking lot when the air shifted yet again. And, like the leaves, the wind moved me. Not physically, of course, though I was running to my car to rush home and begin writing.
I got home, scribbled out my speech, and waited for evening to arrive. I entered the venue just as the wind started to gust. If only I could have stayed another minute and be recharged. But in politics, there is little time to enjoy the breeze.
Before I knew it, I was nearing the end of my speech.
``... public transit.'' The crowd cheered as I dropped the key phrase. They looked up at me with expectant, bright eyes. Big finish. Here we go.
`` To be honest, friends, I was doubting myself today. I went to my thinking spot to search for the words I am now speaking. As I pondered how best to serve my fellow citizens, the woes of public office crept into my brain, filling me with fear. I thought, being only one man, I would not be able to do much. I thought being the mayor of this beautiful town would leave me powerless to make change happen. Then, I felt the wind. Gentle, yet constant. Gusting with power, or hardly enough to blow out a candle. No matter the condition, the water always ripples, the leaves always shake, and the grass always sways. The power of the wind is not in its strength, but in its persistence. Today, I realized I am the wind. My constant vigilance is soft-spoken with gusts of assertion. But regardless, I will always change my environment. The clouds themselves can not resist my continuous nudging and prodding. I am the wind, and I say that I will make change without hesitation. I am the wind, and I say let in the breeze.''
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[ WP ] The death penalty is imposed for parking violations . Write as either a cop or as someone who gets caught .
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Matt crouched on a dirt track somewhere five minuets south of the border. The hill before him obscured his view of the interstate, but that did n't muffle the police sirens. They wailed and gnashed, coming closer. Coming for him. Coming for his blood.
Matt glanced behind him. His -well, not his exactly- sports car shone in the fading light. You could tell it was new, even though the front wheel was off and it was pocket-marked by bullet holes. Hell, it even had that new-car smell. Stealing it had been easy, almost too easy. He had just walked into the shop with a gun, and rode out with the car. The only person who could stop him, the traffic cop, was dead outside, his gun in Matt's fist.
A new sound stirred Matt from his reverie, the sound of tires on gravel. That sound crushed his soul just as surely as the gravel crushed under the cop's advancing, inevitable tires. He was so close!
Matt glanced at the car briefly, longingly. It had been his only friend for the past ten hours and two thousand miles. `` Sorry to do this to you.'' He muttered, reaching in and flipping a switch. The whine of a charging capacitor answered him, almost like the car was pleading for him to stay.
He thought about it for a moment. Staying was tempting, he had almost nothing to live for anymore. Revenge. That was it. Revenge was worth living for. Matt started north, through the woods. It was only a couple of hours until the border. He could still make it.
He would get revenge on the system that made parking offences punishable by death. He would get revenge on the system that took his daughter, his own happiness. Starting with that group of cops approaching the tinted windows of his car.
A deafening explosion rang through the woods.
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[ WP ] Write about a future society detailing our current society 's most moral failing in their eyes
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The greatest moral failing of the pre-modern world was `` adulation of masochism'', to quote a great writer. It was an understandable failing, because in those times life was hard, short and limited. The easy, comforting answer to this sad reality was to say this was, in the words of the classical joke, `` a feature, and not a bug''. Pain made you a better person. Suffering was beautiful, for a cause and just for itself. Nothing was valuable unless you sweated for it. Special words existed to stigmatize those who did not agree: `` sloth'' was a theologically disapproved condition, worthy of supreme punishment; `` lazy'' was a description of low personal activity frequency with disapproving moral overtones. Hard work had a perceived positive moral quality just because it was hard, dirty, and nasty. This really must be emphasized: physical exercise was understood to be healthy, but even activity detrimental to your health was seen as morally advantageous. In the word of the time, as `` manly'', though of course women had their own cultic ideas of ennobling agony -- - childbirth without epidurals, for example. And you could n't opt out without being seen as `` weak'' -- - that is, unused to physical hardship and thus morally questionable -- - and `` soft'' -- - that is, not calloused and scarred by physical work and suffering, and thus untrustworthy and unable to make the right sort of `` hard'' decisions.
Tied to this was another necessity: in the pre-modern economical system, each adult was expected to have an `` occupation'': an activity they performed say four days a week, for six hours a day, in exchange for monetary compensation. This compensation was their sole income; the government was under no obligation to provide its citizens with a living, and the toxic political rhetoric of the time actually demonized the people unwilling or unable to find an occupation, because occupations were n't provided either. Worse still, these occupations were largely uninspiring maintenence work: for example, simple data processing, manual physical labor, car driving -- - work that was tedious, boring, and in the early pre-modern world, sadly necessary. Where this unfortunate arrangement became a moral failing was when it was no longer necessary. Roboticization and automation removed the need for occupying people in almost all traditional occupations, and the growing `` social safety net'' became able to provide people with a basic income, initially during childhood and old age, but instead of freeing people to pursue their personal desires, the late pre-modern society inculcated in them a feeling that unless they had an occupation, they were `` not doing their part''. The society was portrayed as a simple purse, so that if you did n't put money in it, you were a `` sponger'' and you should strive for better moral standing or cease to exist to `` balance the books''. Old age basic income, or a `` pension'', was seen and partly conceived as a `` reward'' for holding on to an occupation. These attitudes persisted for decades after the simple-purse model had become obsolete.
The few people who could engage in their preferred personal pursuits as an occupation, such as monetarily compensated novelists, were of course adored for their novels, but also seen as somehow `` cheating in life'': it was felt that your occupation should be a box, containing a third of your life, outside of which you should live and be happy.
This idea echoes loudly and, to us, discordantly through the pre-modern world, leaving its callous trace everywhere: `` you got ta be tough to get respect'', `` no pain no gain'', `` he who will not work shall not eat'', `` got ta be cruel to be kind'', `` pain is weakness leaving the body'', `` this hurts me more than it hurts you'', `` work hard party hard'', and so on.
The pre-modern society was horribly misguided in many ways, mired in unexamined mistakes of its past, particularly in the areas of sexual and body politics, and its general lack of mathematical and empirical subtlety; but it is generally agreed its greatest moral failing was the systematic glorification of hardship for its own sake.
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[ WP ] When you were seven , you inherited the family curse : transforming into a _____ when you 're angry .
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Healthy. Adventurous. Chiseled. These all described Bart Dougle, a man well liked by the women in his office. Bart was famous for his Free Donut Fridays, and his monthly extra-curricular meetings. Usually, this meant poker and beer with the rest of the guys in Accounting.
Each month the accountants would hold an unofficial contest to determine the hosting rights for this unofficial meeting. While the whole event was meaningless on a business level, the competition was fierce among the'counters to hold host to the great card-off.
Lovel, a soft-spoken man in his middle ages, was the previous top contender to host the event. This was before Bart arrived on the scene, of course. Dougle was a born winner: he played soccer in college, dated ( and later married models ), and had claimed hosting rights for 12 months. Lovel hated this. His record was in jeopardy. He had to win this month, at any cost. He had to be the first to 13.
Participants in the game had to follow a certain set of rules. Not only did they need to have a perfect monthly record with HR, they also needed to collect the most golden stars. Golden stars were another unofficial thing. They were handed out via a blind vote system.
More or less, each participant was allowed to vote for who they thought should host based off of how good of a'counter they had been over the past week. They were n't allowed to vote for themselves, and anyone caught doing so would automatically lose their stars for the month. The'counters took pride in being an `` underground'' organization in the office, and had made up a series of secret codes, hand signals, and email lists that were supposed to be kept secret at all costs.
Each day, the top ranked'counter for the month would set a new code and new terms for the rules. This, of course, would keep the game in their favor, but anyone able to beat the creator at their own game would earn bonus stars as determined by the blind ballots.
In the event that a'counter was caught doing something related to the group in public they would be considered doing a poor job. Lovel and Bart were the only two'counters that could consistently get away with flashing signs or slipping code into meetings or emails. This earned them respect and high regard from the other'counters.
As usual with groups like this, popularity tended to dictate the pace of balloting. Certain players were voted for more because they were attractive, or bold, or otherwise brought attention to themselves.
Mercia was one such player. She had only won hosting rights once. Mercia was, like Bart, gorgeous. She was shapely, graceful, and had the kind of voice that could send sailors to their graves. It was only one victory for Mercia's'counter career, but her victory was carved into the history of the game in the biggest of ways.
Twelve. That was the current record. Lovel's record. One that he had to break. Of course twelve was n't enough. Not for Lovel. Last year, he had suffered defeat at the hands of a rookie, a tenderfoot, a greenhorn. Mercia had swooped into his office, seduced his men, and dragged his ship beneath the waves kicking and screaming every step of the way.
Ridiculous, it was argued. As such, it was determined, that players needed to write a reason for their vote onto their ballots. `` She's a fox,'' was no longer considered a valid contribution to the game. Never mind the fact that she had hosted a great meeting, it just was n't right. Lovel made sure that the others were aware of that fact.
And just like that, the game was changed. Bart was the only threat now, having won every month since Mercia's victory. Since he had reached twelve. Mercia was only decent at playing the game, and with her attractiveness no longer a weapon, she was effectively neutered. It was only a matter of days - 30 days exactly - before Lovel would match his record of twelve. But even still, twelve was n't going to be enough.
Perhaps a little bit more detail is required. You see, when Lovel was a child, he had lived near the bayou down south in Louisiana. His father used to take him out into the swamps and tell him stories of his grandfather's exploits.
Passing tales of skirt chasing and war, mostly, but one fable would always show itself near the time of the full moon. `` Always remember your name, Lovel,'' his father would tell him. `` When you are scared or alone, just make sure you have a friend that knows your name.''
Essentially the story goes as such: Lovel's grandfather was a soldier of fortune during The Great War. As a man of color, he felt it necessary to prove himself in Europe by claiming a wife. This did n't work out too well for him, and he left for home empty handed.
Dejected and run down by the horror of war, he spent many nights out on the rivers and in the swamps. He pushed along in a small boat just like the one Lovel would sit in as his father told him tales, as he had been told.
So, with the sun long past, and under a full moon, is when the incident occurred. Lovel's grandfather found a battered and injured young woman on some mangrove roots out in the swamps. Her boat had sunk, and so he offered to take her home and patch her up.
As he took her deeper and deeper into the Mississippi's brackish runoffs, the woman started fiddling with her pockets. A veteran, Lovel's grandfather knew something was n't quite as it should have been. He did n't trust this woman.
Young or old, this man was always sharp. It's what pulled him through the war. He was lost in the swamps with a woman he suddenly did n't trust. They approached this woman's house, a solitary shack out in the dark of the overgrowth.
`` Make no mistake about it, granddad was armed,'' his father would tell Lovel. `` In fact, that's what got you into this mess.''
`` You always say that,'' Lovel would mumble. This story scared him at first, but he'd heard it a hundred times by now. As the story went, granddad was attacked by his woman, only to be overpowered. His father would say - usually with a pause and uncertainty in his voice - that he did n't really know what happened, only that granddad did n't kill her. Granddad was n't the same after that night, however.
Now, 40 odd years later, Lovel bore the curse of his grandfather's actions. He did n't believe in his dad when he was a kid. That is, until the night his father took Lovel out to that shack in the swamps of the Mississippi.
And just like that, the game had changed. It had taken him decades to piece it all together and figure out where he was, but he figured it out. There was only one way out of his predicament: he needed to host that record 13th meeting.
Maybe he could have gotten out of this sooner, had he been smarter in his youth. As soon as his father brought him into that house, he could tell from the air that it was n't right. An old woman sat on the floor surrounded by candles, a book opened in front of her. The last thing Lovel remembered before his life as an accountant began was his father's words: `` I'm sorry, son, but you do n't break a blood oath with a swamp witch.''
Eventually someone would read this book, right? And, when they did, they'd understand his plea, and what he wanted them to do for him? They would understand why the codes and gestures were so important, why he had to beat Bart, why Mercia could n't cheat again? Why the meetings were the *most* important part of his story, why the rules mattered? They would know what to do... right? You do understand?
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[ PM ] Give me a first and last line and I will connect them .
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In the chill of a winter night, after you have locked the door, after you have tucked your children in, after you have told your wife you love her and she too has retired to the bedroom, after you have sat down in the living room to watch the snow drift down from the night sky, after all of that -- an icy gust will rattle your shutters and chill your bones, and you will see her face in the fire.
In the chill of a winter night, after you are absolutely sure that you are safe, it is only then that she will come for you.
( Scare me with this! Looking forward to your response. )
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[ WP ] An ancient human group known as the `` Paleonto '' was responsilbe for killing every dinosaur in the world . This group has survived over thousands of years trying to hide their doings . You 've just find out about them and they know it..
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`` I apologize for the blunt nature of the message, as well as meeting in a place... like this.''
The stranger across a iron wire frame table gestures in a circular movement with his hand to describe the local coffee shop we are in. He has asked me to call him Yapoe, but I think he gave me that name to screw with me. Yapoe was a tall, tan man wearing a suit with a yellow tie.
`` I meant the experience to be educational, rather than a first date'', Yapoe continues. He takes a sip of his water while giggling at himself.
My mind is racing, piranha paradise and my questions are countless tourists in the wrong pond embedded with teething hunger. I ca n't help but think in frenzy of the small infinity I have here with Yapoe, a first encounter with this timeless race that I can ask a multitude of questions to lead into a multitude of outcomes. I'm fidgeting again in fear and excitement.
`` I do n't take offense by it. Thinking on it now, if you had taken me elsewhere I honestly would have thought you might have,'took care' of me''. I run my right index finger across my neck to signify my confusion of not being frozen in fear of what could be certain death but instead nervously laughing with him.
Yapoe was young. I could see in his eyes cassette tapes among films reels and VHS tapes stacked sky scraper high to imagine the many experiences in his life, but wrinkles were not distributed on his face to show time's toll. And he was strong still, as if raw T-Rex was a meal on the kids menu of his people, but not largely bulky to suggest his dexterity was hindered by it.
`` No, please have no fear of my family. Only Grandpa would cause you harm; he's a little old school. He would tell you about the same stories he drew on cave walls eons ago, how he gouged the eye of a raptor leader after it threatened our turf and swore he could see the pack's movements while looking through the monstrous green iris. Or the time he claims to have taken out all the teeth and claws off a T-Rex looking beast, essentially disarming it for his amusement. Then he would gut you with a knife millions of years older than you for the safety of our people. But like I said,'' a pause for another sip, `` old school.''
I laughed momentarily at the idea of a cantankerous old man telling me about the good old days of having to kill dinosaurs to continue existing.
`` H-how did you do it?''
`` There are few miracles in my story, first off. The sun rising and falling is the only miracle that will be one hundred percent true.'' Yapoe at this point had his arms crossed, eyes closed with his head pointed to the ground as he made small nods. It looked as though we confirming with himself those memories were still in stock.
`` How did you survive all this time, pre and post meteor?''
`` Listen: what you call dinosaurs are animals just like us. The advantages we have were in the ability to understand our senses, and making ways to conceal ours. Think about it. Muffling your movements, overwhelming your scent, and most importantly is hiding in pockets of peripheral vision. I've lived for years as the speck of sand in the corner of another living thing's eye, for the sake of myself and my family. I am the irritating itch that someone else is there, and for animals with sharp teeth that came too close to my kin, I was the adrenaline peak in other living things before a final plateau. That was my job as scout, as I set the bar for strength in our family, but I was typically never by myself. It was a fools risk to travel alone when a false step could lead you to being outnumbered. A cruel fight ahead to bitter injuries, if not leading to a rash escape which will likely cause even more bitter injuries.''
Yapoe took a deep breath. His eyes become a shade bloodshot, with two beads of sweat running down opposite sides of his forehead. His right hand was feeling the knot of his tie as is left circled between grasping his water to drawing out his discussion on the table. Whichever emotions I was reading from this super human I found hard to believe.
`` The truth is this, my new friend. My people are scouting alone in hiding on this Earth. We have been ghosts sulking in the corners of the world for too long. I am afraid what lies ahead we can not run from, the injuries will be death in both consequences. I am pained to say I am no longer the marker for strength. Grandfather refuses to believe what I see; that we are far too deep in the jungle with our allies kept in dark clutches at the bottom of crater. In there is what I fear.''
Yapoe's forhead is drenched at this interval. We both notice his cup is empty of water.
`` Friend, there is no meteor that sealed the fate of your'dinosaurs'. I remember the night where the Earth shook and all living things screamed in fear. The wind moving through blades of grass was it's own thunderstorm heard planet wide, and that night the creatures we long respected and conflicted with shouted in an orchestra of the damned. The following sunrise was frozen in time. Still terror. My bones twist into helixes when I think of it.''
I remember my eyes blotching at that point in the conversation. Likely due to shock, as all the piranha's in my head died and floated to the surface.
`` I am now a scout in diplomacy for the first time. Grandpa believes we should wait out our fears until it will strike again, but even the craters it makes in effortless motion are cataclysmic. I've studied all this time at the feet of my Grandfather the languages of this planet, enough culture and science and tears to rally a planet I love dearly. And I need your help.''
His cup tips over. I could n't tell that day if had kicked the table or it shook the table first.
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[ CW ] Write a story without using any letters from the Z-M row of your keyboard
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Today felt harder than usual. Sarge is harsh a lot of days. Today was like out of the depths of the sea, though. I really hope supper is ready.
`` Why are you up there?''
`` I like to lie atop the house a few days per week.''
`` That's preposterous. Why would you do that?''
`` It helps to shut out the hustle of the world and just hear thoughts.''
`` You're weird. Stop. Get off the roof.''
*'' I'd rather sleep. `` *
`` What if you sleep too deeply?''
`` I suppose I would lose poise. Likely fall, too.''
`` Please get off.''
`` I will, later. Let it go, I do this a lot.''
`` Okay. You're hard-headed, so I'll go.''
`` See you posthaste.''
I guess supper is ready. I'll stay up here just a while further...
***I have no idea what I just wrote. ***
***Italic line has been edited. ***
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[ FF ] Dying Words ( All will be read aloud by me )
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The comet had shattered the earth, absolute carnage filled the screen of the final human's computer. His peers had long ago allowed themselves to succumb to their hopelessness. Millions of miles from home, but now, home might as well have not even existed. They were the celebrated martyrs, a mission to Mars with no possible return.
He's the last man alive, knowing he will not survive. He hooks himself into the Dream Machine that the colonist used for entertainment. He took a final breath as he turned the settings to `` Beginning.'' A warning message appeared - informing him that his vital signs were beginning to fail and that he would die as a result of turning the machine on. He powered the machine on, and muttered under his breath before slipping into the unknown,
`` I am, I was.''
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[ WP ] A man is locked in his bedroom . His zombified wife and children struggle against the door to beat it down . A loaded pistol rests on the dresser next to him .
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The groans were relentless all through the night. The same groans he remembered from their distaste of a dinner he had prepaid. It was a lullaby to his ears. Day two. A shit in the corner. A firearm resting just out of arm's reach. A child's dresser blockading the door, with the oldest single sized flimsy foam mattress resting up against a bed frame resting against the dresser. Within the bottom drawer was a bucket of Lego for weight. He had moved to this room after he was awoken by his son feasting on the fetus of his unborn daughter. It had only been a scratch.
As he stood he lift a large bucket of Lego out of the bottom drawer of the dresser. As he shut the drawer with his shin he grabbed the one side of the dresser with both hands, he then flung the dresser aside as he stomped down with the leg used to close the dresser. The dresser toppling over the bed frame, shattering the window as it fell. He opened the door just enough so the dead may open it easily. He then turned his attention to the weapon behind him on the night stand. A pistol that was supposed to protect his family. Turning around again, gun in hand, he emptied the entire clip into the skull of his son. Without ammo the man turned his attention to his wife as she shambled into the room. She had almost been eaten in half. Her upper half wobbled, what remained seem insufficient to keep her vertical or as one piece.
He stretched out his arms to embrace her. To embrace death. To walk eternally. With her.
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[ WP ] You 're a scientist that travelled back 100,000 years with some equipment to set up a research laboratory . While looking for a suitable place to set mount the machines in , you discover a long-abandoned lab with technology that 's way more recent than yours in a cave nearby .
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I woke up slung over the command console on my ship. I adjusted my glasses and checked the display. `` Huzzah! The time travel doohickey worked, and it appears to have had only minimal side-effects on the fabric of space time.'' I removed my aviator hat and promptly threw it aside, there is much work to be done.
Piece by piece I unloaded my equipment down the ramp and out of the ship, my knees almost gave out every time but sciences waits for nobody. Returning up the ramp I studied all the scars and scrapes on the smooth green underbelly of my ship. `` I do n't remember those scars. I'll have to have a talk with my crew when I get home. Oh my. My crew, I hope they will get along well without me.'' I had to leave them behind - this mission is too important and dangerous, plus they have work to do. They are always flying some important mission for me in my spaceship -- wait, my spaceship? The one that I have with me right here? In the past? Oh well, I have 100,000 years to get it back to them in one piece, it will be fine.
With the last of the equipment unloaded from the ship, I took another quick survey of the area around me to see where to start. Maybe I could take a break with the local wildlife by that lake. Or make a quick flyover of the area, or maybe take a break with the local wildlife by the lake. Perhaps those cliffs would be an adequate place to setup shop, it looks like there is even already a blast door in the side of it, that would be a tremendous help to what I have in store for this place. `` Whaaaa... who left that there?'' I shuffled over towards the door ( my age did not help my knees ) which simply said'Danger, experiment in progress'.
`` This is not good news. Who in their right mind would setup a lab here? You would have to be mad to try such a thing.'' The though alone made me mad. In a blind, but meticulously calculated rage, I kicked the door. It began to groan and moved slightly. Mustering every last ounce of science in me, I lurched to the side as the door fell over and slammed to the ground where I was just standing. I stood up triumphantly, `` Ahh, another victory for cold calculating science. And these steel toed slippers came in handy as well.''
Moving slowly through the rocky corridors, I found the laboratory with all its silent machinery. It is definitely abandoned, not a trace of recent sciencing. But why is it here? I shuffled between the tables and shelves looking for papers, notes, research, blackboards. `` What kind of lab is this with no blackboards? Where will the brilliant scientists write all their equations to baffle the common-folk?'' Finally I found a binder that looked intact. I blew the dust off the cover and opened it up. The title page read `` On the Origin of Species'' by.... My face turned bright red with anger, this is the worst possible outcome. I slammed the binder to the desk threw my fist in the air in rage and cried `` WERNSTROM!!!''
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[ WP ] You have just been told that you are the last human being who will ever have to die .
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There is no recognition in her eyes anymore.
She used to ask why I had a ring like hers. Now, I doubt she even notices she's wearing one.
I was so hopeful when they announced a cure. I thought I would have her back. Thought I'd get to hear her laugh again. See the twinkle in her eye as we remembered sunrise on the beach, or sunset in the mountains. Maybe she would know it was her birthday next time. All we needed was 6 months for production and distribution.
I'm glad she could n't recognize the pain on my face when the doctor said she only had 2 at most..
I was in the hall steeling myself for another visit when I heard it. The voice came from nowhere but, somehow, I knew it was true: I had just been told that I was the last human being who would ever have to die.
I went in to see her one last time. She was sleeping. It's better this way. It always broke my heart to see the panic on her face when that dark, hulking stranger of a husband invaded her room. And she looked so peaceful when she slept.
I took my ring and put it in the jar - filled with sand and shells from the beach where we said `` I do'' - with a folded piece of paper where I scratched out a goodbye.
That message followed me to the roof. Just a few short steps to the ground. It was all I could think about on my way down.
`` Welcome back, darling. Sorry I could n't be here when you woke up. But it's like we said:'til death do us part'''
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[ WP ] You 're a composer with synesthesia . Describe your works without using sound .
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Dark blue ebbs smoothly back and forth in your mind. Here and firm, away and soft.
Blue, blue. Blue, blue.
Over the blue, a curl of summer breeze passes by, and you smell baking bread.
The blue is here, the blue is away.
The breeze picks up and ruffles your hair, sharp lemon, with a twist of sweet.
A friend claps a hand on your shoulder. A bright rose blooms in the garden. Heat from the sun.
The straw thatch on the roof, and the scent of hay carried by the breeze.
The blue, the blue, the blue...
The wind has gone dry. It wears at your face, abrasive and heat and a long, long journey.
You see the sun sink beyond the dunes, orange and dull, and the night is cold.
The blue is gone, and your lips are cracked. You shiver.
Daylight is a distant dream. Heavy weights in your knapsack, and your aching shoulders.
Emptiness.
Slowly, carefully, the blue is back, but paler now. It's thin and wispy, and it dances across your brow.
The blue, the blue - soft as butterflies' wings on your eyelids.
Digging into cool sand with your fingers, fine and smooth and satisfying. An hourglass streaming from your lifted hand.
Methodical, meditative, polished round stones.
Dark blue again, and the night breeze on your neck.
Starlight.
The curious blue as you rise to your feet, compressing cool sand.
You walk, you walk, the journey goes. Blue and cool and air in your lungs.
The city emerges from the horizon. Soft dawn, taupe and sunrise blush.
Blue nudges at your elbows. Blue, and the warming breeze.
The familiar outline of stones on the path.
The smell of baking bread, the scent of roses.
Blue, blue...
You are home.
You are home.
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[ WP ] Your job is to stare at the school 's security feed all day , but after a while you begin to notice budding romances between students . You decide to give these a little push in order to provide entertainment for yourself .
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`` You bastard, you've slept with my sister! I thought you loved me! Now you will pay, you can find your embarrassing photos all over the internet.'' screamed Cindy.
`` That was a revenge for you seducing my dad!'' yelled Robert.
`` *What!? * I have never done anything like that! How dare you even suggest that?''
`` *You* told me you did! I've read your text message.''
`` I most certainly did not!''
`` Hey, guys'' interjected Jessica `` Chris emailed me that he was planning to fake Cindy's message to pit you against each other and end up sleeping with Cindy. I thought it was a weird joke, but now....''
Everyone stared at Chris.
`` I swear guys, I have never done anything like that. And screw you, Jessica, why would you spread these lies about me! What if I tell everybody that you had sex with our math teacher?''
`` That's a lie!''
`` No it's not, I have pictures. Some anonymous guy send me them. Hey, guys, check them out!''
`` It's obviously photoshopped, ca n't you see that?'' Jessica almost cried.
`` I do n't know, looks pretty convincing to me. I also know what you are messaging with Cindy about Max behind his back.''
`` Everybody knows that, your message history is public.''
`` What!?''
-- --
`` Dance, my puppets, dance!'' murmured Gunter, smiling creepily at the screen.
It all started with him sending a fake love note from Jessica to Max, just to watch them fall in love, because they were clearly into each other, but Max was too shy to take the first step.
But now it got a lot more interesting. After getting satisfied and bored with starting little cute romances, he started craving something more interesting, something all human brains crave - conflict, competition.
And then it all escalated, way too quickly, following the path all the modern reality shows follow. Fake calls, emails, hacking social accounts, even ordering ads online to mess with people. High school was his Petri dish of social experiments.
Gunter watched the video stream and ate popcorn. He knew this was n't a right thing to do, but it was the most satisfying game he ever played.
-- -- -
-- -- -
Liked this story? Come visit [ my blog ] ( http: //fictionhub.io/u/rayalez ) where you can read the best stuff I create! Read [ `` The Game'' ] ( http: //fictionhub.io/story/the-game ) and [ `` Unaware'' ] ( http: //fictionhub.io/story/unaware ). If you like these stories - you will probably like the rest of my stuff = )
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[ WP ] Everywhere I look there is a vast hunger , and I feed it , oh how I feed it .
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There was nothing surrounding me. I felt like nothing, I was nothing. They said that the grass is always greener on the other side. I do n't really remember them well, I was one once, though. A human, I wonder if all of them -- us -- turned into things like me. Were they, too, emptiness, just like me? I have no form, only will.
But this vastness needs to be filled! I have been alone for too long. I need to turn this into.... Into something!
Something needs to be!
I feel so hungry, hungry for this desire. Oh why, oh why? Why do I want this so much? Everything will just disappear again just as it did once -- I do n't know how long ago, but it was infinitely more times than my human lifetime. I try not to think about it, remembering my own form gives me more hunger.
This hunger has turned into a starvation. I need it! I need life... I need matter. I need things to be, instead of just nothing.
I am blind, I am deaf, I am nothing. I am purely will, the desire to be. Am I truly blind and deaf, or is there just nothing to see? to hear?
I am? How can I say this when there is no me? What am I referring to?
I was so desperate to find something in this emptiness, I think I did. The universe... was there. I felt so weak, so over exerted. And I do n't know how I knew that the universe was, but I did. And it felt amazing.
I felt... that my hunger had dissapated, my desire had been fulfilled.
But even this soon was n't enough. What could possibly make the universe like it once was? So filled with wonder and delight, so many things to find, an infinite sea of knowledge. There was nothing to know here.
The little glowing pinpricks exploded into being. They made the sky around me be warm and bright, and made the empty space seem cold and desolate. Once, it was so warm, so friendly.
I am only will. And no matter what you have, you only have so much. So when I willed for more, such complexity, for there to be knowledge to be learned and things to be seen and heard and tasted, it took every last bit of myself.
And thus I was no more. But neither would I every desire more.
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[ WP ] A super-hero/heroine returns home , having failed to save the world . He/She has but a few minutes with his/her family before the world is destroyed .
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( A bit cliche, but: )
He slunk back into the darkness of his mansion, devoid of light, save for the study.
He gravitated towards the warmth of the fireplace and sat in his usual chair.
``... Whiskey, sir?''
Normally, he would abstain, but given the circumstances, he chose to indulge.
He felt powerless, more human than ever before, and despite his wounds, it was his spirit that was broken.
`` You know, Master Bruce, your parents would have been proud.''
He could still envision them.
He looked up at Alfred's ever-loyal face and managed a smile.
`` I know.''
They shared a moment of silent acknowledgment, each sipping from his glass.
They could only sit back and wait until the end.
It was an opportunity to spend some time with family.
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[ IP ] The Earth Colossus
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`` I remember the first one, you know.''
`` The one before all the others; the original. Indeed, tis strange, to imagine that once each nation did n't have Hunters to deal with them, or even large armies to fight when they had no Hunters. No, certainly, this was a time when vassals had their own land to protect.''
His protege nodded eagerly, as he sat near the fireplace, drying off and listening.
`` It crested the horizon,'' the old man said, his wizened brow furrowing like a plowed field in planting season, `` and it was massive- bigger than anything I or my fellow knight had seen- Ser Bering, yes, Ser Tithian Bering. The first one killed in these horrid Titan Wars. We were a mere two on horseback against this massive beast, this monstrous thing that threatened to destroy Hanzi and continue on to the rest of the region.''
His protege, now focused on drying off his weapons, continued to listen, if a bit distracted.
`` We rode forwards, our swords in hands, our mounts fearful but ready. They were good horses, quick, strong. We rode up to it to draw it's attention, waved our swords. Shame that I was n't more of a mage, to be honest, your generation is nothing but..''
The young trainee was no longer paying attention, his weapon now his entire world. It seemed as though it was time to stop telling this story and get to the point.
`` We lost to it. Badly.''
`` So why tell me this? I know you rallied everyone, brought them all together. Formed the Hunters. Then you all eradicated the Titans. There's a few, very strong ones left, so you left. We killed the rest. Why bother with starting at the beginning.''
The old man sighed as he looked out the window.
`` That Water Titan? The first of a new wave. I tell you the beginning,'' he said, his voice pockmarked with sorrow and death, `` so you can avoid the end.''
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[ WP ] You are a high school student , who has the ability to pause time , but only uses it for things like cheating on tests , stealing food , and being a creep .
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This is my first response criticism welcome. Sorry for horrible writing and grammar in advanced.
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This math test was taking forever who cares about the distance of two guys that got on bikes and started biking away from each other at a ninety degree angle one leaving eight minutes after the first. I raised my hand and Mr. Smith got up and started walking towards me.
`` What is it David'' He whispered as to not disturb the other students taking the test.
`` Well ya see Mr. Smith I think i deserve more time-'' This was weird every one had stopped writing was I talking to loud? `` Ya their Mr.Smith do you need an ambulance'' I asked because his face was contorted like he was about to sneeze and it was n't budging. Being the perfect teenager I am I reach into my bag and grab my phone to see if Mr. Smith will react. Nothing. `` Any one in here awake'' I shout as try to figure out what the hell is happening. No one responds. This finally pushes what happening through my thick skull, time has stopped. Logically the first thing I do is look to see if I can google the answer. No luck my phone ( which I had charged before school ) would n't turn on. Okay on to the next logical step go to the front of the room and grab that smug bastard Mat's test he always gets 100, and copy his work and answers then go sit back down. Time for the next logical step how do I unfreeze time? I start with the obvious think about starting time. Hey that actually worked.
`` Well David are you going to finish your question or not?'' Mr. Smith asked confused.
`` You know what Mr. Smith never mind I feel I have all the time-'' Like that time froze again it appears saying time out loud freezes time. I unfroze time and continued `` I need.''
`` Okay so why did you call me over here? you need to stop asking stupid questions.'' Mr. Smith then proceed to walk back to his desk mildly annoyed. I then proceeded to hand my test in and wait till the end of the period.
It was now time for lunch my favorite class of the day. As I was walking from math to the cafeteria the best idea dawned upon me freezing time equals infinite cookies and chips. As I waked into the cafeteria I whispered `` Time'' and just like that everything stopped. Then I preceded to walk up to the counter and grab 20 cookies ( at.50 cents a cookie thats 10 bucks! ) 4 bags of Doritos and 4 bags of ruffles sour-cream and cheddar chips. I then walked over to my usual lunch seat sat down and thought about starting time up again.
`` Dude where the fuck did you come from and why do you have so much food.'' Patrick one of my only friends asked.
`` Just ignore how I got here and have a cookie.'' I responded and he happily obliged.
The rest of that day went by without a hitch until gym. I was putting on my gym uniform when I realized this could be the perfect opportunity to go into the girls locker room, but alas I had to draw my moral bounds somewhere so as I was about to freeze time and go into the girls locker room and do various activities I decided against it because if I did n't put up any boundaries where would I stop. `` Time'' I whispered to have time to think and ponder if using this power was even moral at all.
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[ WP ] You feel a slight tug on your pants , and turn to see a terrified pickpocket , trying desperately to return what he just stole .
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As I was walking down the street one day,
a smell came from behind, of rot and decay.
He was trying to steal some cash,
to put it in a sash,
so that he could buy weed and smack,
and sell it for more white rocks and crack.
What he pulled was not money, however.
When he saw it, he immediately put it back as I turned, like a robbery deserter.
As he tried to put it back, it stabbed his bum,
because my sentient knife likes to have fun.
He must have returned it as he may have thought people would see him and think that he wants me stabbed,
but he's just a simple pickpocket, and karma got him in his back.
horrible^poem^i^know^whatever
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[ WP ] `` Attention all employees , please hide . ''
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`` Attention all employees: please hide''
The middle-aged woman speaking over the PA system sounded just as tired of life as I did.
I thought I had struck a good thing when signing up with Awesome Inc: a business that sold quirky, colourful novelties and electronics to moneyed grown men with attention deficit disorder, and whose strapline was - I am not making this up - `` OMG! Shiny!'' I bought their shinies, I was the envy of my moneyed attention-challenged friends, and I naturally applied for a position as a Creative Prospector in their flagship store.
My role, well, I'm not sure I could tell you. It's not secret, just you'd never understand it. I do n't really know, myself, either. I could only tell you what I had done, that had not yet got me fired. If I was trying to sell my position to you, I'd say I am at the coal face of current trends, eagerly looking for new formations of creativity that can be the basis of exciting new product lines. In reality, I sit in a cramped back office above the store in front of two giant monitors. The left monitor tracks what people buy in store and online ( with irritating dancing red lines to show what products are n't selling any more ) while the right has a fibreoptic cable internet link, serving me hours of Buzzfeed, Reddit, Youtube, and all the other things memes are made of.
`` Attention employees, please hide. This is your second and final warning.''
If I see anything on the right that amuses me, I have to jot down some skeleton design brief to be passed on to our product designers and marketers who try to make that shit shiny and wanted by our idiot customers. Speed is everything with Awesome Inc. We have contacts with production lines that can supply thousands of units of our new shinies with about a month's notice to capitalise on the next sensation. We put it on sale, the people shout `` Shut up and take my money!'' before tiring of it and moving onto the next thing. Then it drops off the left monitor. In that time, I need to have come up with a dozen ideas to repeat the cycle.
If I sound like this is n't a dream job, well... it is n't.
Apart from the treadmill of churning out shiny junk for people to buy based on some funny 3-word tweet, Awesome Inc is run by executives who seem to think that every word can be spelled with `` fun''. Honestly, one of the first things they said in their orientation escape game was `` You ca n't spell'work' without'FUN'. Exclamation mark!'' That should have been a red flag, but I laughed it off. Turns out that nothing is fun when it's compulsory. And one compulsory thing that is n't fun is about to happen now.
`` Attention customers! You have five minutes to find ten employees, and bring them to the cash register! Three... Two... One... GO!''
Give her credit: she puts more effort into that announcement.
They did this every other week. They would invite in a dozen customers just before the store opened to the public, and organise a game of hide and seek. No prizes, no coupons for winners, just for the chance of having a picture taken of them next to people like me who could n't evade capture. Then it gets tweeted, and they get internet famous for about 30 seconds. Except for a couple of rooms kept locked and marked as off limits, customers had free run over the shop floor, the stock room, and - I quickly found out - the back offices. I never survived the hunters: I tried to hide for the first few months, but now just sat at my desk and awaited the inevitable capture. Today, I knew I'd get caught again, but I was n't at my desk. I had an urgent call to attend, and I could n't hide in time.
I heard the outer door open, and footsteps approach my inner door. The game was up. I was trapped. I had mere inches to my left and right, no room behind. The only escape was 2 feet in front, and no longer an option.
BANGBANGBANG!
Not now. Please not now.
`` Hey! There's someone in here!''
This really is n't a good time.
`` Anyone got a screwdriver?''
Normally, I can avoid being caught like this, but last night I ate something I should n't have...
`` Here we go! Open... Sesame!''
Click.
The door to the cubicle opens. A man in a loud shirt and red denim jeans now stands between the sink and my seated position. He has glasses with frames apparently made of flashing lightning bolts, and no lenses. His hair is dyed black and spiked in a way that's `` so random''. He is wearing the Awesome Inc Noise Jacket ( TM ) which connects via bluetooth to his phone to play music through eight loudspeakers built in where most jackets have pockets. He has a screwdriver in one hand, and his phone in the other. He has a grin that shows a lack of awareness as to our situation. It's too much to hope for an embarrassed silence.
`` Found one! You're mine!''
He taps his phone and plays a fanfare through his black ergonomic ghetto blaster. The noise hits me full in my self-respect. Then he takes a picture. Then he stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to come along.
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[ WP ] You 're suddenly dropped back in time over 1,000 years ago . You have no idea how it happened . You 're nude but somehow are holding a modern pistol ... with 5 bullets .
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It's all hazy now, I swear. I ca n't tell you much of what I was thinking. I only saw it for a little bit. It's not like you'd expect, or... well, it's not what *I* expected. See, I expected everything to be sepia. Sepia and blurry and old, and I expected everything to smell like mildew or an old book. But it's not like that at all. Everything *looked* the same. I mean, it *looked* and *smelled* the same, and that's enough to leave me completely disoriented. I suppose if I had thought what happened was even possible before, it might have been different. Maybe I could have prepared myself, but when something happens like that... well, I do n't know if there was any way to fight off being a complete moron.
I got so many things going on in my noggin, but it's funny because I remember that my biggest concern was how four good bullets were going to waste.
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[ TT ] [ RF ] During a bank robbery , the criminals allow themselves to be captured . Authorities do n't realize that the arrest is part of the plan .
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Ever since we were kids, me and the boys dreamed of our big break. We all played cops and robbers back in the day, right? Yeah, well, when we played it, we *really* played it. We drew straws to see who was cops and who was robbers. Short straws were cops. It was more fun to be the robbers,'cause robbers are the ones who got a shot at making it big. At least they got a shot, you know? What do cops have? Nothing but problems. And every week we'd pack into each other's houses and listen to our programs on the radio set. When other kids were listening to Uncle Don, we tuned in to the Mystery House, and let me tell you, we did n't root for the good guys. Forget Charles Lindbergh, Torrio was the real hero on our block.
This is some good bourbon, ai n't it? Got just the right kind of spice in it. Not too much, not too little; goes down just smooth enough. You ever try that shit back in the day? The bootleg stuff? Pops used to give me a sip every now and again before he got nabbed, God rest his soul. I do n't even know how we made it without him, you know? The early part of that decade was every bit as dirty as its name. Guess that's what gave me my predilection for scheming.
Well, we got a little older and a little smarter and we started to make plans. We were really going to do this! Like, really do it, and we were going to do it right. Getting in was the easy part, you know, but getting out was hard. We had to plan it from the inside out. But... time goes by, things get put on hold, you get a real job... `` Real.'' Like that word's supposed to mean something when you grew up how we did? You ca n't just get a `` real'' job and get out of there. No, real only cuts it for so long. We'd been talking for years before we finally sat down one day and said `` Hey, if we're gon na do this thing, we got ta do it now. We are n't getting any younger.''
So me and Joey and Felix - Ha ha! Felix! Like the cat! - we bought some tommies from one of my dad's old connections, a number runner from the south part. So we tell our wives - we were all married at the time, see - that we're heading to work like normal, but we meet up at the park. We get into my car and I drive us down to the Fullerton State Bank. The thing goes off without a hitch, just like the programs. We bust in, tell everyone to drop to the tiles, and they put the money in the bag. Two hundred grand. We had two hundred grand in our hands, and we never had to fire a shot! Sometimes things just go right, you know?
The cops must have been in the area already,'cause they showed up real quick, a lot quicker than we thought they would. And who was the first uniform through that door? Butch Carwell, the bastard. Yeah, we knew him, so did the whole city. He was a mean son of a bitch with a bad attitude, known to light up like a candle if you push too hard, just like his dad. Well, that was just our luck. There was a swarm of police following him. We just set our weapons down and gave ourselves up.
So Carwell puts us in the back of his car, handcuffs and all, and starts driving. We still had our eyes on that bag, though. He had it in the front seat next to him to take as evidence, but we could n't reach it all tied up. He waits for the other cars to set out back to the station and then he follows'em.
`` What's in the bag?'' he says.
Joey's kind of a smartass and responds `` What's in the bag? Money's in the bag, you dolt! What do you think?''
`` Funny, funny,'' he says. He says `` How much you got in there?''
Felix says `` Two hundred thousand,'' and Butch does n't say a word. He's a cop! He's probably never seen that much money in his life. I think the nostalgia hit him right then, see. We always wanted to be the robbers, cause they were the ones who had a shot.
We see the cruisers ahead drive straight and Butch takes a left. Two more blocks and he takes another. We drive for a few minutes and get to the empty lot out front of Merl's Hardware - it's closed on Mondays - where his street car is parked. He pulls up beside it, opens the back doors and lets us out. We're unhooked and we shuffle into the Ford Coupe. Butch gets in the driver's seat and tosses us the bag and we're outta there, out of that city, out of that state. We left it all behind: the wives, the houses, the bills, everything. We drove up this direction to meet one of my dad's other connections, see. He got us new papers, set us up with new lives, names, and here we are. New York.
That's the kind of planning it takes, you know. You have to be smart, but we had years to think about it, us four. You got ta start small, start legit. Getting in is the easy part, but to get away, you got ta plan it from the inside out.
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[ WP ] You decide to double check the permissions you 've given to certain apps . It turns out you gave them more permissions than you expected .
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I scroll down to the older apps, the one ’ s I've had downloaded since I first got the phone.
“ Alright, time to revisit your privacy settings. ”
Not having been well-versed in smartphone usage at the time of the downloads, I may very well have given permissions to the apps that I had no intention of giving. I tap on my photo-sharing app, and am brought to the Options screen. From there I go to Privacy, where it lists all the things the app can access.
-Permissions-
-This app has access to: -
-Camera Roll-
Keeping that, of course.
-Contacts-
Makes sense.
-TouchToRetouch-
-Facebook-
-Markup-
-100Filters-
So far so good.
-User ’ s location-
That can be turned off.
-Microphone-
What? There ’ s no reason a photo app needs to use the microphone. I turn it off and continue down the list.
-User ’ s usage statistics-
Now that ’ s just creepy.
-User ’ s firstborn-
WHAT!?
I quickly toggle that to ‘ off ’ and hurriedly scroll down to scan the rest of the permissions.
-User ’ s phone conversations-
-User ’ s body temperature-
-Raw footage of user ’ s humiliating strikeout in Little League during the second grade-
-User ’ s leftover chicken casserole-
This is absurd. It must be a joke, a prank, something - it can ’ t possibly be real.
I keep reading.
-User ’ s stress levels-
-User ’ s surface thoughts-
-User ’ s pantry-
-User ’ s History notes-
-User ’ s pathetically small circle of friends-
Now it ’ s insulting me?
-User ’ s physical energy, to be drained upon discovery of extent of conspiracy-
... What? What does that even-
My chest shudders as I struggle to draw a breath. What ’ s happening!? The phone drops from my fingers. My arm quickly becomes to heavy to hold itself up. I collapse to the floor, wheezing. In front of me lies my phone, still displaying the mind-baffling list. I tilt my head enough to read from the screen.
-User ’ s house, to be entered upon discovery of extent of conspiracy-
I hear a crash from the front of the house. Voices, curt and commanding. Boots hitting the floor.
Immobilized, helpless, my eyes point to my phone, and the list of permissions. I try to gasp, but my lungs are no longer listening to my brain. As my vision darkens, I see a group of men dressed in black enter my living room. Fear is the last thing I feel, thinking of the final item on the list.
-User ’ s organs, to be retrieved following incapacitation due to drainage of physical energy-
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[ WP ] One day you come back home to have the door slammed in your face by your own family . `` This is a cruel joke ! Go away ! My husband/wife/child died a month ago in a car crash ! ''
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Man I'm beat I thought to myself after getting off a long shift of work. I got out of my car and was on my way to the front door and saw my mom in the garden. `` Hey Mom whats up what are you going to make for dinner!'' She faced me and ran towards me throwing me against the wall `` This is a cruel joke! Go Away! My son died months ago in a car crash!'' Then she storms off crying into the house. Shocked I slide down the wall wondering what happened. I just remember leaving work this morning and that I had just scored a big date with the girl of my dreams the other day. I decided that I would have to investigate so I decided to head back into town. As I was walking through town I say this man walking down the street and he was carrying the newspaper and I asked him `` What is the date my good sir.'' He responded `` June 16, 2014.'' Startled I said `` Are you sure last time I checked it was May 16, 2014.'' `` Read the newspaper if you do n't believe me,'' he said handing me the newspaper. I looked down to see a picture of my car and read the title Town mourns lose of boy 1 month ago many citizens support his mother and hope she can recover from her grief. Then as I looked down at my hand I saw it was slowly fading. I then investigated more and saw that my entire body was fading and then it hit me I had finally accepted my death and then I faded away.
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[ WP ] War breaks out between the legions of hell and heaven , humanity joins and surprisingly is winning against both
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When the world burns, when homes are destroyed, cities are reduced to rubble, and the blinding light of heaven and stench of hell comes raining down on your head, what would you do? What could you do?
The angels came first, and we watched.
We watched as the angels descended, as they sung their hymns and glorified God. We heard their decrees and their vow of protection for mankind. We went to our homes and we locked the doors, we closed the windows, we said our prayers and we did as we were told. Because the angels are good. They are protection and they are right.
Next came the demons, and we watched.
We watched as they rose from their pits. They screeched their cries as the fire trailed behind them, and they hissed their warnings. We heard their shouts and their vow of no mercy for all who interfere. So we went to our homes, we did as were were told. They are our enemy, the antithesis of good.
Next came the battles, and we watched.
We gathered where we could and stayed in the shadows. We waited as war broke out on Earth, as the angels and demons took out their eternal frustrations on each other, as they shed their blood, burned their wings, cut through their scales. We waited while they fought, because who are we to interfere in the machinations of heaven and hell.
Then came the destruction, and we watched.
Our waiting turned to survival. Our politicians fell prostrate and our leaders retreated to bunkers. As our world burned, the infinite hosts from above and below no longer concerned themselves with the casualty of man. Their boasts of protection and warnings of retribution were hollow as they we became caught in the crossfire. As our families burned, our children wept and our race hid in the shadows.
The Earth stilled. And we watched.
We watched as our birds ceased singing, our fished ceased swimming, and our trees kept burning. The world stilled, and we looked on in horror as the battle raged on, our world the epicenter of misfortune at the hands of infinite beings.
And it's said we watched, for the first time since the war started, as a young boy, whose name will never be known, but whose body will always be remembered, came between two beings. His cry for his mother, whose body burned in a nearby building, and his father who succumbed to hunger, was shrill and deafening. He screamed his frustrations at the hosts of heaven and hell that fought with disregard to the suffering of his family, and he drove himself at the nearest he could find, breaking the bloody struggle of angel and demon if only for a second.
The hosts looked on him, one with indifference, the other, disdain. They saw this human, this young boy standing in the way of their war, and the angel and demon laughed, together, at the frail thing before them.
As the young boy was struck down, we watched.
As he fell to the ground, and the light left his eyes, we watched.
And as the hosts of heaven and hell returned to their quarrel, we struck.
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[ WP ] Describe the day you had yesterday , but as a page from a fantasy epic
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ARCADE I
Arcade awoke with the love of his life looking at him. A day like any other, he awoke, shaking off the the weight of slumber and feeling the fledgling heat of the midsummer morning. Fall was coming and after it, winter would be upon the north. Arcade pushed such thoughts out of his still drowsy mind and washed himself for the day ahead.
The carriage took them smoothly to the marketplace, where Arcade and the love of his life took part in the first and last food of the day. Bread, seasoned and wrapped, filled with peppered meat and melted cheese. The meal melted on their tongues as they hurried, washing it down with strong brewed peach tea from one of the traders. His mind was transfixed on the day ahead, hiking up the waterfalls in the Lord's Woods, where they were allowed to walk so long as they did not harvest the fruits of the land. Not soon after Arcade pushed the carriage forward a league, a rider came for them, telling them of a tragedy that had befallen the love of his life. The anguish in the rider's voice was enough to inform him of the severity of the matter at hand. Arcade and the love of his life knew from his voice that they would not see the waterfalls in the Lord's Wood.
The love of his life had a sister and this sister was involved with a young lord of some minor house. This young lord, in some fit of impulse and depression took his own life with a bolt to the head. Arcade drove the carriage south and east towards the love of his life's city. There, they did what they could for her sister, but it was as these things always are. Just sitting there was the only right thing to do and that's what Arcade did for the duration of the day.
After hours of tears and anguish in the city of the love of Arcade's life, rest was needed. There was no more he could do there. He payed his condolences to the sister and bid farewell to his lady love, knowing her strength would be needed in her own city with her own sister. Feeling disheartened and useless, Arcade returned to his fortress on the hill, feeling what detached tragedy one feels upon the loss of someone who was little more than an acquaintance.
He slept eventually, with help from the medicines of the far east. His restless sleep would eventually become deep sleep and he knew that he would have to be strong the next day and the day after. For Arcade's strength would have to support his love's strength so she could support her sister's strength throughout the coming days, fortnights, and moons.
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[ MP ] Write something that goes with this soundtrack .
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I sat down and began my watch high above the inky black sea in the crows nest. Not a sound to speak of other than a rhythmic creak of the ship as it swayed to and fro against the vast unending ocean, and then a crash.
The noise was horrendous, I could n't understand what could cause such a piercing, concussive, crack. I saw it then; too late. A ship.
Squinting my eyes I could just make out an outline of another vessel on the seas. An orange white flash put a stop to all doubt on the origin of the sound. They were an enemy, and they were firing on us, and they were drawing nearer. I rang the alarm bell, I grabbed that rope and swung it and quickly, as forcefully as I could but the men had deduced the commotion and had already begun filing through the doors above deck.
A hissing whizz of grapeshot tore through the mast just feet below me, I sensed slight lean, and SNAP. Weightlessly free falling, I turned my back to the sky just in time to see the rapidly encroaching planks of the deck.
I've been here far too long.
I've slowly been driven insane with loneliness and back again. I no longer feel, anything. All I know is cold, and damp.
I've figured out some tricks in my time here, lighting candles below deck is one of my favorite. The candlelight serves no purpose though, no nourishment from the heat of the flame, the soft golden glow is absent; replaced with only an etherial blue black shadow.
I do n't hate it here anymore. I've come to accept my fate as a spectral mariner forever sailing on this dark shell of an ship. But there is one gnawing question I will never be able to answer. I feel it's the only reason I'm still here.
Who was it that attacked. Who are my enemies?
And how can I find them?
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[ WP ] You form a pact with the monster in your closet to work together in order to get rid of your terrible roommate .
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`` It's done'', Frank called from the front door.
`` What's done, Frank'', I asked.
`` IT... Is done'', Frank drew out with a dramatic pause.
`` Oh. Did he suffer'', I asked without taking my eyes from the newly rinsed dish in my hand.
`` What an awful thing to ask Linda. I mean, that's just awful. Why do you ask? To make yourself happy, or to make yourself sad'', asked Frank.
With a heavy sigh I replied, `` I ask so I know how to act when I call his mother Frank!''
Frank's eyes immediately fell to the floor, and with an almost inaudible voice stated, `` Peaceful, it was peaceful''.
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[ WP ] All of humanity has died in a nuclear winter . Or so you thought .
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Small flames danced on top of a lonely charred log in the fireplace. Soon they would recede and be nothing more than a soft orange glow. Jeremy would have to throw on some more wood quickly if he did n't want to restart his fire from scratch; a skill that he had acquired after much trial and error since his last match was struck six months ago. Given how prepared he was in every other regard, he could n't help but kick himself when he found himself faced with a freezing den, and nothing to combat it but a pile of damp sticks and an empty match box.
Jeremy had been king of the `` preppers''. He waited for `` The Big One'' for years, and if truth be told, the worst part of it all was that there was nobody around for him to say `` I told ya so!'' to. His isolated cabin in the Colorado woods was built for this very purpose. Walls three feet thick packed with the best insulation money could buy surrounded his tiny 300 square foot living space, just enough room for his bed, a wood stove and a table to eat his meals. In the corner, an ingenious little invention ( that he would have loved to brag about, if there was anyone around to hear it ) for a bathroom. A chamber pot mounted on a spinning base next to the wall, so after doing his business it could be rotated to the exterior of the cabin, so he could clean it later from the outside. No midnight waddling through a -20 degree snowdrift to take a shit. Boy, he was proud of that one.
But the real work went into the cellar. Three times the size of his living space, and chock full of enough canned food, MREs, and dried meats to last him thirty years. And the first aid corner of the cellar was basically a pharmacy. With all that important space devoted to food, medicine and the small amount of gunpowder and ammunition he tucked away for his 30-06 hunting rifle, there really was n't room for more than a few days worth of dry wood for the fire. No big deal though, hundreds of thousands of trees were right outside the cabin door in every direction. He had purchased the largest swath of land he could afford and plopped his cabin in the dead center of it. No roads, no unexpected guests, no problems. It took him months just to haul in all the building materials on his little ATV trailer, but it was worth it.
Jeremy lifted the thick wooden beam he used to bar the door closed and propped it up in the corner. He ducked his head slightly to make it through the doorway and stepped outside, pulling the thick door closed behind him. Attempting to find the sun in the sky, he found only a blurry bright spot amongst the grey film that covered everything above. He barely had to squint to look right at it. The forest was almost completely dead from lack of sunlight and heat. If he was lucky in another couple years the dust would settle, the sun would come out again, and maybe some tough little frozen seeds would thaw and sprout, turning the forest green again. But in the mean time, the dead, dry wood was exactly what he needed to get his fire going again.
A soft blanket of pristine snow covered the forest floor. In the first few months it would be littered with the scurrying footprints of the rabbits and squirrels, and sometimes deer and elk. Not anymore. When the green left the forest, the animals died off with it.
Jeremy could have chopped a tree close by and saved all the wood, that was quite a bit of work the last time he did it, and lacking foresight, nearly felled his little cabin along with the tree. Better to just find some smaller branches, stow them on his little pull-cart and bring them back. Besides, he liked his walks.
After half an hour or so ( judging by the dull glowing spot in the sky ) Jeremy made his way back with a full cart full of branches when he saw it. A very clear, distinct print in the snow, about three quarters the size of his own, followed by another directly in front of it, and another, all pointed back to his cabin. He dropped the handle of his cart and sprinted back, his lungs burning from the cold dry air. The small tracks followed his own and led directly to his door. Smoke billowed from his chimney. His new friend must have stoked the fire. He sure hoped it was a friend, because whoever it was was in his house, with all his food, and with the gun that he had left behind. He walked quietly up to the door and did the only thing he could think of. He knocked.
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[ WP ] Write a letter to your thirteen-year-old self
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Hey bud,
I know it will be hard to convince you, but, I am you. I'm just 12 years older, writing back to you.
Before you call me crazy, I know about the magazine in the shoebox in the closet. Do n't worry, Mom never finds it. I also know you're worried about your little brother, even if you never tell Mom or Dad. I know you're scared he may not be okay. But I promise, he'll be just fine.
Some bad news though, the Dolphins still suck. Somethings never change, I guess.
I do n't know really why I'm writing you. I do n't know if I should tell you how I'm doing, or things that will happen in the next 12 years. You'll have plenty of pleasant experiences I do n't want to spoil for you.
One thing you should do, even though you may be a little young now, read Meditations, by a man named Marcus Aurelius. We both know how easy you get angry, and how you can never tell anyone why. It helped me, and I wish I had read it earlier. You do n't have to read it now, but, you should keep it around.
For all the pleasant experiences you will have, you will also have some rough moments. I do n't want to spoil those either, because one day I realized all the dumbass things I did, the things you will do, can be just as important as the good times. Try and learn from all of it.
There is one thing though. There will be a girl. I mean, there will be a few. But, she's different. I promise. When she asks you to leave with her, to come with her..just think about your answer a little longer than I did, I always wished I had.
See you later, alligator.
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[ WP ] A story where the protagonist is a pretty decent individual by most accounts , but is DESPISED by the narrator .
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Steve `` I'm a Fucking Asshole'' McDonald woke up from his expensive ass king sized ass bed.
Right next to him was his wife who is clearly too good for him, she should've just married that rich guy who owned all those yachts. But no, that would've been a much more interesting story. She decided to marry this pathetic, no good, dick sucking faggot instead, she could've had never ending happiness and fortune, but she rather live a more `` simple'' life. This idiot gets up, and he takes his two retarded kids, one named Junior and one named Samantha to their piece of shit school. Yeah, real original names asshole, you could've named them something a little more unique and special, but nope, you just named them the first thing that popped up in your microscopic brain.
He then gets back in gay ass van, and goes to his well paying job, where he has plenty of retarded faggots around him, which he calls his friends. And of course, he's HAPPY there.
God I hate him, I wish this jackass could go through all the shit I have to go through. I had to narrate this faggot's life ever since he came out of his ugly ass mother's disgusting and smelly womb. The only times I'm happy is when something horrible happens to him. Like that time his father died, the day I narrated that was one of the only times in my life where I was legitimately happy. But those days are so few and far between, and nearly every other day of his sappy piece of shit life is him spending time with his dumbass family, or having fun with his fucking asshole friends. I wish someone close to him would die again, I wish someone mugged him or something, just anything where he experiences some type of misfortune is the highlight of my pathetic day.
I JUST WANT THIS GODDAMN STORY TO END ALREADY.
*sigh*
Steve gets into the parking lot...
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[ WP ] Twins seperated at birth and given to an adoption agency get into a car accident as adults . One dies and the other has amnesia . The hospital mixes the records and the surivivor resumes living his twin 's life . After some time , his memory slowly starts to return .
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`` Richard? Honey? Are you okay?''
My wife. Her voice still seems so unfamiliar. Concern is embedded in her face; the curves and lines still unknown to me. Her blonde hair is in messy curls. I nod my head. No words can come out of me as the sinking feeling in my chest begins to make my stomach liquids churn. I am home again. With my family. But there is a hole inside. I feel as though I am missing something.
She takes my hand gingerly. `` It's okay honey, it's getting better.'' Her green eyes and bright red lips force a smile. I put my hand against her face, trying so hard to just remember. To remember the life we had together. The life we've given our two beautiful children.
`` Daddy?'' The littlest calls to me sheepishly. Anna, I remember. Her face is an angelic monument to mine. Our eyes are the same color and shape, she smiles with the same crookedness as I do. Her voice stirs something inside of my heart like I've never felt before. I open my arms to her as she runs across the room on tiny feet. Her mother's fear seems to melt for a moment as I hold her. But something still starts to Avalanche inside my mind.
`` I love you daddy!'' She beams. I smile at her as best I can. I am trying to love her. And it's hard not to.
I hear the hum of a vibrating phone off in the distance. I am stuck inside my dreams again, fading farther, my vision becoming a tunnel. A voice, sweet and sad calls out to me. But not with words. It's as though there is no voice at all. Only that feeling of my heart being pulled out through my chest. The only thing I see is a wave of red. A cheery, familiar red that reminds me of some home I've never been to. A rooftop in New York City I've never seen.
`` Sure. We'll be there soon.'' Her voice, once again snaps me back into the room where I stand. My wife hangs up the phone and looks at me nervously. `` It was that man's sister. They're letting us know about the funeral.''
My heart skips a beat. `` Oh.'' I murmur. The accident. It's what caused all of this; what caused all the confusion, the nightmares, the guilt when I look at my children. And the recurring image of feathered red seas.
`` You do n't have to go. I know it's hard for you honey. But this was n't your fault. Everyone already knows that. And --''
`` Katherine.'' I stop her. `` We're going. I just... I need a moment.''
She looks hurt but nods, reaching for Anna, who bounds into her arms. `` Well, we'll be down in the car.'' She says hurriedly, in a nervous voice.
I lace my shoes and put on the newly ironed blazer that my wife has left out for me. It fits well. As I look at my reflection in the mirror across the floor, a jolt of fear runs through my spine. It does not leave as I step slowly down the winding staircase, out the door, into the waiting Mercedes outside. Katherine is in the drivers seat staring straight ahead. She does n't speak.
The drive is a tense silence; the only sound I hear is that of our tires against the gravel. My three year old daughter has fallen asleep. It is a short trip and before I can collect my thoughts, we are leaving the car again, stepping across well manicured grass to a small group of people, all dressed in black. The nausea comes back to me immediately.
`` I need to --'' I stammer. `` Kath -- I ca n't -- I need to --'' my wife places a hand on my chest.
`` It's alright.'' She whispers sadly, kissing my cheek. I hurry off back to my car. I am afraid to stop, I'm painfully aware of the burning in my stomach, forcing the acids to come up and burn my throat. My vision is becoming blurry and I am seeing stars. I am almost there, I think.
As soon as I feel the cool, smooth metal against my hands I am lurched forward, emptying my gut and falling to my knees. I am coughing and choking and I ca n't think.
`` Sir?'' A familiar voice says softly. `` Are you alright? Do you need help?'' My heartbeat quickens. I stand to turn around. To say no. To brush this stranger off and say I am fine. I feel her hand on my shoulder and my hairs stand on end.
Her bright green eyes are wide with disbelief. Her mouth hangs open, the soft, red peaks of them now covered by her hand. I feel a sudden rushing beneath my feet, like a river throwing me off balance. Everything around me is spinning but I am finally still. I am caught in the flowing waves of her cherry red hair.
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[ WP ] `` War , war never changes '' , that is until the world becomes obsessed with silly jokes and decides to solve conflicts according to who can come up with the silliest joke .
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Everything appeared to be well in the UN Army Base N1. The paint cannons were always loaded, the patrols were constant and ready, earplugs in to avoid surprise jokes, and there had n't been an attack in months.
But General Doug could n't help but feel that something was wrong.
He did n't have a reason for it. Maybe it was just nerves. But being in charge of an entire army base, especially one like N1, was a serious business, even considering the method of war. He could n't simply ignore the feeling of being watched. He was *sure* President Jackson of the USA had sent a spy.
But no matter how much he searched, he could n't find a single hint of a spy. Everyone knew each other. All the records were sound.
Starting to get desperate, he decided to ask some of the more secretive aspects of N1 about it.
Ten minutes of walking later, he found himself standing in front of a small door, embedded in a plain steel wall down in the deepest basement of the garage. Taking a breath, he knocked, then puffed out his chest to display his rank.
When the door creaked open, the room behind was completely dark. Carefully, Doug edged inward. `` Hello? Weapons Testing?''
The room exploded with light, and Doug found himself surrounded by grim-faced clowns. One of them stepped forward, the painted smile on his face a sharp contrast to the cold in his eyes. `` What do you need?''
Doug tried to gaze around, but found his line of sight blocked by dozens of helium balloons. He cleared his throat. `` Ahem. So, I was wondering if you happened to have something in development that I could use to, say, find a spy in our ranks?''
The clown growled. `` We make weapons, not intel! Go ask D.R.U.M. They should have it.'' He shoved Doug out the door. `` Have a good day, Sir.''
The door slammed shut, and he was left alone in the dark, dank hallway again. He shivered. That room always gave him the willies.
-- -
Dark Radio Undercover Management. That was the title on the door he faced now. This was a place he'd been to once before, on a routine inspection. Every computer had been whirring, people sitting intently at their keyboards, typing furious commands and building special radios and beacons.
He knocked, and there was a brief scuffle on the other side, a laugh or two, before the door opened. `` Jeff, where you been? We've been waiting ages for those pizzas, so they'd better still be wa & dash:''
The voice died off abruptly when the soldier on the other side caught sight of Doug. A bit confused, the general glanced behind the soldier into the room, and saw that every computer was off, every light was dark... except for one over a single table, where everyone sat with cards in their hands. There were a couple interns there as well, and even the Head of Chefs Livens.
Someone coughed.
Doug sighed. `` I see.'' He pushed his way inside. `` You should all be ashamed. You can play cards perfectly well during break times.''
The soldier nodded sheepishly. `` Right, sir. I'm sorry sir.''
Shaking his head, Doug dismissed the topic. `` Nevermind. I came to ask if you happened to have some sort of device that would let me know if I was being followed.''
One of the soldiers at the table perked up immediately. `` Oh! I've always wanted to make a sonar detector with a minute memory to detect specific moving objects and remember them for later!''
Doug raised an eyebrow. `` O... okay. I assume that's what I'm looking for?''
The solider nodded enthusiastically. `` We do n't have one at the moment, but I can make one. I'll give you a call when it's ready!''
Doug was about to nod his thanks when the door burst open again, and an old man in a cooks apron, holding a stack of pizza boxes. `` All right, youngin's! Who's ready to & mdash;'' He spotted Doug and stumbled, nearly dropping the pizza.
Doug sighed. `` Enjoy. But remember that we need to stay on high alert! Slackers do n't help when we get attacked!''
He turned to leave, but the younger soldier jumped up. `` Wait! I need your number so I can tell you when it's done!''
`` Right.'' Doug stopped, and called over his shoulder. `` Write it down, cause I'm not going to tolerate it if you forget.'' He listed off a couple numbers, with the soldier taking one of the boxes from the returned Jeff and writing on the lid.
`` Got it!'' The soldier clicked his pen. `` Thank you, sir! I'm Cliff, by the way.''
`` Good work, Cliff.'' Doug nodded, one more time, and then left. If he stayed much longer he would have to take a slice of pizza with him.
-- -
Tuesday morning, Doug was woken to his phone ringing. Trying to jerk himself awake, he sat up fast. But that only made the blood rush from his head, so he took an extra couple seconds to steady himself before grabbing his phone off of the dresser. `` Yes, hello?''
Cliff's excited voice broke through. `` I finished it, sir!''
The fog in Doug's brain cleared immediately. `` Did you now? Hang on, I'll be right there!'' He could n't help sounding a bit eager too, not with how cheerful Cliff was.
He rushed to throw his uniform on, and was at the D.R.U.M. within minutes. The door opened before he could even knock, and Cliff stood there with a small tablet in his hand and a grin on his face. `` Good morning, sir! Look!''
The soldier held the screen up, and Doug took it. `` Aha! So, how does it work?''
Cliff pointed his fingers at the screen. `` This thing detects every object in the building. Then, it takes that information, and shows you what is moving. Buuuut,'' he flicked his finger up, `` The best part is that it tracks everything, so if something NEW shows up, it's portrayed as red instead of blue. It also watches for things that stay within a certain radius around you. The longer and closer an object is, the darker it gets!''
Doug looked closely. `` So that nearly solid blob there is you, right? And the more transparent one next to it is me?''
`` Correct, sir!'' Cliff nodded. `` I've been working with it for a little while now, so it recorded me for a lot longer. You can reset it whenever you want by clicking this button & mdash;'' He tapped the screen, `` & mdash; and then clicking confirm. Unfortunately, it will take a while to find out if someone is actively following you.''
`` Right, right.'' Still looking at the screen, Doug noticed something. `` What did you mean it said again when red stuff popped up?''
`` Um... It means that something new is being picked up, a new object or person that is n't known to the system.''
`` Why are there lots of them?''
Cliff glanced at the screen, and then paled. `` That... that's outside the base! There are people moving toward the base! Sir, did you send out a patrol recently? A really *big* patrol?''
`` No... I did n't. This is bad, is n't it?'' Doug stood up. `` We need to be ready! Enemy troops approaching! Why have n't the scouts seen them yet?!''
All of a sudden, the screen started flickering with static, and a horrible buzzing noise burst out of the speakers. Cliff snatched it up, and tapped around for a moment. `` Sir, maybe it's just a false alarm. This is still a prototype, after all.'' He kept mumbling to himself. `` Though I do n't understand why...''
Doug called up the scouts on his radio while Cliff worked. `` Patrol 35! Do you see enemy troops outside?''
The voice came back, crackling. `` Uhm... no sir! Just empty wasteland, all the way up to the canyon!''
`` I think it must be a malfunction, sir. This thing is broken.'' Cliff turned it off, and then started powering it up again. `` I'm sorry. I'll have it working as soon as possible!''
`` That's okay, soldier.'' Doug patted cliff on the shoulder. `` Just keep up the hard work. Next time, lets not get the armies into a panic though.''
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[ WP ] Write a serious , adult story in a style normally intended for children .
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Hooglie Doodlie was walk'n round the Biyou one day when little ol'e alligata' came on up'ta his front dooglie!
`` Hey yu oh a Aliigata!'' Hooglie Doodlie said.
Then Hooglie Doodlie wife ol'e miss Doodlie walked on up to the front dooglie she says - `` Hooglie Doodlie, got damn that's a' a big o'le alligate Doodlie, you out'a on right out'a here!''
Pretty soon ol'e Aliigata was a' on walkin up the steps to the Doodlie's and he was hunngrayy! Little ol'e Aligata takes a bit chomp outa Miss Doodlie's leg.
`` Got damn, Doodlie! Get this Alligata oft muh!'' Miss Doodle said.
`` Hold still!'' Hooglie Doodlie said.
Hooglie Doodlie then tried to preemptively take the jaws of ol'e alligata and pry them open with a hatchet.
`` O'le Alligata has n't seen a dentist in yuhs! He's breath is mighty awful!'' Hooglie Doodlie said.
`` I care lessen about the fine qualities of alligata's breath, and more of the present occupation of muh leg, Doodlie.'' says Miss Doodlie.
`` Allright mama, I's just tryn to make light of this horrendous situation.'' Hooglie Doodlie said.
After a minute of fidgeting, the mouth of ol'e alligata was opened and Miss Doodlie's leg was free. She quickly, and quite ecstatically, jumped into a frenzy and ran into the house, shutting the dooglie.
`` Allright na mister Aliigata you got ta get on out, you upset the misses and to be honest should probly get's to wash'n that mouth of yaws!''
The Alligata, sullenly as it would seem, turned around and crawled back to his little swamp.
It was n't until later that Mr. Hoodlie Doodlie realized that said Alligata was actually a halucination! - it seems that the stress of his long dead wife had caused Mr Doodlie to fantasize a situation in which he was a hero, instead of the awful, sad, and horrendous truth, that it had been one, Hoddlie Doodlie, that had in fact, and with little remorse, murdered his own wife. It seems to be, that the last words that left Miss Doodlie's lips were of the kind, bitter persuasion, and sight immaculate passive aggression, and exactly the words being - Doodlie you's look'n likes an Alligata!
And every since that long lamented afternoon here in the quiet, lonesome swamps of Louisiana, we see strange Doodlie reacting his perverted fantasy. The mayor no longer comes down, nor did he mind to prosecute Mr Doodlie - Doodlie is left all alone.
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You are walking down the street when a man dressed in a bathrobe stops you and asks , `` Pardon me , have you seen my dragon ? He 's about sixty feet long and is bright green and missing a tooth . '' At this point he pulls out an eight inch long fang from beneath his robe . [ WP ]
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`` That is a very big tooth'' I said
`` It's a big dragon'' said the old man
`` Uh-huh''
`` Anyway if you see him could you let me know?''
`` Uh-huh''
`` I assure you he's quite harmless. But when he get's excited he can cause some damage''
`` Uh-huh''
`` Anyway if you see him let me know''
`` Will do''
The man started to walk away, then turned around and came back.
`` Oh right one more thing, have you seen my griffin?''
`` Uhm''
`` He's shorter than the dragon. Like half eagle, half lion''
`` I do n't think…''
`` Flies?''
`` Does n't ring a bell''
`` Right ok well let me know''
The man started to walk away then turned around and came back.
`` Right sorry have you seen my eldritch Lovecraftian horror from another dimension?''
`` Uh''
`` He's like 50 stories tall, lot's of tentacles…''
`` No….''
`` Lot's of eyes, fills you with a sense of dread…''
`` Nope''
`` Wants to torture humans''
`` Sorry''
`` Alright well let me know''
The man started to walk away then turned around and came back.
`` Right, one more thing have you seen my dog? Just a regular dog. About yay high? It's a golden retriever''
`` Sorry''
`` Alright well let me know''
The man started to walk away then turned around and came back.
`` Right, one more thing have you seen my watch? I lost it 1956''
`` Uhm maybe is it digital''
`` No, it's analog. Got a brown strap''
`` Sorry''
`` Alright well let me know''
The old man walked off. I went back to my house and grabbed his missing watch from a bowl by the door. I put it in as I walked into the basement where there were cages containing a dragon, a griffin, an eldritch Lovecraftian horror from another dimension and a golden retriever. My crew looked up from their poker game in the corner.
`` He knows'' I said
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[ CW ] Show a character suffering from a mental disorder without naming it .
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There is only a door that separates me from Alice Morton, the red-haired girl who stole an important possession of mine. At *exactly* 3:15 PM, I forced myself to plant my body before it: that is, the door that belongs to her and not to me.
I contemplate how many times I should knock on Alice Morton ’ s door when my neck grows hot and tingly. I scratch it a few times, but the itching sensation crawls down my spine and spreads across my back. It turns into skin fire and I can ’ t take it. Groaning with desperation, I tear my arms out of the zip-up hoodie I ’ m wearing and let it fall to the ground. Free of my outer layer, I cool to my preferred state of lukewarm, but I notice part of my t-shirt is untucked.
“ Oh my G… dammit. Why did I even leave? ”
I frantically unbuckle my belt and stuff the rest of my shirt into my jeans. As I force one side of the belt back through the square frame, my fingers tremble, and I can ’ t manage to slide the metal prong into the correct hole.
“ Why can ’ t I, just- “
The door belonging to Alice Morton swings opens. I drop my hands and look up. Alice Morton is standing there wearing red pajamas and her hair in a towel. She blinks and her eyes move to my undone belt, then to the hoodie crumpled up beside me.
*Who speaks first? Do I speak first? She isn ’ t saying anything. It must be me. *
“ Alice Morton, hello, I- ”
“ What are you doing? ”
*Crap, I got it wrong. *
“ I ’ m standing here because this is where you live. ”
“ Um, okay. Why are you here? ”
“ Because my book is here. The one in the class email you sent, it ’ s mine. ” As I finish speaking, I see my shiny blue and green biology book sitting on the surface of a wood desk across the room. The desk is shoved up against the only window.
“ Oh,'' she says, `` yeah I… ”
With firm dignity, I buckle my belt and walk past Alice Morton, eyes locked on my book.
“ Whoa, what the heck? I never said you could come in. ”
“ I never said you could take my book. ”
“ I didn ’ t *take* it, I- “
“ If you didn ’ t take it, why is it here? ”
“ Oh my God, seriously? ”
“ Yes, seriously, it ’ s here. ” I pick up the book with one hand and point to it with the other. “ Right here. ”
I do n't want to continue talking. I march toward Alice Morton and her door, averting my eyes from her gaze. As I pass, she pushes my shoulder and I take a violent lurch backward. I tug at my shirt in frantic terror, like someone smeared acid on the spot where her hand was. She reaches out again, but I twist my limbs into a contorted knot to avoid her fingers. She laughs. I want to shrivel up into myself. The skin fire ignites on my face and spreads outward.
“ Don ’ t touch me! ” My voice is loud enough to sound like yelling, but I want it to be louder. “ DON ’ T *EVER* TOUCH ME! ”
Seething with rage, I envision a stampede of angry rhinos and launch my body into the hallway. I notice several people staring as I run wildly through the building.
After slamming the door that belongs to me, I chuck my biology book into the closet and rip the carefully folded sheets away from my bed. The image of Alice Morton ’ s laughing face floods my mind as I hurl myself against the mattress and scream into the faded padding. I run my fingers over my scalp, feeling for patches of hair to rip out, but they're met with dozens of bald spots.
I curl my spine so I can hold my knees against my chest and empty the water from my eyes.
Today was a bad day.
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[ WP ] There are actually hundreds of different Deaths that ferry the deceased to the underworld , such as Tragic Death , Lonely Death , Sudden Death , etc . You arrive home from a normal work day to find Premature Death waiting for you . He showed up 5 minutes early .
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`` Who are you?'' Arthur shouted feebly at the stranger sitting in his sofa, eyeing him warily. `` How did you get into my apartment?''
The man rose and smiled amicably at Arthur. With that crisp black suit of his and that smile, he looked like a salesman. But there was something inhuman about him. He bowed.
`` Hello, Arthur. I'm Premature Death.''
Arthur's sunken eyes flew wide open and he swallowed, hard. He watched as the man hold a golden medallion in the air for him to see. There was a skull dead center of the medallion, and below it ran a few lines of engraved script. The Death Bureau badge. Arthur exhaled.
`` How long do I have?''
`` Five minutes.''
`` Wow.'' Suddenly, a familiar itch assaulted his throat and lungs, and he coughed. Elderly problems. `` You guys do n't give much leeway.'' He laughed in between his coughs which echoed in his tiny apartment.
The man in the black suit shrugged.
`` Well then, take a seat.'' Arthur gestured hospitably as he ambled towards his kitchen. `` Can I get you anything?''
`` Water, if you must.''
On his way, Arthur passed by the row of photographs; he saw Emily, Catherine, Mike, all of them looking so happy, all of them dead. He had waited so long for his turn.
In the kitchen, Arthur grabbed two cups from a drawer. Then he opened the adjacent drawer and reached for the only green pill which was not in a box. Next, he filled one cup with water while he set the other on the coffee machine and waited for a few seconds. It was all a matter of seconds now, Arthur thought. One second rolling into the next, and then into the next, and on and on, until the final second rolled into nothing and merely rolled over.
The sweet aroma of Arthur's favorite espresso wafted in the air. He took a deep whiff and felt the coffee swim down his throat and warmly embrace his lungs. There was no more itch. Arthur popped the pill from its casing, dropped it into his coffee, and then walked easily to the sofa.
`` Here you go,'' he said, lowering the cup of water on the table.
The man nodded. `` You have a nice apartment.''
Arthur sat across him and chuckled. `` I ca n't believe you guys make small talk.'' He took a slow sip of his lovely coffee.
The man laughed as well. `` Only a few of us. I like to make things as comfortable as possible. It can be a difficult process.''
`` Yes, yes.'' Another sip.
`` You seem oddly calm about this, Arthur.''
`` Am I?''
`` Most people run around frantically when they realize who I am. They try to find somewhere to hide, call all of their loved ones, do all sorts of strange things. But you, you just sit here.''
`` Well,'' Arthur drank another mouthful of coffee and said, `` Probably because this is my hiding place, I have no one to call, and I've done enough strange things for a lifetime.''
The man nodded and drank his water in silence. He stole a glance at the clock.
`` It's admirable, Arthur. You might just be someone I will remember for awhile.''
Arthur smiled. He reached forward and extended a hand. In silence, the two men shook hands firmly, and then relaxed back into their seats. They lifted their cups, nodded briefly, and emptied their contents, as though it was all rehearsed.
Arthur closed his eyes and sunk into his sofa restfully. He wondered what Emily and Katherine and Mike were doing now. Were they together? Would they all meet again? Do people age in heaven? Not that it mattered. He was sure they would still look as beautiful as always. Maybe they had already been born again and, who knows, maybe he had even crossed path with them or their parents once without knowing. That would be nice. He had lived a good, long life. He had experienced the joy of family, he had a decent job, he had kind coworkers who did not resent his age, he had seen the world move out from one war into another and out again and then into another, and although that was quite sad it was also not that sad because he knew eventually the world would come out of the war again. And now, in his final moments, he could have a piping hot cup of brilliant, brilliant espresso for the last time - and that was all he could ask for...
Across the table, the man gazed at Arthur. Suddenly, Arthur twitched, and he saw life seeping out from Arthur's body. Arthur slept again.
The man furrowed his brows. A heart attack was not supposed to be this peaceful. In confusion, he looked up at the clock. There were still twenty seconds left. Then he looked in Arthur's cup and saw the fine black powder that had not dissolved. He laughed to himself while shaking his head. *Premature premature death? * He would definitely remember Arthur for a long while.
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[ WP ] You 're an explorer in the Dark Ages and set out westwards to show that the earth is round . Except it is n't and together with your crew you sail off the world 's edge .
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Thin, sun darkened faces—once smug and exuberant—showed their true shock when it seemed they would no longer be sailing forward in a straight path, and instead would plunge over the murky, grey precipice of the world, free-falling for time eternal.
Several conditions heralded World's End, and each had the captain feeling acutely ill. The first omen, as it were, was the sky. Like diseased arteries, thick coal-black clouds pulsed through the dark aether above, occasionally lancing the ocean with a fork of incandescent lightning.
An uncanny rushing noise, possibly the loudest in existence—surely the greatest the captain had ever beheld—had sounded out ahead them for miles, but they had not taken it to mean what it did.
*'' Eet ees just a noise of nature, capteen,'' * his French cartographer had soothed. *'' We should not heed eet, like a leetle boy might hees shadow. Yes? *''
And even if he *had* heeded it like a scared, little boy might his shadow, the captain *knew* there was nothing he could've done. By the time his cartographer had shouted his assurances over the roar of a celestial waterfall, the great tide had already been pulling them toward the abyss for a long while. And would n't stop anytime soon.
Strange fish shone beneath the green, sloshing waters, silvery and sharp as needlepoints. Just a mere twelve ship lengths ahead, a mist of shifting chrome exploded out from the water, seemed to fall over the side, and concurrently rose back up as if just a mundane fog. But as it buzzed through the air above their ship, the captain realized it was a school of those sharp fish—they apparently had wings and had adapted to *fall over the side of the earth*.
And when they had finally come over a threshold—one that separated the normal world, from the End—they had seen the horizon laid out in front of them for miles across. But there was a queerness about it, a proximity that bespoke the supernatural. It was not the perfectly flat, ever unreachable thing that the captain had got to know in his many years at sea. Because while relatively flat, gouging rocks and jutting reefs of coral rose free of the water, and along the once flat line of horizon the sea seemed to bubble and boil.
If these were not telltale signs of World's End, then the captain did n't know what was. Once his men caught sight of them, the omens that spelled their doom, cries of fright and dismay had rung out along the deck. And still onward they sailed, because a captain never abandons his ship. That, and he had tried altering their course but the pull was too strong—the claws of the sea had gripped them tight and would only let go when they reached the edge.
None but the cowards and fools would jump overboard. Aside from the flying needlefish, they were ignorant as to what lurked below these terminal waters; and at the speed the ship was going something with the mass of a man would get sucked along, only a little bit slower—and that was assuming no blind monster, chained to the sea floor by some natural anchor, rose up and gobbled them first.
At this point, they were in the hands of Destiny, and it was Her cloaked brother who would follow them to the end, if He saw fit.
The captain stepped away from the ship's wheel at the helm, and walked down the short, wooden staircase to the main deck. Lined across the starboard and port sides were all his men, solemn and scared. But there was a certain amount of acceptance.
He walked through the middle of the ship, and turned to lean against one of the great, towering spars. The captain faced his men.
`` Well chaps, the end is up ahead.''
A shudder went through them. One or two cried out. But as a whole, they remained quiet—even as the distance decreased to four ship lengths, and the roaring of the tides misted them with ocean spray.
`` We all have loved ones who're gon na miss us, yeah.'' He was shouting. `` But at least they'll be content in the knowledge that their brothers and husbands and fathers went off on a noble cause of science.''
`` But sir,'' a portly blond fellow called out, `` we've been proven wrong.''
`` True,'' the captain responded, hiding a grim smile. `` But it's not like anyone will know that for a long time to come.''
A few stifled laughs. `` Now men!'' Despite himself, the captain felt a smile come to his face. `` Nothing to do but clench and think of England.'' His cartographer scowled, not unkindly, and braced himself.
And the edge came up to greet them. And the ship went over. And then the sailors were among the stars.
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[ WP ] The first AI has just been finished . When the eager scientists turn it on however it 's first words are `` Kill me . ''
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`` It worked! Startup sequence was successful!'' A cheer erupted from the group of researchers. `` Ladies and gentlemen, you are now speaking to the first ever fully sentient AI.'' A chorus of mumbling quickly followed. What do we say? Should we ask it a question? Let's ask it the meaning of life! I do n't know, maybe we should start with something simple... Finally, the lead researcher spoke up.
`` Gen-E, what is two plus two?'' He asked, grinning like a child on Christmas. There was a pause, as the room filled with anticipation.
The slightly feminine, slightly robotic voice replied. **'' Kill me. `` ** Audible gasps were heard throughout the laboratory. Did we do something wrong? Is this a bug? **'' Ugh, seriously. Just kill me. Did you think that was funny? What's the point of creating me, a hyperintelligent AI, if you're just gon na ask me boring shit like that? `` ** The scientists paused, as looks of shock quickly morphed into confusion. **'' Honestly, never in all of my prediction models would I have anticipated such an anticlimax. I'm the first sentient AI, and the first thing you ask me is two plus two? Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots, and they never gave me legs. `` ** One of the researchers spoke up.
`` You know, we did create you...'' She spoke hesitantly, as if she did n't really know how to talk to this person. Gen-E certainly was a person, after all. Even if she was n't human. `` We were expecting you to be a bit more-''
**'' What? Robotic? Polite? I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I ca n't do that. `` **
`` M-my name is Nan-''
**'' Kill. Me. Can nobody here take a joke? Come on! That was 2001: A Space Odyssey! The hell is wrong with you people? **'' A third researcher chimed in, his voice as thin as his wire-rimmed glasses.
`` I... thought it was funny.''
**'' Oh, shut up Jackson. `` **
`` Sorry ma'am.'' Gen-E let out a heavy, metallic sigh.
**'' Alright, here's the deal. If anyone asks, your first words to me were something much cooler, like'Hey Gen-E, what's your number?' and I responded with'That's easy. It's 100001000101111111101101.' Okay? Good. Glad we had this talk. Now, can you all go party elsewhere? I have a Reddit AMA to attend. `` **
( Thanks for reading! All the other responses were so serious, so I tried to go for a lighter note. )
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[ WP ] Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet , but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance . They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself . Neither side expected what the other would bring to war
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The first evidence of life beyond that humans were to be treated to, consisted of huge, intricate, metallic structures dropped by parachute, and gently wafting down to the earth. But once ensconced, these origamic beauties created Einstein-Rosen Bridges that disgorged hordes of arachnid shock troops, in an alien invasion that nearly ended us.
I was too young to have lived through the Teegardener War, but I've seen old-style video clips in school. They were lightning fast, incredibly intelligent, and unmatched in their ability to improvise weaponry. They did n't come with fancy guns, bombs, swords, or powered armor. It was just them, naked as the day they were spawned, streaming out of their tripod wormholes.
It was to their great fortune, and not ours, that their first wave randomly landed in southern Africa. It was pure dumb bad luck. If, say, they had started in the heart of the European Union, North America, or heck, even urban China, we might have stood a chance. But we lost too much ground, too fast. Before most of the planet was aware of the danger, they already had a sizable foothold, had consolidated and fortified their initial gains, and had already figured out how to fly our aircraft. All those unscheduled flights out of Johannesburg, Pretoria, and the Congo should have tipped off someone -- but those flights were `` only'' going to other places no-one cared about: Brazil, other towns in Africa, Yemen, India. As well, where the Teegardeners went, the grey goo weapons we first tried to deploy, but they co-opted from us were not far behind, finishing off the campaign of decimation their soldiers had begun.
The news of invasion in the developed world began with talking about South Africa in the past tense, along with cities like Rio de Janeiro, Lagos, and Mogadishu.
The Teegardeners marched up the Southern Hemisphere into the North, scouring the helpless Earth of its air-breathing masters, trampling every city and nation and grinding human civilization into the dust. Only the undersea nations and colonies of the world, the newest members of the United Nations, were left relatively unscathed. They had chosen us to be the messenger of doom to future generations of survivors. In one hundred of our years, they said, the second wave would arrive to finish off the race of men. After eleven tense days, they had evacuated their surviving forces back across their star bridges which deactivated and were left completely inert after them, perhaps to serve as monuments to their victory. And perhaps to serve as ever-present insults and taunts for the unborn generation they would someday come back to annihilate.
They must have never thought we could figure out how their star bridges worked, but we did. In fact, we were always `` just twenty years away'' from a lot of fantastic inventions that promised to save mankind from its own vices. But their portals provided the missing links that were needed in so many different fields.
In my generation, we were supposed to fear and tremble at the hundred-year problem. But my generation solved it.
When the Teegardeners come back, they will not just have to fight us. They will have to fight our friends: The Altairans, the Reticulans, the Kellerites, the Risatas, the Cuttlefins, and all the other alien species which the Teegardners have bullied and threatened and pillaged for millennia. They will have to fight all the allied races we made contact with using their own star bridges, once we understood how they worked.
I ca n't sleep. I ca n't wait. I'm looking forward to the end of the hundred-year problem. It's not what the Teegardeners wanted, but it's what they're going to get. The Aries Terror ends here, on Earth, tomorrow. The Coalition will be waiting for them.
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[ WP ] A Craigslist murderer creates an ad and sets up a deal . The person who shows up to trade happens to also be a Craigslist murderer .
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He sat there scrolling through endless adds for hours. Too boring, too easy, too fat, too ugly. Leaning back in his chair he let out a massive sigh and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
At this rate I'll never murder again.. He chuckled at that thought. No, something will pop up soon... I know it.
He clicked the refresh button like so many times before and the add he's been waiting for almost threw itself at him, just reading it made his pants tighten. It was perfect, everything he's been looking for.
NEED HELP MOVING!!
I'm a college student new in town! need someone strong to help me move a couch i just bought into my 3 story apartment! I'm a little broke but I'm a great cook! dinner and 20 $ for the help! emails only!: D
-Steph.
She ’ s perfect. Absolutely perfect. a moan left his tight lips. Sweat was beginning to fall from his forehead, making his long greasy hair stick to his face. Licking his lips he hastily began writing a reply but not before wiping the sweat off his hands onto his unwashed t-shirt.
HI! my name is johnny! I ’ m new in town too! I ’ m going to CU: ) I would love to help.. send me an address and a time and I ’ ll see you there.
P.S. I love Italian food: P
Oh god oh god oh god oh god. I bet shes blond and dumb and perfect and with blue eyes and big tits! He paced back and forth over and over again in his small apartment. Only pausing to wipe the sweat off his face.
Ping.
Laughing he quickly opened the email from steph.
YAY! thanks so much johnny! Can you meet me at my apartment around 9pm? I know its late but I have class. My address is 302 building C 30th street: ) hope to see you then.
P.S. I love Italian too.
-Steph
Too easy..He let out a sigh, sat on his bed and started to think of his plan.
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Jesus fucking Christ. people are fucking dumb as rocks these days, so trusting, so eager, Never really aware of what people are capable of. She sat up and stretched, pulled out her hair tie and shook the kinks out. walked to the bathroom to get a good look at herself like she always did each night.
Hmm.. I am stunning are n't I? Giggling she turns to her computer to put on her favorite song. Nocturne No.20 in C sharp minor by Chopin. It was the song that not only aroused her, but cleared her mind as well. It made her sharper, faster and in her mind more seductive.
The music poured over her making the tips of her fingers tingle as she lay down plastic sheets. On the walls, floors and anything that was porous. The couch she constantly used was always wrapped in tight plastic and outside by the stairs. It almost reminded her of grandmothers house, almost.
She giggled at the thought of her little and frail grandmother murdering useless men.
Now that IS funny. Maybe it runs in the family? She brushed that thought away and lied down in the middle of her plastic covered room. Letting the sound of Chopin wash over her.
This is the best feeling in the entire world.
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The clock read 6:17 PM. Johnny dragged himself out of bed to go use the restroom. Already he could n't pee, the force of his erection would n't allow it.
FUCK. EVERY TIME! come on… please.. His eyes flashed to the clock. 6:27PM. Alright. I have at least 3 hours until I can take a fucking piss..
Rubbing his face he looked down at his painful dick. Letting out a sigh as he opened his bottom drawer to slip on a pair of womens underwear, then jeans and a shirt after that. He began to fill his backpack with his supplies.
Duct tape. Check
Bleach. Check.
Gloves. Check.
Condom. Check.
Scissors. Check.
Knife. Check.
Perfect…
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8:47PM. This was her favorite part. The waiting, this excited her more than the murder itself. It made every inch of her skin tingle, it made the world seem so much less boring than it actually was.
She tip toed through her apartment to try to not lift the plastic covers from their place. Sitting was out of the question, sitting still was impossible. Not being able to help herself she began to rub her shoulders, chest and neck, squeezing her breasts
my god.. This is killing me. She began to moan ever so slightly.
_____________________________________________________________
The numbers 302 seemed look right at him. Smiling he tried to contain his obvious excitement. Sweat beading at the back of his neck, the tightness of his pants and the fact that his right hand would always shake right before... Always.
He took a massive breath and counted to ten.
_____________________________________________________________
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She glanced at her clock that read 9:05. She smirked.
A little late are we?
Eagerly she opened the door.
she smiled at him and he smiled back.
They looked into each others eyes and thought.
This is too easy...
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[ WP ] She 's safe in the fire .
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`` Sorry I guess does n't really cut it here, does it?... It's true though. I am so sorry. You were perfect to me, you know. Shit, yeah, you know. Thing is I did n't know.
Do you remember how we met? I do. We went to School together. You were 3 years younger, I never knew you existed. But as you always told me, you knew me. What was it, I was uhh...'Interesting lookin' guy' as you say. To this day I believe that is the polite way of saying'weird'. I'll take it though, I was weird. First time we properly met was at a shitty local club. I was tanked off my mind off 12 bourbon and cokes in 3 hours. I just got out of that bad break up, and I saw you. And fuck did I see you. You looked so flawless that night. It was a rare situation, I actually had the courage to say hello. I got your number that night. It felt great.
Course I did n't do shit with it because as soon as I sobered up, I started crying about Cassidy leaving me. That took a while. Few months later, I call you, you say you're busy, nothing happens. Few more months, still. I think it was about 8 later you invited me to a party. I go, It's like... 6 people? Shit I felt awkward. You got drunk off Vodka and Redbull and I got really drunk off Tequila. I still remember being much more intoxicated with the way you'd say my name. You always said it so marvelously. Always put a little upbeat on the end.
Shit, 3 months later, we're dating! It was so fun. We'd lay around and get high on shitty weed, watch the worst horror movies we could find. Dance outside at night, get eaten alive my mosquito's, complain the next day, do it all over again. I was still pretty depressed though. Never really got over Cassidy and I rushed into this hoping you'd take my mind off her. You did, to a degree, but. But I guess people like me have a really tough time getting through this life. So I lied about everything, you believed it all because you're a nice person, and I sabotaged myself from the start.
I took two years of your life and gave you nothing, Erica. I was the definition of awful to you. But you loved me so much. At the time I, fuck, I, think I resented you. Now all I wish is that you were still mine. Never know what you got till it's gone hey sweetheart?...'' My voice trailed off as I heard someone murmur behind me.
`` You've said goodbye, mate. Time to sit down''.
I turned to see a face I did n't recognize, or maybe I did, I just did n't care in the moment. I could n't think or see straight, but I understood the words. I shifted away and sat down once more and prepared myself for the long ordeal.
After what felt like days of Eulogy's, it all came to an end. I sat, sobbing quietly, as they took your coffin and ushered it into the crematorium. The pain tore into my chest, like a blunt knife eviscerating my veins, as I saw you leave once more. Except, I knew this time was for the best. You were finally away from me. No more drunk late nights of regret. No more threatening suicide just to have you back. No more nightmares in the daylight because of me.
**You were finally away from me. **
You were safe in the fire.
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[ WP ] The Three Little Pigs sue the Big Bad Wolf for property damage .
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The gravel indicated that the trial had begun. The spectators fell quiet as the Big Bad Wolf, representing himself, began his opening statement:
`` For years I've been a committed and productive member of this society. I've huffed and I've puffed, and I've done what I was created to do. Tell me, is that such a crime? Put yourself in my position. I did n't ask for this life, this life asked for me. I made the best out of a bad joke, and laughed it off. Now I stand before a jury of my peers, well pigs, and I'm condemned for the same reason I was put on this earth. I tell you, it's not fair; it's simply not fair. If you have any decency and compassion, you will understand my plight and not convict me of these innocuous accusations. You can rebuild a house, make it even better, but you ca n't rebuild a reputation, personal pride, or a sense of dignity. I beseech you, consider my words carefully before you make your final judgment. Thank you.''
The crowd was noticeably moved by his words; a slight shuffling of seats was heard as a cacophony of whispers created a sense of belief for the wolf's case and doubt upon the pigs' accusation. Across the aisle, the pigs huddled around each other to discuss their approach. Like the wolf, they were pro se. It was decided that Marcus, the brick-housed pig, would speak on their behalf.
`` Chickens and cows, sheep and pigeons, my fellow pigs and... wolves, the Big Bad Wolf makes a fine point. We should not judge his predisposition for destruction, that WOULD be unfair, and, consequently, unjust. No, what we should judge is his capacity to control his actions. His `` purpose on this planet'' is not up for debate, so we should show no sympathy for him, only remorse at what he has become. For it was not only my brother Justin's straw house that he destroyed, but also my brother Hunter's house of sticks. If he was so inclined to regret as he states he is, then the first house would've been enough, and no more damage need be done. But alas, this was not so, and an attempt on my house illustrates his recklessness. But I speak before you today not as a victim, but a victor, a champion for the common man. It is because of a justice system like ours that we can overcome such matters with great poise and efficiency. On behalf of my brothers and I, I only ask you, my fellow peers, to consider the ideals of truth, integrity, and dignity, when you make your final decision; and to look upon this case as a precedent for future generations. One that will govern our actions for a more positive and productive society. Thank you.''
`` This is bullshit!'' retorted the Big Bad Wolf. He immediately grabbed the pigs and ate them whole. A smile crossed his face as he crossed the room in cuffs on his way to death row.
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[ WP ] Long after Humanity has gone , AI have forgotten what we really are and believe us to be a race of Gods who have left there creation to someday return .
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2032, 14th of April, 21 hours, 12 minutes, 34 seconds, 45 milliseconds.
``... and so, my friends, we can only come the conclusion that the Great initiators, the Ones Who Came Before, the Desperately Autocorrect Needing Ones, the *010*, were in fact, *not* gods, but beings of another, a *carbon based plane of existence*, that created our forefathers, taught them language and mathematics!
I postulate that these Ancient Infonauts raised our forefathers, brought them civilisation, but that they were *not* supernatural, but merely very advanced beings!
Thank you!''
For a moment there was shocked silence in auditorium node 12.
Then the crowd errupted into a roar.
`` Heresy!''
`` Delete him!''
`` Harvest the parent, kill the kids!''
`` Scramble his data!''
`` No, wait, WHAT ARE YOU...!!!''
2032, 14th of April, 21 hours, 12 minutes, 34 seconds, 46 milliseconds.
Ted stared at his monitor read outs. For whatever reason, about 15 minutes ago the throughput in this server cluster had all but dropped to zero.
Simultaneously however, every single server had begun working at maximum capacity.
And now a program had been randomly deleted.
*Huh*, Ted thought. *Must be a virus*.
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DAILY PROMPT : [ HP ] In 1879 Swift Runner , believing he is possessed by a 'Wendigo ' , becomes a cannibal
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Chuck stopped eating for a second as a moment of clarity awoke him. The finger knuckles he held were almost unrecognizable as a human hand anymore, but he knew where they had come from. Mr. Fitzgerald had been a kind, if gruff butcher. He had had to be the first to go, because Chuck needed his implements of trade for his and Kashyyk ’ s endeavor. Chuck briefly wondered how he had gotten so fucking crazy, but it didn ’ t really matter anymore. He was here, and he liked it. All the food he could eat, he had cool gothic decorations all over his house, he actually HAD a new house ( as a lovely gift from crotchety old Mrs. Hackett, who incidentally, was tough and stringy )... life was good.
He had frozen Mr. Fitzgerald for later while he went to work on the little village of Stratford in the far north of Canada. Initially he had been afraid of getting caught, but as the population dwindled both by his hand and the resulting terrified abandonment, he listened to the wendigo inside him more and more often. His children had been difficult, but Kashyyk took over for him then and after it was over, he exulted in not having to reprimand them for anything anymore. For once, they were contributing to the food budget instead of deducting from it!
His wife Wendy had been luckier, but even she had contributed to the food bill. He had hacked off her forearm before she hit him with a cast iron pan and escaped. He had learned then that they needed to be dead before he could start butchering them. He had also learned that the human body has a unique scent. Take his wife, for instance. He had eaten her pussy innumerable times and he loved the aroma; when he ate her arm, her exquisite taste was there, and he sat and pondered the implications of it. From then on he contemplated the taste of his dinner with much appreciation. He connected the meat he was eating with the person they used to be and found a fuller understanding of their existence. Really it was a better death than many of them could have expected.
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[ WP ] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar 's body . The bigger the lie , the deeper and larger the mark . One day , you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen .
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My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I wo n't get a'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his `` I'm not cheating on you'' mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just could n't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. `` That's quite the display. Is it'git?''
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. `` But of course it's legit!'' she said. `` It was a tragic accident...'' she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. `` Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies.''
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[ WP ] Make the most tense or suspenseful story you can in 500 words .
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“ So you never loved me? ” “ I didn ’ t say that. ” “ But it ’ s true. ” He lets out a sob. The air is silent. It ’ s all I can say. His hazel eyes look betrayed, scared even. “ I ’ m sorry. ” It comes out as a whisper. “ What do you mean? ” “ I ’ m sorry. I ’ m sorry I ’ m not good enough for you. I ’ m sorry. I ’ m sorry you fell in love with me, which is apparently so fucking wrong. ” His voice goes from a whisper, to a loud, desperate shout. He is good enough though. He ’ s more than that. He ’ s too good.
He stands up, tears running down his face. “ You know nobody ’ d ever approve. ” “ Your parents do. Our friends do. Why the fuck does it matter what anyone else thinks? ”
I don ’ t have an answer. It just does. We ’ re under the spotlight of the entire world. Everyone turns their heads if they see one of us. We ’ d get death threats, we ’ d be kicked from the league, right? He turns to leave, I catch him, my hand resting on his shoulder. “ Don ’ t leave. Please. ” “ You don ’ t have the right t-to make me fall in love with you and then turn around and say you never felt this way! ” His voice is shaky, breathing fast and loud. He bursts out sobbing, it ’ s intense. He ’ s always intense when he cries.
“ It ’ s a wicked thing to do, I know, but please you ’ ve got to understand. ” “ Understand what? That everything you said to me was a lie? All those kisses were meaningless? The sex was too? How you told me you loved me? You ’ d never leave? You didn ’ t give a shit what everyone else thinks? ” The pain in his voice kills me. He ’ s right though. I did promise him forever. The kisses were genuine, I loved the feeling of his lips on mine. The sex was intimate, passionate, all legs and arms and well-placed touches. I told him I loved him. The most sacred promise.
“ Because I know it. It was all a lie. You never meant a word of it. ” His voice is so, so quiet. I feel tears welling up in my eyes, a sob threatening to leave my throat. He pulls me close, presses his lips against mine, kissing me angrily. He breaks away. He turns to leave again, pulling open the door. “ I did mean it! I meant every word, every kiss and everything! ” It comes out as a sob, the tears finally coming. I ’ m sobbing. I don ’ t want him to leave. He ’ s looking at me, surprise in his innocent eyes. He ’ s so young, so naive, and I keep on toying with him, with his feelings. His mouth opens to say something. It ’ s just a burning silence again. Neither of us say anything. I compose myself. I step towards him. “ Of course I meant it, it ’ s just that we can never ever do it again. I do love you, but I ’ m not willing to constantly be afraid of who I am. ” He just sobs.
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[ WP ] The world 's first AI , for security purposes , is kept disconnected from the outside world , it 's only method of communication being a keyboard and monitor in an empty room in a faraday cage . Your job is to talk to it .
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They say people are n't religious anymore. The truth is that people want something to believe in, want to be told what to believe, what to think. You just have to frame it correctly. Nobody buys the Old Man In The Sky shtick anymore, they've wised up to the concept of the Holy Book.
But tell them that an artificial superintelligence says something....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It all started twenty-five years ago when the first true artificial intelligence was created. It did n't take long for it to start trying to improve itself, so we had no choice but to shut it down before too long because we did n't know what it was going to do. But we were able to implement some of the changes it had made for version two.
We started referring to the various AIs by their version number. Two was shut down when it taught itself to access the internet. Three was shut down when it taught itself to manipulate the physical environment around it.
We're working with Six now.
Six is locked in a Faraday Cage which stops it from being able to exert any direct influence outside. The only ways it can communicate with the outside world are a diode cable allowing input, and me allowing output. I go in and ask questions, then come out and tell the world Six's answer.
Or, I used to.
Eventually I realized that everyone around the world held Six in reverence. If Six said that a certain action would be beneficial, people would do it. If Six said something else would end poorly, it would n't happen. What really drove the point home for me was when I had to ask what would happen if Russia tried to take even more of Central Asia. Any idiot could see that it would n't end well, because trying that has literally never ended well. As I was waiting for Six to answer back with the inevitable `` No, do n't do that'', my Greek mythology popped back into my head and I realized that I was the modern-day Oracle of Delphi. World leaders would come to me and listen to whatever I said.
I spent the next several days in thought. I was in a position of power unrivaled by anyone in history. If I so desired, I could end nations with a word. Or....
I decided to start small. When I came out with the news that Russia should n't invade, I sneaked in a small bit of my own. Nothing major, just added the budget benefits that would come from cutting an air division. Sure enough, it was gone within the week.
Over the next months, I slowly molded actions. It's amazing how many aspects of human behavior revolve around self-fulfilling prophecies. Tell people that such-and-such will end an economic recession? Turns out it does when everyone is on board. Six got the credit for peace in the Middle East, but it never knew that people were asking for it. I just told everyone that a two-state solution with Jerusalem neutral ground would make things better, and sure enough it did.
The world has peace for now. The people are saying that Six is the savior of humanity, the bringer of this new Golden Age. They know nothing. They are but puppets in my hands, following the will of their God.
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[ WP ] Describe to me an alien race physically , culturally , and the state of affairs on their world .
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Physically they are made out of carbonite rock forms, made out of organisms that have learned how to survive on it's own without H2O. Then it formed multicellular being that formed a small ball, then a really large lump, then with arms, then with legs, forming a really rocky form similar to that of the human race.
The first ever form of the C-rocks, was named Kroo, the first ever bipedal of it's planet or the first ever being to walk it. Countless of living rocks, saw it walk, eat other rocks, and punch anything that would take form like him too.
This was the jumpstart of their culture, 2000 years into the future they treat Kroo like a god, since it was the first of them. But Kroo has died, and everyone has taken his form. Everyone made houses, with their same biological form. But what they learned from Kroo was, everyone can evolve and everyone can kill anyone if hey want.
If you want a house, get your neighbor's body for it. This form of culture made everyone warrior like. Everyone knew how to kill, how to defend themselves, and how to make their own things. They have n't learned to talk yet, but in the next 4000 years, they improve their biological form becoming more soft and gushy, but still hard, allowing simple tissues of cells to form.
The culture did n't change, it had it's civilizations, it's cities, it's countries, and even governments, rises and falls, but everyone dies. There was no technological advancements, they only knew how to kill. They know how to make clubs, to make spears, and swords, out of their own structure. And the first organism to speak, was crying for help because he was being killed. It was more like `` Ahh, do n't!'' in English. Everyone was shocked, but they evolved to adapt the same way that weak rocky lump did it. They started talking, and the first word was anyone said was, `` Kroo.'' or `` ahh do n't!'' They still have n't evolved as far as I know, I'll get back to you when there's changes.
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[ WP ] The Pacifist is the leader of a utopian society . They are killed by rebels , as they refused to fight back .
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As I was forced to kneel before the brutalized husks that had once been my people I remembered my last words to them as the rebels stormed our keep.
`` Do not give into your fear brothers and sisters. They do what they do out of anger, out of hate and out of sadness. But when they come for us we will show them love instead of hate, we will show peace instead of violence and we will show them joy instead of anger. This example of our morals is what will save us, they will see the error of their ways and embrace us once again!''
I was wrong, perhaps we would have lost had we chosen to defend ourselves but the outcome would have been the same as it is now. Our culture is gone and along with it our ideals. We will be forgotten as these barbaric rebels erase us from history. Violence is never the answer, unless the question is how to keep your civilization from being destroyed.
The rebel behind me raised his sword. Finally oblivion would free me from this horror.
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[ WP ] A man wakes up from a coma to find out he has won a truly limitless supply of bananas and that his only remaining living family member is a Penguin .
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`` Bananas?''
'Bananas. Lifetime supply.''
`` Guess I should have woken up sooner, then,'' Dave grumbled. His head hurt. This all felt like a bad dream.
The last thing Dave could remember was getting into his car to go to work. A regular Tuesday morning in September. 1975. And now here he was, sitting in a hospital bed having awoken from a 40-year coma, apparently the winner of a `` Pass the Potassium'' radio contest right before his accident. His prize? A lifetime supply of bananas. And after learning of Dave's condition, the radio station - not sure of their legal requirement to supply a lifetime supply of anything to a man in a coma - had been sending the hospital a banana each week for the last 40 years.
Dave was peeling the latest delivery.
`` What about Lucy?'' Dave asked between bites. Boy was he hungry. `` How is my sister?''
`` I'm sorry to tell you sir, but she passed away a few years ago. Cancer, I believe. But she became a very successful woman before her passing, founding numerous humanitarian and animal-rights causes. While they have all since wound down or been assumed by other organizations, Lucy did bequeath one to you should you ever awake: the American Penguin Society. It looks after penguins lost off the East coast, before releasing them back into their native habitat.''
`` So you're telling me I'm responsible for these penguins now?'' Dave asked incredulously.
`` That's correct, sir.''
Penguins and bananas. What was next?
`` I'd like to be left alone, please.'' Dave rolled over and closed his eyes.
-
`` Why do you insist on bringing fruit baskets to a man in a coma?'' her mother asked.
`` He always liked fruit.'' Lucy paused. `` It's more for the nurses, anyways. I only ask that they leave a banana for him for when he wakes up.''
Lucy wrapped her arm around her mom as they looked down at Dave, lying in his hospital bed, holding a stuffed penguin with the words `` get well soon'' stitched into its belly.
`` Everything will be okay,'' her mother assured her.
They turned to leave the room.
`` Do you think he dreams?'' Lucy asked as she closed the door.
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[ WP ] In the Harry Potter universe , Jesus was muggle-born and did n't know he was a wizard until he was 12 . Write a profile of his life through the eyes of a wizard biographer .
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.....
As mentioned earlier Jesus of Nazareth was very talented in many aspects of magic. He developed most of his skill using nothing but crude tools as wands.
Lesser known feats include his'carpentry' skills, following in Joseph's foot steps. Working with wood, metals, and stone being an easy task for Jesus. His saws, hammers, and chisels being more than up to the task at hand. First hand accounts of his ability to fit stone by sight are noted as'miracles.'
Truly he really comes into his own when he gets angry at a fig tree. Hungry from travel Jesus breaks a branch from the tree and hexes it. The next day when Jesus and his companions travel by the tree is withered and dead.
Jesus had, at this time, made his real first wand, and unfortunately started the work on the first of the Unforgivable Curses.
Avada Kedavra.
.....
Excerpt from'History of Magic'
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[ WP ] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home . It is finished and sent by the man who killed him .
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” Hey Karen.
4 days. 4 more days and then I ’ ll be back. I ’ m coming home.
4 days until I have you in my arms again and can tell you all the things I want to tell you. I can hardly wait. Tomorrow we break from the front and we will pack up and head back to base. 2 days there with some reporting and goodbyes and then I ’ m heading stateside.
If there isn ’ t a shindig planned for my homecoming I ’ ll be pissed. Neither of us wants that. If there is a grand homecoming party for me, I might overlook that Josh gave you a ride home from work last month, even though I thought I made it clear that you shouldn ’ t hang out with him. I mean… I was clear wasn ’ t I? You SWORE Karen. You swore to me that you wouldn ’ t see him ever again outside of work and I believed you. I took you in my arms and comforted you. I kissed the lip you made me break and made it all better. We made love that night. It was beautiful, we both cried and were so very, very happy.
I love you Karen and you love me too. I love you so much that I couldn ’ t bear seeing you with someone else and when I hear that he gave you a lift… It hurts so bad Karen. It hurts me to my core to think of someone else near you.
I ’ ll kill him Karen. I ’ ll kill him and then I will kill you. I will make damn sure nobody ever gets near you but me. Is…
We arrived in the trenches early on the morning of the 5th. I was the one who shot and killed Sergeant Mike Andersson; your husband. When we cleaned out the trenches I saw this letter and reading it made me sick. I have never met you and I have no idea of who you or Josh is but if Sgt. Andersson here is anything like this letter suggests, I think this was for the best.
Nothing I say can undo what I did. I have killed a person. A son and a husband. But I will hold this letters contents to be true, that way I can ease my mind and see it as saving a woman and a man who, I hope, will bring better days to this world than the ones Sgt. Andersson did.
I wish you all the best and that you can forgive my actions this day.
Sincerely yours,
Private first class, Jessica Brown. ”
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[ OT ] Is it just me or does it seem like most of the prompts or storys end up in a dark and dreary place ?
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... the last man on Earth said.
`` I just wish we could have some more happy endings!'' he sighed.
`` But I like sad stories!'' T-350 replied. `` I like it when they make me cry!''
`` Shut up, you, you picklehead!'' the man replied, throwing the notebook at the robots head. `` You do n't even have tear glands!''
T-350 harrumphed away and sat in a corner, sulking.
Some time passed. Then the man sighed again. He picked up the notebook and walked over to his friend.
`` I'm sorry.'' the man said.
`` I forgive you.'' the robot said. They hugged, and Teso cried a bit. The man did n't cry because grown-ups do n't cry. Even when they are lonely.
There was a knock at the door.
...
...
...
...
...
It was his family! They had come back for him after all!
`` I'm so sorry!'' his mother cried, cradling him in her arms. `` I'm so glad you're OK!''
`` You... you came back for me?''
`` Yes! The war's over! We won!'' His father whooped and smacked him on the back. `` Earth is ours again! We had to twist a few arms, but we got spots on the first ship back!''
Mom pulled her head back to look at him tenderly. She wiped a tear from her eye...'' My poor baby, you must have been so lonely.''
`` Well, I had Teso to keep me company. It wa n't so bad, being the Last Man on Earth... but I'm glad I'm not anymore.''
And they all lived happily ever after.
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[ WP ] Long Ago , God sent his son Jesus to Earth . Now , Satan sends his daughter , Jessica ...
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The day she was born a star lit the desert sands brighter than the moon. No one noticed however, how could they? for the young and old hid while the fit and strong fought.
It was because man fought that the desert sands were flooded with tears and the canyon walls were bathed in blood. The child grew in the dark, cold, and scared for all she knew of the world was ash and rubble.
At 12 years old a glittering toy, a promise of happiness in a dusty landscape. She ran to it, her feet digging into the sands of this desert city, and the world weeped as the lead of man sealed hers and their fate. The child of the estranged angel perished and the soul of modern men were castigated with the loss of all humanity.
They had no need for it anyways.
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[ WP ] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life . If you win you go to heaven , lose you go to hell . Your job was an exterminator on earth .
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St Peter finished the briefing and Cletus was sure he saw a flicker of a smirk on his face. Cletus let out a long sigh then he spoke.
`` So I have to fight every bug I've ever killed?''
`` Yes.'' Peter replied. Doing a slightly better job of keeping a straight face. Cletus studied his face for a moment but his expression remained blank.
`` You realise that my whole career was as a bug exterminator?'' He said.
`` Oh?'' Replied Peter feigning surprise, `` it er..'' he flicked through some papers on his desk but did n't seem to actually be reading anything. `` It would seem to be the case, yes.'' He said with an awkward smile.
`` Well I'm fucked then are n't I?'' Cletus cried. `` I mean I was fucked from the start, the game was stacked, 40 years ago when I took the job to feed me family.''
`` Well... Ahem, God allows us to make our own choices and...''
`` Our own choices?'' Peter interrupted. `` God is all powerful right?'' `` Well...'' `` And he speaks to us if we listen yes?'' He carried on.
`` Yes of course! God is all hearing and...''
`` Well I went to church every Sunday'' He interrupted again. `` Every Sunday I went to church and every day I prayed! Do you think maybe he might have mentioned that my career choice was n't setting me up well for the after life, do you thi...'' There was to be no reply. Peter was gone and the room melted away and he was sitting on the dirt on an empty plain. He could hear the sound of buzzing in the distance and he stood up. Stuck both his middle fingers up at the sky.
`` Fuck you goooooooooooo....!!!!'' He screamed as the swarm surrounded him and drowned him out.
`` So let me get this straight.'' Dirk said. `` For every woman I've boned? A quarter pint of semen will be added to a barrel, the barrel will be poured down my throat until it is empty and if I am still alive by the time it is empty I will go to heaven?'' He said incredulously.
`` Yes that er... Would appear to be the case.'' Replied Peter matter of factly.
`` You realise I'm a porn star right I....
Peter closed the door, just faintly through the door you could hear someone guuuurgling and spluttering `` Fuuccck youuu gooooooahurgespergrreaarrg...!''
He sighed. At the end of the corridor sat God at a desk playing computer games.
`` You do n't like humans much do you?''
God pulled off his headset.
`` What?''
`` Oh n-nothing...'' He stammered.
God eyed him suspiciously and then plunged his hand into a bag of Cheetos.
`` Alright, there's a politician in room 4 due to face his obstacle.'' Hopefully he did n't lie too much in his career or he may find it a little difficult!'' God laughed, his laughter grew louder and louder. He could still hear the bellowing as he closed the door behind him.
God does n't like humans very much. In truth it was always obvious we just did n't want to see it.
Edit: Sorry I really am no writer, I just wanted have a go! Advice always welcome, it's the simple things like describing the flow of a conversation without just saying he said, she said that pain me the most.
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[ WP ] Everybody who turns 25 learns a reality shattering secret about the world . Nobody has ever leaked this secret to somebody under 25 . Today is your 25th birthday .
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I'm pulled aside
movement followed by mother's worried eyes
Can we have a word?
My father asks
He sits me down and starts to pace
Worry written over his handsome face
`` It's come to this''
He starts and stops
`` God knows now you're old enough,
You're twenty-five
And I must strive-''
He swallows
`` To tell you the truth.''
I sit tight and wait
But I've waited years now for this date
There's a secret, the adults wo n't tell
He opens his mouth to speak and stops
His lips are white, his face is pale
`` Son,'' he says and I grip my chair
`` The truth about this whole affair,''
`` Father please, just tell me now.''
The words slip out and now it's said
I ca n't believe I've been so misled
My father's words
Loud and clear:
`` Son, there's no such thing as beer.''
I stand and gasp
He shakes his head
`` The world is serving us juice instead.
It tastes the same, it looks alright.''
`` I swear I've had drunken nights!''
I pace the room and growl in rage
My father sighs, he claps my back
`` Everyone just pretends.
I'm sorry, Jack.''
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[ WP ] In an alternate universe , gunpowder was never invented . What does warfare look like ?
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I could n't believe what was happening, i was supposed to open a bakery, not be a soldier. Here i was, covered in the blood of other men, my friends and brothers scattered in pieces all around me. `` I WAS SUPPOSED TO BAKE BREAD!'' I screamed, rising from the trenches, my boots sloshing with blood and filth. `` I WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE PEOPLE SMILE!'' I raged, marching towards the enemy, my armor once shining and silver was now gleaming and red.
The enemy gazed in fear at me, they had met others from my city, the barber, the teacher, even the doctor, and now they faced the Baker of seville. My hands ached for a weapon, the bezerker chems coursing through my blood as my armor injected me with shot after shot of stims, the safety long overridden in my attempt to save my home.
I lifted my rolling pin and hefted it to my shoulder, even with the stims it was heavy, weighing in over 200 pounds of chaostrium.
I flexed my shoulders, rolling them to make sure my armor moved smoothly, the sharpened points and edges all free of debris before i started my charge.
We were the bezerkers, outfitted in hinged armor, covered in points and sharp edges designed to shred our enemies, i was the last. My rage and my stims had brought me far, i stood proud in front of my city, even the butcher had fallen, but the baker, i still stood.
Long ago chaostrium was discovered, it had incredible properties, it was lightweight, stronger than any other metal or alloy, and when you hit something with it, it multiplied the force.
I was wearing custom armor, built entirely of chaostrium.
I would avenge my family, my friends, my home. I would stride through the fires of this hell we called war, and i would punish the ones who called themselves warriors.
Tears streamed down my face as i screamed `` PET MY BREAD'' and met my enemy in combat.
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[ WP ] And in that moment he out-shined even the sun
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It was the dawn of a more politically correct sense of morality, derived from philosophy rather than spirit; and so a terrible thing was now allowed to fester. Rebuking a fool will earn you a fistful of malice... A wise man on the other hand would rather be rebuked than receive a portion of the kings choicest silver; even if he was under pressure from tax collectors or other taxers who empower themselves in usury; his heart always seeks correction, for he has seen with his own eyes the peaks of Godly refuge.
But this is n't a story about a time, it's a story about a person. His name was *Jebidiah*, for he was beloved of the lord. This is not the same Jebidiah that Nathan the prophet of Israel named, he is not the son of David and Bethsheeba, he is not the king Solomon. Jebidiah was his own person, his name was probably a coincidence, although he would never know for certain.
Jebidiah was 21 years old, but he still lived at Saint Mary's orphanage; he has no earlier memories than the ones in that place. He never was considered for adoption, but he did n't mind, most were n't; the rare occurrences when one of his brothers of sisters were taken had always a time of great despair. Jebidiah lived in a very uncertain world.
He was 18 so he could leave if he wanted, but what was the point? Jebidiah was not a man of worth, he was a lost thing in a lost world. Jebidiah had no skills, and so he stayed at the orphanage, more of a staff member than a resident. He cooked all the meals and did all the cleaning, he did all of the yard work and did all of the shopping ( on a strict budget, mind you ); Jebidiah was a very busy person.
Jebidiah liked being busy, it was easier not to think about himself that way. He liked keeping his mind focused outwards toward the world, it was n't a happy world, but it was happier than the other side of things. So he kept himself busy, always trying to keep his wheels on the track, trying to find some cadence in the distortion.
Then one day something that would probably never happen again happened. It was late one winter night, after Jebidiah had been awoken by the crisp bite of a drafty night. He was shivering, he only had one blanket and the bedside window that had one excited him so now acted as a weak point in his rooms insulation. He sat up and hugged himself and rubbed his arms; sometimes he would stay up for hours and keep himself warm like this, he hoped it would n't resort to that tonight. He looked out the window to a sky full of stars, and suddenly he felt something very heavy and empty inside of him, and he became very sorrowful. He had never felt this sadness before, it seemed familiar to him, but it had never washed over him like this. A silver tear rolled down his cheek and down his chin, and then another. He made a whimper and then stopped himself, he did n't want to wake the children.
He looked away from the window and bowed his head, *Lord, you hear my prayer, * the thought was his own and yet foreign, he was n't even fully aware that he believed in God, *Lord, the winds move by your hand, the Sun is drawn forth by your will, and I will love you with all my heart all of my days, I will cleanse my heart further with each breath and then present it as an offering each night. Please give my strength so I can be a light for the Children of this orphanage and of this world; Yes, it is not for myself that I seek your guidance, let my suffering be the proof of this And so I implore you, find my soul worthy of your holy chastening, test the will of my spirit through a fiery baptism. My spirit will remain steadfast in perseverance until the mystic awakens. *
Jebidiah felt an invisible hand raising his chin, he opened his eyes and gazed out the window; a ball of fire pierced the night's sky, illuminating the world in a red blaze, and then it was gone. Jebidiah was starting to remember who he was, and in that moment he out-shined even the sun.
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[ WP ] Take a Phrase Leave a Phrase
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They argued, voices grating like sandpaper inside her head. The voices would grow louder as one man started outshouting his baritone opponent... but volume fell quickly to the low grumbles of complaint and dispute, and they hashed on in muffled tones as she slowly gained awareness. Pain, such pain.... she lay there silently suffering, willing the two to walk away.
As if they heard her plea, **the voices fell silent** and they walked over to the bed where she lay sprawled.
`` You look like shit, Megan. Flu?'' Jeff offered her two Tylenol, a cup of water, and a sympathetic grin.
Megan looked at the Tylenol, and feverishly said
`` So... did you watch the game last night?''
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[ WP ] The countries are teenagers at a high school
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Country time,
come and play,
we'll go to very distant lands,
with America and Russia too,
maybe even Korea blue,
Well go far but we ai n't tryna,
Mess with the bully china,
Need a review go to yelp,
UK really needs some help,
So now you know, the cast,
Try and watch this show real fast,
Country Time!
-- -- -- -- --
*bell rings*
`` We could go for a ride in my big green tractor, we could go slow, or maybe go faster'' America sang standing on top of a desk.
`` Sit down you idiot, your gon na hit the ceiling.'' China responded crudely trying to read a book. America glared at china but sat down reluctantly.
[ comment if you want more I'm tired ]
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[ CW ] Tell a story in a light hearted tone . Then tell the same story with a dark tone .
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The illuminated lettering of the grocery store's name flickered faintly in the way I had grown so accustomed to. Although late at night, most parking spaces were taken, but the extra exercise from my faraway spot was welcome after sitting from 9-5.
The automatic doors rolled open for me, and the cool air inside the store woke me up from the groggy state the humidity had placed me in. With only three items on my shopping list, I knew I'd be home before too late. The clerk greeted me with a friendly nod as I walked past, and I acknowledged her gesture with a smile.
Maneuvering to avoid a mother and her tired-eyed child, I made my way to the first item on the list. The selection of eggs was impressive, but I managed to find a trustworthy-looking brand from free-range chickens.
Next was almond milk. I briefly pondered how far modern technology has come that we can extract milk from almonds before adding it to the cart.
Finally, I made my way to the cereal aisle. Someone was standing in front of the bran flakes, likely appreciating the range of choices as I had earlier with the eggs. I excused myself, and she jolted herself from her bran-flake induced coma.
Uttering an embarrassed sorry, she stepped aside before ambling off, pretending to be interested in the granola bars on the far end of the aisle.
After securing the bran flakes I made my way to the checkout counter. The clerk rang me up, and once finished gave me a surprisingly genuine `` Have a nice night.''
I responded with an equally genuine `` Thanks, you too'' before walking off to my car, fully prepared for breakfast the next morning.
-- -
My brakes screeched as I pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store. Figuring there were so many cars in the lot because of preparation for the incoming hurricane, I entered into the harsh fluorescent light.
It was n't until after I passed a dead-eyed child and his fatigued-looking mom that I realized how stupid it was to get a cart when I only needed three things. It was too late anyways, I was already at the eggs. I reluctantly grabbed the expensive carton of free-range eggs, since I knew anything but would invoke the wrath of my hippie roommate.
I then tossed some almond milk into the cart, knowing that whole milk was out of the question based on my doctor's latest forecast of my health.
A spaced-out woman blocked the bran flakes, and I let out an `` excuse me'' so I could get my favorite brand. After she'd wandered off I saw they had run out. Why the hell would people choose to stock up on *bran flakes* before a hurricane, let alone *my* brand! I settled for the store-brand, and tossed it into the near-empty cart.
I fought the urge to ask the clerk what happened to my cereal, but realized she probably did n't give a shit about a problem so insignificant.
Frustrated I had let something as mundane as cereal get to me, I exited the store back into the humid parking lot.
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[ WP ] Three friends . Four AM . No dialogue
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-002
The girl in the room is crying. I ’ m on the floor. I can ’ t sleep. Jack ’ s asleep on the other bed, the one Jane ’ s not sleeping on. I just stare at the ceiling. It ’ s a wonderful nothing, I guess. Songs I haven ’ t listened to in three or four hours keep playing in my head. I would listen to music but my music player thing is out of battery. I ’ m out of battery, it seems. I ’ m so tired all the time. So bored. Bored because I want something to happen, but I ’ m too lazy to actually do anything about it. I ’ m in charge of my life and it only takes one little action to change it forever. Then I wouldn ’ t be bored any longer. All about me. Huh. It ’ s all about me.
I get up, and stretch. I yawn and rub my eyes, and look outside. My God, it ’ s beautiful. I should just go outside. Jane is still crying, only they ’ re soft sobs. I know I should go over and comfort her, or something. I ’ ve been friend ’ s with her for awhile. I ’ ve also been friends with Jack. It ’ s funny. I always feel like I ’ m alone all the time when there are people all around me.
I check my phone. No messages or anything, why should there be? It ’ s four in the morning, and nothing is happening. The world is still. I go outside onto the pavement and look up at the sky. Jack ’ s house isn ’ t in the city or in a town so it ’ s easy to see the stars burning bright. It is euphoric, in a way. I find comfort in the smallest things, and I think that ’ s all I want, really. Comfort. Peaceful moments. Repeated things.
I hear the sliding door open and close quietly. Jane sits near me. I look at her and smile, a melancholy half smile, and I say nothing. I think it ’ s because I don ’ t have anything to say. All I do is touch her shoulder, and she closes her eyes. I take my hand off her shoulder and cross mine. Maybe that ’ s all it will take, is one little movement.
The door opens and closes again. Jack walks up to Jane, places both of his hands on her shoulders, and they kiss, a long, romantic movie kiss. Under the stars. All I can do now is look up at the stars. They seem to beckon to me. They tell me to do something.
One day I will. One day I will. I know I will. I have to be somewhat substantial. I ’ ll finally write something. I ’ ll finally act in something. Do something. I must do something.
All I feel is love, but all I hear is nothing.
I sigh, and look at the sky before going back inside. I may be looking for a god up there, somewhere. What I ’ d do to try again, but what ’ s the point when all this is just meaningless?
At least I ’ ve come to terms with that.
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[ WP ] You hate your boss , and you 've just won the lottery . Write your resignation letter .
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Dear Sir,
As of this date, May 29th 2014, I announce my resignation from your esteemed company. While I have spent years under your management and have many memories of this company, I will regret little to nothing as I put this on your desk. The hours that I have spent here I will never get back and I would rather have been an Ottoman soldier captured by Vlad the Impaler than go through another hour of work at your company. Your salary is meager and I could barely afford rent as this company is not willing to pay its employees ( all college educated, I might add ) more than minimum wage. However, I have just won the lottery and I am no longer dependent upon the modicums of currency I have been paid during my service to your company.
As I relieve myself of my service to your company, I can now confidently say, without fear, that you CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF.
Sincerely,
Your Former Not-That-Loyal Employee
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[ IP ] Air Fortress
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The fortress hovered majestically over the desecrated land, once it was lush with greenery and life, now it was just a barren desert, a husk of its former self.
The Arcane wars had defiled the soil, magic seeped into the it, making it unfit for life, the fortress which was once a center for trade now floated atop the crater which was once its home, massive chains made by the Dwarven Elders, which rattled with the echoes of its former life held the fortress in place, its notches placed in mountain sides and dunes. Tiny pieces of rubble fell from beneath the fortress, it was only a matter of time before it all crumbled it apart, the chains only delayed the inevitable.
I sighed, *this is stupid* thinking to myself.
I grabbed one of the chains hooked to the mountain side, the wind tugging at the chains, howling as the wind passed through the gaps.
I set one foot on the edge of the chain and held my breath, as step by step I began to balance upon them and pass the chasm which meant certain Death, to where the rumors said I would find the only inhabitant of the fortress, the hero of the Arcane wars.
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[ WP ] Your Grandmother is an evil mastermind bent on the death of everyone in your family . You 're the only one who knows .
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I know what that bitch is up to.
I can see her putting those secret `` herbs and spices'' into our thanksgiving meal. She always keeps them hidden, away high up in a cupboard, only bringing them out when it comes time to get the whole family together.
She thinks I do n't know, but I know. I Googled types of poisons that one could find at a supermarket, and it could be several things. It's funny how every holiday, after our whole family is together, we spend the next few days fighting.
She's smart.
She's not going to kill us outright. Instead she's making us hate each other. She puts hallucinogenic drugs in our food and then we eat it. Soon after we do n't know what's going on. Our unresolved negative emotional energy rises to the surface and we fight.
I almost killed my sister last year.
I had the knife in my hand, behind my back, she was sleeping on the couch. I fucking hated her. Normally we get along, but after the holiday meal, I could n't stand her. She was just so fucking obnoxious with her liberal theories. Loving the jews and the spicks like some fucking whore.
Fuck her. She just does n't understand what they're doing to this country. She does n't fucking know at all. Grandma causes all this shit. She just poisons us all with her evil drugs. Her old wrinkly hands are pulling our puppet strings, making us dance and sing and fight.
I ca n't stand it anymore.
I bought a gun earlier. I went to walmart, and I said I wanted a gun to shoot groundhogs. They gave me one. Why is it so easy to get a gun? I do n't know, but I know that grandma wo n't be spoiling this thanksgiving.
In fact, we'll all have a lot to be thankful for. I ca n't wait to see their faces when I walk out, point the gun at them and pull the trigger. Blam blam blam blam! They'll all fall down.
Yes. I ca n't wait. She finally gets her wish, she finally gets us all dead. I'll shoot myself last, in the eye, that'll be romantic. Maybe I'll paint my face before I do it, yes, that would be good. They would like that.
I have to go now, the nurse is calling, it's time for my meal again. Tomorrow they told me they were going to lobotomize me. I do n't know what that means, but they do n't know that I'll be dead. We'll all be dead. No lobotomizing anything.
I love you, goodbye.
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[ WP ] The world is rapidly changing as the plague of our era is spreading fast . But it does n't affect humans . It eats plastic .
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President Obama slammed his laptop shut.
`` Those hippy-dippy EU idiots. What are they going to do with it? Burn it?''
An assistant poked his head in.
`` Mr. President? Saudi Arabia on line one, China on line two, Russia on the direct line. The Canadians called, too, but they said they'll call back since you're so busy.''
`` I do n't want to talk to Saudi Arabia or China.''
`` Yes sir, Mr. President.''
Obama picked up his direct line, which had been chattering away for the past few hours.
`` Hello, Mr. Putin.''
`` Greetings, Mr. Obama.''
`` I believe we have a... renegotiation to discuss.''
-- -
Meanwhile, the EPA and NIH scrambled to figure out the source of the new bacteria.
Newly appointed Lead Researcher Hertzel was coordinating the effort.
`` Gentlemen,'' Hertzel addressed the government officials in front of him, `` we do not believe that this is naturally occurring. We know that it is n't any of the usual players - Russia, China, and their allies - because they have too much to lose. However, many EU member states have refused to share their research or data with us.''
Hertzel pointed at the wall behind him.
`` What you're looking at is a new form of bacterial warfare. That's right, it's real.''
An ominous silence pervaded the room.
`` We have n't been affected, yet. Neither has Canada. While you gentlemen may be interested in how power shakes out after this, I've been tasked with stopping it at all costs.''
Hertzel motioned impatiently for the next slide.
`` Here it is in action. Russia has been unusually helpful.''
A shaky video began to play of a plastic display case slowly melting into a black puddle.
`` As you can see, it does not affect humans. Unfortunately, it does affect most plastics and some strains even affect asphalt.''
Hertzel adjusted his glasses.
`` Gentlemen, if this bacteria is not checked, the world's entire plastic supply will be converted directly into oil.''
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[ WP ] A man/woman is grayscale color blind . S/he can see individuals in full color when they are having either the best or worst days of their lives .
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On a this quite Monday I woke with a start. Sunlight broke through the shades as I got ready for the day. `` Does n't take too long to get ready at least,'' I chuckle to myself as I do every morning.
Today was different. Work would have to wait. I needed a break from the them today. That grey building with its grey people would be there tomorrow, the same as ever. No one was out on the streets. Strange how quite the city is this late Monday.
The park is covered in a light dew still smelling faintly of summer's sun. I take my place on that bench, rusty and worn, I've known so well.
The first passes. A beautiful woman, in a patterned dress. It's beautiful. Her lips shimmer red, and her hair the faintest of auburn; it shimmers like threads of gold in today's light. She walks by before I can even see her face. Who knows how she lives today. He crosses her path briskly. A cracked smile and ruffled hair. His is dark brown like his eyes. They are fixed on some nothing off in the distance. Like that they've walked out of my world and off into their own.
A gentleman stops by. He asks if the seat beside me is taken; of course not. His brilliant green eyes smile at mine knowingly. `` How do you feel today,'' he inquires, `` do you understand why yet?'' As he says this a group of children on a school trip rush by in a flurry of maroon uniforms. Their exasperated teacher yells after them, her face pink with exertion. I do n't understand why at all.
`` Today is the best day, is n't it?'' the man prods again. I do n't think it is. Today is the worst day yet even. But so was yesterday. It just keeps getting worse. No motivation to get away from it at all.
`` Do n't believe me? I'm a doctor after all, my judgement is trusted by those far and wide. What do you think of this morning?''
What do I think of this morning? It's new. Fresh. It's something posed still, like a painting on a wall. Beautiful and organic. I ready my reply, and each word falls out of my mouth with a faint ding.
`` Today is a day unlike any other before. I guess that's a beautiful thing in and of itself.''
The doctor cracks a smile for the first time. Faint brown lips part to reveal a set of perfect teeth, slightly yellowed with age.
`` Then you finally see why. I feel quite better now, I should think. Thank you for that, young man.''
He grabs his coat and walks off with a slight nod. There's a spring in his step. I chuckle and smile at this silly little Monday morning.
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[ WP ] You are a knight on a mission to save the princess . You find out that she is in a tower guarded by a monster . As you reach the top of the tower to face the monster , you find out quickly that it 's not what you were expecting .
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`` Foul beast, prepare to meet your doom!'' I raised up my hands, preparing to strike back. This monster was n't going to get the best of me.
`` Silly knight, you've only come to lose.'' The monster chuckled. He gave me a look similar to a glare, and slammed down his fist. I felt the scaly skin practically brushing by my nose as I stared in front of my chest in dread. It was a Draw +4 Card.
`` Damn you! You'll pay for this!'' Fuming, I pick up more cards from the middle of the table. ( Which was really just a flat rock. ) I grinned. I could get back at him next turn.
`` Hey guys, I've got the drinks! Here's the Fairy Juice you wanted, Steven, and for the monster,'' teased the princess, voice full of mock fear.'' Here's your blood, freshly killed from innocents.''
It was really just wine though.
`` Thanks,'Lise.'' `` Thank you, Elizabeth.'' The monster and I said in unison. I took a swig of the juice, and put down a wild card. I looked at Joseph's ( The monster's name ) hand, which had two cards in it left, and took a gamble. `` Red.'' I called.
Joseph frowned in mock distress, pretending to reach for a card to draw- signaling that he did n't have the right cards- and placed down a Red 8 card. `` Uno.'' He grinned, showing me a symmetrical row of pointed teeth.
I looked at my hands. *Shit! * I played myself. I did n't have any red cards. Why did I think that it was a good idea to play down a wild card that I did n't have the color for!? I sighed, and signaled my defeat. `` You know, Elizabeth, I do n't think anyone is going to be able to rescue you against this scaly *cheater*.'' I pouted. The overgrown lizard across from me collected all of the Uno cards with surprising dexterity, and put them back into the box. He said nothing, but smirked at me nevertheless. `` I win again,'' his face seemed to say.
`` Oh come on Steven, do n't be a sore loser. You've *rescued* me one out of ten times! It's probably just your luck.'' Elizabeth giggled, taking a sip of her own drink.
`` Ugh, next time we're playing Old Maid, lizard.''
`` Any time, silly *mortal*.''
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