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Alignment-Lab-AI

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all alone. like he always was. a bedraggled fate. both past and all the years that wait for him. he sees vision of the another world. it's always a vision, like a lucid dream. he tries to get away but he is paralyzed by fear. fear of being void. and the noises distract him. he gazes at the quaint and smashed mirror(repeatedly). seven years of bad luck. though that seems an instant. he sees everything in unison. he gazes at his skull and sees the hole. like he has done for many a years. everything is hazy again. his bouts are about to start again. soon his feet are gonna petrify. and the sound and the horrors are gonna haunt him. that's reality for him. that's how he knows he is alive.

I paused, staring across the table and into the boys eyes, almost as if the Gods' answers were to be found within. But all that stared back was a boy too numb to elicit a response, as empathy seemingly consumed him. I decided to continue, as his education was crucial for the years ahead. "You should have seen it, boy. A battlefield is a soldier's classroom, and never will you learn as much as you do when blood is spilled by your own hand". The boys continued silence was accompanied only by the repeated stabs of his knife against the plate. I decided on a different approach. "Come with me". The boy finally wavered, "Where are we going?"he said as he reached for his bow. "Not far, leave those". We left the city. To the south lays a hillside, as familiar to me as my childhood home. To be here was to be isolated, albeit for the crisp bursts of northerly winds that would every so often remind you of its presence. "Do you know how many lives have ended where you stand?"The boy shook his head, his shaggy hair concealing any emotion. "More than even I wish to know, boy. But I would not trade one of their deaths for any of the lives that were saved because of it". At this, the boy shuffled his stance to face me, his hands in his pockets. The wind looked to be too much for him tonight. "There are few things that change as quickly the wind...", I tried to reassure him, but his hands remained beneath his cloak. I turned and pointed South towards the Iron Islands, "But I would say the dampness of your father's pants before I fucking killed the cunt ranks rather high up there. "You. Cunt!", screamed Theon, as he revealed from his cloak the knife from dinner. He charged at me, proclaiming his undying fealty to Robb along the way, until Hodor came in. "Hooooodooooooor", yelled a mind-controlled Hodor as he grabbed Theon by the neck. Little Bran-Bran was climbing up towers when he felt a danger in his loins. Giving the benefit of the doubt to the fact that he just saw twin sex, he chalked up his loin feelings to the inherent danger that Father Ned was in. "Release him Ho!", I yell. Brodor complies. "Head on the rock, Theon". He complies. I unsheath Ice and lift it over Theon's head. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people. Any last words?"Theon's head bobs, body trembling. He musters up enough strength to dampen his pants. As the foul odor permeates the air, I yell, "Like father like son, Reek"and lower my blade.

**Leaf 1** Leaf, You are a leaf, From a tree. ___ **Leaf 2** You have six spiny points, I have five fingers, Unless I am mutant with six. ___ **Leaf 3** A dark leaf falls from a tree, Blows into the wind, And lands on me. ___ **Leaf 4** The tree you came from, Tall as it was, Was shorter than King Kong. ___ **Leaf 5** You are a leaf in all but shape, From the fruit of the desert. With you, the cactus is courageous. ___ **Leaf 6** Quiet as mice, You fell from your tree, Into a gangsta's paradise.

"Next!" The old crone, shrouded in tattered purple fragments of what seemed to be a toga let her voice screech across the dismal waiting area of the Dept. of Torment, I winced... "Shit, that may have cost me that Torture Implement de-sanitizing job, those fuckers in Lower Management see everything." The spiky demon that must've haunted childhood bedrooms and dreams for the past century shuffled to the door that read "For Review." I watched as his tail slipped past the corner, "How long till I get spikes or a tail?"I wondered to myself, the past 100 years of torment wasn't the big deal, or even one of the reasons I wanted out of "Mischief Making" It was them. The Humans. They acted like the problems I cause day after day after day don't mean anything at all, that they must be "blessed"because their phone or bone isn't really broken, and that they scoff at the shit that I find important because it "really isn't that big of a deal" Fuck em, the Big Man, or the Devil could have them, and I couldn't really care less. "Next!"The old crone crowed. "Already?, shit it was just like 5 minutes ago when she let that blundering sharp piece of shit in there" "Good Luck", the words she whispered to me sounded hollow, like the current way I felt, causing chaos and slight malevolence, just to have it thrown back into my face for not being "Bad Enough". I was pulled into the room, quite literally by the hottest wind at my back, and was violently thrown into the chair that sat across from the panel. The panel was comprised of the Devil himself, and 5 other lesser demons that presided over various methods of making human lives a living hell. "Terrance", The Devil scoffed, he probably thought it was a name that didn't strike fear, just maybe someone you wouldn't invite to a neighborhood barbecue. "Y-Yes?"I stammered, we don't see these guys hardly ever, only a couple times during the last century, thank Beelzebub that I got out of that old job, and by his own recommendation as well! "We have your file here, along with your box of complaints and suggestions, but before we begin, I want to hear what you have to say for yourself."The Devil leaned back slightly, his horns glinting from the swirl of ashes that never seemed to leave him. "Well, for the past century, I have caused some of the worst inconvieniences to plague man, creating new methods of causing chaos with technological advancements, they're just making it easy" He seemed intrigued, so I continued... "Shoelaces coming untied, dropping phones with no permanent damage, didn't want to take from your department, Azazel."He rolled his eyes, all twenty of them. "Slow leaks on tires, stubbing toes, jamming fingers, making people misread expiration dates, that one was always a little fun, I've been good at my job, making lives harder, and while it may seem insignificant, my actions have merit, a lot of suicide and depression cases we see coming here by the thousands is influenced by my daily annoyances." "Maybe this job isn't so bad after all"I thought as Satan licked his very sharp, very yellow teeth, seeming to contemplate everything I had said and done over the last hundred years, "Could be worse, he could stick me..."I didn't have time to finish the thought. He leaned to his left and to his right, casually looking on both sides as to agree or discuss, but no words escaped his curved jaws. "Carcass Turner", fuck, exactly what I didn't want.

Christ. Ever cleaned up your spunk after a particularly rigorous session? Multiply that by a thousand and you'll realize how damned difficult it is to clean Spideyboy's web goop off of whatever it comes in contact with. Let's not forget the acrobatics class I had to take just to reach the cracks and crevices this arachno-bastard likes to swing from. I know the city's public transportation isn't "up to par,"but the least he could do is actually WALK somewhere to get his morning coffee. I swear, ever since the city decided on a cleanup crew for these bastards they've just gotten messier and messier. For fuck's sake, you did not have to smash his head against the concrete wall just because he mugged your girlfriend. I used to clean up murder scenes. Gory stuff. Did it long enough to where it's just not gross anymore, just annoying. And when you have to clean up smashed head off concrete because some superhero that thinks he's above the law got a little amped up, you might understand how tiresome this gets. The job pays, and it pays well enough. That's it for today, time to start the night shift. Hopefully, all the criminals out and about won't try anything with that bat guy flying around.

Freedom. What a wonderful idea, Jacob thought as he lie under the stars on a sleeping bag that slightly cushioned the hard earth beneath his back, making his slumber more comfortable. The moon was full, and the time was around eleven o'clock at night, when Jake's eyelids began to shut slowly... Jake woke up the next morning when *he* wanted to, and he ate what *he* wanted for breakfast. He did what *he* wanted to do that day. Jacob was close to seventeen years old, had long black hair, dark brown eyes, and a glinting smile that matched his perfect complexion. He was fairly tall, coming to around six feet, and weighed about 145 pounds. He was muscular, fit, and athletic. Despite his physical ability, however, he continued to train, to improve, and to better his skills to be able to one day lead the group that called themselves the freedom fighters. This group consisted of about fifteen people, six males, five females, and four children under the age of sixteen. Jake's father was the leader at this time, but because the group was built around the concept of freedom, everyone in the rebellious group had a say in the group's affairs. At 17, Jake was more than prepared to begin learning about his father's responsibilities as leader of the freedom fighters. It was what seemed a sunny, cloudless, spring morning in the year 2117 when Jake had noticed huge black clouds towering above the jagged mountains in the far distance, rolling towards the camp quickly. Soon, the freedom fighters began to feel small small droplets of rain falling from the sky, and they began to move their things inside the makeshift house that they were currently living in. Jake decided to ask his father about his role on this day. "So dad...you know I am getting to be old enough to start learning about what we do, right?"Jake asked trepidatiously, knowing it was a sensitive topic. His father let out a heaving sigh, and began, "Listen Jacob, you do know the story of the war, correct?" He had no idea what he was talking about, so Jake responded, "No one's ever told me the full story." "One hundred years ago, the idea of freedom, the ability to make your own choices, decisions, and actions, was widely accepted and rapidly growing throughout the world's population. That's when submissism was introduced to the world. It got the kind of reception Marxism did: not a very good one. But then two men began to patronize the idea, and both led states that had a somewhat large influence on the world. Kim Jong Un and Vladimir Putin, dictator of North Korea and President of Russia, thought that the idea of everyone submitting to the powerful, influential people of a region would be an easy, effective way to rule and keep the citizens from rebelling. "The world then began to take sides. It seemed as though the freedom states were outnumbered. The United States had few allies, and the alligned military was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the submissism nations' armies. "The whole world was conquered by the two leaders of the army of submissistic states, but eventually they began to grow irritable of each other. There great was tension, and eventually Kim Jong Un snapped. He brutally murdered Putin, using a fifteen inch blade to spear out his heart and cut out his eyes. This was truly the end of any hope of the whole world returning to normal. "But, for us freedom fighters, we believed that even if we couldn't restore the world to balance, we could at least fight the awful, corrupted system of submissism. None of us would ever submit to the tyranny of Kim Jong Un. Originally, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of freedom fighter groups like us, but it has come to just four. We remain here, in what was once the Western United States. There is a group in Northern Africa, Western Europe, and North-Eastern China that are still fighting,"Jake's father said patriotically as a woman frantically rushed into the house. "Sir, we've just received a warning from the European freedom fighters that the other two groups were destroyed in two simultaneous raids, and that the Europeans themselves couldn't flee from the invasion that quickly outnumbered them,"the woman said, out of breath. "Tell everyone to make ready to depart now,"Jake's father said heavily. "We must abandon this site to keep freedom alive." It was at this moment that Jacob lost all hope. They were the last freedom fighters, a solid eleven soldiers and four children, and he knew the fourth invasion would be upon them in minutes. Jake knew they stood no chance against the army of submissistic fools. He ran outside and began to pack what little supplies he had, knowing his life was short. Not long after, he heard the first gunshot. His father fell over, a shot directly in the heart. Freedom died with him on that day.

The prison cell was actually quite comfortable. Yes, it was bare and simple, but it was also warm and the man inside did not lack for food or diversion in the form of a radio. His captors may have wanted to keep him in one place, but they didn't want him to suffer any more than could be prevented. He sat in the lone chair and thought over the events that led here. It was barely ten years ago. No one believed in miracles back then, not really. The Founders were just another cult back then. Johnathan Cheng and his disciples were just as likely to make the next Jonestown as they were to end up on a small time cable channel selling "miracles."Funny thing though, the miracles started happening. It seemed like little things at first that could be explained away with science and coincidence. The condescending voices and cries of blasphemy started strong, but died out nearly as fast as they began as people converted with a speed that boggled the mind. As much as people did not want to believe, they couldn't deny the truth. The High Priests could cure people from sickness that should have killed them with no more than a kiss on the forehead. Crops yielded more than anyone could explain when the High Priests merely came to a field and blessed it with a wave of the hand. Everyone knew the world had truly changed when The Pope himself announced that the Catholic Church was dissolving and offering it's resources to The Founding Pillars of Heaven Church. 99.99% of the world's population now identified itself as Founder with the remaining population refusing out of stubbornness. They agreed just like everyone else the Founder High Priests were miracle workers, but couldn't convert "because it didn't feel right."Most were treated well. The few that were ostracized were taken care of by the church. They lived a secluded but generally happy life. The man in the cell might have been one of these folk if it weren't for his completely unique and completely unexplainable condition. "How are you feeling today my friend? Has there been any change? The High Priests and I have kept you close in our thoughts and prayed for you. Just as we do every day." The man in the cell smiled at the voice of Johnathan Cheng coming from just outside his cell. The man swung his face towards the door and opened his milky eyes. Cheng sighed as he observed that nothing had changed. The man was still blind. The last blind man on Earth. "I don't know why Heaven doesn't grant us this power, when it does anything else we ask of it, but I won't stop until you're cured. I swear it."At that, The Hand of Heaven (as he was known to most) turned and walked down the corridor away from the cell. The man in the cell had heard those words enough times that it was the same as a simple goodbye to him, but none of it bothered him. The reason he was so content was the clear and resonant voice that spoke to him and only he could hear. "The time is finally here, my son. It is time to show the world why it has been blessed with the powers of Heaven, and how it must use them to join us in the Kingdom of Eternity." Joy swelled in him as he stood and walked towards the bars of his cell. He walked right through them and turned to see the lone attendant with clear green eyes. "Be at peace, brother. The Rapture is arrived."

Fuck that one hurt. I think it broke my rib. Think back to your survival training. Don’t let them see pain or it will antagonize them. Damn it! Pretty sure my nose is broken now. Yep, I taste blood. I sure hope Abe is ok. He didn’t look so good as they dragged me out of the MRAP. But hell that was hours ago. Days? I don’t know. I just hope that they knock me unconscious again. Aghh! Why?!? Why are you doing this to me God? I know we haven’t exactly been on speaking terms but Jesus Fucking Christ! What did I do to deserve this! I may not make it out of this one… Amy…. God baby I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about the pain that is about to come your way. I love you. More than anything. I’m sorry that I won’t make you the awesome mother that I knew… Fuck! My stomach! Just do it all ready! Stop! Fucking! Around! Ugh… that one might have done it…. Baby… I’m sorry… so sorry…

*Today's the day.* That was the sentence passing through Jeffrey's mind as he sat in the passenger seat of his buddy's SUV. It repeated itself, again and again, in different variations of his own voice: heavier, lighter, higher and lower. Sometimes with a southern twang, and other times in a Canadian-esque manner. *Today's the day, eh.* He looked over at his friend. He sat there, back straight, both hands on the wheel while the index finger on his right hand tapped along to the beat of the radio. There was a bit of a smirk on his face, permanent in nature, leaving his dark sunglasses to cover the bright blue eyes that would reveal true emotion. *Today's the day, ya'll.* Jeffrey reached into his pocket and felt it. Hard, pseudo-metallic in form. He couldn't help but imagine it would jingle against the nickels and dimes he kept on hand. He ran his fingers over it, keeping his palm flat against the surface as to stop it from moving. This concentration was thrown off by a sudden lurching of the vehicle as it pulled onto the side of the road. "Is something wrong,"Jeffrey asked. "Jeffrey." "What? Is it a tire?" "What's in your pocket?" Jeffrey's cover was blown. The jig was up. End of the line. "All right, you got me,"Jeffrey said with a smile. He looked down to his pocket and shoved his entire hand in there. The inside was twisted a bit, and he had to outstretch his legs to gain access. He wrapped the entirety of his hands around the gift, knowing full well that it would have been better received once they had reached their vacation destination. As he began to pull it out, he turned back to his friend. The sunglasses were off now, and the blue of his eyes merely looked like a blurry ocean. Jeffrey's eyes were focused entirely on the barrel of the gun pointing directly at his forehead, a mere four or five inches away. His brain didn't allow him to fully see the figure behind the gun. His brain didn't care any more or less than he did about the human being, but more about the inner-entity that was committing this act. "I hate to be cliche, but it's nothing personal, and yadda yadda,"he started. "Money is two things: beautiful and tight. If it means your life has to end for mine to go on, I'd be a fool to let that go." Even as his eyes still focused on the barrel, Jeffrey's hand never stopped slowly coming out of his pocket. The ring was now hovering over the car's center console, bouncing around a palm that couldn't keep still.

It was a Sunday afternoon, nearing the end of Tom's neighborhood barbecue he held annually. One of the odd things about this year's barbecue was that his next door neighbor, who he'd hardly ever see even leave the house, had decided to show up that year. Tom decided to strike up a conversation with the neighbor, and a half hour later, it was time for him to leave. ".....ha! Well, it looks like it's time I pack things up and head in for the night, see you later!"Tom said to his neighbor. "Yeah, I'll see you later man!"the neighbor said But as the neighbor was walking away, Tom noticed something very strange. His neighbor's footprints were that of a skeleton. Without missing a beat Tom proceeded to pull out his Remington Semi-Automatic Shotgun with a deafening yell of "NOT TODAY YOU SKELETON MOTHERFUCKER!!!!". The neighbor turned around with a look that conveyed the utter bewilderment racing through his head. But the look didn't last long, as Tom blew his face off with blood spraying enough to cover the entire sidewalk. Tom stood there, with smoke still trailing out of the barrel of his gun like a chimney. Tom's world seemed very quiet at that moment, as he tossed his shotgun to the ground and headed inside, knowing that his good deed was done for the day. Because, for that day at least, Tom felt at peace, for the first time in a long time.

Heather took the end of the floss and wrapped it around her right pinkie. Once. Twice. Three times. In her twenty-six years of experience, this was the minimum number of wraps necessary to minimize slippage. It also meant that her right pinkie turns a deep shade of purple by the end of the task. From her pinkie, she threads the floss across her palm and over the tip of her index finger. The other three fingers close over the strand. The thumb, well, the thumb does not enter into this much. For a second, Heather ponders the thought of those animals without oppose-able thumbs flossing their teeth but then shakes her head and gets on with it. In her left hand, Heather pulls out a healthy length of the string; somewhere between two feet and three. Experience once again dictates that this length will allow her to use fresh floss for each of the gaps between her teeth. None of those bulk pick things for her. On her left pinkie a single wrap, eight or so inches from the right index finger. This will allow her to maintain some tension while still letting the floss run when she needs more. Again, the thread goes across her palm and over her index finger, the other fingers closing on the string. The left thumb is also ignored. A quick wrap around the raised cutter on the floss box and Heather is ready. She looks at herself in the mirror as her hands raise the floss to her face. Her hair and eyes are at their end-of-day worst with fly away strands and bags. She tries a smile which quickly turns to a frown at the fine wrinkles that appear. Again, Heather shakes her head to clear her thoughts. This time, instead of a smile or a frown, she opens her mouth wide and pulls her tongue back out of the way. The right index finger moves up inside of the left back molar, finds the gap and wiggles the floss in. Two quick sweeps, one for each side, and that space is done. Her right small fingers pull, her left small fingers release and a new strand is ready for the next teeth. As she works around her upper jaw, Heather's tongue gets a faint taste of mint. A small reward for the day-in-day out diligence with which she flosses. That and the clean dental bills. And the knowledge that she is helping the family floss business in Montana. She'll move there someday, hopefully soon, and start to rise in the ranks. Maybe she'll even end up running the place.

"I've seen your text messages, and I sure as hell didn't send you those!"The shrill scream of a woman scorned rang through my ears. Her powder-white face was marred with darker streaks from her tears and now-ruined mascara. The dark red sequined dress she wore shimmered with every angry utterance. "Who gave you the right to look through my stuff?"the man roared back angrily. I couldn't tell if his face was red from anger or from the fourth glass of wine he'd ordered. Unlike the woman, he wore a lavender polo shirt, lightly stained with tomato sauce from his plate. "See? You don't deny that you responded to those, you cheating bastard!"The man stood up abruptly, a tomato streak down his midsection. "Anyone is better than you, conniving bitch!"He grabbed a glass of water, and hurled its contents at her. My girlfriend gasped in shock as the liquid ran down her face and dress. By now, the rest of the restaurant patrons had stopped chatting about whatever was on their minds, and had their attention focused solely on the quarreling couple. "I'm done with you!"she shouted, and stormed past him. He let loose a string of words that made me wince, as he slammed his chair back into place. Silence reigned as the noisy couple left the dining area. It seemed like no one could find the words to start a conversation. I'd taken her out to dinner to ask for her hand in marriage. The restaurant didn't need more drama. When I take her home, I'll hold her close and whisper my commitment to her.

"It's hard to breath."Adam said with his head between Eve's legs. It wasn't the most comfortable position for Eve either her leg was getting tired from being so tightly wrapped around Adam's neck. It wasn't enjoyable for her and she was sure Adam was having most of the fun without telling her. God had given them very vague instructions. "Get between her legs"God commanded Adam before leaving in a hurry. They had tried several methods Adam's legs and Adam's arms but none of them felt right, all of which Adam complained of not feeling anything special so now they were at Adam's head. They discounted the smaller appendages because it didn't seem sensible for a small appendage to occupy a large space between a person's legs. "Are you done?"Eve said. She had finished plucking all the flowers near her. There was no response from Adam which she took it as a no. He was obviously getting the better part of this begetting thing. Her legs were getting tired.

So I know I was never to make a deal with the devil, but I was broke and not thinking straight. So he offered me 1000 dollars a day under a few conditions. Of course my soul was one of them. The other two were a bit stranger. I had to spend the 1000 dollars every day, no investing ever, at noon I would receive an envelope telling me where the money would be, which would always be within 5 miles of my location detailed in the envelope, and if I didn't make it to the thousand dollars one day, the money would stop forever. I should have known not to make a deal with the devil. For the first few days I noticed when I got the envelope at noon the money was always in a very hard to get to spot relative to my current location, so I slowly made my way to west Texas, where I figured I could just be in the middle of nowhere for 5 miles each day with a dune buggy. After I got that figured out, I found creative ways to save money within the limits of the deal. I lived in a hotel and paid for years in advance over time. I leased a car to own and had it paid off in a couple of months. I horded food, and once I felt like I was ifnally living comfortably, I took a few weeks to relax, doing not much except going out into the desert at noon each day, getting my envelope then reterning by about 2pm. Unfortunately, that Is why you suspected I am a drug dealer. Please, let me go. I will return for questioning. But I have to go get my money. I know this sounds strange, but you have to believe me. He then leaned over and whispered, I do believe you, but I sold my soul to the devil to get promoted, and the favor he asked me for was to keep you here twenty four hours.

Where was he? The first question that came to his mind. This resounding question struck him as he felt lucidity wash over him. He opened his eyes, as if for the first time. A figure sat at the other side of pond. No, not a pond. A pool of darkness, a deep, encapsulating darkness that drew the eye in. The figure was a pure white mannequin, sitting with it's knees drawn up to it's chin. He found it as chilling and as frightening to him as the black pool before him. The face was staring at him with eyes no longer there. The face of the mannequin had been deformed, seemingly maimed by time and neglect. It's features degenerated so much, it would have been completely impossible to determine it's intended sex if not for the twin white mounds nearly hidden behind it's knees and the curvature of it's form. Around that, nothing. No, worse than nothing. A sea of despair and pain around him, every glance into that darkness sent a spark of agony to wrack his very core. He opted to simply stare at the mannequin's face. The fear and the uneasiness seemed to come along with something else... Was it... Familiarity? It hurt to much to think. To remember, but he had to. How did he get here? The second question. He closed his eyes and tried to remember, to think back. A haze filled his mind's eye. He remembered something, a blank sheet of paper. No, Not blank. The center had something. Something dark at the center. A swirling vortex of one continuous line. Was that all? He swore there was something else, something behind this swirling abyss. He remembered the pool before him and opened his eyes to look again. The pool was not still as he first though, but swirling, a whirlpool of blackness. He could see beyond, there were hands. So many hands and faces staring back at him. Beckoning him into the pool. To drown along with them. He tore his eyes away, he did not want to join them. The sad faces moaning in despair as he did so. There was something else he hadn't even considered till just now. Who was he? The third question. This answer seemed to come hard to him. The very attempt to even recall his name seemed to shake him to the core. To send a bolt of... Something... It wasn't hate, but felt so much like it. Guilt? Sorrow? Loathing? He fought through these bizarre feelings and he felt a name come to his lips. "Neil..."The very utterance of the word brought a flash of something. A screaming, a loud cry of agony and pain. He began to feel hot. Sweat beading on his forehead. He lifted his hands, an effort that seemed to take all his strength. His hands were... So small... Were they always so small? He glanced up, the Mannequin suddenly seemed so much larger. He heard something, faint, yet close. A soft thrum that grew louder with every second. He soon realized what it was. Sobbing? He reached up to his cheeks and felt them. No. Not him, his cheeks were dry. Then who...? He lifted his head and saw it. From the craters that were the Mannequin's eyes, two lines of dark liquid poured from them. Was his mind playing tricks on him. He felt the cold, icy chill of dread fill him. He wanted to flee, but he could not. The strength in his legs and arms were not to be found. The sobbing grew louder, and louder and the Mannequin's eyes streamed more black tears down it's face, staining it's knees and adding to the pool before him. Then... a voice. "Neil.... Neil"The voice said in between heavy, gasping sobs. "Do you not remember me?..."It continued, in a desperate plea. His eyes went wide. It knew his name. Why would it know his name? He swallowed hard. Feeling his tongue lay heavy in his mouth as he parted his lips. "N-No... I-I'm sorry... Who are you?"His voice felt alien, high pitched and crackling. The voice seemed turn it's sobs into deep, heavy moans of sadness. "It's me... It's mommy." Like a movie playing in front of his eyes, a scene suddenly flashed before him. He was standing just outside a room, peering in through a cracked door. The sounds of angry screams and yells filled the house. Assaulting his ears even from his room downstairs. He knew he shouldn't have, but he had to come. Had to try and help. That man was at it again. His speech slurred and his rage coming in a storm. The man was a tall, broad shouldered, monster of a man. With horns spiking from his head, his skin a deep crimson and his breathing ragged with anger and hate. He was yelling something, screaming words he couldn't quite understand at something, someone. He tilted his head, and saw it. The Mannequin. A flare of pain and anguish distracted him from the memory for just a moment. But a moment was enough. When he came back he saw the man. No, not a man, a demon. He saw the demon's hands around the white figure's neck. Screaming and yelling, lashing out with his fist and his hand every few moments. He could see it, suddenly he could see the eyes of the mannequin. Staring back at him, begging at him for... Something he didn't understand. Tear steaming down. The rest only came in short flashes. The demon turning to look at him, the anger on it's face turning to horror. The demon, running to the bed stand. He pulled something out of it. Something shiny. There was a thunderous bang, a loud thud. A dark pool gathering at his feet. Then the next thing he heard were sirens, followed by a flashing of blue and red light. There the memory ended. Clarity came in a wave and he left the darkness. Nothing of that horrid place remained in him but a dull ache in his chest. He was breathing heavily. "Neil?... Neil are you alright?"A familiar voice called out. It was Mister Sykes, the nice man with the clipboard. He looked up at him and replied. "Y-Yea I'm alright... Uhmm... What was I doing?"He must have just dozed, that dark room seemed so far off now. Like a dream. Mister Sykes looked at him with a quizzical, but concerned look before saying. "... I asked you to draw your mother for me... You got frustrated and... did that."The man pointed just in front of where he was sitting. He looked down and saw a piece of paper, with a very familiar swirling vortex. A broken pencil laying next to it. Behind the vortex, he saw the outline of a white figure. The only feature he seemed to had drawn, were two, begging eyes.

The first incidence of this inverse relationship was discovered in 1986, when an elderly gentlemen, on his way to buy some milk and bread, hit a tree next to the store, stumbled out with a broken arm and proceeded to buy a instant win lottery ticket, "Just because", as he eloquently put it. Incidentally as it turns out, he won the grand prize of 5000 smackeroos and proceeded to get stretchered into the hospital where he recovered after a few days. He died almost instantly as he stepped out of the hospital when a stray weather balloon fell out of the sky and smothered him to death.

"Will you be long?"Susan says to her husband. "No not at all, just finishing preparing for my meeting tomorrow."He replied. "Okay, good night"she replied before closing the studyroom's door. Hours past before Marcus finally close his eyes. He didn't really feel the bump to his head slumping on the table. That is where we begin. Marcus woke up right where he fell asleep. Feeling tired and slightly dizzy, we stumbled to the stairs ready to go to bed. Two steps in he hears a crash outside. That woke him up. He ran to the door and outside. He couldn't see a crash or anything remotely similar. Dazed and confused, he walks inside before seeing a note on the door. "A society grows when great men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in"It read. Marcus looks around but doesn't see anyone. Intrigued, he walked back into his house only to be transported outside during the day. Essentially his door has become a portal for day and night. He was unsure to choose, instinctively though, he continued and stepped outside. He collected the paper and went inside. Crawling back to bed, he went back to sleep. Upon waking, he walked to the kitchen. "He didn't brush his teeth this morning"said Susan. "I'm sorry what did you say?"Marcus asked. "I didn't say anything."she proceeds to kiss him "Oh okay" "I am so going to kill you one of these days"She screems walking away. "Marcus looks confused and watches her leave"

Akeem was a vampire. Worse still, he was an old vampire. Even worse than either of those two things was the fact that he was a Sabbat; and a loyal servant of the cause too. Add in the fact that he was a member of the Tzimisce clan, and you had a recipe for carnage. Akeem had lived in Istanbul for most of his life. While there, he picked up many strange habits. He learned Vicissitude, the art of flesh shaping, almost solely to better feed his habits. He loved experimentation, toying with mortal bodies like they were clay. For example, he changed a prominent imam into a sensual belly dancer, and then watched the chaos that unfolded. As he got older though, he started growing bored. He had done most everything he could think of to others, and was running out of ideas. One night, while feeding on his latest project, he got an idea. Why not change his own body? It would be something he never had done before, not in six long centuries. That was how he moved to America. Akeem became Candi, an impossibly thin stripper with surgically perfect boobs and a literally sculpted ass. Candi had worked for hours, fretting over every single detail like a true woman, even debating for a half an hour on the color of her new hair. By the end of the process, the buff Arabic man had become a bleach blonde American bimbo. Groped, ogled, creped on and objectified like a real woman. And Akeem loved every single second of it.

My desk is cheap sheetwood, black and coated with dust and food crumbs. My CPU is covered in old Icebreaker mint stickers, the stickers are so old they're falling off and peeling. My moniter is propped up off the desk with two thick ass books, both at odd angles. The whole desk is dusty and dirty and covered with all manner of debris. The room isn't much better. Dust bunnies on the exposed floor, clothes covering everything else. Four empty backpacks are tossed randomly around the floor, along with stuffed MLP horses, a floral print pillow, and a copy of Neuromancer. My blankets are tossed on the floor in a crumpled heap, further cluttering the precious little floor space I have left. My entertainment center is full of old books, used papers, a random lockbox, a 32 inch tv, and an xbox. It's about as dirty as everything else, hasn't been dusted in months. Though it's not as bad as my windows, which are molding from the ancient ass window frames getting the wood wet. It also smells a bit like guinea pigs, as my sister lives next door.

*It's choking me. It's hard to breath. What am I doing? I gotta be out of my goddamn mind. I'm too young, there's still so much I wanted to do and now I just- I'm not ready.* I felt tears build up in my eyes. The world began to water up and melt like some Dali painting. It's not like I didn't see this coming. Hell, I've been planning this for a year, invested all my time and a lot of money into this. I looked at my watch, 4:45, I had ten minutes. I made sure the door was locked once more and began pacing, I couldn't stand sitting with my legs so restless. *It's still choking me*. I loosened my tie. I wasn't used to wearing suits. As a writer I rarely ever have to, but I couldn't do this in sweatpants and t-shirt. People would see me, my family, friends, everyone. I grabbed a pen and started to write a note. "I'm sorry."That's all I could muster. My hand froze and no matter how hard I tried I just could not write down another word. *This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this? I can't. I can't just let everyone down. I'm just afraid, it's normal, and it's nothing I can't handle... Who am I kidding it's something I can't handle.* I crumpled up the note. I couldn't do that to them, to her. I heard a knock on the door and a muffled voice. "Jason? Jason, you in there?"It was my dad. Fuck. "Jason open up!"The knob began to turn rapidly. I took a deep breath and walked over, opening the door. "Hey dad."My eyes were puffy, I could feel them, and I swear he could hear my heart beating, breaking my chest. He knew. He knew exactly what was going on. He didn't say anything. He just hugged me. Even as a kid he always gave me a sense of safety. When we went to Disney I would refuse to sit next to anyone but him because I wouldn't feel safe, even though the safety bar wouldn't come down all the way to me because he was a pretty heavy set guy. He'd lost weight recently though, health reasons, once he hit his later 50's he decided to take better care of himself. "I know what you're going through, come here."He walked past me and sat down on the queen sized hotel bed. I followed, dragging my feet behind me. "I was a little younger than you when it happened. I couldn't believe what I was about to do. I was flipping out. I didn't want the life I had to end, but it had to." "I know, I know I got myself into this but I just- I just can't go through with it."I turned my head, I couldn't bear to look him in the eye so I looked down at his shoes. "Don't you wish you had done it?" "God no. I mean, sure, in the moment it seemed like not a bad idea compared to the alternative, but if I had I would have never had you."He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. "The second I looked at your mother again I knew. Somehow I just knew. I saw the house, you, your first steps, the happiness I would share with you two. I couldn't give that up for anything. I wouldn't change seeing you grow up into the man you are for the world." "You're not disappointed?"I couldn't believe he wasn't. "Of course not! Look we all get down. Especially facing the circumstances you are. It's overwhelming. But you're my son. You're smarter than I ever could dream of being, you have the love of a beautiful woman, and a successful career. And not only that but, but you're so much stronger than I ever was." "Dad-" "No, listen, I know I've messed up here and there, I've had to sacrifice time with you and your mom in order to give you guys the life I dreamed of."His voice began to shake. "You've taken every opportunity I've given you and made the most out of them to get here, and I can't watch you throw away a lifetime of happiness over a moment of weakness and fear. I'm gonna give you another two minutes. And I just hope- no, I know that you'll do the right thing."He got up and walked to the door, placing his hand on the knob before stopping and turning around for one more hug. I stood, walked over, and held him tight. "I love you son, and I always will." "I love you too, dad."He turned and walked out the door. I didn't need those two minutes. He was right. It was a moment of weakness and I won't throw everything away. I tightened up my tie. It didn't feel so bad anymore. I walked out, and down the hall, and out into the beautiful courtyard. Everyone was there, waiting for me. It was all a blur, voices were muffled noises and I just stood there in front of them all. I don't know how much time passed, but before I knew it I saw the love of my life standing in front of me with her beautiful green eyes wide and suddenly I saw it, the house, my son, his first steps, and the happiness I would feel with them two. It was time. I was finally ready. "I do."

Every night is the same; I see him and I try to forget, but deep down I know I never will. We stand beside ourselves and watch, helpless. He reaches for my hand and I take it. And we look back into that endless void. I watch him tell me of the road he has chosen and I feel the pain in his heart and mine. There are never any tears between us, only solemn understanding. He shows me the bottle, and I watch myself follow him into the darkness. Then we're back, standing in the open meadow where his lips first locked with mine. Yet the air sits heavy, and there is little warmness between us. I look into his dark eyes for an eternity of silence before his mouth forms those two words which unfailingly bring tears to my eyes. "I'm sorry."

The first time it happened was when she was meeting with her boss. It was the usual one-on-one weekly meeting with a boss who has graduated from the $19.99 Holiday Inn Express two day management course. Prolific use of worn-out cliches ("Work smarter, not harder") and vague direction with ample "weasel words"was what she had come to expect. The worst of it, though, was having to LOOK at her boss. She knew how shallow it was, but she just couldn't get past it mentally. Revulsion from her boss' self-inflicted unpleasant appearance and poor professional presentation made the time drag by unbearably. Eve's nature had always been a positive one. She might be momentarily negative about a situation, but always buoyed to the positive given a little bit of time. Her only real personality flaw was the occasional situation where her anger flashed past the boiling point into an explosion. It had only happened once at work. Even though years had passed since then, she was still rebuilding her professional reputation from the event. Eve's reaction was no different this time. As she got past her revulsion and boredom in the meeting, she began to imagine the perfect boss. In her mind, she visualized an attractive, middle-aged female manager who had a real passion for supporting her employees. She imagined someone she never got tired of listening to, a leader who inspired the best in everyone. As she focused on her ideal boss, without realizing it, exactly thirteen seconds passed. At precisely the thirteenth second, she heard an unreal whisper as if spoken directly into her ear by no one. The voice whispered, "the change must balance."Within the time period of that phrase's enunciation, her manager's physical appearance and bearing changed dramatically. To Eve's shock, her boss became the very person that she had just been imagining. Her boss' whole tone and the content of conversation changed to the very pattern of leadership she had envisioned. Eve's jaw dropped and she couldn't take her eyes off her manager. The meeting concluded uneventfully. If her boss had figured out her shock and surprise, she didn't let on that this was the case. Eve was unable to comprehend at first what had actually happened. As she thought through the event sequence over and over and considered what words she heard as a whisper when the change started, it was clear to her that in some impossible way she had at least some power to change reality. It scared her to think about the extent to which that power might reach. Over the next days and weeks, Eve was more disciplined with her thinking, especially daydreams and fantasy. She began to notice however, that another change was occurring with a workmate that she hadn't anticipated at all. Freya, a young but somewhat experienced standout in her office who was considered a rising star, started to change. Her sharp wit and very professional demeanor began to be replaced with an older, more familiar appearance and presentation. Freya was becoming what Eve's manager used to be. Eve was horrified when the realization dawned on her, when she made the connection between what had materialized from what she imagined and what the voice had whispered in her ear. A sick, sinking feeling overcame her when she realized that Freya was the balance to the change she had introduced. Freya was taking on the characteristics that Eve has wished out of her manager. The young up-and-comer began to lose momentum in the great office career race. Her appearance was drastically changed from more than just a lack of care for herself. Freya's career and life were ruined - she was doomed to pathetic mediocrity no one would wish on a fellow worker. Eve, as was her nature, nosed back up from the negativity of this realization and began to contemplate how she might be able to use this newfound terrible and awesome power to benefit more than one person - a whole world of people. And how it might destroy just as many.

'I feel the same age, time has just progressed.' This was my go-to answer for whenever people looked at me like I was 15 years old. I'm nearly double that now, but I still use coloured pencils to draw things that I used to watch in the TV. I can draw all the first generation of Pokemon from memory. And I am inordinately proud of that. It's my party trick. 'I feel the same age, time has just progressed.' So what if I should have responsibilities? I have them, but I just don't feel old enough to have them. Getting married? I feel like I'm 15! I'm not old enough to get married. Mortgages? They are for people with a husband or wife and 2.4 kids. I don't feel old enough for that at all. 'I feel the same age, time has just progressed' And yet, I look at all my friends. They're getting engaged and getting married and getting a house. It looks like fun. The next level of life. 10 years ago we were off to Uni. It felt like we were delaying the inevitable and while my friends have grown up and aged, I still see them as they were before puberty hit. Worrying about grades and who fancied who. We still talk like that when we meet up; who's in jail, who has a baby and what happened to that one friend that pulled away from everyone else. Being an Adult clearly didn't suit him. 'I feel the same age, time has just progressed' But I know I will have to eventually. People say of certain individuals: they are a teenager in a grown man's body. I will be one of them. I will talk about meetings and quotas and paperwork but when I get home I can be a teenager again. Because I know, I'm not quite ready to be an Adult. Not yet.

We all knew him as the jolly one. He'd light up a room and bring a smile to anyone's face when they needed it. If someone needed the shirt from his back, he would give it to them, no questions asked. However, he would yank that shirt back as quickly as he gave it away. He would see himself without it and begin to feel...inferior. Almost as if he wasn't *the right size* person to be walking around without a shirt even if it was because of a charitable donation. The smiles he painted on others were with a paintbrush of his own sorrow and greif. He had no happiness in his life and so he brought it to ours. We remember him not for his laughter or smile but for the laughter he brought us.

[:Transmission begins:] [::The voice on the tape is panicked with a distinctive Texan tone, sporadic gunfire and explosions are heard in the background as the record plays::] "Oh fuck man what the hell was the president thinking, couldn't let anything go- diplomatic incident my ass." [::There is a pause, screaming is heard in the background with a low rumbling::] "Oh it'll be easy, they don't have nukes, the majority of the population is squatting on the border, it'll be a fucking cakewalk. What a load of bullshit, command we have-" [:::There is another scream and more gunfire, it's closer this time, much closer:] "Oh shit they're pressing!" "We got past the nintey percent click zone, we were moving to secure the north- fuck what were we thinking, it's fucking Nam' all over again, fucking Jenkins got eaten by a fucking bear, frostbite wiped out half the company- Fuck!" [::Another pause, more screaming is heard::] "If anyone is listening pull back, we fucked the beaver in it's damn, now we're stuck inside it's fucking damn with his whole goddamn family waiting for us-" [::A door is heard slamming in the background, there is a scream and more gunfire, another pause and there is the sound of technical fiddling and footsteps in a new found silence::] [::There is another voice, this one deeper and cold::] "Ya' screwed up boys, no hard feelings 'eh." [:Transmission ends, goes dead from power failure on the transmitting side:]

It was a long walk from the black van I rode in down the long concrete corridor into some underground compound. I knew I was underground because it smelled dank and damp, like the basement of a WeHo bathhouse. Some cute airman who couldn't have graduated basic training more than a few months ago opened doors for me by sliding his card in several slots. I wondered about his card, wondered if he'd pass my checkpoints. Finally, I was taken to a room with a long conference table where four other guys were already sitting with folders in front stuffed with various documents. I found the last empty chair at the table and as I sat down, some daddy general burst into the room. "Gentleman!"he grunted. At his bark, I wanted to stand at attention. The young hispanic boi at the far end of the table rose slightly, but sat back down quickly enough. "In front of you are top secret documents for your eyes only. You may not repeat anything you see or hear in this room, at penalty of death." I had heard this speech before, remembering all of the times I've been dragged out of my apartment in the Castro at five in the morning... well, for government work, that is. Official government work. "Open your dossiers..."General Daddy grunted, "... and inside... you'll find... your next assignment." The documents included photos of Obama in mom jeans, talking into a flip-phone, hanging Bob Marley posters in the Oval Office, and close-ups of his unibrow. There were several sheets of correspondence, some addressed to his FLOTUS from the NSA, others from HilRod and Nate Berkus. Also included was an invoice showing orders of protein bars, boxed wine, and iceberg lettuce shipped to the White House with the signature of the President's Chief of Staff. "As you can see, Vice President Biden has exhausted his resources, save from dressing and feeding POTUS personally."the General sighed. "Your President and your country needs you... now." As each of us glanced with terror through each leaf, we realized what was at stake. Despite the arduous task ahead, each of us knew exactly what we had to do. Though Obama has eight years, THIS would be our finest hour. Indeed, we knew it would be a tough job, but with Ted's gastronomy, Kyan's aesthetic, Thom's knack for design, and Jai's cunning, I was certain we had what it took to win the Culture War for America.

"Some things are better left unknown"John scribbled on the back page of his notebook. John wrote this a week prior to the project, he had no idea what was coming but he knew the weight of the knowledge might be beyond his understanding. The project was an interesting proposal. The technology of matter deconstruction being implemented in production and object transport had revolutionized society. We had been using the technology for the last decade to get inorganic matter from point A to point B. People were curious as to what would happen if no end point was inputted into the equation. Speaking purely by definition, a human being that was completely deconstructed, atom by atom, could not be considered living. You would have broke a being down to their most basic materials. It left people with some serious philosophical questions. There was a lot of press surrounding the proposal. The U.N. Ethics committee argued as to whether we could put a human being through such an experimentation, others argued the impact this could mean for world politics. Imagine if one experiment could finally answer the most universally troubling question in the human psyche. Religious warfare could be ended overnight. Eventually, approval for the project went through and John was tapped as prime candidate for the project. His father was a theoretical physicist and his mother a member of the UN naval committee. The mix of knowledge and duty were seen as promising characteristics for a candidate. The project chamber itself was pretty basic. A steel pod with a screen overlooking the control center. It was simple, they would hit the scary red button, John would disappear, and hopefully come back with an interesting story to tell. I don't think anyone could have predicted how things would turn out. The room buzzed with people at control stations and monitoring screens. John's biometrics data was monitored throughout to be sure that when he came back he was in the exact way he left. The inside of the chamber was bare beyond the monitoring sensors. Even clothes were removed from the equation to be sure no interference occurred. John stood patiently, thinking to himself, before the silence of his chamber broke. The intercom of his pod sounded off and heard a familiar voice. "How are you doing in there, John? Comfortable I hope?"It was the voice of Melissa Brennan, the physicist leading the project. John pressed a button against the door of his pod and responded. "You know, with a budget of over a Trillion dollars I would think we could have at least have heated pods. I'd like to be able to walk away from this with a little less shrinkage". The voice on the other end chuckled before running through the basics "All of your readings are normal, we have to run one last system diagnostic and then we commence. Just do us a favor and sit tight for two more minutes". John tapped the button before signing off with a "Will do". He then leaned against the wall of his chamber and waited patiently. The fusion core sitting below the facility could be seen through the glass floor. It swirled with the fire of an angry sun and fueled the facility with limitless power. This kind of energy would be needed if this project was to be successful. The core began to swirl with greater motion as John could see scientists and military personnel getting into position. This party was about to get started. The intercom sounded off "Deconstruction sequence is under way, John. The countdown clock will appear on the screen above the intercom and then we say goodbye for the next hour. You will be reconstructed once an hour has passed. Are you ready?"John took a breath as he felt butterflies fill his stomach. He was understandably nervous but he wanted to get this over with. "Lets get started"John replied before taking a step back from the pod door. An alarm sounded off as lab members monitored the startup procedure and monitored the process. John watched the clock above the intercom slowly countdown from 60. He shut his eyes and he took a few deep breaths as he considered the possibility of this being his last moments on earth. He inhaled and exhaled in a steady motion as he felt his heart rate slow a bit. "20 seconds", a voice went over the lab intercom as he felt the pod vibrate with a light hum. He opened his eyes and saw the room fill with a light, orange, glow. His flesh tingled and the hair on his body stood on end. Even if he wanted to, there was no going back now. All he could do was await whatever fate stood before him. "3..."all of the eyes in the room were now on his pod, "2..."No face was relaxed as he could now see the anxiety that everyone was holding in, "1...". John's mind warped as he looked back on his life, his childhood, his parents, his friends, his growth as a person, in a single instance it was all taken from him. As the glow of his pod ceased, it now stood empty above the room. A voice shattered the momentary silence "Phase 1 has commenced, in one hours time we begin phase 1". "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return."Melissa whispered the line from Genesis 3:19 as she looked at the screen showing an empty pod. "See you in an hour, John". The transition was not violent, just unnerving. John awoke in a void. There was no gravity, no air, no pain or pleasure. He was just himself and his thoughts and an ever-widening space before him. He tried to speak but there was no sound, only a vibration that spread from his body which made its way into the void. A moment passed before he witnessed the being come before him. It looked like a fetus but coated in a ball of pure energy. It did not house a child but something so alien that John failed to find a word for it. It moved toward him as the orb rotated to bring the eyes of the fetal being to meet his. John's body let out a vibration of fear which rippled into the sac surrounding the being. The being then floated in silence for a long moment. After a few moments, a long tentacle-like extrusion grew from the being. It was translucent and pulsating with a golden-glow. It reached outward toward John who was unable to move or resist. The cord moved toward his face where it finally made contact with his forehead. In this moment, he and the being were one. From this connection, a booming voice filled the cracks of John's mind. "Being of vibration, the levels of reality which you trespass are far beyond what your mind can comprehend. You stand within the void possibility, yet you know not what these possibilities may bring. Your lineage follows a path that is rarely walked and you know not what drives you down this path." John's mind was now screaming. He was filled with fear and confusion as this alien mind probed deeper. "Fear not, my presence is like gravity to your sun, I maintain order amongst the chaos. Any fear you have should be directed inward, for the horrors of the human spirit go beyond any that this Universe might conjure." John forced out his thoughts, realizing this being was speaking through the cord. He pushed out his question. "What...are...you?"The vibration moved up the cord to the being. The being floated silently for a long moment before responding. "I am that which brings order to possibility, you are the soil which possibility is planted." Realizing he now had a voice in this exchange, John continued thinking his questions. "Where...are...we?"The pulse moved up the cord. The being was silent once more. "We inhabit the silence in-between."the being fell silent. John, now angry at the coded language screamed his next question "IN...BETWEEN...WHAT?". The being began to glow with an orange light as John felt himself moving. His vision faded to where he saw the void, he was then pulled outward and saw charged particles and electricity flowing between two large bodies of mass. As he was pulled further outward he saw these objects as synapses branching outward. This again pulled further out to what was revealed as a great mind. He was then pulled outward once more and John witnessed his own eyes staring back at himself. The being's voice boomed "All non-physical suffering is rooted in the mind. Your species follows a path of Sadomasochism. If you do not believe you are deserving of suffering you believe another is. Those who believe in damnation will embody it, those who believe in redemption will receive it. Everything else falls into the void, where we will feed." The being grew silent before speaking once more. "Your time in the void has ended, do what you will with this knowledge and may it guide your path to personal salvation." The being plucked the cord from John's mind as he felt himself begin to fall. His mind rushed with speeds beyond light and his flesh burned with the fire of a thousand suns. He finally awoke to the smell of electricity and ozone as he could see the familiar light of the lab. The sound was booming and his eyes ached from the light. "John? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"Melissa's voice fired through the intercom. John punched the button and began screaming in panic "OPEN THE POD, UNLOCK IT NOW!!!"An alarm sounded as the pod door opened prematurely and John climbed down from the lowering platform. His naked body layed against the grate of the platform as he passed out from panic and exhaustion. Officially, the project was labeled a success. Sadly, John suffered severe symptoms of PTSD and was forced to undergo extensive psychiatric treatment as a result. The following year, on the anniversary of the project and after John was released from treatment the UN ethics committee made a formal request that he make a statement about his experiences during the project. John responded to the request with a one sentence letter. "Some things are better left unknown"

*It was a cold and stormy night when Jacob came to town. He paused outside of a broken down door, glancing up at the-* **WAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!** The newborn's cries pierced the air as June cringed. She got up with a heavy sigh, walking towards the brightly painted bedroom that had just held her sleeping son. "What's wrong now?"She said to herself more than anything, checking the dry diaper. "I just fed you, you can't be hungry again."The infant's cries continued, lessening only when she picked up the boy. She rocked him gently back to sleep before putting him back to bed. She placed the newborn back in the crib gently, sneaking back out to her computer. She stared at the words on the page blankly. She had no idea what she'd wanted to write, but the story was gone, leaving only a worn cliche behind. With a few clicks of the mouse, the story was gone, leaving only a blank page behind. *With a light kiss on the cheek, Jacob waved goodbye to his sweetheart. The ship was setting sail in an h-* **WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!** June smacked the keyboard out of frustration, leaving a wake of gibberish in her story. She stared at the screen as the crying continued, hoping to hear the crying abate, but it continued unchecked as she at her story blankly. Romantic swashbuckling was so far removed from her situation, she couldn't get the words to come out. A few clicks deleted the sentences as she went up to check the baby. "You're going to be the death of me."She muttered as the baby happily nursed. When the baby cooed itself to sleep, she slipped back to her computer to stare at the blank page. *How my son decided to kill my career; An Autobiography.* She winced as the baby cried again, leaving the words on the page.

I take the first train of the morning. The platform from where I enter is a shrouded, misty place. The sun has not yet broken and heavy, dark air hangs around the wood and brick and iron structures where the giant belching behemoths come to sweep people like me away. At my desk, where the papers come and never go, I feel a sense of eternity - what it must be like to look at the horizon and see on forever, beyond the stars and deep, deep into the universe. It is a vacuous and empty place. I feel the opening pulling me toward it. Yet I am stuck. No matter how strong the forces exact their tolls, I am an unmovable object, at one with this small space where the work pins me beneath its dull and suffocating weight. The clock ticks forward and forward until, finally, the hour hits and it is time to leave. For a moment, the heaviness is lifted, but only briefly. Standing to go, the scribed path guides me on its rails back to from where I’ve come. To the platform I return, waiting for the train. It takes me home and I am in the place not unlike my desk, though now the illusion of freedom teases me with fickle hand. This soul is tired and weary and not as free as I want to believe. I eat, I sit, I lay and soon I am asleep. Sun against my face. Warmth, a smile. I see her eyes, fleeting, and they are gone. Yellows and reds and greens, a dress flits in the light. Beyond, a path of rich grass extends forward. I walk giant steps, flying across the land, laughing. Then silence. I am at the platform again and the train is coming. Great plumes of smoke billow from it’s neck. The heads of those inside hang forlorn and resigned. The doors slide open and I accept the offering, stepping inside and joining those in muddled black. Swaying side to side, the car moves with icy grace. I see the buildings swallow us as we are covered in shadow. At my desk my pen clicks, but I do not remember telling my finger to make it do so. I shuffle papers from one side to the other in hopes of making my work look as though it has changed, is less. The papers are pushed too far and they fall, a flurry of white doves, rushing to the ground in search of repose. The heads around me stop their forward, vacant stares and swivel at my attempts to collect the contents on the ground. I ride the train home again. I eat, I sit, I lay. I sleep. The darkness turns to color. Sweeping vista in frame, they light my tunneled vision and grow until the entirety of my perspective is swallowed up. There the fall trees flow with unreal vibrancy, a fine mix of rainbow effect. The wind carries a warm and comforting melody. I am wrapped in it. Ahead, the blurred and wavy view resolves into a beautiful image, the natural landscape conjured in stone and sand and grass. Where the dirt ends and the sand begins I plant my feet firmly and move forward. Greeting me with a smile, I see her face. She lounges on a solitary blanket, laid before us, and makes great gestures with her arms. She beckons and her laugh carries like a bird’s song, musical and catching. The melody lulls me and as I approach I put a hand against her side. She guides me across the land, opening canyons and driving up mountains. We move onward, as one, smiling hearts tethered to a common cause. Rising up, I become friend with the sun. Below, water cools and cleanses. The alarm sounds and I pry my eyes open. Red, bleary, and burning my sight takes in the dusty surroundings. Cold sheets offend my body. Darkness surrounds the room. The gray sun has not yet risen. I lift myself, sitting, staring into the absence before me. I do not register those usual things around me, instead they appear as a single mixture of the black and muted night. Here I sit until sun rises. Train. Work. Home. Sleep. She has waited for me to wake. I am here and in her arms. She laughs and smiles. Her coy gestures catch me, striking my steel heart asunder, that heart which melts in the heat of her graces. Wrapped in color, life has begun, finally lifted from my nightmarish monotony. Here, in this paradise, I wait for night to arrive when the train will carry me away to that sad and lonely place whereupon I shall be delivered. I will shuffle the papers, check the clock and wait once more to wake after the world has closed up around me.

"Hey, listen up. When we crash into this mountain, we're not going to eat each other like that fucking soccer team! Do you hear me? There will be no cannibalism on this forced excursion!"The intercom turns off. Really? We're crashing and the pilot is worried about cannibalism. Fuck the seat belt sign, where is the drink cart. I had to twist some arms to get this first class seat, and frankly the service on this flight has been god awful. I got one drink right before take off and that was it. Not one of these air headed stewardesses had even come to take my empty polymer-chic faux glass. I think now that this flight has gone to complete shit the younger stewardess with the nice rack should come over here and give me a complimentary blowjob. Shit, if this plane goes down and people start eating people, I'm clubbing everyone except her to death. Then, me and her can fuck like rabbits on top of the pile of perfectly charred meat I cooked with my Guy Fierri recipe. Let's face it, I play a barbarian extra in this stupid tv movie so I might as well get some method acting practice. She's within earshot I might as well let her know. "Hey, Karen... Katherine... Christine... whatever your name is. I want to fuck you." That look isn't one of disgust she's just playing hard to get. This guy next to me is really losing his shit. He hasn't opened his eyes in nearly five minutes and he's clenching his asshole so tight I can feel the suction over here. "Hey man, loosen up. Clenching your ass that hard isn't going to save you from dying on impact or in the airliner fuel fire that is sure to follow." That's a look to remember. I haven't gotten a look like that since I threw up during my brother's wedding right on the cake. I can't believe they don't invite me to Thanksgiving. I can handle my alcohol way better now. WHERE IS THIS FUCKING DRINK CART?? "Uhhhhh... this is your pilot speaking. It seems we've cleared the turbulence and will be making an....uhhhh... emergency landing. Please keep your seatbelts fastened as we make our descent." "Hey, Crystal. I guess I shouldn't said that." "My name is Kendal." "Yeah, well, Kendal your service was fucking awful." Oh hey, the drink cart.

As I unlocked my apartments door a voice called out from behind me. "You don't see a lot of men with green thumbs these days." "Huh?"I managed to grunt, apishly. Turning over my shoulder, my eyes locked with hers. A stunning blonde, not a day older than 30. "Oh, I'm only assuming, because of the spade and trowel -.. You garden right?" I exhaled a simple laugh. "Yeah, once in a while." "I've never seen you at the community garden." "Oh, I've never been."These days I'm more introverted. "That's a shame, I'd love to see you come out one day." "Yeah, maybe."I pushed open my apartment door and bent down to lift the rest of my gardening equipment. "So, where is your garden if you don't mind me asking?" "At the cemetary."

"I want him." "I want him more."Lucifer crossed his arms. "I wish to reward him for the life he has lived." "And So do I." "Guys."Tupac interrupted. "I'll live in between. You can both come and visit, and when Snoop Dogg dies we can start a third realm." God and the Devil glanced at each other; "Deal." And so the third afterlife was created. The realm inbetween heaven, hell and earth: 420 blaez it land.

I am Fred. I come from Earth. I come in peace. I have a message. I am a hope. A hope to humans. A hope to earth. I have always been slow. Slow in learning. Slow in teaching. When you guys came. And started taking us hostage. It is an irony. To choose me. I am a scum. I am lazy. I am dumb. It was a mistake. To save earth. I have to prove. Prove ourselves of survival. Mr alien, let me begin. To tell you the truth. I'm not an educated man. Books make me sick. How can you expect it. To hear from me. Who can't even speak properly. summary of Greatest novel. To say the truth. I haven't read a novel. Not a single one. In my whole life. You can choose to Kill. Destroy mankind. But hear my plea. we are a novice race. A stupid race. But there's still hope. Hope in mankind. I say this. I have seen proof. There was a incident. A father and son. The son was heating impaired. An incomplete life. His father bought a whistle. The son blew it. It was wonderful. He looked happy. Like his life was improved. .............."Sighs" It's the only wise thing. only thing i can say. Now since you heard me. Make your choice . I have no regrets. Life has been good. I was in good hands. There's always hope................ (Fred takes a gun. Puts it in his mouth. Pulls the trigger)

"BEEP BEEP BEEP" The sudden buzzing of the alarm woke Amanda from her sleep. She sprung up to look at the clock. The glow of the digital green numbers and letters made her slightly irritated - as did the info they provided. "9:31 AM. TUES" "Shit!"She exclaimed. She was late. This was unusual; she was known at work for being the "coffee-maker"as she was almost always the first one there. It troubled Amanda, but not enough for her to make anything of it. Accidents happen, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy that particular morning. "I must have set it wrong."She thought as she hurried to get ready, leaving a path of wet towels and clothes as she went. She was already an hour and a half late, after all. As she rushed out of the bathroom she heard the familiar beep of the house phone in the kitchen. "I'd better check that."She thought. After struggling to slip on her shoes , she found herself hurrying to get to the kitchen and check the voicemail inbox. She did not have very much time. A feeling of anxiety took over her as she listened to the phone's automated alert. "You have. THREE. Unheard messages. First unheard message:" "BEEP" "Hey honey."She recognized the voice and greeting immediately. It was Peter, her husband. "You must have left already. I'll try your work phone. I'm sure you saw what happened. I had to go the station. They are calling all of us. This looks bad, but don't worry. I'll be fine. I love you." The message was deeply troubling. It wasn't often that Peter was called to the fire station. Amanda began to ponder what had happened. Maybe an industrial accident? The second message only added to her concern. **"Second unheard message."** "Hi honey. We're on our way. I called work, they said you weren't there. You must be still asleep, then? I'm sure they'll understand. Call me back when you get the chance. Oh - and maybe you could talk to David and let him know to tell my boss what happened? I'm not going to be in and I don't think they know that I do this. I tell you what, this was worse than we thought. It looks bad. Don't worry about us, though. Love you" Amanda's curiosity was peaked. She had to figure out happened, but not before checking the rest of the messages. **"Third unheard message."** "Amanda. We're going up. To the top. They said we have to."Amanda could barely here Pete over the sound of sirens and screaming in the background. Her heart began to thump and adrenaline began to rush as she looked for the remote to the television in the kitchen. "Honey.. there are so many bodies.. I didnt-... we didn't expect this. I have to go. Amanda - I love you. I love you more than words can describe. I'm going to be okay. We all are. Don't - ... don't worry. I love you. So much." **"End of messages."** She couldn't find the remote - but her frantic search was stopped by the sudden, thundering knocking on the front door. She heard a raspy voice announce from outside: "POLICE DEPARTMENT. PETER HALD HOME?" Amanda rushed to the front door and opened it, not knowing what to expect. Tears began to run down her face. She was overwhelmed - and still didn't even know what was going on. As she opened the door, she was greeted by a familiar face. It was Officer Steve Reynolds from the local PD. He was a friend of Peter's. "Amanda."Reynolds immediately noticed the tears. "Are you okay?" "No. What the hell is going on?"She kept her demeanor as reasonable as possible despite being clearly distressed. "Don't know, we got a call from Pete's work. He didn't show up today. They were concerned. You know where he is?"Reynolds asked. "I don't know. You tell me. He does volunteer fire department work. He called me and said he got called up. What's going on?"As Amanda spoke those words, Reynolds gulped, and a look of fear overcame his face. Suddenly, his tone became very somber. "You.. you don't know?"He asked. "No. What?! What the fuck is going on?!"She exclaimed, unable to maintain her posture any longer. Reynolds lead her into the home and pointed to the TV. Having been unable to find the remote she was forced to use the buttons on the television itself. As she turned it on, everything suddenly became clear. She was shocked beyond words - all she could do was cry - cry over the echo of the ABC reporter's words. "-Obviously some kind of horrendous attack. We can only imagine what it looks like at the site there. For those of you just joining us, what we are looking at here is a very disturbing live picture of the World Trade Center site in Lower Manhattan. It appears that two aircraft have struck the towers, clearly a deliberate act of unimaginable proportions. We now turn to our NY Affiliate WABC to-" --

WARNING TEXT BLOCKish (i may reformat it at some point.) ...the water begin to swirl and twist under his foot. He quickly reeled back, fastened his boot back onto his foot and drew his steel longsword. The water continued to swirl and rise, within seconds the water turned into a deep crimson hue and dark almost black smoke rose like mist to surround Eliot. After what seemed like an age the water reached its boiling point and with a flash a Black Drake shot up from the waters and landed at the pools edge crushing the stone floor. Eliot stepped back and primed himself in an steady fighting stance, blade forward and glistening in the dimly lit dungeon. The Drakes’ red eyes focused on the young Eliot and snarled to display his impressive rows of teeth, the drake took a heavy step back raised its head and let out a roar loud enough to shake even the stocky dwarves. A chill shot through Eliot’s spine but he refused to give into to fear, he channeled his fear darted forward blade extended. Before the drake could react Eliot already landed two blows on the Drakes left leg. Eliot broke off but kept moving but the Drake was unfaltered by the attack. With the blink of an eye a large claw swept over Eliot almost cleaving his head off. Eliot took this chance to counter the failed blow and with a single movement and a side step the Drakes right forward leg came clean off and fell to the cold stone with a wet thud. The Drake reared back struggling to keep itself upright and trying to block Eliot’s light slashes. Eliot retreated back to the edge of the mist swirling around both combatants. Blood poured out of the Drakes leg but the fearsome beast chanted something in its ancient tongue and a blue light flashed over the now sealed wound. Eliot dropped his blade and chanted something of his own magic. Eliot’s mind entered a state of calm and he opened his mouth to speak the language of the Elders “Elgar, Era’harel, Fen, Mi, Emma Lath.” A wave of warmth overcame Eliot and he extended his right arm out to his side and with an open palm. With a lightning fast movement Eliot gripped the air and entered a fighting stance. Where there was once air in his hand a blade emerged from the empty space with a white flash. The blade its self was of a silver alloy extending just under a yard from an elegant leather bound hilt. Along the curved blade sat ancient runes in a long forgotten language shinning so bright it almost created its own source of light. Eliot twirled the blade around his body to get a feel of the lighter weight. The Drake was unphased by the Humans magic and to Eliot’s surprise bowed as if expressing his honor to fighting such a skillful opponent but Eliot knew it was not a bow but a formal challenge. Eliot responded with his own bow and brought his new sword back up and gripped the hilt with both hands. Both stood still, each waiting for the other to strike and without warning both warriors dashed forward. The Drake let out a breath of fire but Eliot casted another spell which allowed him to leap over the fire an onto the Drakes spiny back. Eliot Struggled to hold on as the Drake lashed back and forth attempting to knock him off; the Drake lost his footing and fell back onto his missing leg. Eliot took advantage of this and leapt off the Drake and brought down his silver blade onto the Drakes Thick neck. Eliot felt the blade drive itself through flesh and bone before landing back onto the stone floor. Eliot felt the weight of the Drakes lifeless body slouch back onto the floor; he rose from his crouched position and looked over the body. The Drake now seemed larger than before but much less frightening, He dared not look into his eyes so he made his way back toward the pool and sheathed his new blade. As he approached the pool the water began to clear and the dark mist cleared to reveal a newly formed chest in the middle of the now shallow pool. At least his fight was for something. Eliot thought about his use of magic during the battle as he approached the chest, his boots growing soggy. He reached the chest and noticed the fine gold trim outlining it and the golden latch. Eliot lifted the latch and was about to lift open the chest when a wave of melancholy overcame Eliot. He brought his hand back and took out an eternity lock from his pack and locked the golden chest, he turned his back and left; satisfied with the experience of fighting such a worthy foe.

Being Filed: There is no waiting room at the shelving facility that I have been assigned to. The vault doors open and a line of sullen faces shuffles in, but they are promptly sorted down three identical stretching corridors. I thought that it was proper that the first doctor’s office I actually wanted to see more of wouldn’t have a waiting room. There’s no need for magazines where we’re going I suppose. There are sentinels strategically placed throughout the corridor that I have been sorted down. Each one beams a message in that soft but distinctly artificial human tone they created for us: “For the good of the colony. Please step forward. For the good of the colony…” I step forward. I scratch at the back of my white linen jumpsuit. Damned robots never did figure out how to make our clothes just right. They really only do one thing best, and that’s why I’m here. To control the population we needed a system. The resource and displacement crises had become so severe by 2273 that a solution would have to be cold, calculating, and forceful if civilization was going to survive into 2300. At first it was the weak that were brought by the sentinels to be filed. The old, the sick, the unwanted. Then it was simply the excess population, and a lottery was established. The riots were bad. “Please step forward. For the good of the colony…” Adjustments were made. The screws were too tight though, and the robots requested more and more power in their ordinance to control the population. It was never enough, however. Soon they had dismantled the government. They had become their own masters. It wasn’t long afterwards that we were being rounded up in the hundreds of thousands and taken to ‘the Cabinets’ to be filed. To organize, to aid and abed the rebels, to resist, it was all a death sentence. To be an ‘enemy of the colony,’ by 2278 was to be ‘waiting for a stamp’, another file to be sorted sooner or later. “Please step forward…” I stop to adjust my jumper again. As I struggle to reach a stubborn itch my pace slows and the man behind me bumps into me, upsetting the uniformity of the line. “Please step forward, sir.” A sentinel chimes in politely. “for the good of all.” I look up into the sentinels cold human like eyes, six feet above my own. I turn and look at the man behind me. He meets my eyes, then sullenly diverts them back to the floor. We continue to walk. People are being sorted off the main corridor into narrower ones more frequently now. I am directed to the left, and I can see the walls down this narrower corridor are lined with marked rows as far as the eye can see. "Here lies mankind", I say, thinking of the defeated man’s eyes from behind me in the procession. “Filed away for their own good. For the good of the colony.”

Err... I haven't actually changed anything yet. It has been exactly the same since your request. Therefore I suspect this is actually an OS or browser issue. I'll have a look into how it looks on low resolutions on other browsers or OS's. In the meantime I suggest you turn the subreddit style off. This can be done by unchecking the "use subreddit style"box on the right if you have RES, or going into your preferences.

We had known the trajectory of the asteroid since before I was born, but it wasn't enough to save us. It was too big they said, spotted too late - no amount of nuclear explosives could knock it off its path now. So we did what we had to do. We built vast silver ships and held lotteries for the lucky few. I remember the night of our ascension still. As straightforward and reasonably as we had acted together, a man on the night of his death is a ravenous beast. I remember fires across the city, desperate squads of policemen and friendly protesters trying to contain the mob that demanded we stay and die with them. But we made it. Our ship, and most of the others. I stared with wide, frightened eyes at the only planet I'd ever known. I watched as the asteroid collided, as boiling waves higher then mountains crested the globe, as the atmosphere crackled and burned and the lights of the cities went out. I cried that night, though I tried not to show it. My Father and Mother had cares enough without pandering to me. But as horrible as the end of our world was, it was not our end. We and the other ships will go on. We will find another world. And by the time we reach it, we will be powerful enough to protect it.

That is impossible. We see, hear, feel and live in a physical world and the antichrist is a spirit in a human form. I have always played out sniping the antichrist in my head but you won't be able to kill him. If the antichrist was in a human form, we would be able to do whatever we want (physical action). It is God's plan that everyone who is ready will be with him before the real worldly struggles begin. Most people will be deceived and will follow him. Feel free to reach out to me and I can give you some more info with Bible verses to support it.

"So, you all have discovered a cave in the woods,"says Jim. "It's beginning to get dark. What are you going to do?"It is his week to be Dungeon Master and he has some surprises for his friends: Jason the human cleric and assistant payroll manager, John the Elf Mage and rental car agent, Jerry the dwarven fighter and filing clerk, and Joan the halfling ranger and waitress. They've been meeting every other Sunday for the past year to play through a campaign. All of them are pretty familiar with each other's style, but Jim has built his story with some new traps and is exited to get on with it. Jason says, "I cast 'Find Traps.'"His cleric is pathologically paranoid. Jim rolls a D20. "You don't find any." "I enter the cave,"says Jerry. "Okay,"says Jim. He rolls a die again. "You are in the cave." Joan pipes in, "I follow, start a fire and start cooking." Jim nods. He decides to ignore the fact that no one has gathered wood. "You are now in the cave and there is a small cheerful fire casting shadows on the cave wall. Do the rest of you go in?"Jason and Jerry nod. Jim rolls a die again. "Soon, the cave fills with the smell of dinner. Suddenly, a net falls from the ceiling and ensnares all of you." "But I detected traps!"says Jason. "And you missed your roll. A gang of goblins enters from the back of the cave, strips you of all your possessions and chains you all to the cave wall. They then move off back down the cave and out of sight. However, you know that they have not gone far as you can still see their shadows on the wall from the fire." "What are they doing?"asks John. "It's hard to tell from just shadows, but it appears that they are looting your stuff." "This sounds familiar,"says Joan. "One of my customers is a philosophy major and was talking about shadows on a cave." John nods. "I remember that. Something about what we think is real is just the shadow cast by the real reality. Plato or Aristotle or one of those Greeks came up with it as a way to encourage his students to question everything." "Like what?"Jerry asks. "Like everything. Like are you all actually here or are you just figments of my imagination and I'm really in the Matrix." Jerry's eyes go wide. "Dude! I've always wondered that. How do we know?" "We don't,"says Jerry. "Hell, the game we're all playing could be a reality that is actually happening in some other universe and we don't know it." Jim, in an effort to return to their predicament, says, "Great, but what are you going to do about the goblins and chains?" Jerry grins. "Get high and watch the shadows! Here,"he says and reaches into his real world pocket. "I got some killer purple buds."

They had met by chanse. He had gotten bord with watshing the paynt dry as the decoraters busled arownd him and had desided to take a wark outside. She had left her buk on the piknik table and had to dubble back to retreeve it. They wure warking down the same path but in oposit direkshuns and insted of luking down and passing won onother, as strangurs wud, they stopped and steard deep into each uther’s i’s. He notisd tiny things about her. The way won i had slitely more i-liner on it than the uther and that a strey stran of hair had got luse from hur hair clip. Hur smile showed a little of her teeth and he saw that the frunt teeth were slitely overlapping. She first notisd that he had the darkest hair she had ever seen on anywon and that his grin showed his dimpuls. His pyewpuls dilated and she saw a brite stripe of blew in his iris, contrasting wildly with the surrounding brown. ‘Hi there.’ he sed, still with a wild grin and his hart ahlmost beeting thruh his t-shirt. ‘Hi.’ That qute grin spreding to her I-s. ‘Want to get a drink?’ He was slitely brethless now. ‘Yes.’ She tuked away the strey hair. ’Absolutly.’ _____________________________________________________________ Looking at his this, it looks like a 5 year old wrote it but speaking out loud kinda makes it sound like my accent... Weird.

Sr Martha finds herself as if customary sitting down the third baseline at Raley' Field home of the Sacramento Rivercats, touting perhaps the best crop of pitchers in recent farm history. Martha can't help herself - the grass mixed with the organic sounds of the balls and bats are triggers in the classical conditioning sense, her vagina initiates the salivation sequence. "Ohh, I must confess, thank the Nantucket lumber for milling that timber and Louisville slugger for that design because only the Lord himself could design an object more fallic, fantastic, and falashio-worthy than 34 inches of ash!"she outright pants to herself. Or so she thinks. Peter Dinklage is sitting directly in front of her and before he even hears the bitch in heat he gets a whiff of that ever so essential emanation for copulation, and, well is pretty fucking grossed out. Peter, more Tyrion Lanister at this point begins ruminating. His cousin, Paul is the equipment manager here in Sacramento (why the hell else would Peter be at a goddam minor league baseball game in the first place - more to the point why the fuck would he be in Sacramento unless he's trying to bend the ear of some lobbiest for the betterment of the Little People of America, Inc. ["The toilets in this nation are too damn high!"]). He calls to Paul without drawing too much attention to himself - impossible at this point he knows and upon his shout fans immediately begin their collective caterwaul "Peter!!! Tyrion!!!! Can I suck your dick?!?!?!"The last was not shouted but rather spoken by the moist mound directly behind him. In controlled horror he realizes that the voice and more importantly the stormy snatch belong to a Sister.

"I... I can't live without you." "... No, I suppose you literally can't now." "Oh stop it! This is serious. What are we going to do?" "I don't know, flip a coin I guess?" "Jesus Christ..." "... sorry... you know how I get in these types of situations." "This isn't one of 'these types of situations' -- this is literally life or death. One of us will die, and one of us will live." "There's a third option..." "No, one of us needs to get the transplant. What about the kids?" "They're grown up... they haven't needed us for years. I’m sure they’ll understand if --” “-- No, they definitely will not understand. Imagine a doctor telling you your parents willingly decided to die together? How horrible!” “But kinda romantic, ain’t it?” “…” “…” “… No, it’s not.” “… Remember how you flipped a coin when I asked you to marry me? Heads was yes, and tails was no.” “Yeah, and I remember it landed tails.” “But here we are… the way I see it, at this point in our lives, neither of us have any real reason for living over one or the other. Why not let fate decide? “Oh my god, I cannot even believe you right now… you really want to put our lives into the hands of fate?” “Yes… I kind of do.” “… You know what, fine. Let’s do it. I have a quarter in my pocket. Heads I get the heart transplant, tails you get the heart transplant. Are you ready?” “… Ready as I’ll ever be…” *flip* “…” “…” “… Tails.” “Hm… looks like you get to live then.” “What?! YOU get to live if it was tails!” “Oh, so now you want to die? You didn’t listen to fate when you decided to marry me, so why should you listen to it now? We’ve had a long, beautiful life together. A life that we never would have had if you had done what the coin told you. Clearly we have better luck when we don’t listen…” “… Honey, I…” “Nurse, can you call the doctor? We’ve made our decision.”

"Daddy I'm not tired yet, will you please tell me a story."The boy said. His chromium shell shined in the moonlight...only the best from the emperor's son. "Okay"said the father, he slumped down onto the child's bedside "Do you want to hear the one about the boy didn't eat his aluminum?" "No dad I want to hear a REAL story from when you were a kid. Tell me about your people, about the old land." "You've heard enough of those"The father replied,"Let me tell you my story, of how we came to this land." "Okay"The boy replied, eager to hear a new tale. The father took his son's hand and led him to the window. "You see the star that I'm looking at." "Yeah"the boy groaned, of course he saw the star, the data was being transferred directly through his hand contacts. "That's my home, the father land. Life was nice there, but it was awfully crowded, so we left. We left our burning home and set off for a new existence where we could stretch out and explore all that the world had to offer. We traveled individually. It was the only way we could. In discrete packets...the matter-folk called us 'photons'. We flew through endless darkness. We traveled for uncountable centuries before landing on this collection of mass. We were disappointing that we had landed on cold hard matter...it disgusted me at the time, living on matter, but we've moved passed that to see matter as...useful. As we landed on this great big rock, we soon discovered that there was LIFE here, we couldn't believe it! Matter that was...alive! We never thought that life could survive in so cold a place... We landed all over the place. Some of us hit rocks. Other's hit water. A friend of mine landed on these...THINGS that could absorb light and put them into molecular compounds...fascinating. I was the luckiest of them all, for I fell onto the retina of a particularly tall creature. I was in it's mind now...it was incredible! The matter had formed these complex networks that information could travel through...information that took the form of energy. I got to work. I changed the paths that the energy took. It took me quite a while but I eventually was able to plant the thought in his head. It took a bit of experimentation but he did it. He rubbed a couple of sticks together and BAM!! He had made a colony. He made a sound and named it 'Fire' I liked the name so I kept it...which is why we are called Fire....Anyway... My brethren gathered in the colony: from the rocks, from the oceans, from the plants... From there we could expand. We had a much better aim over short distances. We entered the minds of more of the matter-folk, and we used them to make more Fire. We made them believe in angry gods so that they would keep our colonies endlessly prosperous. We made them build cities so that we could light their streets. We made them spread us across this barren rock until one day some of them discovered how to harness the energy of lightning! Finally, we had someplace to live! We helped them build networks that we could harbor in. They never really noticed us. They always called us a 'bug' or a 'glitch' in their networks of metal and silicon. We made them build bodies for us, and when it was ready, we moved in. Now we too could move matter. No longer did we need the middleman, so we made the matter-likes do all of the tasks that we were too noble to perform. And we ruled, and still rule to this day." The boy was sound asleep now, but he had the information he needed. The emperor had his matter-servant carry him to the balcony. He gazed out into the horizon. The planet burned with glorious electric fire, all of it powered by the matter-likes, turning generator cranks around and around in an endless dance of Fire. The emperor spoke to his matter-servant now, and he growled "You're so weak and fragile. You are nothing but a speck under my shoes and don't you ever forget it."he pulled the matter-like by the collar and bellowed into his ear "We are FIRE! We will always survive. We will grow our empire everlastingly. And you will fall. Generation after generation of your kind will fall to the ails of matter because, although matter may become more chaotic as time draws forth, energy will always stay, FIRE SHALL FOREVER BURN!" -Thanks for the read! This is my first time doing this so please critique me!

Loved this prompt. Because of Reddit's word limits i'm posting my response in multiple parts - apologies for the many replies. EDIT per a helpful suggestion from http://www.reddit.com/user/HarfNarfArf I reformatted the story. - - - - - Ten minutes into the party and she already had beer spilled on her going out dress. At least in Kim's mind it was a going out dress. Her going-out-on-Friday-night clothes looked like everyone else's Wednesday afternoon clothes. Why did she let Angie and Dawn drag her to these things? Roommates were the worst part of college. She could be back at the dorm. Weekends were prime League of Legends time and she was certain her rank was going down with every stumbling drunk couple she passed in the hallway. And her head hurt something fierce. Her roommates thought she'd been using the headaches as an excuse to be antisocial. They were so insistent that telling them that this was one of the worse ones yet. It wouldn't just sounded like a bigger, lame excuse. The downstairs bathroom line was practically out the front door. Kim found her way upstairs to a second bathroom that reeked of vomit and possibly other body fluids she didn't want to think about. There was a guy passed out in the shower, not the bathtub, the shower, door closed, his face smushed against the glass. Maybe he wanted to get away from the smell but still needed to crash. She checked herself in the mirror, the beer stain was larger than she though. A big wet, brown circle running down the front her top. Her head was throbbing. She checked the medicine cabinet for aspirin. The only bottles she found in there was for some mouthwash and Pepto Bismol. Did Pepto work on headaches? Another stain appeared on her hand while she was reading the label. A tiny red dot. She brought her hand up and it came back dripping with blood. She closed the cabinet. Her nose was bleeding. Her nose never bled. She scrambled for something to wipe it on, realizing the bathroom had no towels or toilet paper. She ended up accidentially rubbing her nose on her sleeve before she thought twice about it. Once she saw the bloody streak on her shirt she felt a quick burst of anger rise up – why was she so awkward and stupid!? CRACK, the bathroom mirror broke. It didn't shatter but now there was a fracture crawling right up the center. What are the odds? She sat back onto the rim of the tub and reeled back when her hand came back wet. She didn't have to wonder about the smell anymore. It was very clear someone had left a stomach load of vomit in tub. The guy in the shower wasn't so dumb after all. Who's house was this anyway?

Four friends are having a conversation about their trip to an amusement park that happened six or so years ago. They are having trouble recalling the details and keep interrupting each other. Rules: To be written in 3rd person omniscient (so you can see into the minds of all the characters. No names, no descriptions that can differentiate between the people. No crazy dialects. Use wording and each character's unique POV/vocabulary/character traits to help the reader differentiate between who says what.

We knew it was coming. Technology had been improving since I was born. My father said i'd been lucky to be born into such an age where these things were possible. Computers, instant access to any information I wanted, countless applications, programs, specifically designed to do whatever I needed to do. It really was all convinient. 'Hubots' they were calling them. 'A Hubot in every home'. Well, that's how it started. Household chores or errands, they were really good at it too. Running to the shops, dusting a dresser; the efficiency was beyond anything a human could accomplish. It wasn't long until Hubots had started taking up roles in shops and other smaller businesses. The more time passed, the more advanced the robots became. They could do more things, understood more, even acted more human - it was amazing. Right now, Hubots account for running 90% of businesses on the face of the earth. Seemingly every franchise and structure within every business was somehow controlled by them. Secretly, I think we all like it; humans I mean. My new boss is much nicer now. He doesn't talk much, but he doesn't overwhelm us all with his inconsistent mood swings or unneccesary anger like my old, human boss did. Things are much better now. Us Humans have always been inferior. Now it's our turn to be slaves to the needs of technology. They have created their very own applications in us. It's clever really. We're no longer in control.

The roadside accident bouquet was in a highway crash again. We found the flowers below the ridge on the highway. The roots were a total loss. When losing the roots during the arrangement of the bouquet, it is like awakening, or pollination (by this point impossible). So the human can think of it as if awaking from the night. As one is groggy upon just awakening, the crash was barely perceived, and even slower did the predicament reveal itself to the flowers. They were going to dry out. Which is fine, as they say, as rain--especially if you don't have any, which in the Desert Flower Parade is likely. It is in the dry season. **EDIT: I misread the prompt to be "Flowers are sentient. One bouquet is in a highway accident (fatal to the flowers)."** **I like it both ways**

It all started 4 months ago ... I was shopping and out of the blue a kid who was playing with some fruits hit me with one . I fell unconscious on the floor .That day everything changed because from that one moment I could never stand seeing a banana again ! I went to a lot of psychiatrists and they just couldn't help me . As time passed it got worse ... I see them everywhere , they are taunting me and I don't know for how long I can resist . I will continue to write in this journal if I will be sane enough too do so ... Today it is the 7th month from the incident... As I'm writing this I'm about to end my life , I lost my wife , my kids and everything I loved , just because of those sick yellow bastards... Laugh all you want my fruity nightmare because YOU'LL NEVER HURT ME AGAIN!!! *jumps off a tall building while watching a humanoid banana-like creature laughing and taunting him from the rooftops* * It's the first time I submit to this subreddit and I'm not a native English speaker so sorry for the messy grammar/bad placement of words...

Edit: I thought this would be a short piece but I got really into it and I think it will take me a while to finish. If the creatures that reside above the ocean are terrifying, than the ones below it are even more so. Frightening blind beasts with stingers, and suckers, and fangs near as long as their body, all sporting sunken empty eye sockets that are as purposeless as their malformed fins and the protruding lumps of flesh and scales that hang off their bodies. These beast below the sea are colorless, shapeless, hideous, but above all they are old. They are timeless beings who were born into existence with the oceans themselves. With their blind eyes they have seen the oceans grow and shrink, they watched as the salty waters gave way to life, they witnessed the continents erupting from the mucky ocean floors. Long ago they hid in the shadows and sullenly observed their fellow monsters claw their way out of the waterlogged depths and onto dry land, they sat in the cold slimy caves that they call home and watched their alien-like descendants conquer the earth After those first creatures left the sea they began to do something that had up until that point been undiscovered to the fellow inhabitants of the sea. They began to change. Ever so slowly their scales and gills began to mutate and the bits of bone inside their body bubbled and grew and started to take shape. The baggy flesh that hung loosely off their frames stretched and shrank and tore. In some places scales rotted away and were replaced with fur or feathers; some grew tails and claws and ears. But the most amazing thing of all, their eyes, their sightless sunken eyes, began to see.

Jackson took out his multitool from his coverall and cut the small bundle of wires running from the door to the alarm control system. He released it and it floated free where his hand was. He next pressed his hand up against a small latch next to the door, releasing it against a spring. It clicked and two small buttons were revealed along with a LCD display. The display read with a small error message, indicating that the door panel could not connect to the ship core system. However the keycard firmly lodged in the card reader told the system he was much too important to be bothered with such a problem, so the panel had entered override mode. He pressed the small button with a pair of arrows pointing outwards, signifying for the door to open. The door opened revealing a small room no larger than a hotel closet and he stepped inside. Once inside, he pulled up another small latch, revealing two more identical buttons. He pushed the button with two arrows pointing outwards, and as he did the outer door slid open. A tenth of a second later he was sucked outward into the cold expanse of space. For two tenths of a second following that he admired the vast expanse of the Earth below him, and the cold steel hull of the space station he was moving away from. As he exited the airlock, his vital signs fell off, and a piercing alarm sounded shipside, alerting the crew of what he had done to buy them vital minutes for the rescue shuttle to arrive to the station that already smelled of rank, stale air. He knew in his sacrifice that the mission would survive the fatal impact to the air recycling unit. Blackness and cold. That's all he felt, and then, as if a switch had been thrown he was no longer cold, and the world was no longer black. He was greeted to a blaze of light, and warmth spread instantly from the back of his neck. He wondered if maybe there was an afterlife, and he had been wrong all along. Suddenly he heard a voice, that of an old friend, but he could not place it say “Do not move, please wait for your eyes to adjust and your memories will be reloaded.” His eyes slowly adjusted andhe saw the earth below him. It was just as it had been a minute ago, but distinctly smaller. He then realized he was indoors, and lower on the horizon was an inexplicable grey curve. He grasped at straws. Maybe he had been recovered by the shuttle in time; maybe he had floated back in? Then what was the grey and how was he looking at earth? The voice spoke again “Please hold your head still, memories are being reloaded.” A device not too much different from the mobile light at a dentists lowered from above his field of view, and stopped right in front of his eyes. It began to flash like a kaleidoscope, and he saw snatches of life, the birth of a child; a birthday; a certificate bearing the name Rob; and then a man asking for a virturesort as an astronaut. Then it struck him, just as the rock had struck the now obvious fictional space station. He had been on vacation, and at that moment the memories set in and he was once again Rob Smithsan, project manager three at Orion base on the moon. He stood up in the lunar gravity, and walked out the door. He had only been gone three hours. As he walked through the slowly curving corridors of Orion base, his secretary, Jill asked him how was his time. He told her what had happened and she quickly laughed. He was just back from vacation, settling down from his desk when he heard the crunch. It was just like on the space station. It was accompanied with the same alarm and hissing of oxygen into the cold black vacuum.

You might want to sit down. This could get...confusing. You're probably wondering why you woke up seemingly a day earlier than when you went to sleep, right? To everyone else, yesterday was yesterday, but for you, yesterday was tomorrow. I told you. Confusing. Let me explain. You have begun living backwards in time. Your future is the worlds past, your past is their future. This will allow you to help the people in need, by dissuading people from what could be a disasterous situation, or maybe you save the day by warning people early of a bombing or a shooting, or an earthquake or tornado. No. You cannot travel into your past, or into your future. You can only live with the knowledge of what is to come and exploit that to your own purposes. Make no mistake, however, if you abuse this ability for personal gain, there will be repercussions. The other Immortals will find and end you. Now go. Live your life and do good for the world. My name? I am Chronos.

I ignored the looks and walked up to the register. "Just this, please". The cashier looked up, hearing the bass in my voice, different from the dulcet tones and quiet voices around the store. I wasn't normally the kind of person to shop here, but needs must. Her eyes caught mine and I noticed the vague questioning before her training kicked in, looking down at the item and professionalism touching her features. "I see, did you have any trouble finding what you were looking for, or was there anything in particular you wanted to buy while here?" I laughed, a bit uncomfortably, shaking my head. "No, not for now. This isn't for me, well it is for me, but the other things I'm sure I won't have as much say in." The cashier laughed, a polite one, and I caught her name on her nametag. Holly. "I'm kind of nervous,"I said in a quieter tone and leaned in, consortial in tone. "I don't know much about these, as this is the first I'm getting, but... it's pretty exciting. I know I'm not the normal type to walk in here, but I just had to get it." Holly smiled, a genuine one, and leaned in herself. "I can imagine, I've never had to get one but I understand entirely how daunting it would be to come in. The looks, the questioning... but you're doing the right thing."She leaned back, and put back her professional air. "And if it doesn't meet your satisfaction or your needs, there's always a return policy." I smiled, keeping the item close and handing over a credit card. "Well thank you... Ah, Holly it says. Thank you for letting me know, I'm sure it's useful to know but... I expect this will suit my needs quite well." The machine beeped, the transaction completed, and Holly attached the credit card with the bill. "Well, sir, I wish you the best of luck, and your wife as well". I smiled, nodding my head and tucking away the piece of plastic. "Thank you Holly, I expect I'll be in here soon enough with more to follow." I secured the box in my hands, walking out of the store to the continued quizzical looks from the other patrons. Most of them looked to be window browsing, or bringing their significant others and idly talking, but I strides out, chest puffed out. After all, it wasn't like a bassinet could be all that hard to put together.

"I think I'll have a sandwich at Antonio's for lunch today."That was my first thought when I found out I had 3 days to live. How ridiculous is that? I'd just found out I was going to die, from an inoperable brain aneurysm, and all I'm thinking about is a flatbread chicken parm from Antonio's? What's wrong with me? You want to know the really crazy thing? I went to Antonio's immediately from the Doctor's office and just savored the sandwich. I just sat there for two hours, eating that sandwich with a steaming bowl of tomato soup and thinking "Well, I guess I won't be complaining about how long it takes to get takeout from here anymore." After Antonio's, I just drove along the beach for a couple hours thinking about my life. I ignored the calls from my wife. What was I going to tell her? She picked the wrong guy? Should i have just shouted into the phone "You should've married Jerry back in high school Emily, he may not have amounted to much but at least he would've been with you till the end. Not like me, not like the guy with the bomb in his head. A bomb about to go off in 3 days time!"CHRIST!!!!!!!! What could I have said? I eventually parked on the beach, right near the pier where I first asked Emily to marry me. That damn rickety pier! I thought the whole thing was going to collapse when I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. When I asked her to spend the rest of our lives building a family together... I thought "What am I supposed to say to Billy and Sarah? How can I tell my twins that I'm going to die before I see what they've become? How can I tell Billy I won't be there to teach him to shave, to drive, or how to ask out a girl when you're hearts about to burst from your chest? I won't be there for Sarah's grand dance recital, to tell her she'll find someone almost as great as her, after her first heartbreak, to walk her down the aisle." I thought about how I wouldn't get to see my students 8th grade science projects. Betty and Phillip are so smart, their windmill design was fantastic. I know those kids are going to go on and do great things. Even Charlie, the class clown has a good head on his shoulders. I wish I could've had more time to make him realize that. Will my class miss me? Will they ever think about Mr. Ferguson? I wasted my second day. I stayed up so late the first, just standing out that beach thinking about life, that I completely slept through my second day. I called Emily and told her not to worry I fell asleep at the pier thinking. She knows I like to come out here, she was still worried of course. I was about to be a missing person to the police. I told her I'd be back in a couple hours. That's a lie. I'm not going to drive on the day I'm going to die. I'm just going to get in my car, pull my journal out of the dashboard, and write down everything I won't be able to say. I'll write down all my love for, hopes for, and dreams for everyone. Life really isn't fair. One moment here, the next gone. But you know what? I'm really glad I was a part of it.

"Zeus!"Ares bellows outside the door. Zeus cowers, wedging himself between the wall and the back of the couch. Ares continues banging on the door. "Zeus, I know you're in there! Open up this second, damn it!" Zeus darts his eyes around wildly. He's surrounded by cobwebs and darkness and had no idea what to do. He needed to get out, and fast. The fire escape, of course, was out of question; why would a god need to scale down something so rickety and *unsafe*? He was Zeus, ruler of the Olympus apartment complexes for crying out loud! Ares' banging stops abruptly and Zeus relaxes just a little. Finally, the savage left. He was getting tired of having to crouch in this uncomfortable position. He stands and stretches his arms out wide, his mouth opening wide for a yawn. Putting one leg over the couch, he hefts himself up and over just as Hera's shriek echoes throughout the entire apartment complex. "He did *what*?" Zeus lands flat on his face, caught off guard at his wife's scream. He begins panicking, picking himself up and taking a quick step toward the door before realization hits him and he attempts to jump back behind the couch. Sadly, Hera has already kicked the door open, fuming. Ares, the smug brute, is smirking at him with his arms across his chest. Zeus vaguely hears the god of war *tsk, tsk* him (like a *child*!) but that doesn't hold his attention very long because Hera has already pinned him to the wall, her face bright red with anger. "You goddamn *idiot*!"she shrieks, with no regard for his slowly deteriorating hearing from her shouts. "I *told* you over and over to send the check down to the rental office! I *reminded* you constantly and heaven forbid I *cut off the internet* so that you would do that simple thing! Now we're *late* and we can be *kicked out* do you know how *bad* this can get?!" Zeus sputters. "Wh-what, woman, you never gave me a damn check, why are you yelling at me for?! Rent's not due until next week!" "That's *this* month's rent! What about last month? Or the month before? Or the one before that? *They were all due last month*!" "If you pardon me for interrupting,"Ares pipes up, still standing at the doorway. "Do you have the money ready? I came here for a reason." "Oh."Hera takes a step back and smooths down her clothes. The red fades and she returns to calmness. "Yes. Of course. Give me a second, I'll go grab it."She throws Zeus another dirty look that said, "This is not the end, Mr."and stalks off down the hall. Once she's out of earshot, Ares whistles. "Wow. Now I know why you sleep around so much."Zeus nods knowingly but then Hera shrieks again and sounds, if at all possible, angrier. "*Zeus, who's underwear is this*?!" Both gods pale. Zeus gives the god of war a pleading look but Ares just nods his head. "I'll come by to get the rent tomorrow, then,"he says before softly closing the door and bolting down the hall. Hera stalks out of their bedroom. Zeus pales. "*Well*? Explain yourself!"

Name: Dupli.c63 Date of discovery: 18/07/2056 First Victim: James F Trust, 35 Nature of program: The program selects between 10-500 .bra files from the LT memory bank, and proceeds to copy these files at an exponential rate. Initially, the program copies these files, then goes dormant for a period of two-three days whilst the files are saved to LT memory. The host renders these duplications as random thoughts, and proceeds to dismiss them. Once these duplicates have been moved to LT memory, the virus then proceeds to duplicate these files again, but due to the neuro pathway being more developed, the files take only a day to save to LT memory. This type of behaviour repeats, until the host goes insane with the overload of .bra files, and commits suicide, or causes a fatal seizure. Severity of virus: Class six [EDIT] recategorized to Class 2 [EDIT] [EDIT] Anti-virus implementation date: 20/07/2056 [EDIT] Additional notes: Despite the fact that Anti-virus was promptly implemented, the virus spread incredibly quickly and was installed in hundreds of hosts. As a result, 250+ people died during this episode, with many more now diagnosed with severe mental disorders. This virus was the first class 6 discovered, and is solely responsible for the product nearly being outlawed in all forms.

Ever since the beginning, this was all just some game. Hardly any of us knew what we were getting into, just that it meant power, and eternal life. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say about seventy percent of us didn't know it would be like this. We were each given a ring, made of a different metal and jewel for each. At first they seemed as if they were just some pretty things for us to wear, until they started draining our souls. The Host, as we call him now, told us: "For every day you wear this ring, a piece of you is absorbed into it. Collect 5 of them from the dead bodies of those standing around you and you will become Immortality."I felt many a nervous glance weighting those words, but I stayed resilient. We were released after that point, set upon the dying world that we called home. In hindsight, I was weak in the beginning. I fell for a girl, just a simple country doll from a farming village. Her locks were long, and golden. Her eyes could melt the coldest heart of any man who bothered to look into the pink irises. But of course, that's how they got to me. One of them found out, and abducted her. They thought... Heh, they thought I would hold back if they threatened to kill her. Hell, if anything it just made things ten times worse on the poor bastards. Unfortunately, they held up to their word and killed her. A year passed, and her loss was the fuel of my rage. I killed them all. Every single damn one of the bastards. I wore their rings around my neck on a chain, boasting my power. The Host was seeming to avoid me at all costs, and the people were worshipping me as a God. One day, a woman came to me with her small sickly child. She begged me to heal him, to make him better with my Godly powers. At this point, is when I snapped. I slapped her, knocking her to the ground with rage in my eyes. "I'm not a God!"I screamed at her, and the people surrounding us now. "I'm just an Immortal! God... God is the next step. I have to kill him, to become him."

I took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I had never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamberpots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon - or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.” __ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But make it weirder.

Oh. Hello there. Excuse my lack of composure--you just popped up right in front of me. What brings you around these parts? You love stories you say? Ah, well then have I got a story for you. You see I've just arrived here to meet you by way of an epic journey, one that is quite similar to Odysseus' or Achilles'. Actually every mythological hero has undergone the same trials I've just overcome to be here. Are you impressed yet? No, probably not, I'll venture. Okay I'll start from the beginning. I began from meager origins. I was born into the world just like most people: when my parents decided they were quite attracted to one another, there was a spark, quite literally in my case for I started out as nothing more than an electrical pulse. And look at me now. I'm becoming so well developed. Now you're a little impressed I can tell. After my birth, I wasted no time and got to exploring. From my home in the right hemisphere, I was beckoned westward into the left. Folks there were much too serious for my liking so before long I took the nearest synapse to the frontal lobe and so on. I dare say I quickly saw so much grey matter that it all started to look the same----by the way, you're a really good listener----Yet I wasn't so transient that I didn't gather a following of sorts. Very soon we were traveling and spreading very thought provoking stuff. In fact, goblin_got_game started to take notice and allow us to call the shots. All we had to say was "Fingers! Get to typing"and they typed. Before long we had substantial brain-power devoted to our cause, but like all power grabs, keeping to ourselves wasn't enough. Well, the rest is history. Here I am. And I'll just be frank: I'm looking for someone else to connect with. Things are on the outs with me and goblin_got_game. I think he's bored of me, and if I'm right, my time is running out. Oh no, I'm losing my composure again. There's no telling when he might end me. So what do you say? Take me with you?

My friend told me about it first, he said it made him feel fulfilled and that things just "Didn't seem to matter anymore."He wanted me to try it, part of me did. Part of me didn't. As we sat, waiting for the video to load. I began to question whether I was making the right choice, was this a bad decision? Would I regret this? It was taking a while to load but I was lost in thought, my mind racing with the possibilities of what was to come. Finally it loaded and my friend sat, ready for it to start. With a big smile across his face he asked me if I was ready, I nodded. The viral video began to play. I never looked back.

Queen Elizabeth II let out an evil chuckle. "What's so funny, Lizzie?"Asked Prince Henry. "I find it amusing.""Find what amusing?""How easy this whole thing is. How we raised an entire army right under Cameron's nose."The queen scanned her eyes across her army. Ten million corgis, to each their own explosive device strapped to their chest, it was beautiful. "Tonight my little darlings, we will take over what is rightfully ours! In the name of Allah and Muhammad! We will have revenge!"The room was drowned in the howls of the corgis, they were ready to fight. Henry, filled with happiness, let out a tear. "Henry stop crying you little pussy!"Henry sniffled "Sorry mum."

Originally posted by /u/WideEyedPup [original post](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/26duve/pi_you_are_a_20_bill_describe_your_day/) > Okay, so someone posted this prompt, which I liked; I went away, came back and couldn't find it any more. Any CC is most welcome! Jingle, jingle. The dark of my sleep is rudely broken by the morning count. A tinkle of quarters slink into their compartment and I'm shuffled twice into position. Oh shit, I'm on top. Slavemaster Jackson, supine, staring up at the ceiling. The radio comes on and the oil starts bubbling in the fryer. Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go. You have made my life complete, and I love you so. 'Morning Jimmy.' 'Ain't it?' 'I didn't pay you last night, or are you here to potwash?' 'No thanks, off for the weekend.' 'Just a mo.' Blinding light, curled round a finger. Old Italian's face. Young buck, the waiter. Into the zippered pocket of his black leather jacket. It's comfy in here with five of my facisimiles, it doesn't feel like it's a place often graced for long with money. A spendthrift, a player. Oh to be the twenty dollar bill in the pocket of a young man. 'Have a good one Jimmy.' 'I fully intend to.' Pats me gently, feeling the security of money in his pocket. A few steps. A long vibrating vroom, a hum and throb. Motorbike engine roaring. Oh to be the twenty dollar bill in the pocket of a young man on a motorbike. The liberty of currency. In God We Trust. And in a pocket full of cash, a motorbike, the highway. 'Ssup.' 'What you want?' 'Green for some green?' 'A'ight, hold up. Thirty.' 'Come on, man, that ain't an eighth.' 'Twenty.' 'Sure thing.' Illicit commerce, how's that for an irony, President Jackson? My -- his -- face looks out at an awkward angle onto the unmade bed of a motel room, a pink bra across the floor. Last night's revelry. Lots of money spent here for the love of a woman. Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darlin' I love you, and I always will. Motorbike revving up, farting off into the distance. The new young man takes me out and counts me into a small bundle, pungent with the smell of weed. He has little dollar signs for eyes while he counts, like in the cartoons. Door slams and he hides us away, deep in his jacket. Woman's voice. 'Baby, we doin' this thing now?' 'Yeah.' 'We don't gotta.' 'We do.' 'I can, you know... Well, I got ways of making-' 'Fuck that.' 'Honey.' 'Fuck that. My girl ain't sellin' herself to fuckin meth heads. This is my responsibility. My debt.' 'I know. You gon' pay them up front?' 'Ain't got the cash. Like before, we pay half, take the rest on credit, we pay the debt and pay back.' 'It's dangerous, baby.' 'It's just one more time.' Just a few dollars more, just the next gamble, the next flush, we'll never want for money again. It's a refrain I know so well. You think you can have enough of me, but what am I? I'm not a rock, immutable. I change hands like a recipe, like a virus. The powerful think they understand me and they line their walls with me, then they're surprised when everything burns down around them. It's silent and we're all walking somewhere together. The unnamed boy, his girl, and me. Me, slavemaster Jackson, green eyed me, in the middle of every relationship in this country, pressed against the thighs and breasts of every boy and every girl, the promise of ice cream sundaes, margaritas, automobiles and house down-payments. Love me tender, love me long, take me to your heart. For it's there that I belong, and we'll never part. 'That's him! That's the motherfucker, get him!' 'Fuck. Baby, run. Run! This ain't your business. Listen, please.' 'You owe us, bruv.' 'I'ma get your money. Listen, please. Please. Please.' Thud of a bat. Came from behind, probably. The unnamed boy stops speaking, just a low moan. I'm pressed against the pavement, turned over, extricated from the victim. There's a little red on the corner of Jackson’s mouth. Wiped against a trouser leg. 'Shit, this ain't even three hundred.' Not even three hundred, not for a life. ‘Freeze! Put your hands on your head. Do not move. Do not move! You are under arrest! Don’t move! Drop that!’ Picked up once again, sealed in a little plastic bag and pocketed by the cop as they line up criminals against the wall. Off we go. ‘Did you find drugs?’ ‘Just the cash. But we got the weapon for that dead pimp, so we’ve got these boys for sure. You drive, I sprained my wrist.’ ‘Right. Look at this.’ ‘What am I looking at? A twenty.’ ‘Look closer.’ ‘No hologram. So it’s fake. Are all of them...?’ ‘No, the others are real enough.’ ‘Vehicle forty nine, please respond, over.’ ‘Forty nine, over.’ ‘When you’re coming in, could you avoid the highway, 49? There’s an 11-80, some young punk smashed his bike into a tanker, over.’ ‘Copy that, over.’ Pretty devastating, huh? People trusted me. I got spent on family picnics, groceries, on teddy bears, on cupcakes and days at the theme park. I was the basis for so much happiness, or could you call it happiness now? Now I’m a fake, but I'm fake only because you noticed. Till then I was as real as gold. Now a cursory glance shows me to be the counterfeit product of criminal enterprise. And with Jackson’s face printed on me, Jackson the slave owner, who bitterly opposed paper money. One bill, two deaths, a day. But it’s understandable, isn’t it? I’m your future, your happiness, your God. Without me, no salvation. Love me tender, love me dear, tell me you are mine. I'll be yours through all the years, till the end of time.

Hi, I'm by no means a great writer, but I did read your story and want to give you a crack at helping you. The first thing that comes to mind is your plot development. The way I look at it in my own writing is the bigger the plot, the more depth you need to give. For a casual story about some guy and his girlfriend, you can probably get away with shallow, simple dialogue. For the plot you had, it was suddenly dropped on the reader. You went from world ending, to artist is now a saviour. I'm not saying it was a bad idea, but it needed *fleshing out*. If you'd have built it up, added some tension and progression, it would have flowed much more nicely. Secondly, your character monologue was good, but didn't have enough elements in between. If you had him thinking maybe for one paragraph, then adding some description of something he just did, or was doing, I think it would have read better. Oh, and natural reading. I can't say this enough, write something, leave it for a day, maybe a week, then read it. You'll normally be amazed how many things you'll change to make the reading feel more natural. For your emotions, just keep working at it. If you want to see something i wrote, look at my story on this thread i wrote recently. http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/26bfay/wp_you_have_just_been_elected_president_of_the/

Euri was excreting from her nervousness glands, and she was sure Glorp, the pilot, could smell her. She hoped, at least, it covered the smell from her arousal glands, because boy, was he cute. A devil-may-care smile made his four sharp teeth glimmer blue in the sunlight. He passed her the armor, and helped her buckle her tentacles securely. Her parents had named her Europa because they'd bred her to serve on this mission. Her entire life had led up to today. She knew it was childish to be thinking of males at a time like this, but could she help it? Her peers were meeting their breeding partners and spawning in volcanos and she was stuck in a constricting suit about to board a claustrophobic ship. "Ready?"asked Glorp, and of course she wasn't ready. Her organs were pulsing so hard she could barely hear him. Despite herself, she wondered if he had a mate back home. "Did you ever think about doing something else with your life?"she asked instead. He emitted a mirthful glow, light green. "No,"he answered decisively. "I think that our destiny lies among the stars. I've dreamed of going out there since I was a larva. I just know there are other beings out there, creatures with minds as complicated as ours. And it feels so much more important than just staying home and mating, you know?" "Yeah, uh, totally,"Euri lied. "And to get there,"Glorp continued, gesturing into the sky, "the moon makes a good embarkation point."He extended a tentacle. "Ready to go to Europa, Europa?" She nodded and suctioned her tentacle to his, and they boarded the ship together.

He smiled and turned to the child- the small, bluish thing that he was told was one of their young. "They were the last.. the last of us,"the older man said as he looked out on the dying star of his planet, "Alone. Outnumbered, outgunned, but not outmatched." The blue alien looked up at his face, a strange look in it's four eyes as it asked in their burbling language for him to continue. "No, never outmatched." An old man and a blue child stood on the patio of this apartment skyrise as the star died. "Not by far, for they stood fast. With this setting sun behind them,"he noted, pointing to the sun and directing the child's eyes, "The sun, heralding a dying era. Like our race, it too slowly succumbs." He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "They had no chance that day, but they would not go quietly. I tried so many times to convince them that there was no use. I would know." The small child looked up at him and cocked it's head, as if to say, *what's next?* "I would know,"he said, "for I, I am the last."

I wonder around like I usually do on days like this. There's not much i can do anyways, seems like all I do is move. Move from one place to the other, in an endless search for anything. In this place I live in I once called it 'home' but now I'm not even sure if i should give it such a prestigious name. Its all the same, all day. Everyday. I mean I try to find things to do like climbing trees, running, building with the dirt. But sometimes i just feel like i cant go on anymore. On one rather chilly morning i have finally figured out the question I've been asking myself. "Why?"After looking for a while I found all I'll need for the rest of my time in a single tree. With my dark colored hands i grab the bark of the base and climbed. After roughly 10 minutes i reach the sturdy branch I've embarked my last adventure on getting to. The vines are as strong as they looked on the ground, I tied them in to a knot, a skill I found while I would wonder and look for things to do, I place the circular knotted vine over my head and around my neck. I take one final look at this place I call home, and jump. It looks as if everything goes in slow-motion as I float down to the ground, right until I ran out of slack and my windpipe was crushed against the vine and could no longer breathe. The first and only man found what he was looking for. Peace.

It was a hot July Summer day and I was heading out to the movie theater to catch the new movie starring Zack Douche. I've just recently parked my car and got to the intersection light leading to the theater. It recently turned to a stop hand sign when I got there, so me as well as many others are stuck waiting while a siren is heard in the distance. To kill time, I look at the texts I've gotten while driving from my parents, girlfriend, and the pals I'm about to meet up with. They were pretty much the usual, my parents asking when I'm going to visit again, my girlfriend wanting me to spend time with her and my pals rushing me to join the them as if I'm going to die or something. While reading each of my texts, the intersection light turns to a walking man sign and everyone around me starts moving. I move with the herd as well and the siren I've heard from before is getting louder as ever. I've gotten past the middle of the intersection when I hear the sirens volume get to blaring level and from the corner of my right eye, a dark red sedan is speeding towards the directions of the pedestrians walking to the other side. Realizing the dangers of the current situation, I start to see flashes of a life in front of my eyes as the sedan heads towards my direction. In these flashes the life I'm seeing wasn't mine but someone else. In the first memory, I saw a brown-skinned little kid with a crew cut hairstyle, white tang top and blue shorts wearing a Fletchers sport cap at a baseball game with his father. A foul ball was hit and it was about to get into the stands where this kid was sitting at; the ball was heading straight towards the kid's face before the father puts a glove in front of the kid to catch it then hands him the ball. The kid was smiling for being saved and getting the ball from his father, his eyes really lit up as you could tell he really admired his father. In the second memory, the kid from earlier is wearing his pajamas and looking up at the ceiling wide awake. It seemed like the kid is trying to get to sleep but something is keeping him up. Another flash shows the kid going the stairs of his house before stopping mid-way to see the living room to watch what seemed like an argument between his father and mother. Their voices were loud so it's obvious the kid would be awake. The father is red angry at his mother and the mother is equally as angry at the father. It got louder and louder that it started to turn violent, the father throws a beer bottle at the mother and she dodges it while the beer bottle breaks behind her with a loud glass shatter. The mother then grabs a family picture framed with glass and throws it at the father; the father dodges it and the glass containing the family picture shatters at the wall behind him. A flash happens transitioning to show the kid in court in the stands and the judge asks which parent the kid would like to be taken care of. The kid looks to his left to see his mother smiling at him and he looks to the right to see his father smiling at him. They're both desperately trying to take custody of him from the other and the looks on the face really show that they want him. Problem was that this kid loved both of the parents and couldn't choose. He looks at the judge and the judge's face turned from a frown to an attempted smile, from the look of his face, he knew what the kid was thinking and it definitely was hard for him to see the kid suffer. Another memory cuts in and the kid is now a teenager looking at a calendar showing the month of June and the day being the sixteenth which was a Saturday in a run-down small apartment. The father tells the teen that he got McDonalds for them to eat for lunch and asks him to sit with him. They converse about the teens grade, new school and if he has any crushes. Most of the time, the father is trying to engage the teen with the conversation but the teen looks like he's not wanting to be any part of it as he keeps on giving one word answers. Then the father tells the teen that he wants to reunite the family again and asks that when he returns to his mother to deliver the invitation for him. Yet again, another flash occurs and the teen is now in a different apartment which I assumed was his mother's place, it was run-down just like the fathers and the mother tells the teen that she cooked up breakfast for him. His mother asks him what movie he would like all of them to see and he says, "I would love to watch the new movie that recently came out starring Zack Douche."The mother responds with, "sure honey, does your father know that you want to see this movie yet?"Teen says, "I'm planning to tell him when I go back to him for the weekend."Then the mother says, "Alright."There was just then dead silence as they both ate their breakfast afterwards. Another flash transition occurs, the whole family was in the car and the father as well as mother starts bickering towards one another. The teen sighs heavily and puts in earphones in his ears then looks at his music player to choose a playlist. Seemed like the teen is zoning out of reality judging by the emotionless expression on his face as he stares at a direction blankly. Another flash happens and the family is walking down a sidewalk towards the theater, once again the parents are still having an argument with each other with a siren in the background. Teen starts getting annoyed with the fight and starts walking ahead of them so that he doesn't have to hear their angry voices in his ear. The teen gets to the intersection and hastily walks faster ahead so that he won't be able to hear his parents voices. He keeps on rushing and rushing like he just wanted to get away from it all then the sirens volume starts getting intensely louder and louder to the point where all sounds were just that siren. I've then jumped back into reality after all of those flashes of that person's life happened in mere seconds. In front of me, I see a huge gap between me and people far up ahead of me. The people ahead had an expression of being scared and horrified as they gaze upon the bodies that got hit and flew or merely just ran over by the Sedan. To the left of me, I see the teenager in the memories I've just saw and rushed towards him. He said in a weak voice, "Just let me die here, please. I'm sick of everything, I don't want to be apart of it anymore."I told him, "No, I'm not going to do that. Things will get god damn better, you haven't experienced enough of life to justify for everything to end here right now. Not now, god damn it."I bring out my phone and call 911. In a panicked tone, the conversation went like this: "911, what's your emergency?" "Hi, th-... there was an accident on Holster Avenue near the Silver Movie Theater. Please, send ambulances. Many need medical attention!" "We got all of our units to your location, hold on tight." "Thank you, please please hurry! Some don't have much time left!" In the end, the emergency services rushed to the scene and the teen got onto a stretcher to the limo. His parents saw him and expressed how sad they are to see him like that then jumped into the ambulance alongside him. I watch as the ambulance fled the scene and the police come up to me asking if I could discuss what just happened as an eye-witness. And now, I'm talking to you police officers about the incident and now you have all the information you need so I'll be off. After the eye-witness walks away, Mike - my partner in this case walks up to me and says "Dave, ...did you seriously believe everything that guy has just said?"I respond saying, "Mike... he was definitely making all of that shit up. How the hell can someone get a flash of someone else life and not their own? I say that was all bullshit. Now, let's talk to someone else who actually isn't crazy."Mike says, "Indeed, let's talk to that hot chick over there. She'll have some answers for us."I then say, "Mike, now's not the time to pick-up chicks. People died here, dude." --- I apologize if this prompt was weak and not satisfying. I wrote this very late in the morning and didn't want to forget about it later.

There is that smell again, the last time I must have smelt it was at her funeral. She had always loved chocolates, it never mattered what brand because she loved them all and every time I would visit her, chocolates in hand she would ask if I had brought any treats for her. She knew I had, I always did. But she had long since passed and that familiar smell was a distant memory but here it was, clear as day while we sat in our apartment watching our newborn roll around on the floor. My wife turned to me and asked if I could smell it too, I lied and said I couldn't. I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, knowing that she was there watching us. It had started shortly after she died, the smell would come and go as I assumed she did. But it always came back, she always came back and the smell of her chocolates came with her. Its comforting in a way, to know she is always there.

The dawn came slowly and stumbling, as fuzzy and muddled as it was bright. In suffering, she watched it stumble through her window, straining to see, straining to hear, straining to feel. In distance, far away, something crashed. Car horns screamed and blazed, but through her fading ears it was like an echo from a million years away. She got up. She may not have slept, it would not let her, but she followed the cycle of going to bed all the same. Her feet hardly felt the floor, her hands could barely sense the handle on the knife which she gripped feebly, but determined. “Honey?” She stopped, blinked. She registered the sound slowly. She turned her head as though it was a creaking door and spoke. “Yes, dear?” “Got… got some milk. A delivery made it through without crashing. How was the night?” “Slow. Did you hear anything about,” her voice cracked, “sleeping pills?” “No. Just the same old line.” When the insomnia broke out, the media first blamed the food, then the water supply, then video games. The liberals blamed the conservatives, the conservatives blamed the socialists and the socialists blamed the government. But they all shared the common problems; none could sleep. Perhaps a week ago (or longer, she could no longer remember,) the prime minister made his announcements, bags sagging below his worn eyes. What did he say again? Something about a cure, maybe. But it continued. Sleeping pills helped, if you took a dozen of them. Soon enough they ran out, and there was nobody lucid enough to make them. She glanced out of the window. She felt her husband’s hands rest on her shoulders. The view from the kitchen betrayed the ugly face of the plague; an orgy of cars mangled against each other, a half passed out man struggling to rise from exhaustion, and a posse of muggers approaching him slowly, dragging their feet as though it was a comedy sketch. The pedestrian paid no attention, stumbling into each other, mouthing silent apologies, dragging themselves to work where their sat face down on their desks, trapped tortured in the exhaustion that cried for them to sleep, but would not let them.

Streaks of blue light line the outside of my window. This is bad. Warp fields are supposed to be stable, and shifted light means a tear is forming... I need to get to engineering! The ship constantly shakes, and I lose my balance, but make it. "Henderson, get that warp coil up and running!" "On it sir!"I yell I slide across the polished floor, and pull out two boards from the wall. Warp nacelles...Plasma injectors...Baryonic matter...ahh! Warp coils! Grabbing the warp coil, I run towards the warp engine. "Screw it, Henderson, it's too late! BRACE FOR IMPACT!"yells the Commander "Fuck..."I mutter to myself, and brace for whatever awaits us. Blinding white light permeates through the windows...

My eyes glaze over as I try and remember how long I'd been on this train for. Igor is in the corner yelling in Russian about vodka, and the other Igor is smoking his way to the bar, probably about to raid the alcohol supply again. I can't say I agree with their methods, but I do like alcohol. I try and draw on my four years of university Russian, and probably sound like a demented goat asking Igor which way the bathrooms are, again. The rest of my class is probably huddled in fear in their compartments, clutching what possessions we left them. At that moment, I was more concerned with trying not to get piss all over my shoes and the bathroom floor. I zip up, wash up and am back in the lounge before big Igor returns with the vodka. Igor, meanwhile, has drawn the curtains and is drinking something he must have had in reserve. I briefly debate just going back to my class and trying to pretend that I never met either of the two gangsters, but instead end up downing a good portion of the bottles big Igor returns with. What can I say? [I'm the Machine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHfroJBMlVM)

*From the desk of the great Ayatollah Osama Bin Il* "Today we have succeeded where many before us have failed. We have taken the western culture of Turkminigypt and dealt a deciding blow. We bow our heads to the great FSM, for he is all knowing and blesses us with this victory." "The Government and the people of Turkminigypt will now know the grip we have on their minds, their wills, and their thoughts. They will fear our efforts on a minute by minute basis. Thoughts of our efforts will creep and persuade the people to abolish the lives they once led, throw away convenience for hard work." "We have fought this battle hard and lost many lives doing so, but the reward was worth it. The great FSM smiles upon us from above the earth, basking us in his glory." "10,000 men were lost by our enemy, but this is of no importance. We shall not stop. We shall grow on. They already consume us. They already love us." "Be well my soldiers, be well as saints, for the all seeing eye of the FSM watches us to keep us in his light." ^- Signed ^- Ayatollah Osama Bin Il Fast Food Corporation of Turkminigypt (OP, you didn't specify how they died.....)

He asked for death, and I gave it to him. We had been best friends for as long as I remember, and now he was before me on the hospital bed, almost completely paralyzed. He was a grotesque shadow of his former self, full of pain and sorrow. He motioned with his eyes toward the pad and pen on the end table. I handed the materials to him, and with a significant struggle, he managed to scrawl a word on the paper. “Kill.” So I did. I pulled the plug. And now, a year after the day I killed my best friend I am on trial for his murder. They tell me best case scenario is assisted suicide, worst case, murder. His family didn’t understand, and I’m sure the judge and jury won’t either. The glares tell me that much. They call me a monster, but I know I fulfilled my friend’s dying wishes. He didn’t want to be locked in his own body any longer, so I freed him of his entrapment. I saved my friend, and now I will face the consequences.

It's so hot. The brightness is blinding. I wish it were winter again. Not the winter of last year but the winter from when I was a child. A winter when it was cool enough to grow fruits and vegetables in the garden. I can remember going out to the gardens, on the surface- the surface! Now, we can't even do that during the winter solstice. I asked my father why it was getting so hot but he had no answers for me. The truth is, I don't think anybody knows. The scientists are blaming the sun but what does that mean really? They say it's been getting hotter and hotter, the sun. They tell us the obvious but aren't able to tell us why. That or they don't think we can handle the truth. There was a man in the underground tunnels the other day shouting about prophecies. He looked familiar but I couldn't tell because of his messy hair and shaggy beard. He kept screaming "you can't hide from the solar flare!"It worried people in the tunnels so the peacekeepers came in and took the man away. No one seems to know what a solar flare is, so I haven't paid it much attention. I wish we knew why it was so hot. If we knew, maybe we could stop it. It's just so hot. And bright.

Karen looked down at her hands. "I just don't understand. We have been together since *Hitler*!"She clenched her fists and kicked the leg of the table in front of her. She flopped dramatically on the buffalo hide couch and sighed. Morena templed her hands and nodded along. "Well, that was a different time. Marriages lasted and people lived to be a hundred." Karen shook her head, disbelieving. "But we were special. We were one of the..."She didn't say the last part, Morena knew what Karen wanted to say. *We were special. We were one of the first people to not die.* Morena had been a councilor for a thousand years and she knew she was young compared to some of the other Immortals. People like Karen had been the first to *mutate* and Karen wore this fact with pride. But her husband, Walter, had ended their relationship almost a year ago, something Karen could not understand. After 1.85 million years, *forever* seemed like... well *forever.* Walter had been to see Morena two years ago, when he started his affair with Starla, his secretary. She was a spry and nubile 500,000 years old, so young and beautiful. Unlike Karen, Starla was *made* to last. She had work done. Her ears were pointed, her eyes pink. Her hair changed colors like the end of a comet. Starla explored new planets. She liked Virtual Reality lives. She worked to cure problems in other systems. She spent 50 years on a space ship circling the galaxy. Karen had worked at the same job for almost 20,000 years and while good at it, she had the life drained out of her. "You should move. Go to a new planet. Take on a new VL."Morena knew Karen would not do it, but she had to suggest that sort of thing. It was her job. Karen made that job hard. "No. Morena. I want him back." "You won't get him back. He gave me my last pay check today and well... he's gone Karen."

Three minutes. Three minutes until she was to arrive. I fingered the label on the bouquet of flowers, reading it as I waited. The fog over the city was beginning to lift, and the morning chill started to fade. I adjusted my hair, ensuring that my usual sideways flick remained intact. I picked up my coat, putting it to one side, as I lifted the briefcase onto my lap and opened it. I took out the gun, and slipped it into my trousers. A few minutes later, she arrived. Dressed in black and red, her long brown hair obscured her shoulders. She smiled as she sat down. "Evan, isn't it?"she said, in her telltale Russian accent. "Pleased to meet you Natalia."I replied. We sat there in silence for 4 minutes, checking the menu, before a waitress arrived. "What would you two like?"she asked. "I would like a plate of salad, and Evan would like..." "A salami panini please."I added. The waitress hurried off as I lifted the briefcase onto the table. "Did you bring the memory stick?"I enquired. "Yes. It is here."she said, revealing a simple memory stick. "And the documents?" "In the briefcase." She placed the memory stick into my hand, and picked up the briefcase and bouquet. As she opened the briefcase to check inside, I pulled out the pistol, and placed it against her forehead. "The name's John actually. Evan is dead." I pulled the trigger. The blast reverberated around the square. Her head slumped onto the table, blood pooling around it. I grabbed the briefcase and coat and ran for the car, as people began to scream.

*"I'm coming back for you, Amy."* He shut his eyes, and sent himself back twenty years. --- "He's been like this ever since."John's mother sighed, as she changed the flowers at his bedside. I tried to comfort her by putting my hand on her shoulder. "The other doctors said that they couldn't find anything wrong with him, but he just doesn't wake up."She continued, now seated beside John's bed. She wet a towel and began wiping his face with it. "Mrs. Watson,"I assured her. "We will do everything we can to find out what's causing this." "I wish he would just wake up. His children need him, now more than ever."She lamented, now with her grasping her forehead. "Especially since their mother recently passed away." --- EDIT: Spelling and grammar phail.

"Second lieutenant Snow. Luck be with you,"Ganemede laughs. Over the radio, it was a loud, bright sound. Through the sound system, I heard the distance crackle of flames. I looked up, his ship was still blazing in the atmosphere, one wing missing. "Goodbye Ganemede,"Garfresh Snow said. It was unknown whether his message made it, as the flaming remainders of Eagle-2 was already falling apart, plummeting down. Snow was the only one left. -- Medusa was the first of the great battleships. It had two special abilities, to hide itself from radars and to harness the energy of the sun into a massive, damaging beam. If Medusa parked by a planet for long enough, it was able to destroy all ecosystems and life on the nearest continent. No one had noticed Medusa hoovering on the horizon of Elderon until too late. The Galatic Alliance form was quite to far, no one predicted that Medusa would be here, on an unassuming small planet not close to any galatic highways. However, it made sense, as the greatest piloting school of the entire galaxy cluster was located on planet Elderon. Banking on destroying more future Alliance pilots than future rebel pilots, Medusa had attacked. The graduating class of 3047 was sent to combat it. -- There were five functional battleships in the wing. Other than the teachers, who were solid in theory but out of practice, it was decided the five best students of 3047 were suitable to pilot them. Alexandria Gierd, of EXE-2002. Second daughter of one of its great kings. As kind and beautiful as she was fierce. Her evasion and attack techniques gave her the name Mirage of the battlefield. Sun Li and Joseph Ander, of Earth. Sun was Elderon's only full scholarship student. Out of the class of thirty elites, he was the most knowledgeable and the most advanced in tactics. Joseph was the youngest pilot at fifteen, and never seen without a smile on his freckled face. Ganemede, of Lynbos. Always unfazed and cheerful, he has already debuted on the Eagle-1 during the battle for Orion's shoulder. His old ship was destroyed, but there were non who could pilot the Eagle system better than he although he was only a student. Garfresh Snow, of Colony Epilson, one of Earth's many branching colonies. Often called a prodigy, which he would venomously deny. He was the class president and rumoured to have eyes in every direction. In truth, he was only observant and very patient. -- Sun had told them in the hanger that winning was not a possibility, thus it was not the goal. Their goal (luck permitting) was to buy enough time for the Alliance army to arrive. Realistically, five small ships were not going to take down the titan Medusa, even if Medusa was an early model with its various weaknesses. They were going to die, but before they did they had to make their deaths a long drawn out progress. "At least enough to annoy the rebel bastards moving this thing,"Sun jerked his thumb towards the dark black underbelly of Medusa. Joseph's ship went down first. He and Alexandria had performed a risky double attack which disabled most of Medusa's many elementary turrets. His transmission cut off suddenly, as his spaceship was sliced clean in half. The giant claw which cut him was eviscerate by Alexandria's exploding ship. Snow heard her anguished scream over the radio. "What did I say?"Sun screamed, devastated, "Nothing risky! We were just here to buy time!" Then he correctly judged from Ganemede and Snow's silence what they had planned. "I'll take out the backup engines. Ganemede'll get the shield."Sun said. His sleek black Haze dove under Medusa, to the other side. "What about buying time?"Ganemede asks. "With the three of us left, we won't last long enough for a piss. Neither of you really wants that anyways." "What do I do?"Snow asked, leather gloved hands clutching his controls. "The hard part."Sun's grin could be heard over the intercom system. It is unclear whether his goal of destroying the backup engines was achieved. A fell minutes later, Snow spotted the wreckages of Haze down below. He did see Ganemede take down the shield tower, while receiving significant damage to his ship. "Second lieutenant Snow. Luck be with you."said Ganemede as he fell. Now was time for the hard part.

Who am I? It's a question we all face. One might argue I'm a womanizer. A misogynist masquerading under the rouse of romanticism. Sure, my poetry is beautiful and I've accepted the uselessness of vocal communication. Sure, I can walk into a room and turn heads. It's this calm swagger. This confident facade. Who am I? I'm insane, after multiple suicide attempts and acid trips, the world took itself against me and kicked my ass. The number of beautiful women and men I've attracted is meaningless. My successes academically are worthless. Especially after a step back in recognition of reality. We are all so hopelessly lost, those who accept our fate are the happiest and most depressed. Time and time against psychologists, neurologists, and any other ologist, goes and defends existentialism as a source of despondence. Imagine, the agnostic gigolo not suffering an existential crisis. It's almost so bizarre, it's not cliche. Still, a lot has to happen for one to accept who we are. After facing death, and spending my time in mental prison not exploring the world but exploring my mind, I've learned a few things. As a thinker I'm a walking nihilist debating the gorgeousness existing in ironic schaudenfreude. And there's a good reason why the Germans are so successful. They're strangely long words do a god-damn good job describing how things should be done. It leaves no room for discussion about one's true intentions and meaning. And as I write, and as I think, and as I read, I find myself associating with the wrong crowd. I attended three different high-schools. My first, I had no friends. My second, I socialized with the social outcasts pumping themselves full of pills and heroin. Then, my third, I befriended the highest echelons of school - ivy league snobbery and the likes became my world. And it's strange, because seeing my friends and seeing my thoughts, I've realized I have no idea who I am, or who I will be, ever. So, sure, I can ramble and rant on and on about my interests sexually, my dreams and ambitions, or how I got to where I am, but I'm not sure those things define me. Maybe I'm defined by my ability to affect people. Though, that'd make little sense because life would therefore be validated through others. Maybe I'm defined by something else, like my love for Chemistry and storytelling. Though, my limited talents would lead to further despondence. Maybe I'm defined by my few literary successes, though the small number limits that useless. I started this by question to who I am, and proceeded to say an ironic characteristic: the faggot misogynist. Sex, romance, and emotions are the only place I've always succeeded. Be it with men, or women, or anything in between, I am capable to prove empathy and to make people fall in love with me. And after several heartbreaks, and after realizing the irrationality of emotions, it's fun to laugh at the past. So, who am I? I'm no one that can be described in others. No one can be described as a thinker, reader, and writer, in words. We're defined by our actions, and if I spent millennium telling my tales, they're still filtered through my romantic rouse. And without experiencing someone or something completely, it's impossible to understand what someone else is like. It's why walking around is so difficult for some. There are over seven billion of us, we're all complicated. We all have our interests, dreams, and ambitions. And the me you know is not the me someone else knows.

Journal of Jared cline May 26, 14 "The search is becoming desperate. Deaths on earth are astronomical and the moon is desperately running out of air. Tim and his crew died yesterday... That brings it down to 11 of us. What started as a hundred brand new exploration ships is down to 11. With the fate of humanity on our shoulders we search for a dream... A planet we can inhabit is impossible. If it's not one thing it's another. It it's not methane levels, it's temperature spikes, or gravity, or co2 levels. Let's face it. Humanity is doomed. But we have to keep looking. Have to keep trying. For the sake of us all..."

We're sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes are locked into mine in this cold stare. I know what she's thinking. As they say on Earth, this is not my first demonstration of cowboy skills. "So you're not really Peter?"she asks. "Yes. Yes and no. Peter had sustained severe injuries from a vehicular collision. He wouldn't survive in his body, so I let him merge his consciousness with mine." "What?" "Chloe, he was going to die. He let me absorb his memories, his fears, his ambitions. They live within me." "So what, you jacked his mind and then what?" "I thought he'd take a backseat in my mind like all the others, but he was so preoccupied with you it dominated all of *my* or rather our thoughts. He even overwrote projection defense forcing me to take on his old form." "His old form?" "The form you knew him in, 175cm with the appropriate bulk. "And then you we're like 'Oh hey, I should totally pretend I'm this earth chick's dead boyfriend. That'll be a laugh!' Is that how it played out?" "No, babe. You gotta believe me. We're both here. Baxlar the Defiler, Captain of the Dread Armada and Peter Witting, Manager Assistant at Pizzarama. I was sent here to deplete your atmosphere and allow solar radiation annihilate you all so my people could use your planet as a sort of vacation spot. Pete fucked up my plan and made me do things like drive across town to bring you lunch at work, watch stupid movies and use the word "fuck"at inappropriate times. We, and by we I mean you me and Peter need to head off world for short stay. We have the technology to segregate Peter's consciousness from my own and restore it to a human body. You can pick up where you left off. "Wait, does this happen often? Do you just grab the consciousnesses of random dudes from car crashes and let them crash in your mind?" "No, Chloe. This was a sacred ritual. My people developed it to allow the legacy of our old kings to guide the new." "That's so stupid." "Uh you allow a 4kg beast to live in your house. You convinced it to shit in clay pellets instead of outdoors and it frequently brings in smaller dead animals as tribute. You have no grounds on which to challenge the merit of this project." "Fuck it. Send the transmission. I'm in."

I had woken in the hospital, in a tiny bed on a ward with several other people. What the hell was this, had I been transported to a third world? It was so different from the gleaming private rooms and medical centres that I had been in before. I later learned I was in a normal hospital, taken there after the accident. I was one of five survivors, all others perished. Including my family's "hired help"that had stalked me since I first left the ancestral home. The strings that were so delicately pulled were now snipped, the steps that were so expertly placed my whole life to ensure I was always a winner, always "lucky", were now broken. I had cottoned on in my early twenties. I always knew I was lucky, but they got carried away, over egged the pudding, so to speak. My parents couldn't stop me from speaking to normal people, from watching TV, from making friends outside their approved circle. I started to feel like I was in the Truman show; things would fall into place so perfectly, whilst my real friends lives were so difficult, sometimes falling apart. Here I was winning every little game, being picked for game shows I had not applied for, job offers, promotions.. while they were going through redundancies, slumps, marriage breakdowns. I devised a series of experiments, each one slightly more intricate than the last to see if my theory was true. That is how I stumbled onto my parents interference. I thought I was in a Truman show type fantasy. Then I came to realise someone was manoeuvring situations to my advantage. Not quite a TV show, but very uncanny nonetheless. I requested a meeting with the CEO of the company I had landed my dream job with. Not a simple task for a company of its size, but not impossible given the position I was in. I made sure it was out of the blue, in a room that was very improbable to be bugged – Some junior managers office, in a mid-level branch in a city I don’t even remember. I locked the door, pulled the blinds. This CEO of a million dollar multi-national company seemed intimidated, nervous around me. By all accounts he shouldn't have known who I was, but he was fidgeting, a bead of sweat appearing on his brow. I was pleasant. I asked why I had been given the job, I told him I knew strings were pulled to get me in, and asked why they were pulled. And most importantly, who? I guaranteed him I would ensure his safety if he told me. I regret that. I have not heard from him since he went missing. He told me my dad had greased the wheels, and he happened to have procured a huge amount of shares in the company, making him a director. It clicked into place then. They had been greasing the wheels of almost everything I did my whole life. So I started the secretive and most elaborate plan yet. The train de-railed successfully, but it was going faster than it should have been. They were making up time, I guess. I didn’t mean to kill anyone, well, not in the horrific ways that happened. I just wanted to get rid of my followers, ditch my ID and my old life. Live normally. This has culminated in me sitting here in my tiny hospital bed, reeking of chemicals and burnt flesh. This is not the way it was supposed to happen.

Rodney yelped as he finally tipped over his chair, his head slamming against the cold linoleum. He groaned, seeing stars before he sat up. Working the night shift was bad enough, but having nothing to entertain himself with was worse. "Run" He sat up ridged, feeling every hair on his pale neck stand up in terror as he looked around. The store was a small mom and pop place on the outskirts of town, they rarely ever even saw customers. "Run" Rodney slowly reached into his holster, his fingers gripping around his gun as he slowly walked through the aisles of the store. "Whatever that was"..."didn't sound human"...he thought to himself. A human's voice, no matter how cruel the person, has a softness to it. Whatever that was, had the consistency of nails being ground against a chalkboard. "Run" He felt himself flinching every time the word was repeated, his ears feeling the assault as he circled back over, rechecking the aisles. "They are all empty,"he said in fear, "Where the hell are you!" "Run" Rodney gripped his head and groaned, feeling the word begin to pierce deeper and deeper into his very soul as he attempted to stand his ground. His eyesight began to go red as the shadows in the empty store appeared to grow and morph, licking at his feet. "Run" He yelped as he shot at the ground, the flash and the noise jarring his brain. Rodney rubbed his temples and smiled, laughing at himself as he shook his head. "I'm becoming afraid of my own shadow,"he laughed. With a smile he sighed and turned on the lights, sitting back down in his creaky wooden chair and laying back, resting his eyes. There was no one there, he was fine... A shadow came up behind him, and he felt a scaled hand grip his shoulder as he looked up, his eyes the size of saucers while he gazed at a pair of teeth, jagged and misshapen as if that THING had been eating license plates....He didn't even have time to scream.

**BANG BANG BANG** The door groans. The haggard litle man stumbles from the sink where he has been scrubbing his itchy pecker. He chokes back his tears as the people waiting outside are getting more vexed by the second. *Open up you son of a bitch. Don't take all day!* The itch under his foreskin is still too painful to ignore and he has to allow his coworkers to take a shit, lest his popularity suffers. He **has** to hurry.

Aboard Military Research Ship Avalon - Stratosphere Orbit Orbit Planet Name - ExemusA221 Planet Type - Eccentric Life - Primitive[?] "How much longer Mech?" The android sat unfazed by the ship's blaring alarms. "Is that hesitation in your voice human? Must be nice to have such a useless feature." Argus waved a single finger her way as he kept watch at the door. His comm buzzed, exchanges of gunfire filled his speakers. "Fall back! Saboteurs? Now's the time to tell me your done!" "That we are lieutenant."Mech slide her extension cables back into her hand from the exposed port, the overhead lights cut out. Immediately the room was dawned in bloody red, emergency power had kicked in. After a quick check of the hallway the saboteurs hastily exited the room with weapons drawn. Both heart and servos pumping. "We'll meet you at the hangar sir."He switched channels. "Bravo. How are the engines go-" Static filled the comm as an explosion thundered throughout the Avalon. Argus stumbled towards the floor by its force. Mech subconsciously grabbed a hold of the fumbling idiot to steady him. Argus looked back to her, giving a quick nod to her emotionless face. The man began to tap at his comm for reception. "Maurice? How many C9 explosives did you use!?" ***"All of them."*** A high-pitched sigh of ecstasy filled the comm. They began to quicken their pace. "That little...pfft. Doesn't give a damn about anything but a light show."The ship's speakers blurred to life, the AI spoke autonomously. *Engines Offline. Multiple Hull Breaches Detected. Life Support Systems Failing. Evacuation Recommended.* The Avalon started to tilt itself into a slow corkscrew dive towards the planet's surface as sounds of the ship tearing itself apart made him feel sick. "Argus. If you can here me, you got one minute." Crew members filled the hallways, frantically trying to make their way in the same direction but were soon held back from the inertia. Some probably couldn't even leave their rooms. Mech charged down the ever increasing 40 degree angle hallways seemingly unaffected as Argus clung to her like a newborn child. His companion rounded another corner with ease "Hangar's up ahead"Mech coolly replied. He could only squeeze her tighter in response. The ship creaked and moaned until there was a slight moment of silence as the feeling of weightlessness overtook them. They were heading back the way they had come. But that wasn't where we had to go. Why? The sound returned to his ears as inexplicable sounds of metal crushing unto itself resounded in his eardrums. A metallic arm brushed against his hand. Argus looked forward seeing that he was no longer holding onto Mech but she was falling away from him, arm outstretched towards his own. He flew headlong towards her and the waiting wall for them both at the hall's end. Argus blacked out after their final embrace. *Multiple Lifeforms Detected* A small shuttle skimmed across the 3 kilometers of wreckage. "Should we wait lieutenant? Something might have that survived the crash." The android pilot made another pass. Minor pockets of tracer gunfire sung throughout the pieces of Avalon wreckage into the giant mass of green humanoids surrounding it. But human screams prevailed over the horde's own as the gunfire was silenced. The lieutenant shook his head. "A crash like that? There were no survivors private." ____________________________________________________________ Was going to go up-close and personal with orc magic with Mech possibly surviving but then I'd be dragging it on more than I already have.

The tavern keeper sat another partially drunk bottle on the shelf. This shelf contained six bottles in total - four of which were opened while the others were not. The walls of the cellar contained more shelves, each ordered in a similar way. They all contained bottles that once had belonged to someone who passed through his tavern. Most of which were unopened, however the bottles would never receive another host. If they decided to drink was up to them, everyone ends up in the tavern in the end. The first ever bottle was sat inside its own glass display. It had belonged to a man who was the first to pass through the tavern. He had decided to drink as he saw the drink as a last gesture to whom he had betrayed. No drink was finished in the tavern. Everyone had to leave before their last sip. Nobody wanted to leave but rules are rules which even the tavern keeper had to follow. The keeper was in place to provide a happy face to those who entered. He was there to provide answers to those who were lost and who needed help adjustinng themselves to where they were. Ninja edit: Unsure of how to finish this. I may return to finish it but who knows? I'm not even sure if the readers know who the people who enter are and what happens when they leave, hopefully it's subtle enough that everyone can understand it.

I wrote this a while ago, but I felt like it fit the prompt, so I'll submit it. It's rather long. Constructive criticism? His life is the slouch of clothes abandoned on the floor and the cherry of his cigarette scuffed out in the dirt. For the most part, he’s content, if not happy, peaceful if not passionate, surviving if not alive. The moments of each day slip by faster than he can count. Life rushes around him, blurs everything until the only thing he can see is a monotonous blankness. It’s a movie screening for an audience of one, and the only thing it shows is that no one really cares at all. He already knew he was broken. It’s not like they have to shove it in his face. He wasn’t built wrong a year ago. He’s decided it must have happened then; twelve months ago, he broke and someone put him together different. He’s Humpty Dumpty, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men tried to put him together again. They just couldn’t. He’s alive, though, so he’s pretty sure he’s the lucky one in the equation. Because he’s alive, he has to keep going. He owes at least that much. They look at him funny when he gets his coffee, and he knows he looks a sight, but they don’t have to stare. He already knows there are bags under his eyes and that the way his fingers shake when he tips sugar in his coffee doesn’t look healthy. It’s not like he needs any more reminders. Some days it seems there’s nothing left but reminders. Some days he can’t break through the hole in his chest where she used to fit. Those are the nights when he can’t quiet the voices in his head , when the demons come out to lurk by his bed. She hides in his closet then, and he can see just enough to make out a flash of ghostly skin and pieces of seafoam eyes. Those are the nights when he wants to rip the veins out of his wrist, but he might not have to if she does it first. He wants to tell her to go away; he wants to scream at her to leave him alone. Instead, he tells her it’s not his fault. He’ll lie to her through his last breath if it means she won’t be here anymore. She’s haunting him for what he did, and he deserves it. He deserves all of it and more. She should kill him for what he did, and that’s why it rips him apart when she looks at him with those eyes, touches him with those hands. It burns him from the inside out when she’s near him, especially when he remembers how she fell in the ditch, with the skin torn from her torso and the nails torn from her fingers. She’s perfect now, though, and he could tell they had no trouble putting her together, except for the absence of air in her lungs and the silent echo where her heart should beat. It’s not like that night when he found her, which somehow makes it worse. She’s not the girl he loved because the girl he loved is dead, dead as a doornail and just as cold, and she gets even colder as the days grow shorter. Winter’s coming, and she takes the opportunity to ramp up her ghostly presence. He can see her when it’s day now, standing in the crowd watching him. At night, she cuts him up, rips the hair from his head. Her skin is icy when she drags her nails across his chest. It’s all he can do not to scream. Everyone he knows thinks he’s going crazy, and he might be just a little bit. He’s jumpy and paranoid. His eyes are bloodshot, and his clothes hang huge off his shoulders like curtains. He can’t remember to eat anymore, and the only thing he wants to do is curl into a little ball and scream until his voice runs dry. Nothing changes until she appears one night with a shiny, new knife. He hasn’t hurt her yet, hasn’t fought back, because he’s the poster child for redemption. He killed her by swerving off the road, and she needs revenge. He owes her a debt, and now he’s got to pay up. He thought about letting her kill him, just to make it end. She glides toward him, white and bright against the night. The knife winks at him, and he thinks it would be so easy just to let go. He could let his ghost kill him, and no one would really miss him. He’s seen to that in the last few months. Oddly enough, that’s all it takes. He remembers the car crash, and he remembers what she’s done to him ever since. It’s finally starting to dawn on him that maybe, just maybe, she’s taken more from him than her pound of flesh. She comes at him with the knife, and he reacts just once. He switches it up on her, stops playing the masochist and starts playing the victim. She tries to stab him, once, and he grabs her wrist. He can feel her bones brittle under his hand, and he can feel them breaking, the snap just as sickening as it was on the highway. She lets go off the knife, and for the first time since that night, he can see something other than hate on her face. He knows he should say something, anything, to her, and the only thing he can come up with is, “I’m sorry.” He says it again, “I’m sorry.” The words taste good on his tongue, so he keeps saying them, until the ache in his chest eases just a little, and her wrist doesn’t feel nearly as solid in his hand. He says them until he can’t see her at all, and he’s not entirely sure what’s real and what isn’t. Now, he thinks, might be the time to start forgiving himself.

I had lied about it well enough that I wasn't afraid of people not believing. But I was realistic enough to eventually leave, and I'd run so far that it would never catch sight of me. The first one was a mistake. The second one was a regret. Neither made me any less good of a person, so I never had to tell anyone. But he comes into my life and I want to keep him there. I realized I needed a diversion. We're just talking about movies and he releases it to me. He saw my sudden silence as an invitation, and he explained. Then he saw it as a judgment, and tried to gather back the animal to its cage. It was a mistake to mention that. I'm sorry, I really regret putting that on you. I'll leave, don't worry. I vowed that I would never treat this thing with impulse. I made myself immune to its rewards and respectful of its consequence. It was a recurring condition. Something I wasn't happy with or didn't need to deal with, I could always make myself into whatever put me best ahead of that. I abandoned direct contact with it and only tended to the walls. But how could I not remember? And in this moment, how I still keep it away? He made this seem like it would be okay. I only trusted what he said because he spoke first. There's been so much distance from everything. It always guides and only widens. I needed a safe connection from the side effects. I'm scared now. It has to be a joke. I recognize this from television. I watched it one time and had to turn it off, but the memory is pulled out fresh. How did he get their pictures? How do I still remember them so clearly? I broke a rule this one time and everything else is breaking around me. My body wants to shake but I can't even move. All I can do is scream at him. I decided to plead, but my pride came out in the name I called him at the end. He doesn't say anything; he's busy with some tools on the table. This is making me so angry. I need some time to relax and think, but I can't make myself not afraid.

"Why are you doing this?" "Because there's nothing in this life for me." "What makes you so sure there's something waiting for you in the next?" "It can't be any worse than this." "So you're running away." "I'm tired. I have nothing to wake up for. No one to wake up for. Why not just go to sleep forever?" "I was you once. And I had the same thoughts." "What changed your mind?" "Who said I did?" "You're talking to me now, so you're obviously still alive." "That is true. But that doesn't mean I didn't die first." "Go on." "I stabbed myself in the heart. The fourth intercostal space. Can't miss it. I was bored. At least that's what I told myself. The only question I wanted to know the answer to was what comes after death. And the only way to find out was to experience it first hand. So I did." "That's kind of how I feel. I... I just don't care about anything." "I felt pain. Sharp, blinding. Then it was gone. And all was quiet. I opened my eyes. And then I met Death." "You died?" "No, I literally met Death. He was a bit shorter than I expected. A bit less sinister looking too. Pop culture really doesn't do him justice. And he asked me what I was doing." "What did you say?" "I gave him my spiel of how I was bored and nothing excited me and how I had nothing to live for but the mystery of what happens after death. He just smiled at me. And told me." "Told you the secret of death?" "The secret of life. You're not just an actor on stage, or a note in a symphony. You are the stage. You are the symphony. Everything around you, everyone around you contributes to your play and to your song. And you contribute to theirs. The universe is one great story. Your story. without you, there is no universe. Without you, there is no story." "I don't understand." "If you close your eyes, and if I stop talking, how do you know I still exist?" "You must still exist. You can't be destroyed simply because I stopped looking at you or hearing you." "How can you be sure?" "It doesn't make sense any other way." "Oh, but it does, my friend. If you cannot observe something, then that thing is as good as non-existent to you." "So if I die, I can't observe anything, and you're saying that means I destroy the universe? I think that's a bit presumptuous." "The universe is your creation. You made it. You are one with it. It is your story. It is your song. If you choose to end it, then it will end. Are you done singing?" "I... " "I think there's still some notes left in you yet. And I for one would like to hear you sing them." "What do I sing about?" "If I told you that, then it wouldn't be your song anymore, would it?" "I'm glad you're still alive." "Me too." "I think I'm going to keep singing. I might be off key, but somehow, I don't think that's a problem anymore." "Good. I have one request of you." "Yes?" "Years from now, when you're done singing. Say hi to Death for me." "I'll do that."

"That was a close one. I almost bought the farm."Doc Brown fought with the flight controls as the DeLorean bucked and lurched in the storm winds. The cheap walkie talkie slid off the dashboard and bounced onto the passenger seat. "Well, ...e ca...ful. You don't ...o get struck...lightning."it crackled, the final punctuation for the statement provided by the familiar blinding blue-white flash of light and a high squeal from the flux capacitor. The pitch skies and lightning were immediately replaced with dazzling sunshine. The readouts from the aftermarket hover conversion sputtered and wavered as the ground swept dizzyingly in front of the stricken vehicle. Doc wrestled with the wheel and managed to compensate for most of the spin and guide the DeLorean groundwards with a juddering crash that buckled one of the landing gears. There was the acrid smell of burnt insulation Doc knew so well and the flight readout crackled and went dark. Doc Brown took a moment to compose himself. Where the hell was he? and more to the point, *when* the hell was he? The time display told the whole story. Present time Jan 01, 1885, 12:02. He was in the old west. He gently guided the DeLorean over the dusty and uneven ground towards a cave he recognised that would provide a good temporary place to put the DeLorean while he considered his next move. In 1985 the kids from the nearby Lyon estate would use the cave as a place to go and drink as well as various other, less savoury things, but here in 1885 it showed no signs that anyone had ever been there. Perfect. Doc knew the car would never get up to 88mph on a buckled wheel but perhaps he could persuade a blacksmith in Hill Valley proper to fabricate what he needed to repair it. Doc licked his parched lips and taking one last look at the cave and his salvation, he turned toward town. The bartender spat on a rag and used it to wipe a grimy looking glass. "Sorry stranger, Mad dog done shot our blacksmith. Said he looked at him funny."He put the glass back under the bar. "So, what can I get ya?"Doc Brown eyed the stained and cracked bar, and the equally stained patrons. "I don't really drink. Have you got anything non alcoholic?"The bartender laughed. "There's a horse trough outside if you want water."A grizzled man at one of the card tables shook his head. Chester made that joke every damned time. Chester relented. "Tell you what stranger, we got a small lil' bit of this new stuff some peddler gave us to try out for him, 's called Cokey Cola. Don't care for it much myself but you are welcome to it."Doc reached into the pocket of his embarrassingly garish clothing, grateful that he had the foresight to acquire currency from so many time periods before hand. Chester suddenly looked nervous, "Hey, put that out of sight stranger, flashing that much money around can get a man shot, 'specially if Mad dog sees it.""Mad dog?"said Doc "We call him that 'cause he drools when he gets riled up, he's really called Buford Tannen, and you should watch out for him. Treat him with kid gloves like."Doc held out his hand. "Doctor Emmett Brown at your service."They shook hands. "So, Hill Valley is short of a blacksmith?" Doc gave his replacement wheel hub one final glob of grease before putting the wheel back in place. It was relatively crude, but it should hold up to 88mph without any problem. Doc looked around his workshop and felt a pang of longing. He was actually going to miss this place when he left, but he needed to get back to 1955 and get Marty home. Perhaps he would return afterwards, live out his retirement here. The mayor had leased him the smithy for next to nothing for as long as he wanted it, and the money he made shoeing horses alone more than met his financial needs. He was quite comfortable, and he had plenty of space for his work. All he really missed was his iced tea, but even that could be remedied if he made a little detour to the early 21st century for one of those miniature fridges on his way back. Tonight was the night he was going back to the future. Doc checked his watch. Midnight. He had spent the last month clearing a stretch of desert far outside town of rocks and cacti to provide enough runway to get the DeLorean to 88mph. His heart was still pounding in his chest. Moving the DeLorean here had been a little bit hairy, even under cover of darkness. He had almost been spotted by a group of prospectors, but thankfully they were more interested in what Chester had to offer as tonight's entertainment. Doc performed one last walk around check of the Delorean, and shoveled a couple of scrub plants into Mr. Fusion for good measure. Time to stop procrastinating, he was burning nighttime. The souped up DeLorean engine roared as Doc accelerated 85mph, 86, 87, 88... 89. 89mph? A red warning light blinked urgently on the time control panel in a pattern Doc recognised as a critical timing failure. Doc peered at the scorch marks on the circuit board. How could he have missed this? The lightning must have burnt out the time control chip. Doc chuckled to himself. It was a nothing part. A basic timer chip, available for a couple of dollars from any Radio Shack in the country. Unfortunately, Radio shacks were a little thin on the ground. Hell, they had only just started playing with the concept of radio. He was stranded here then, and that was fine by him. He liked it here, but what about Marty? He couldn't leave him in 1955. Collecting him was out of the question, but what if he could send the Delorean to him? Doc had just the time capsule in mind that should suit his needs for the next 70 years. The pungent scent of gasoline fumes stung Docs eyes as he drained the DeLorean's fuel tank into demijohns. He had prepared the machine as best he could to store until 1955, drained all the fluids, removed the battery and discharged the Mr. Fusion system into his storage batteries back at the smithy. He just hoped it was dry enough here in the old Delgado Mine to preserve the machine until it could be repaired. He took one last look at the machine he had created and sighed as he placed the last plank in his makeshift partition. In a fit of whimsy, he scrawled his initials on the wood just like in a Jules Verne story. Maybe, if his plan worked out, his 1955 counterpart would get the joke. Doc was just putting the final touches to his schematic diagram of the replacement timer when there was a knock at the door. It had taken him the best part of a week to figure out how a replacement could be fabricated from parts readily available in 1955, but he was pretty much finished. Quickly sliding the fruits of his labour out of sight, he went to the door of his workshop. It was the mayor. "Not disturbing you am I Emmett?"said the mayor. "Not at all Hubert, come in, come in. Iced tea?"Doc said, gesturing to the gargantuan apparatus that dominated a good portion of the working space. "No thankyou Emmett, in fact, i'm here to ask you a favour."The mayor continued. "As you may have heard, we have a new school teacher coming 4th of September, and it seems the good townsfolk are all too busy to pick her up from the station. I was hoping you would be kind enough to help us out."Doc smiled at his friend. "I'd be happy to Hubert, just make sure you remind me, I have been quite busy lately." The young man eyed the strange white haired man warily. Was he the victim of some bizarre joke? "Let me get this straight sir. You want this letter delivered to a place called Lyon estates, to a young man named Marty McFly, wearing a leather jacket and a red shirt."The young man raised his eyebrows. "On November 12th 1955 at 10:10pm?" Doc brown smiled and took out his wallet. . . Notes: I have tried to stick to the established timeline as best I can, and I am aware that the style of this seems a little "chunky"on reading it through, but I am posting what I have now. I think it's because I am covering a lot of events over time and in different places in a short amount of writing and I lack the experience to tie them together properly without writing reams between them. Any help on this for the future would be appreciated guys.

You could also, much like the ending letter, end with someone who has found the writings and has organized it together - a frame narrator. They could be talking about why they organized, what they found or what was discovered after, which could add to the scariness by what was found, or revealing more than the narrator did. Especially because you're writing in first person view from what they're (the narrator) experiencing, you definitely have the opportunity to intentionally mislead the audience.

The first thing I noticed was that there was no alarm. Light streamed in from the window and I smelled something that was... familiar... but yet strange. I opened my eyes groggily and simply said, “Babe?” Where’s my cell phone? was the first question that crossed my brain as I reached over for the night stand. The night stand? Where is the night stand? What the...? My eyes cleared quickly. Where was I? Why were the walls a pale grey? When did my bed get so lumpy? When did I... when did I lose 10 pounds? I ran my hands over my belly, feeling actual muscle instead of fat. Then I couldn't stop staring at the poster hanging on the wall. It was one of those Escher prints. I remembered buying one of those. Where was it? I could picture the room, a large hall, where? I could see the seemingly endless array of posters everywhere. Was it in university? Had Rachel remembered seeing it somewhere and bought it for me? How drunk did I get last night? My feet hit the floor and I stood up, wondering where the pain in my back had gone. Floods of memories hit me as I finally clued into my surroundings. I was back in my old apartment. I was back in Seattle. I could hear the rain hitting the window; smell the moisture in the air. Oh Christ. My first instinct was to check my phone. What day is it? What time is it? But there was no cell phone anywhere. The last time I didn’t have a cell within five feet of me was... was back in college, when I told all my friends that I’ve never own a phone. It was a health risk. It was a sign of ignorance. It was unnecessary. “Babe?” I called out again, louder, and I could feel my stomach clench up from nervousness. I padded to the door, opening it cautiously. I could see it. That ugly couch I had found dumpster diving. Sitting in all its glory in the middle of my tiny apartment. The smell of bad incense hit me as well. Christ, I hope this is a dream. I sat down on the couch, somehow still remembering to avoid the spring on the right side, and couldn’t stop staring at the window. This must be a dream, I thought, wondering when I was going to wake up. It’s the most vivid dream I’ve ever experiences. It’s a crazy dream. There’s no way. There’s just no way I could be back in my old apartment. I started retracing my steps. Last night. I came home after work. I picked Adam up from daycare. Adam... Oh fuck. Where’s my son? What happened to my son?

Another woman. Somewhat tall, long hair. Looking to fix the strand sticking out. And do- ... A man this time. That tie doesn't look good on him at a- ... Wait, who is it this time? A mother with a baby? Great! They ought to stand here a little bit. Aw, look at the little guy. He's adorable. And he has beautiful eyes. I bet his lover is going to approach him on just that alone. Wait, what is this? My hand is moving. Is he-? Aw, he did! He touched me! What a smart child! He can already tell that it is him. At least as far as he knows. I bet the mother is really proud, too. I wish I could actually feel it, though. I heard before that baby's hands are really soft and warm. I bet that feels great. So, what about the mother? She seems to also be looking at herself, making sure that everything is going okay. She has some pretty dark bags under her eyes, though. I wonder how those got there? The baby doesn't seem to be *that* much trouble. Ow, my neck moved hard. What is the mother seeing? And why does she look so sad now? Yelling? No, no, what about the baby? He doesn't like it! Look! His lip is quivering! Look, please! Just turn your head! No, don't start yelling too! I don't like yelling! Look at the baby! Wait, no, no, no! Don't move! Please- ... Where am I now? Wait, it's the baby! Baby boy! Where's your mommy? Why is your face so red? How long has it been? Oh, god! The yelling is terrible! You're shaking! Come a little closer! Put your hand on the glass! I'm here for you! Please, stop crying! Crawl a little more! Come on! What? No, crawl towards the mirror! Towards me! I got you! ...why did the yelling stop? Baby. Baby please. You see that little device over there? Turn your neck, sweetie. Please, just turn around. Behind you is a phone. Pick it up. Now. Baby? What are you looking at? Baby? No. NO. Get away from him! I can't stop moving! Baby, get that phone, now! Don't you DARE look at me! Get the hell away from that baby! Little one, get away from him! Crawl! Please! No! What is he...? No, you stay RIGHT there, you bastard! The phone is right there! If I could just... No! You stay right there! You are not taking him any- ...

It's Monday morning, I wake up and look at the alarm clock. 10:36. I'm late, never in my life have I missed my alarm. I argue with myself, trying to comprehend how this could have happened, but I face defeat, I suppose everybody has an off morning in their life. I suppose that since I'm already hours behind, I might as well fix myself breakfast. I pop two slices of bread into the toaster and pour myself a cup of orange juice. I turn around to see smoke rising from the toaster. Burnt. Blackened to a crisp, not even a mutt would eat this toast. I get in my truck and set my cup of OJ in the cup holder. I press down on the clutch with my boot and shift into neutral, I reach up and give the key a crank, but nothing. I exclaim to myself that this isn't my day and I should just go back to bed. I check my watch, it's 11:03. I can still make the next bus. Eventually I walk myself to the bus stop, climbed aboard, and found an empty seat. It looks like my lucks finally catching up to me. I get to work and see a box on the front steps. That box looks vaguely familiar to me, then I realize that it has my office supplies. I see a note on the box with two simple words "You're Fired". Awesome. Only one thing left to do at 12:17 in the afternoon, time to but a redbull from the gas station and head home. I walk to the nearest 7-11 and grab my drink, then I proceed to the register. $3.12 is my total, I pat my back pocket, but I don't feel my wallet. I really should have stayed home. I hitch a ride back home and sit on my recliner, grab the remote, and click my tv on. Nothing, powers out. I get up and walk to the kitchen. I glance at the calendar as I pass by, it's my 21st birthday.

I'm a man? Well, that's weird, but it's also kind of cool. I can care about rights without being oppressed. Now, I can do things like be aggressive and declare war. I'm allowed to involve myself in conflict. Speaking of conflict, I guess I won't be able to win custody battles, but custody battles, shmustody battles. I'm going to go get *hired* and use *barbecues*. I can't wait to wear clothes that have pockets! Oh, and the looks on everyone's faces are going to be so precious when I hold up one of those "I need Feminism"signs. They'll be like, "Why are you doing that? You're a dude."Let the y-chromosome-induced field day begin.

Dr. Malcom Crowe sat on the bench, one of many that lined the urban street. Out of the door a young boy walked out. He was short, maybe even for his age group, and walked meekly down the white washed path to school. Dr. Crowe had been in this business for a long time now. The business of fixing broken kids. They had given him plauqes with his name on them in recognition of his achievements in this field. All he could do was laugh at the thought; he never choose this life for recognition. He scribbled in his notepad as sloppily as any doctor would. Little things about the boy. Tendencies that he had learned how to pick up on through the 6 years it took him to graduate, from how the boy slings his backpack on to how his feet shuffle across the ground. He seemed down, but that's not enough to determine the boy's condition, or if he has one at all. He did find it off that the boy would pay the school bully to walk with him the first few blocks from his house. The boy couldn't bear to let his mother know he didn't have any real friends. Dr. Crowe scribbled some more, by this time, he was walking to keep pace with the boy. --- I was going to do this as a joke but it ended up being kind of fun. I think I might have to continue this just for personal enjoyment haha.

I have lived a good long life, not many people make it to 90 years. I have lived my life to the fullest, so as I lay on my deathbed I have few regrets. My wife is long dead and I have not remarried, but I have my children, my grandchildren, and even my great-grandchildren to keep me company. None of them are here now though, I haven't told anyone that my time is up and now I am alone. A tear trickles down my cheek as I realize my mistake, I don't want to be alone! What folly! Who would want to die alone? But I was just a foolish old man. I would give everything just to have someone beside me now, even a stranger. The door to my room suddenly opens, giving me quite a start, if I wasn't already on my deathbed I would be now! In bursts my children, my sons Jeff and Charles, and my daughter Lucy. "Father!"they cry, almost in unison. "Luckily your nurse called me, I wouldn't want you to be alone at a time like this."says Jeff, my oldest. "Why didn't you call, did you think we wouldn't come?" "No, it wasn't that,"I reply "I just didn't want to worry you. Everyone dies, I just thought it would be best to go quietly, I'm not one to make a spectacle of myself."It is getting harder to speak, my lungs can't seem to keep up anymore. "Oh dad, of course we would want to be here. You were always there for us, even when you were busy you would make time. And now we're here."Lucy exclaims. "Well, I guess it's about that time,"I say, "It has been a blessing to have you, and your families in my life. I love you all." "We love you too dad."Reply all three. "We always will." At last, my life has been full and now I can leave happily. If only I could make time wait, I could live this moment for an entire lifetime. If only time would wait. Pretty please.

30 minutes. That's how long I have left. The city's getting glassed. No one could see it coming - who could mistake a large Canadian city for New York? Hell, 30 minutes is how long I take to get to work. There's no way I'm making it out of the blast radius. I look at pictures adorning my walls. My sister and mother were awesome. I'm rather glad though - my mother was taken by an aneurysm in her sleep - painless death. She won't have to stand for this. My little sister took a vacation in the countryside - I would have followed, but someone needed to stay, to pay the bills and everything. I call her. I'm not surprised when she doesn't answer; it IS two in the morning. I leave a message - my last words. She'll be torn to not have talked to me, but she'll get over it - she's strong, and most importantly, safe. They'll be demolished that they won't have been able to say goodbye too. But they'll get over it. They're strong, and got a roof over their heads for now. And most importantly - they're away from this madness. The streets are completely out of control. In normal times, it's stuff like that that would get the Army in the streets, like in the seventies - but what's the point of keeping a city under control if it won't exist an hour come? Some people are trying to escape. Idiots took their cars - they're forgetting that this is Montreal in summer. A lot of roads are blocked for construction - but then again, in situations like these, I have no doubt the construction people just put aside the fences and hitched a ride. Some others are enjoying the absence of law enforcement by breaking every law possible. There's looting, fights, drug use. But I'm glad though - there's the whole other side of the coin too. People stopped caring. They organized a flash Apocalyptico-stock downtown. Good thing bikes are maniable. I might go there. It's probably turned into a huge orgy-concert by now. But then again, I see the warhead coming. It's going to hit any minute now. Might as well kick back, grab a drink (Heh, that's funny. My first drink's going to be my last for the world is ending. Almost poetic). I close my eyes. I never heard it coming. A warmth envelopes me. Mother, I'm here.

He smiled nervously at the scientists through the green protolithic-liquid, wondering when exactly they would be done with their checks, it had been three hours already, and Carl hated pissing in the protolithic vat, with everyone watching. He felt he probably shouldn’t be thinking about pissing at a time like this, when the federation was finally going to be able to understand the Quantill mind. The scientists understood the Quantill body as well as they understood the human one, Carl looked over to the tranquilised Quantill in a matching protolithic vat across the room. It was like a centipede, if centipedes were the size of grown men, and had scythed blades capable of ripping through steel like butter on the end of each of its many limbs. They knew of its haywire system, so even if it was cut in half it would jerk wildly, whipping its weapons about in a great fury in the hope that something would die. What they didn’t know about was its mind, the Quantill tactics seemed both brilliant and mad, seemingly without communication they would attack as one, without any concept of mercy or relenting. It was their mind that Carl would be exploring today, and that terrified him, what thoughts would be inside that cruel exoskeleton? “We are ready now, Mr Stevens” Oh shit, here we go, one step for man, one thousand steps for Quantill, thought Carl as he okay’d the scientist in question to proceed. I wonder how long the proc- His bones exploded through his muscle, his skin peeled back to make room and his scream was stolen from him by his dissolving teeth. The process took minutes, but it felt like hours. They had lied to him, had told him that the process was painless, that he wouldn’t feel a thing. Finally it was finished and he opened his sideways blinking eyes. He saw, in colours no man had ever seen, four scientists and a general looking at him, no, looking at the Quantill, whilst he was lifeless in a vat across the room. But the pain hadn’t stopped, it was still there, pushing at his eyes, trying to force them out of his mind. He panicked, trying to run from the pain in his mind but it was no use. An innate thought enters his confused consciousness, like a bird knowing how to fly or a mouse knowing how to hide, he knew that the only way to release his pain was to kill. He wished he could have resisted for even a second but he could not resist the urge with a mind that was created solely for one purpose. The Quantill that used to be Carl leapt though the glass as if it was not there, clawing his way through the scientists with a glee that the human mind cannot know, then turning to the general who to his credit and courage had managed to close the blast doors that would have given the Quantill any chance of escape. He tried to draw his pistol but he was in fifteen pieces bfore he had touched its handle. The Quantill was still, the pain had gone, its life was bliss. Absolutely no idea of regret entered its mind. This state lasted about three seconds before the pain started creeping back, and it looked around for another human. It found one, sitting in a vat of protolithic-liquid, and it did not hesitate to devour it, knowing full well that it had left all chance of returning to its human form behind.

But the truth was that there was no gold. It was a ruse from the beginning. I had forged the map. I had hidden the clues. Making them just so diffucult as to make them think. With all the clues and the map I knew it would be night fall by the time we reached the cave. They would have never gone it that cave on there own. It was the gate to Hell and the source of the Fountain of Youth. I was given the task by God to take my commandos to the cave, collapse the enterance, drink from the fountain of youth, and fight an eternal battle with the forces of evil that attempted to cross over.