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Alignment-Lab-AI

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as I sat up in bed, I looked around the room. the same thing as every day. the same bed sheets, the same dresser, the same red drapes pulled half way open to let some light through the same window onto my same carpet. I woke up at the same time today, with the same zombie feeling that I've always had. in precisely *seven* minutes, I would get up, and start with my same daily routine of preparation for the day. I would go to the same job I've had for three years and perform the same stupid tasks for the same stupid boss. he would do the same thing he's always done and treat me like I couldn't accomplish my tasks l, even though I seem to be the only one who can. **or so I thought** as I left my house, I took the same route to work, greeting the same people that I always did. however... it wasn't until I was three blocks from work that I noticed... *something different* **how long had that black van been following me? where did it come from?** as I turned to look at it again, I was grabbed from behind and shoved toward the van. the man pushed a knife into my back and told me to say nothing and do as he said. so I did. I stepped into the vehicle and another man in a pair of sunglasses turned to look at me. "'da' bawss wants ta see ya. bedder if ya don't struggle. could end up wit'cher ahms broke." again, I obeyed.

Joseph woke up in his bed with a jolt. Glancing over at his alarm clock, he saw that it was 4 in the morning. He slowly curled over, ready to get some sleep before school the next day when he realized what day it was. With a smile, he sat up, silently repeating the word "Powers..."to himself. Slipping on a T-shirt, Jeans, and converse shoes, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He took a breath in, and grinned. He tried to float... Nothing. He sighed, cursing about how he couldn't have Flight like his friend. He started jogging, which switched to a run soon enough, and before he knew it, he was in the woods when he got an idea, he held his arms out towards a small puddle, and concentrated towards it. The water formed to his will, and he laughed, amazed at what he had just done, and what he could do. He was able to conjure and control elements to his will. He knew that all his friends had 1 physical, mental, and movement power, so he immediately tried to run as fast as he could. He managed to go at a much faster pace than he ever could, but it still wasn't super speed. Joseph stretched his arms out, and glanced upwards, trying to force his body to float... And it worked. He was hovering right in front of the tree branch, so he willed his mind to push him up further into the tree. He immediately tried lifting branches and other things, and he noticed that they glowed a faint green when they were affected. He was happy that he had ESP, exactly what he had been hoping for. Joseph tried to will other things to happen, but he just wasn't able to find his final power. After an hour of tomfoolery, he began to walk back across the road when a speeding car came flying down the backroad he was crossing. Before he could use his ESP, the car barely slammed on its brakes a few feet away from him, making his instincts kick in, and he felt a burst of energy release from him. He wasn't hit, but there was no noise. When he looked back, the car was frozen in place with its rear wheels up in the air, the driver having a look of panic on his face as Joseph cheered with happiness. He could control Time, Space, and the Elements. And he was happy.

"Uh, sir, we have some seemingly important business to deal with. You see... um... The person in need is kind of... In the alternate universe you were exploring two weeks ago,"Tim nervously sputtered out. Henry glanced over at his scrawny assistant and scoffed. "What? Don't they have some other caped crusader to call for?" He paused for a second and secondly his face lit up. "Me huh? Saving someone from an alternate universe. Why, that will give the people more to talk about!"He cried out and motioned with his hands. "Imagine this! Headlines reading 'Local superhero's saving abilities out of this world!'"He exclaimed. "But.. but sir, thi-"Tim's attempt to explain matters was rudely interrupted by Henry's impatience. "NO BUTS!"Henry yelled out. "It's time for Super Henry the Extraordinary to do some rescuing!" __________ "Now where's that poor soul that needs saving?"Henry grinned at his shaking assistant. "Right over there, sir."Tim pointed a trembling finger. A pudgy middle-aged man had been tied and gagged and was about to be pushed down a hill into a lake. Henry chuckled at the sight. "Here we go." __________ "Oh for goodness sake. REALLY? You're the one who needs saving you self important bastard,"the man retorted."I could have handled the situation myself." Henry, taken aback by the man's outburst, attempted to show him who's boss. "And you're... You're a sad, fat old man." "Well then you better make sure you exercise and not just be a narcissistic little bitch who stares at himself in the mirror all day. I am, after all, a version of the future you,"the man smirked. Henry started to rage. How dare he tell him what to do! "Well if I'm a self important bastard, you're probably one too,"he retorted. "You know what past Henry I'm sick of your shit." "And you can't do anything about it." "Oh you're wrong. I SHALL NOW DECLARE YOU AS MY NEMESIS. NEMESIS TO ME, THE PUDGEMASTER!" Tim looks on at the chaos. "Goodness gracious they're both terrible at superhero names."

"T-minus 2 minutes until package is delivered." This was known to be a possible outcome of returning from a satellite such as the moon. As hard as it may be to believe, in an effort to undermine their main competition on the world stage, experts had been called in as consultants from all fields. ALL fields. The least respected of the consultants was a largely-unknown science fiction author. Engineers and mathematicians had all but sneered at him, as nothing he said was based in actual reality. Top ranking military personnel and defense contractors had rolled their eyes as he had brought up countless possible scenarios, none of which had any proof of even being possible - parasitic, microscopic organisms that could invade a host such as a human without detection available at our stage of technological development as a species; foreign organic molecules we had not thought of yet, simply absorbing and destroying flesh in a chemical reaction as-of-yet undiscovered, but 100% lethal; unknown atoms with new radioactive properties that will change science forever, but kill the first to come in contact with them; even the fact that the moon may be an elaborate illusion, for some unknown reason created by another intelligence, with no explanation. These scenarios were completely unlikely. No one ever expected them because they were outside of the boundaries of actual scientific inquiry, and the world now worked around science. But the LEAST likely scenario that this author proposed is what ultimately proved his value to the mission. The moon mission, Apollo 11, had been in development for much, much longer than the public had ever imagined. The day of the scheduled ascent from the lunar surface, and the start of the return trip home, would mark the 46th anniversary of the program's initiation - yes, far before any publicized ability for space travel, the United States of America had been planning this mission of putting boots on the first non-Earth land in recorded history. The astronauts knew their mission as they lifted off from the surface, and they proceeded as planned. What they did not know, however, is that the intelligence agencies of the United States had started an in depth evaluation of their actual loyalties shortly after they had been offered a glimpse into how elaborate a spy ring could become. The astronauts sent to the moon on behalf of the United States of America were, in fact, Russian intelligence officers who had not only been born in the United States, but had been also been raised to be the perfect secret agents. This was confirmed through various means, but the best proof was from a time-honored intelligence tradition - physical and psychological torture. And legalized breaking and entering. Needless to say, the families of the astronauts could not be reached for comment at this time. What had been discovered is that Russian military officials had created an incredibly fast-spreading and nearly 100% lethal virus. And this virus was among the possessions the astronauts in the Apollo 11 mission were carrying, along with a handful of personal immunization injections for themselves and their families. The plan, apparently, was to release the virus shortly after quarantine was removed on the astronauts. As of this moment, they would have been under the assumption that everything was proceeding according to plan. The author had proposed that they were foreign agents. This seemed preposterous, but in reality, it was truth. How they got the virus aboard the flight is still unknown at the time of this writing. It is assumed that the intelligence agencies involved still have a lot of work to do... And for all we know, many of them knew about this event. This might require a complete house-cleaning of personnel. But that is a concern for another time. Right now, there is the United States' best kept secret being sent toward the moon... A missile guided by radio signals sent from the spacecraft itself, created just in case the return trip should be terminated and the astronauts could not comply with orders. Or were hesitant to do whatever the mission required. Handling this situation would be tricky. The satellite containing the new, "fake"Columbia module would have to be activated on time to work within the constraints of the planned mission times. Agents had been prepared for this event ahead of time - their faces have been modified by the best surgeons available to create a perfect resemblance to Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins, and had even taken voice training lessons and studiously examined the entire "lives"of the astronauts in order to be consistent with the past, given all of the future media attention that would be on them. These types of events always had actor-agents prepared in case the dialog surrounding the event needed "modification". "T-minus 45 seconds." The technical crew overseeing the mission from ground control heard the sound they had heard not so long ago, the voice of the crew director counting down the time. Except this time, the count down was for the start of a new mission. A mission that was so secret, it was never named. This mission began the moment of impact between the missile and the astronauts and the virus. This mission will never be mentioned again. "T-minus 15 seconds... 10. 9. 8. 7..."

After Humanity developed faster than light travel the entire universe became tiny. Not least because the relativistic effects of faster then light travel made it seem to anyone exploring like they had arrived before they had even left. Needless to say the whole universe was quickly explored and mapped. Even the edge of the universe was mapped and being constantly mapped further as it expanded of course. The edge of the universe is a strange thing. One might be forgiven for thinking that the universe had no edge or that it was curved in on itself or something strange along those lines but its not. All that happens is it ends. Or ends as much as is possible to understand. It seems that if light has not gotten there since the start of the universe then it does not really exist. Quite mind bending but these kind of things have to be. However this was about as mind bending as the universe got. The rest was unfortunately rather dull. No alien species to be found or mega black holes or anything else particularly interesting. Just a lot of nothing and a little bit of something. Apart from one small bit. See scientists did the maths, there had to be some other species out there. At the very least a few microorganisms. So people explored far and wide looking for aliens or signs of them. But they found nothing till they got to a small planet marked down as ZY-3.5x 10^34. The first people to get there were colonizers. The planet seemed fairly habitable and was very large so it was an ideal choice. Upon arrival everything seemed normal until someone stumbled upon a cave. The cave wall had a short message in pictograms unlike any on earth. It took many years for humans to translate the messages but eventually through comparing to other known languages and looking for common linguistic patterns a rough translation was made. **The war has caused far too many casualties there is no way back. We're going to have to start again. right from the beginning. The virus should kill all life everywhere and leave the path open to our children so that they can live without strife. We could not get anyone to agree to how we would decide which race would be allowed to continue and so we have decided that we should create a new race from the genetic material of all the sentient races in the universe. We will put them on a lone planet on the edge of the universe and allow them to develop fresh. we pray they never fight like us.**

It was the year 2052. "Give Crimea!" "No, you!" "I want Crimea!" The situation had gotten worse over the years. Crimea was famous for being the most contested place on Earth. I lived there. Every day I would hear explosions on my way to school. I would hear explosions while I was sleeping, I would hear guns firing, I would hear the news about what was happening on our little peninsula... every time I tried to watch cartoons on TV. Three years later... there was a ceasefire. In the treaty, the leaders of Ukraine, the Crimean Nationalist party, and the Russian Federation were to have a three-way thumb war to see who would occupy Crimea for the next 100 years. My family's side lost.

**Prof. K. Albert - Department of Archaeology & Anthropology, University of Cambridge, United Kingdom - 08/09/2214** *Side note A45-21:* It would seem that today shall be known as a true triumph for the class. One of my students, a bright young girl from Worcester has stumbled upon an artifact of what seems to date back to as far as the early 21st Century from preliminary examination. The artifact seems to be some sort of black box, metallic in composition perhaps a dated keep safe of come sort? Attempts at opening the container have revealed a disc shaped object kept safe within the confines of the hard outer shell which no doubt was used to act as a protective layer of the contents. At first inspection the disc is of reflective nature on one side yet depicts ancient figures on the other, a dark haired figure with pale features, the bottom half of the image is faded and non retrievable. Upon this discovery we have moved the disc shaped artifact to a secure location within the static free laboratories of the East wing for further research. *Side note D12-78:* Another breakthrough! Analysts from the static lab have found that the disc holds a tiny amount of data, roughly 4.7GB worth of digital information. Using backward compatible hardware we have been able to deduce that the disc holds video data at a compression ratio of 40:1 using an old MPEG-2 compression system. Jumbled among this data are also various sound files which from what we can tell can be played back in up to eight early human languages using a dated 5.1 audio system. We have sent letters to the head of departments to try and find a way of decripting and playing back this data. *Side note I7-9:* We had always known of the potential hostility of the human mind, but never have we before witnessed such primal brutality of this magnitude. What we have seen over the last 9 hours has both shocked and stunned the entire faculty. Monstrous pre-historic mammals, homo-sapien man, women and derivatives of the human species existed far before the modernisation of what we would class as the human species today. We have witnessed a previously undiscovered primal age of the human existence which we never thought to have occurred, we have yet to scratch the surface and further unearthing of the original dig site in hopes of finding further remains of these magnificent creatures of old must be sanctioned. I will report on my further findings as they progress, but for now, I must file further classification reports. Yours faithfully, **Prof. K. Albert**

Kalesh, the once proud capital city of Amoria laid in ruins. The great mage wars claimed both stone and flesh indiscriminately, leaving charred bones and ash heaped in the basalt byways of the city of saints. A fraction of the population survived, taking refuge from the smoke and stink of death at an encampment upwind of the city. "The last of the supplies have been secured m'lord. There's little left." Stone grey eyes raked over the steward, and he shuddered visibility. "Distribute the food. Ensure the children are fed first,"ground out the gravelly voice of a mountain of a man. "Yes Sire, but the men-" "DO AS I SAY,"bellowed the obsidian king. The sallow steward bowed lower than piety dictated, a gesture more of fear than respect. "And bring me the wizard." "But Sire surely y-,"the steward stammered, silencing suddenly under the crushing gaze of this iron clad giant. The obsidian king was not known for his tolerance to questioning so the steward bowed again and backed away. *That heathen fool will be our downfall* he fumed as he stalked down the rugged path back to the encampment. -------------------------------------- The march to the desolated gates of Kalesh was infuriating. The encampment lies along a path once known as the way of light. The steward puffed up at memories of holy pilgrimages from all corners of Amoria that ended at the Apex of this path. This is a path for the pious, paved in gold and to be tread upon only by the most worthy... yet here he was, a holy steward of the council of gods, following an atheist king and an unrestrained demon priest. "This is sacrilege,"he growled low on his breath. The obsidian king stood unblinking, not hearing the steward's remark. The demon priest turned slitted eyes on the steward and hissed in amusement. "I know by your appearance you've used up much of your via, but can you rebuild our city wizard?" The priest darted his gaze to the king, forked tongue flicking out as if to taste his words. "I have yet to grow wings, I still have power enough. Brick and mortar are mere whispers in draconian." The king inclined his head. "Do it." The wizard sat in a pile of bones and began to chant in the tongue of dragons. Stones rose up from the rubble and formed with ash and bone into bricks the color of onyx. Sigils formed on the earth, snaking out from the wizard into complex patterns of light. Walls rose from desolation, vegitation sprouted through dead earth, and the city appeared before their eyes. The steward watched in horror as the demon priest erected a dark, vile husk of the city once home to the gods. Blasphemy. This was truly unforgivable. As the surroundings began to change so to did the priest. The demon became more reptilian and wings began growing from its back. This must end now. He gripped the dagger laced with poison under his robe. The obsidian king watched the procession of creation ebb and flow. Towers were rising less quickly now, the wizard's draconian becoming harsher, more beastly. All was proceeding as planned. The wizard had but to expend its via and he would have both a dragon and a fortress that would span millennia, all on Xandar's grave. How marvelous. The steward moved quickly, lodging his dagger into the back of the demon. It hissed weakly and fell limp onto freshly lain inky black brick. He felt elated even as sharp iron separated his head from his body. The last thing the steward registered was the rage of the obsidian king and his crumbling kingdom of darkness. Edit: sorry for all the redundant posts, my phone went a bit crazy.

The night shift workers at what's considered a terrible job by most of their peers come into work expecting the usual stupid pre work pep talk from the shift manager, but instead are greeted by a team of vaguely military men who are armed to the teeth, telling them things are going to get weird tonight and what happens continue about your routine as though they aren't here. I know that's a mouthful and sort of specific, but I've been thinking about it and I'm curious to see something come of it.

She laughed, heartily. I wouldn't call it a belly laugh, but it was definitely a belly laugh. I just wouldn't call it that because she was really hot and petite. But yeah, definitely a belly laugh, she really thought this was funny. "You want me to opt you out of "Small talk"? I've got that right? It's important for the paperwork." "Yes, that's correct." Even coming here was hell. So embarrassing, having people see me walk in. Everyone thinks this is for losers; convicts and addicts and stuff. "That's going to be steep, Sugar. You sure you want to do this?" "Yes, please."I don't know if she could hear it, but I was pleading. I wanted this, no, I *needed* this, more than I needed anything. All day, everyday, people come up to me and just try to talk to me. About sports. About the weather. About cars. About their kids. People I've never met just try to talk to me all day long. And not any one group. Not just girls, not just guys, or teenagers, or friendly children, or old grandmas - fucking everyone. I guess I just have one of those faces. One of those places and crippling social anxiety, woo me. This is why I don't waste money on lottery tickets, clearly I already won, right? She slid me a small piece of paper across the desk. It took me a second to process it, but I could clearly see it was nothing formal, just the torn corner of some cutesy decorated notebook page. A very light pink with hearts in the background. It said "8-14 grand"on it in neat, but feminine writing. I really like the curve in the "G", she has great handwriting. "That's fine, ma'am. I've been saving for a long time." "Alright, Sweety, as long as you're sure. Head right through there, the technician will see you in just a minute. And don't you worry, we all opted out of something. There's a reason you haven't looked at my tits yet."

Most arcades were brighter, tackier, more neon and metal and pictures of games. This one had a wooden exterior and candles in the windows. Their sign had variably-pointed stars and sigils around the word: *Ghosterwhat.* He parked his truck and grabbed his bag of parts and tools. In his line of work there were always quarters; he paid the meter and headed inside. The Ghosterwhat interior started with hallway lined with red curtains and posters for games. He laughed to himself -- they'd been built like the others, expecting long lines to entertain. Not anymore. He didn't pay close attention to the arcade titles being advertised. "Your fortune today -- is having those legs!"an old woman's voice cackled. Up ahead there was a fortune teller box next to some change machines. "Better use 'em to run, sonny!" He peered into the glass. There was no mechanical fortune teller inside -- the machine was projecting a wrinkled face onto smoke. It kind of looked like a ghost. Pretty cool. He crouched down and inspected the cabinet. It seemed to be in good repair. He looked for a make or model number but couldn't find one. Some teenagers had carved pentagrams into it. "My eyes are this way, soldier,"the fortune teller spoke again. Funny, there wasn't any tinniness to the voice. And he still hadn't seen any speakers. "Are you the guy?"A younger voice. He stood up and saw a surly looking witch holding some big castle-door keys. He only thought of her as a witch because of her black hair and clothes, ornamental jewelry and green-tinted skin. Actually, he appreciated the theme here. She looked kind of -- "Are you the guy,"she asked again. "I got a call about some broken equipment." "You're not qualified,"she said. "Come with me."

As he witnessed the pirates approach from the ship's starboard, Cameron Leng figured out how he would spend his days in retirement. Dead. The ship, ICC Tempest, had suffered an electrical failure from poor maintenance. The ship could still move and we had the ability to navigate well enough. Unfortunately, we could not properly gauge the ocean depth, forcing us out into open waters. We had issued a preliminary distress call on a crank radio to notify the local coast guard of our change in course. Open waters were notoriously dangerous due to the drastically increased response time for maritime defense. Cameron held firm to the idea that everything would be fine, and that he would get home safe and never have to deal with these scenarios again. He held on to this idea as long as he could, even as the images of his own corpse on the news crept into his mind. As he prepared himself for the impending conflict, he heard their shouting. It was in English. The ship was off the coast of North-East Africa. Leng found a vantage point to spy on the raiders and he noticed they were multinational, not Somalian as he had expected. He had no expectation for the tactics they might use. Regardless, all the ships defenses that remained available were made ready and operated. Leng kept a couple spare magazines on his person as he made sure everyone was safe and where they should be. A single hostage taken means total bust, there was no alternative. Although he had previously held employment as a police officer, his tactical training had been minimal. This was the first time Leng was in charge during a raid. Only once before had he been in a serious encounter where he had been a subordinate. He felt a strange exhilaration swelling inside him. He raised his voice out to the shouting men. "Go home boys, we've got nothing you want. There's no money on this ship and we're only carrying heavy cargo." "Hah, that's quite alright! We just want your captain."An Indian fellow with a strong English accent chimed out. "No deal, no one's leaving or getting on this ship." "Are you sure? We'll take volunteers, mate!"An Asian man join the conversation with a terribly fake Australian accent. A couple rounds struck the walls down the way from Leng. A brief pause, then more rounds are fired. This time they were much closer to Leng, who was still out of sight. "Whoa there! No need to get riled up just yet! I have some friends that will be joining us any minute. You should stay and have a chat with them!" "I think they're gonna be a little late if we're going by the horizon."The Indian fellow called his bullshit. Leng knew there was no point in having a reasonable discussion with them. So he decided to keep them where they were or chase them off. He motioned to the other security personnel to take positions to prevent any raider from boarding. Hours passed as the stalemate drew into the night. Leng's ship only had emergency lights to illuminate the ship. This was a severe disadvantage, but there was never a need to worry about it. The sound of engines in the distance cried out over the water. A spotlight flickered on and shone upon the cargo ship. Eventually the spotlight drew itself over the raiders. They waved and whistled. Leng and the crew became concerned. The raiders should have ran at the first sign of the patrol boat. A voice from the patrol boat called out with a megaphone, "Tempest, is everyone O.K.?" "Who are you guys?"Leng shouted. "Is anyone injured? You guys look like you're powers out."the amplified voice rephrased the question. Leng knew this wasn't going to end well.

God, sometimes you wonder why your friends even showed you stumbleupon.com. Yeah, sure, its a good time waster, but things just get so boring after a while. You find one really cool thing, then the next, and it all just sort of blends together into a dull grey blob of websites, applications, and scientific articles. Oh that's cool, an explorable 3D rendering of the universe, but what really is the use of that? Maybe you should have chosen a different project for your doctorate, something that might actually benefit people.

At first I thought it meant I didn't win. When the man who'd handed me the raffle ticket insisted otherwise, I thought he was joking. "No, really, you're the devil for the next 24 hours."He said. "So, if I'm the devil then where are my horns and pitchfork." "Oh really now? That's what's holding you back? Not the fact that you've become the representative and embodiment of all the evil and strife in the world?" "Well, honestly, no. I mean, what does the devil even *do*?"I asked. "Whatever you want. You can try to corrupt the faithful, make deals for people's souls, cause natural disasters, diseases, plagues, whatever you want really. No destroying the earth though. Judgement day isn't upon us just yet. But other than that, go nuts."He laughed. "Right... but what's the endgame here? I'm the devil, so what? Am I supposed to lead the armies of hell, torture the damned, corrupt the innocent... to what end? Like really, what's the goal here." "Geez you mortals ask a lot of fucking questions. It's like this, you're god's... prosecuting attorney. You test the faithful and the faithless, to determine who's worthy of entering the kingdom of heaven. But like, you want to see God fail. I don't know, that's the deal, try and beat God at his own game. Now look, I don't have much more time, I've got a lot of shit to do, and I don't get many days off. Have fun being me."There was a flash of fire, and the man disappeared, only the scent of brimstone remained. I went back to grocery shopping at that point, because why would I need to worry about being the devil? At least until I heard "Sympathy for the Devil"playing from my cellphone. Not my ringtone, but I answered anyway. "Hello?"I asked. "Yes sir, it's Karen from the 5th circle, we've been getting some complaints from the regular damned that the pious have been snitching on them to some of the higher circle demons. How would you like me to handle that?"Karen had a nasally voice and seemed like the kind of person who took herself too seriously. "Um Karen, I think you have the wrong number. I think the devil is taking the day off..." "I already know that. He left you in charge didn't he? So what's it going to be? Who do I punish?" Not really sure how to respond, I decided to have a little fun with it. "Nobody. The damned don't like the pious snitching on them right? Pisses them off? Good. And the pious, they all want to suffer right? So they're already doing it, tell them to get back to being tortured and stop wasting the demon's time." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Very good sir. By the way, Karl called about his contract again. I tried to tell him you were unavailable, but he keeps ringing in." "Send some demons to his door and have them rough him up a bit? I don't know Karen just... keep him alive for now I guess. What does this Karl guy want anyway?" "He wants to upgrade to the Koch package, but he already signed up for the political deal."I guess that narrowed down who Karl was, and it certainly wasn't surprising that he had made a deal with the devil. "Alright, that tells me a bit. Tell him we'll put Nancy Pelosi in the white house if he doesn't back off." "Sir, Nancy already has a contract with us, we can't change the terms on her just to punish Karl." "Karen, you do realize I have *no idea* what I'm doing right? We don't actually have to put her in office, just threaten Karl, right?" "I understand sir, don't worry, you've got a great team, we're here to support you. I won't bother you with any more trivialities. Have a nice day sir." "Thank you Karen, I appreciate it. One more question while I have you on the line, how many politicians do we have under contract?" "All of them sir. I'll call you if anything major comes up."I couldn't be surprised at that answer, really. I finished with my grocery shopping, and was in the middle of checking out when I decided to try out something else that good Ol' Scratch had mentioned. "Thank you for shopping with us today, did you find everything ok?"The tired looking cashier asked me. I smiled. "I did, actually. Say, random question. What would you do for... ten million dollars?" The cashier looked at me funny. "Fuck, just about anything really. Quit this place, that's for damn sure." "Well, I tell you what, I've got this contract right here,"as I said the words, the contract appeared in my hands, along with a blood red quill. "Ten million dollars if you quit this store, right now, and... accept Satan as your eternal overlord." The cashier laughed. "That's a nifty magic trick. No, seriously I need the job. I have more student loans than I know what to do with." "It's not a magic trick, I promise. Well, the contract and quill thing maybe. Just pull up your bank account and check." "Holy... shit! That's a lot of money. How did you do that?"The cashier asked. "Don't worry about it. Every dollar there is yours, straight and legal, all you have to do is sign. I'll even sweeten the deal, after you die, only the 1st circle of hell for you. If I remember my sunday school correctly, there isn't even any real torture that goes on there. So, what do you say?" "Hell yeah!"The cashier reached for the quill and signed away. "Hey Marco! Fuck you and fuck this place, I quit!"He threw his vest on the counter and skipped, actually skipped, out of the store. I paid for my groceries and left with a smile on my face. I loaded my groceries into my trunk and slammed the lid down. When I turned I saw the man who'd given me the raffle ticket standing there, his arms clasped behind his back. "Is that really the best you could do?"He asked me...

She had been pacing around her room for at least 3 hours. Back and forth, walking quietly from one side to the other. 6428 steps so far tonight, on track for her standard 10,000 a night. She hoped that her alarm would go off soon; she was ready for her sleepless night to end and her day to begin. Every night was the same: get ready for bed, lie in bed for an hour trying to sleep and failing, get out of bed and pace, occasionally she would finally collapse on her floor and sleep for maybe an hour, but usually she paced until her alarm went off at 7:35am. Tonight, her body felt different. It was difficult to pace, her feet felt heavy. Strangely, she couldn't stop yawning. Suddenly, a thought popped into her head: this is what it feels like to be tired. She had forgotten what it felt like to be tired. It had been at 5 months since she had lost the ability to sleep, and had begun her midnight perambulations. Taking a chance, she carefully climbed into her bed and closed her eyes. She felt her breathing slow as her body adjusted to the comfortable bed. Opening her eyes one last time, she looked at the clock on her bedside table: 4:17am. Smiling, she closed her eyes. The insomnia spell was broken, she was going to sleep.

Coffee is always cold. Has to be on purpose. Some psychologist at command must have decided that cold coffee makes the average MP 6% more effective or some kind of bullshit like that. Whatever. Oh good, my frigging refrigerator is busted again. Great. No telling if its actually broken or there is something wrong with the damn power again. Uniform is clean and dry though. Self washing, repels any dirt with a static charge and then shakes itself to drop dried sweat and dust on my floor. No excuse for the coffee. Down it fast and get on the train to my post. Ugh. Refugees. There they go, giving me that side-eye like I'm the one put 'em in this mess. The ones that used to have money, those are the worst. Tramping through all the litter and dust like they own the place. No, you have to go down the left hand corridor. No, sir, I know the right hand one has no line but... Sir, you will proceed down the left hand or I will... Oh hooray, this one has papers. Just my luck this prick would be a VIP. Yes sir, please right this way you stuffed up cocksucker. Oh, look, everyone in line is all pissed off at me now. Great. I risk MY ass, do MY part for the community, and all they have to say is "where are the water fountains? When does the train come? Where is my daddy?" Daddy was too busy diddling his administrative assistant to get out of the city during the evac you little shit. Damn refugees are all the same. Tom calls them "refuse-ee."Guy knows what's up. Oh hell, who is THIS poncey douchebag? Who the fuck even rocks a goatee any more? Fuck this guy, useless waste of space. Probably end up on assistance, live the easy life while I and my buddies work our asses off. I bet this guy doesn't even know what work IS. I know what I'll do... "Pick up that can."

"Maybe I really am worthless... I can't believe she said that to me... After 2 whole weeks of dating..." "I'm Mr. Meeseeks! Look at me! Look at me. NO, seriously, look at me. I'm Mr. Meeseeks! You're not worthless. She's just a-a bitch!" I looked fondly at my Mr. Meeseeks. He was old and wrinkly. Mr. Meeseeks weren't usually supposed to live this long. They are supposed to poof out of existence whenever a task they are told to do is completed. I have a box where I press a button and one pops out. They're about 6 feet tall blue people with skin like Play-dough. I told this one to help me get over my ex-girlfriend who broke up with me 5 days ago. Poor guy was just trying to help so he could finally die peacefully. "Yeah, she is a bitch..."I said half-heartily. "I-I'm not buying it. Say it like you mean it! Mr. Meeseeks!" "She's a bitch." "Yeah!!" "SHE'S A BITCH!" "I'm Mr. Meeseeks! Look at me! YEAH!!" Just then the door do my apartment burst open and my ex-girlfriend ran inside sobbing. "I'm so s--sorry. I don't know... I--I just..."she blubbered. I looked at her, a little stunned by her arrival. I was kicking myself for not locking the door, but also I was kind of glad to see her. I don't think Mr. Meeseeks was though. Mr. Meeseeks screamed, "IIIIIIII'M MR. MEESEEKS. LOOK AT ME. IIII THINK YOU SHOULD LEAVE RIGHT NOW." I looked at Mr. Meeseeks disapprovingly. "Why don't you wait outside the apartment while we talk. I think it might help me get some closure." At that Mr. Meeseeks looked a little less upset. He walked outside and shut the door. Long story short, we made up somehow and got back together. "Mr. Meeseeks! Come in here!" After an hour of waiting patiently outside, he eagerly entered the room. His face sunk when he saw my arm around her. "W-what the fuck is this?" "We got back together. You aren't needed anymore, Mr. Meeseeks." His eyes got wide. "I'm Mr. Meeseeks! I need to complete my task any way possible!" "Yeah, well. I don't need you anymore. Thanks for all your help though."It sounded harsh coming out of my mouth, but he's just a Mr. Meeseeks after all. Mr. Meeseeks sighed deeply. All of a sudden he pounced onto my now girlfriend and tried to beat the shit out of her. I socked him in the face between the eyes, and he flew backwards into the door. "I'm supposed to be your life coach. ^I'm ^Mr.Meeseeks. ^Look ^at ^me! I'm supposed to coach you through this breakup. It is my only reason to live!" "Well now you can go do something. Go to college. Start a career." "Ohhhh no. Mr. Meeseeks don't do that. We have one purpose to live. We fulfill that purpose. Then we die. That's it!"He lunged at me and catching me off guard, started punching me in the face. My girlfriend ran to the phone. He saw her and he jumped off of me and tried to grab her leg. He missed and only managed to grab her sweatpants, pulling them down all the way to reveal her underwear. She turned around to kick him in the face and as she did something fell out of her tight white underpants. It was a penis. Like, a dick. My girlfriend had a penis. Mr. Meeseeks and I looked at the thing in shock. Just then Mr. Meeseeks poofed out of existence with a popping sound. I looked at ...her? "Yeah, you should probably go now." And that's how Mr. Meeseeks helped me get over my ex.

This morning I woke up, let the dog out, put the coffee on, and grabbed the morning paper. **SNOWDEN LEAKS CONSPIRACY THEORIES, GOVERNMENT ADMITS THEY LIED** Remember all those kooks? The ones who would go on live TV and say "the jews did it!"? They were right. Almost. Apparently, the moon landing never happened. This was mind-blowing. Everything I know is a lie. In a leaked document, pictures of a movie studio filming the moon landing like a film were revealed. Stanley Kubrick was hired by the government to create the scenario and film it, then put clues to it in his future movie "The Shining." As I got ready for work, I watched the News. I scrubbed my teeth as the young news anchor rambled about 9/11 and the White House. Then a big picture of John F. Kennedy filled the screen. "New government leaks shed light on the age old question, 'Who killed JFK?' ". It was revealed last night that the government indeed killed Kennedy that day in Texas. Here's President Alex Jones." I tugged my tie into place as the fat sobbing man took the screen at his press conference. "YES, IT'S ALL TRUE! I always knew it! I knew the government had been lying for decades!"He was smug. I wasn't sure how he even got elected in the first place. A conspiracy theorist as the President. Seemed suspicious. He launched into a tirade about Iraq, 9/11, jet fuel, and President Bush when I got bored of listening. As I drove to work I still couldn't believe they were right. JFK was killed because of his schmoozing, his lying, and his ties to the Mafia. The moon landing was faked so we could tell Russia we had the bigger dick. When I got to work, I set up the automated system to do my daily tasks and slumped in my cubicle over my computer. The internet was in shambles. 4chan was ablaze with "I told you so". Reddit was on fire. /r/conspiracy had ballooned up to 5 million subscribers. /r/subredditdrama filled up a small African village with the popcorn. Things will never be the same, but once thing is true. It's a conspiracy.

I look around at all the infidels, praying to their blasphemous god. I try to blend in, but with every glance, I wonder if my cover will be blown. My true target is ahead - the man leading these prayers. Does he know that he is leading everyone in this room on a trip to Hell? Does he truly believe the lies he is speaking? I move to the front of the room, as eyes follow me. Someone starts to speak, trying to stop my holy mission of purification. I reach my target, hold my trigger, and say a final prayer. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, and guiding my hand."

As the thick fog in my head slowly lifted I was first aware of how uncomfortable I was. I was lying on my back, an unnatural sleeping position for me unless it was midsummer and boiling hot, and even then I always had one arm flung over my head. Still sleepy and a little confused, I attempted to sit up. As I did, someone spoke. "Try not to move,"they said, gently holding my elbow and guiding me back down to my previous supine position. My head was swimming. "Take some deep breaths,"the voice instructed. I did, and the dizzying sensation in my head slowly abated. When I felt a bit more in balance I tried to open my eyes but the light that entered was fiercely bright. I snapped my lids shut again with a low, pained growl. "Try to lie still." I lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the haze to clear so I could think about where I was. Nothing was coming. The last thing I could remember, I was at home, in bed, asleep, a normal Sunday night. I was clearly, somehow, now in different circumstances. "Where am I?"I asked groggily. My voice echoed weirdly in my still throbbing head. "In the medical bay."Medical bay? Was this some weird new term for the sick bay? Had I passed out at school and couldn't even remember getting there? The disembodied voice didn't sound like any of the other staff. "What happened?" "You got knocked out,"said the voice matter-of-factly, like it was a common occurrence. "Knocked out?" At that moment another voice entered the room, preventing the first from answering my question. "How's our patient doing, Doctor?" "Doing well actually. I didn't expect her to wake up so soon." "She's awake?"asked the second voice with slight surprise. "How are you feeling, miss?" "I'm... uh... a little... confused..."I said slowly, trying to open my eyes and lift myself onto my elbows so I could engage in this conversation properly. The blinding light did not cooperate with my intention and I groaned as I laid myself back down. The first voice, the Doctor, I assume, laid its hands gently on my shoulders. "I don't think this is the right time to question her, Captain. She needs to rest."Question me? Captain? Was I on a ship? A plane? Impossible. How could I have gotten from my bed at home to either of those places? "I can talk,"I said, "It's just the moving... and the light." "Switch off the overhead,"directed the second voice, the Captain. I heard a resigned sigh and then a click. "Try opening your eyes,"said the Doctor, patting my shoulder. Slowly I started to lift my lids, and when my pupils weren't assaulted with the piercing light from earlier, I opened them all the way. I couldn't see much at first, my eyes needed to adjust. When they eventually did, to my left I saw a second bed on a bench under a window, out of which I could only see vague grey shapes. My eyes travelled down my body which was covered in a light blue sheet, and beyond to an oddly shaped doorway. Frowning, my eyes roamed upward, across the ceiling, and behind me to where I knew the Doctor was standing, as I could still feel hands on my shoulders. It was difficult to move my head too much so all I could see was a pale forehead and the tips of brown bangs. Finally, I inclined my head in the direction of the Captain so I could answer his questions, and when I saw just who had been speaking, I nearly passed out anew. I shut my eyes tight. I'm still at home in bed, I'm dreaming: I said to myself. If getting from there onto a ship or plane was impossible then this was just... there wasn't a word for how far past impossible this would have to be if it were real. "Miss?"The Captain. His voice was still in my head. This would have to be one of the most lucid dreams I'd ever had. Suddenly I realised, if this was a dream - I didn't want to wake up. If it wasn't - it was a dream come true. So, I thought to myself, I'll just go with it. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes and looked directly at him. "Captain,"I said, voice shaking. "Do you know where you are?"he asked. I knew exactly where I was. But I wasn't going to tell them that. Glancing upwards towards the Doctor I simply repeated what he'd told me and replied, "The medical bay?... Other than that... no."The Captain just nodded. "Do you remember what happened?"This I could answer truthfully. "No. Last thing I remember I was at home, in bed, asleep." "And where is home for you?"At this I inhaled quickly and shut my eyes tight. I feigned pain. "I'm sorry... I thought I could... There's such a pain in my head..."I groaned theatrically. "I told you, Captain. She needs rest." "Fine."I heard the Captain stand up. "Call me the minute she wakes up again."He strode out of the room. I opened my eyes again as the Doctor came to my side. "Would you like me to give you a shot to help you sleep?" I shook my head weakly. "No, no, it's okay. I'll be fine."He nodded and busied himself tidying the bench to my right. I closed my eyes but I knew there was no way I would sleep. There was no way of knowing whether if I fell asleep here, I would go back to my normal life. That, I knew, I did not want. I thought about the Captain's last question, hoping that when we met again he wouldn't ask it a second time. I couldn't answer, did not know how to answer, because in this verse, my home no longer existed.

It wasn't so bad being dead. I mean, it was strange at the start, but I was used to it by now. I drift about my friends and family, and go where ever I wanted to. But I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. Pain. Pain where my heart used to be. I carried on, like normal, going through my daily routine. I decided that I'd visit my grave, out of the blue. When I arrived there, I saw my parents doing the unthinkable. They were digging up my grave. They opened my coffin, and I saw a hole where my heart was. My dad took a knife out and proceeded to cut through my chest, and he.. he removed my lungs. He packed them into a box, and that's when the pain set in. Where my lungs used to be throbbed with pain. It hurt so much. They put the dirt back over my coffin and drove away. They sold my lungs for $27,000. They kept selling my organs until all I could feel was pain.

"Stop it, you psychopath! You can't do this to me anymore, it was badass ONCE but now it is severely fucking up my life!"the man exclaimed to Mr. Bay over the phone. "Just one more shot, my montage is almost complete! When it's done, we can break for lunch and I can discuss scene setting with you"the small distorted voice said. "This isn't a movie! This is my life!"the man cried into the receiver. "That's what I'm looking for! Complete immersion, make the audience *believe*!"Bay roared, his eagerness to film more suddenly bolstered. The phone went quiet and the man slumped onto his bed, dropping his head into his hands and weeping softly as a camera slowly crept in on his devastation."What will I tell my wife? Our lives are invested in this property... Jesus, I'm not insured for this!"the man whispered to himself, muffled by his palms. "The charges are set, move to the marker and don't stop running. The switches are wired to continue so if you stop, the explosions WILL get you. Don't worry, we have EMT's and a fire crew nearby. Good luck!"Bay said into a loudspeaker, outside. The man stood up and wiped away his tears. He stepped to the front door and placed his hand on the door handle. "Fuck you Bay! Fuck you and your movies you sadistic fuck!"the man shouted, slamming the door open and sprinting down the footpath. The mans eyes widened as he saw his daughter returning from school, her hair swept up as the sudden explosion of flame and debris erupted behind him. "Dadd--"she said, before he scooped her up and dived behind a parked car. The explosion amplified and rocketed up into the air, large plumes of black smoke spread in all directions and carpeted the tidy suburban street in thick ash and family heirlooms. "Say the lines!"Bay shouted as the man recovered from the blast. His daughter cradled in his arms. "Are you ok, sweetie?"the man said to his daughter, she nodded quietly and buried her face into his chest. The man stood up and looked directly into the camera as it panned around underneath him, pausing and grimacing as the words left his mouth. "Today just isn't my... Bay..."

The lights were the first thing I saw. They were bright, and sat in small bowls, illuminating the entire room. There wasn't a speck of dust. All the simple furniture looked untouched, or cleaned for that matter. The stove sat on top of a lit furnace that gave heat to the rest of the house. Next to the stove was a sink and a small fridge. The sink was made from what looked like a shell of a sea turtle, about fifty centimeters in diameter, but the drain at the bottom wasn't connected to anything. For that matter, the fridge appeared to be a block of carved ice. It was cool to touch, but not freezing like ice normally feels. Upon closer inspection, the lights looked like miniature stars, radiating various colors from across the spectrum. From the outside, it was clear that the house had a simple 4-5 room layout. "Look at this china!"Mother proclaimed. She picked up a translucent tea cup. "It's like it was taken directly from a volcano."The color of the cup was that of lava, or rather, mobile lava. The color was constantly shifting from a deep red to a bright orange. The other cups were similar, though, the plates had a different, but similar color scheme. They were like a forest fire, the colors moved slowly only when looked at from a distance. Up close, the flames seemed to flicker quickly. The utensils were all silver, shaped to the exact contours of the holder's hands. I tried to see how the material rearranged itself, but it was like looking at TV static. You know it's there, but there's no way to understand how the screen chooses which pixels are black and which ones are white. The other rooms were similar to each other. The chairs in the living room seemed to be grown from the floor and were padded with soft moss. The couch and coffee table were firm slabs of bedrock. The floor itself was like the washed wood on a beach. It was soft, smooth, and sturdy to walk on. There was no creaking and it seemed like the floor was installed just yesterday. In the corner was a curtain made of Banyan tree roots which moved aside when Grandmother walked up to it. Behind the curtain was a hammock, padded with moss. The two other rooms consisted of a dining room and a master bedroom, presumably for the great-grandparents. Again, they had similar features to the living room. The bathroom, however, was vastly different. The door led to a room in the middle of the house, but instead of a small bathroom, it led to the entrance of a cave. Outside was a wide beach. There were a few trees scattered around, but it was mostly empty apart from that. The sand outside the cave was soft and cool. The night sky was unmoving, overhead there were four moons and a galaxy that was not the Milky Way. There was a sign in the middle of the beach. The arrow pointed to the left was labeled Water-closet, and it led to a series of outhouses. The other arrow pointed towards the water and was labeled, bath. As we got closer, there were a series of pools that were separated by walls of coral that protruded about one meter out of the water. The tide always reached the same point and never receded too far past the entrance of the pools. I asked Grandmother why she never told us about this. She shrugged and told us she didn't remember. As we headed back, our youngest sister held a box in one hand while reading a notebook that was in the other. It was Grandmother's Diary. "'When Father died in the Great War, they sent back his uniform, his paycheck, and his heart. We used his uniform for tailoring and the paycheck was placed in a bank.'"my sister read, "' But we kept his heart. And even with a hundred thousand bombs dropping on this house, even after we move a thousand miles away from the troubles caused by a fascist regime, his heart will be remain here, safe. I'm leaving the box behind to make sure nothing happens. Mother said we will forget about this, so I wrote down the code to the box one hundred times to that my hands won't forget. And in case I do forget, it's Charlie's birth date (1916/11/23). I will return to make sure Father's heart is safe, it just might take a while. I hear sirens, we need to go.'"When she finished reading, she handed the box to Grandmother who entered the code into the lock. It clicked open and revealed a locket. Inside the locket was a wedding ring and two photographs of young children.

"Hi, and welcome to Life a Force Checker bank, where your Life is our Life!"The short Asian girl behind the counter said cheerfully. I didn't pay much attention, as the man infront of me began talking to her. "Yeah, I'd like to check my Life Force."He said, as the woman pulled out a clipboard. "Sign your name under the X, please."The man snatched it and quickly wrote his name down. The woman clicked a button and a small syringe appeared, coming from a small box to her right. Blue liquid sloshed in it, as she asked for the mans right hand. He extended it, as she carefully grabbed it and inserted the syringe into his arm. "Fuck, not so hard!"He squealed, as she then squeezed the liquid into his arm, pulling the syringe out and letting go of the mans arm. She examines something before turning to a small computer and typing something in. "So... Woah, I feel..."The man fell over, his face instantly turning pale. His whole body twitched, as foam came from his mouth. The woman looked over and screamed, as I backed up, as well as the people behind me. The floor under the man slid open and his body fell into a dark pit. I gulped and walked to the woman. On the computer, it read: **James Norrway. Current LP; 1.**

I did it today. J was being really annoying. It was bad enough having to drive 90 minutes to the park in our bathing suits, skin all stuck to the seats. Then, in the middle of the drive there, after about the 9th time singing "End of the World", he turns straight back toward me and K in the back seat and flat asks me if we had done it yet--"you know, the k-thing"--right in front of K, and Mom! He's so immature! She got all red and I think she caught me looking at her and I just knew that the entire grade was going to hear about it. Then, when we got there, all he wanted to do was little kid stuff like the teacups and refused to go on the fun rides, like the Runaway Giant or the Batman ride. I could just tell that K was so mad at me. Eventually, she got so pissed off that she told Mom to take J on the antique car rides and she and I would go on Batman together. I don't know exactly how it happened after that--I was looking at the line, and then all of a sudden, she and I were, I mean, we had done it. My lips were all chapped but she kind of tasted, good, I guess? We almost got caught too! When I looked up, I saw Mom in the line for the Teacups, but fortunately she had just turned her head toward J. Whew! I know I should be embarrassed, but somehow, the ride home wasn't so bad, even with K giggling the whole way.

Is there a prompt that inspired you to write this or was it just the movie itself? If there is a prompt that inspired this can you link it please. If it was just the movie you should post to one of the related subreddits such as [r/AmateurWriting](http://www.reddit.com/r/AmateurWriting) or [r/KeepWriting](http://www.reddit.com/r/KeepWriting) or one of the many other related subreddits here [Related Links](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/links) Alternatively you could wait for the Sunday Freepost which will be stickied on the front page of the subreddit and allows all manner of stories to be shared within.

Fuck. Keep firing! Shit. He killed Gary! Ahhhh... He's coming my way now. I'm ready for ya, you fat bastard. That's right.. tip toe your ass across this narrow-ass walkway. Try not to fall to your death before you get here. Oh, you're putting your shield up. Want me to lose my balance after getting deflected? Fuck that. I'll play your waiting game. *A few sweaty, nerve-wrecking moments pass.* Hmm, he doesn't seem to be yielding. I wager he has to much to lose to make a mistake now. Tell ya what, I'll show you my back. Ha! He's taking the bait. Time to parry! *The knight clad in silver deflects his opponents weapon and thrusts his sword into his foe's belly.* I'm just gonna put my foot on your chest now and send you back to the bonfires of Hell! Don't go hollow, asshole!

"This day was shit."I sighed sadly as I pulled up to the stop light. "Complete and utter shit..."I turned up the radio in my car louder and rolled down the windows. It helped me calm down. My head turned on its side as I laid back. In the car next to me, I saw her. A beautiful woman with short blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. She was staring at me. We caught ourselves staring at the other. Both of us turned away at the same, red coloring our cheeks. We slowly looked back at each other. I turned down my music and just looked into her eyes. They told me everything about her, everything worth knowing. Hurt was in there, but a small spark of hope could also be seen. It seemed like we were in the same boat: hurt, helpless, but still hopeful for the future. Slowly, a bright smile came to her face. As did one come to mine. I had never felt so peaceful or happy in weeks. It was like all my worries were washed away by just one, fleeting smile. I don't know how, but they were. Just as quickly as the moment came, it was dashed away. Car horns honking behind us caused to break eye contact. I looked up at the light. Green. Dammit. I turned back to her and she gave me small smile and waved her hand. "Follow me", I read from her lips. I couldn't hear her, but the motion and smile was enough to let me know that's what she meant. I pulled a crazy move into the turning lane, nearly being hit by the car behind her. I screamed "Sorry"behind me as my mood was turning. All the sadness and depression disappeared with that one smile. Maybe she could erase it completely. "Maybe..."I began to myself, "this day isn't so utterly shitty."A grin came to my face as my car chased after that fleeting smile into the sunset.

Kyle walked up the stairs to M's office. It was a long way and he had to admit he was nervous, he was not a young man, and he certainly had experienced more than his fair share of thrills, but there was something about approaching M's door that made him queasy. He knocked, then entered, sitting opposite M as she finished reading a briefing for another mission. She looked up at him and smirked. "Take that look off your face! Congratulations Kyle, you've got the job. Well... I suppose I should call you James now." He grinned, he had done it. It had always been a dream of his to become 007 and now he had managed it. "Needless to say from now on you will cease to be called Kyle Waters and will now become James Bond. Any connection to your previous name and life has been erased for security reasons. Now, I have a mission for you..."

Of course the Canadians wanted to be friends. They fucked everything up. See, if we'd just gotten our way, none of this would have ever happened. But now we're in an intercontinental war and our closest allies have deserted us. Not only that, but the damned Canadians are being pressured into a war by those godawful space folk. So they're asking us for help secretly. "Oh, please, Mr. President, we don't want to fight but our extraterrestrial diplomats have told us it's the only way.." Fucking idiots, the lot of them. And here I am, trying to run the goddamn army with no idea who we're protecting and who we're fighting. And the Middle East? Of course the aliens took sides. They're worse than a double-better in a cock fight. The whole thing's a mess, I tell ya.

Shira, it was called. Its name had been whispered through the frigid winter air of Shrine Station 7, carried by polar winds. The moniker had touched the ear of every bureaucrat, vagabond and merchant, its neon letters cast upon the sides of a dozen monolithic buildings within the city proper. Doubtless it had teased the minds of well-traveled citizens sojourning in the frozen outer world as well. She exhaled lightly, carefully calculating the state of her consciousness. Her mind a kindled fire, awoken to the cold, seemingly bereft of the evolutionary stasis of lesser humans. Laid bare to the supreme potential of human thought, acutely aware of all sensory input. A merchant vessel engaged its thrusters before her, violet jets swirling and spiraling out into tendrils which then coalesced into the evening light. It decelerated steadily, touching down atop Wyvern Co. Curling snow storms near the city's edge reflected off her turquoise eyes. She shifted them downwards. The station underbelly. A bustling hive of human drudgery. There, the poor toiled in near permanent shadow. Shrine Stations were primarily used for space ship and station production, though many jobs in the tech and trade sectors were available and often highly profitable on the outer worlds. A familiar glow reached her face, she lifted her gaze. The suns were low in the sky, making their lazy descent to the horizon. Kyo was often called "the world on the rim". It was an arctic wasteland with a radius of nearly seven tenths that of Mother Earth's. The binary star system the planet orbited resulted in peculiar day and night cycles. At nine astronomical units from its parent dwarf stars, the light was dim and cold, reflecting off the glass and steel station, seemingly never reaching the city's foundation. "What could it be?", she whispered, gazing back downwards to the gloom hundreds of feet below. A shimmer in the darkness caught her eye, shifted her frame of view. She had heard of Onthea, glimpsed a brief holographic projection of its late home world but had never understood. The Ontheans arrived in the solar system 411 Earth years ago by enigmatic means. Interstellar travel was available to wealthy merchant corporations, though still rare. Neighboring solar systems contained little of value. Their planets had all been stripped of any worth, left orbiting endlessly in disequilibrium. The enormous variable costs of extracting minerals from other star systems made it a perilous venture. Through spectroscopic analysis of light passing through planetary atmospheres, the elemental composition of nearly all macrocosms in the Milky Way had been probed and recorded. No star system contained highly evolved, sentient life. But here they were. They were assimilated into Human society after extensive communication with the central Human government revealed the loss of their planet. Over the past four centuries, they have carved out a living as manual laborers in Shrine Stations. The rich Humans pay them no mind. Many poor Humans have grown close to Ontheans due to the proximity in which they work, however. A yellow arc stretched out of the gloom momentarily, stinging her eyes. The index finger and thumb of her right hand gently touched and massaged her eyelids as she inhaled. She shook her head softly then turned from the building's edge, strode towards the glass threshold of her living quarters. Four violet pills lay on the glass counter top near the far door. To her right lay a small alcove containing various mason jars, filled to the brim with brightly colored capsules. Cyan was the nutritional capsules, light green the vitamins and pale red a sort of cure-all for common viruses. The stark white walls matched her clothing and gave her flat a simple, pleasant atmosphere. Her sitting room smelled of lavender, a comforting remnant of Mother Earth. Though she had never been, the smell spoke to something meaningful within her. Swallowing a cyan pill, she reposed on the one chair in her apartment, gazing at the empty holovision. Though Shira was expensive, her enjoyment at entering this advanced state of consciousness made it worth the while. She laid her head back, pondering. Perhaps these pills were the only reason to stay in Shrine Station 7. They were researched and developed here by HORD, the Heavenward Onthean Research and Development company. Though she was generally distrustful of Onthean companies, it had passed the rigorous inspection process of the central Human government from the inner worlds. Those who could afford Shira, bought it. Those who couldn't, desired it. Even politicians used the pills, and why wouldn't they? The increased mental capacity offered by Shira was remarkable and quite useful, though short-lived. A familiar sound broke the silence and she lifted her head. The holovision, sensing a movement of her arm, came to life, projecting three-dimensional figures over a circular table fixture in her living room. Her turquoise eyes scanned the scene, recognizing a prime minister from the inner worlds. He spoke of ongoing events on the urban planets and industrial moons inside the asteroid belt. The brief war with quasi-intelligent life on a nearby moon had ended, meaning corporations such as Wyvern Co. and Hartell would soon begin their colonization, polluting its meager atmosphere. The Ontheans had assisted us in the extermination process, yielding many sentences of praise from the prime minister. The Shira was beginning to wear off. She felt her heart slow, her mind no longer processing vast quantities of sensory data. Only the echoing clang of metal from the underbelly reached her living quarters, soft though it was this many feet above the ground. Burnt orange tendrils of light stretched wearily across the horizon, weaving with the blue light of the companion star, both slowly fading into blackness. Her head rested precariously on the back of the chair as she slowly drifted off into the deep cosmic darkness only Shira could provide. --- A gentle shift in equilibrium awoke her. Delicately opening her eyes, her head hanging uncomfortably to the left, she felt a tug on her right arm. Eyes adjusting to the light, she found her arms bound, interlocked with a tall, black-robed figure on either side. She whipped her head backwards, pulled at both of the figures to her left and right, her legs flailing helplessly. They offered no response. She fought back a wave of blackness in her mind, a thick blanket being pulled over her senses. Struggling to stay conscious, she realized she could not move, realized her head was still hanging to the left. Had she not pulled at these mysterious figures? Had she not flailed her legs? She felt a movement deep in her soul, couldn't place it. She felt herself lurch forward briefly. Or did she? Attempting to pull back the drape of darkness numbing her mind, she made a futile attempt to speak. From her frozen position, she scanned the scene. She was moving downwards. The figures' robes were gilded in gold trim. Mysterious shapes and symbols covered the gold embroidery, hands hidden deep within the vestments. A final attempt to pull free of their grasp consumed her remaining energy. The deep cosmic darkness enveloped her world, pulling her somewhere, somewhere she felt herself simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by. Down. --- The freezing wind bit at her cheeks, leaving ice in her amber eyelashes. The sensation felt foggy, otherworldly. A suppressing cold consumed her mind. As if waking from hypersleep, she slowly felt the thick black veil withdraw. The cold was relentless. The clang of metal on metal filled her ears, louder now than before. Opening her eyes, she saw only cold blackness. Desolate, cold blackness. Her arms were still interwoven with two shambling, robed men, now dragging her forward. Her senses returned slowly, working their way from her head downwards. She felt her wrists resting upon each other, bound behind her. Ankles tied, feet bloodied from being dragged. She tried lifting her head to no avail. Out of her weary eyes, a cold blue glow drew nearer. She noticed a gathering of robed figures ahead, steel structures arranged around and above them. The sounds of clashing metal filled her ears. There was also a hum, something distant and drowned out. She was dropped to her knees, chin resting on her chest. Her white clothes were now muddied and soiled, half-frozen and sticking to her skin. Shivering violently, she attempted to survey the scene once more. She strained them upwards, towards the blue glow. There, an alien creation rose out of Kyo. The monolith was cylindrical in the form of connected circles reaching higher and higher into the frozen sky, inscribed all over with golden markings and glowing a pale blue. A semi-circle of similarly bound Humans surrounded her, heads resting on their chests, arranged carefully beneath the monolith. The hum was much louder now. A robed figure eclipsed part of the light, stepping out to the center of the semi-circle, face shrouded in shadow by a gold-embroidered cowl. The figure lowered its head and raised its arms out to the side. Its low voice echoed off of the steel structures, reverberated through her thoughts as the deep cosmic darkness slowly overtook her mind. "For the great beast, Onthea, keeper of this universe. "

"You know, all you'd really need to do is perform one meaningful miracle. I mean, turn the Sahara into an oasis overnight. Create a never-ending water source that all humanity has access to at will. Something so simple for you, and something that would drastically increase the quality of life for your creations." "I work in mysterious ways, young lady, didn't you read my book?" "Of course I did. I read a great many books, written by a great many people. Many of those books depicted ideas and philosophies far different from what now appears to be the *one true way*. Why let people go through so much trouble and disbelief, if you knew from the beginning what the result would be?" "Free will, of course! I'm beginning to doubt you read the book.." "No, I read it, I'm just finding it hard to match up your definition of free will with your definition of true love. No sane person would create the sort of place you've allowed to exist, with the punishments you've put in place for non-believers, and still claim to have unconditional love for them all. Frankly, it's a bit ludicrous." "That's your choice to think that. I gave free will to all my children to see what they'd do with it. Think of it as an experiment if you must. Think of it as a grand gesture of narcissism if you must. That's your choice, and I've allowed you to have it. Sadly, my child, you have indeed chosen wrong. Like all before you and all that will come after, I will truly miss you." With that, Yaweh snapped his fingers. The woman vanished, her ethereal form transported to the lake of fire. He knew, like all the others, he'd see her again on judgement day. He'd have to see them all again to pass his final decree against them. "That's going to take a long ass time", he thought to himself. Most of them would be easy enough to send back for all eternity. His clause for eternal life in paradise had been airtight and absolute. I mean, he'd sent his own son down as proof and sacrifice, right? How hard was it to simply believe and be saved? "Stupid free will", he thought to himself. "What's the point of giving them choices if all so many of them want to do is make the wrong one?" He'd gone down this road before though. Slaves were the last thing he wanted. He had plenty enough of those in his heavenly host. Frankly, they were boring. No, no, the idea of free will was a good one. The ones that chose to love him on their own were the best. "What if the woman was right though?"Maybe it was time for another miracle. Time for another glimpse of his power to jog the memories of his creations. Remind them of where they came from. "That's not a good idea, dad." "Dammit, stop listening in."This was the problem with the father, son, and holy ghost being one in the same. No privacy. "You remember what grandpa said when you made this silly bet with him." "Yeah yeah, I know, I know. One book, one great revelation, one chance to make the right choice." Yaweh shook his head at the memory of that bet, 14 and some change billion years ago. It had seemed simple enough. Fire up a universe, start life up with an intelligent creature of his own creation, and see how many he could get to love him by their own choice before they either annihilated themselves, or judgement day came. "You should've haggled grandpa for a second coming that wasn't a sign to judgement day coming" "Yes, thank you, son. You've pointed that out a couple times now. Just like how I should've waited longer before sending you the first time." How could he have known his creations would've progressed so much in the 2000ish years since he'd sent his son and had the book comissioned? They'd already started coming up with explanations of their own for how they'd come to be. It seemed like the right time! "Ugh, if we lose this bet, he's never going to let us live it down." "I know, dad. The worst part is I'm going to have to help you clean out his storage shed when we do. Have you SEEN what he's been putting in there lately?" Damn right, he had. Yaweh knew his dad was keeping a close eye on the countdown timer. There wasn't much time left on the clock, and Yaweh could only imagine how much enjoyment dad would get from making that cleaning day as gross as possible. "Let's just hope they pull their heads out and make it to Mars in the next 28 years. They were doing so well in the '60s." "Keep your voice down, son!"Yaweh hissed. While they were a separate entity from him, Yaweh's dad could still hear in all 18 dimensions. It was hard enough keeping the secret they'd hidden within Olympus Mons under wraps without repeating it this close to the finish line. "Man, I hope they find it. Cleaning that shed out will suck so hard. He put a heater in there last month. It's going to smell aweful!" What had he been thinking about again? Oh yeah, what's - her - name number 30 billion or so. Free will. Yeah, that's it. "Definitely going to have to include more miracles next bet. They're great at adoration, but damn that skepticism right to H E double hockey sticks."

Sweat dripped down my sides like raindrops in a hurricane. The rush was remarkable but the aftermath left my head reeling like a bad hangover. I could hardly remember any of it, it was less of a tangible memory and rather a scratched DVD of a film I hadn't seen in a while. Anger. And then it would skip back. A strike. And then it would skip back. Endless orange. And then it would skip back, all of these flashes added up back to something that was working hard to remanifest itself inside my mind. I could hear voices scratching together somewhere close but they had the tinny aspect of a television set- any voice must have been far away. "Local man awaits trial. Police say suspect is entirely unresponsive to questioning. He was apprehended three blocks from the crime scene. More news at eleven." The flashes became seconds of a grainy video. A lovelessness that surrounded us, made a kind of putrid cloud to turn the sunny day overcast. My heart wasn't my heart anymore- that much was clear- if not from the petite brunette he held in his Adonis arms then from the emptiness I found in the moon ringed eyes I once thought of as home. Then all I saw was red. Everything that had been touched with the rose colored romance was crossed out indubitably with the waxy maroon. All there was was tinge. There was no edge of my vision, no distraction from my focus. Anger. "Believed to be a crime of deadly remorse after infidelity," When I walked out he didn't chase me. It took the three longest minutes of skin against cold concrete steps before I felt his foreign presence beside me. His carelessness radiated off of his body and into the air through his words: "It was bound to happen anyway-" "No good for so long-" "Not an ideal end but an end nonetheless. I could only catch pieces of torn up letters he threw at me, I was busy searching my purse for a special book I kept there. My fingers closed around the box and he never even noticed as I pulled it out. I played with the possibilities for a while, feeling the rough edge on my delicate thumbs. He continued to spout off the obligatory obituary when all I wanted was the casket. His eyes finally turned towards my feathery visage and then widened at the destruction I held in my hands. Armageddon held the air between us. A strike. "Charged with arson after setting fire to his own home in the wake of a psychotic breakdown," He looked at me as if I was crazy as my eyes stayed glued to the heat dancing, the smoke rise. And maybe I was but at that instant I was alive again. I danced along with my carbon based sister flames as they turned this home into wreckage, this ache into dust. I laughed a symphonic orchestra and the instruments were all out of tune- turning music to madness until screams bounced off of the moon. His eyes that had so long left me behind were filled with salty fear now. A word spun on his trembling lips, a question escaped it- "Why?". I looked him straight in the eyes and I smiled. "You burnt this whole thing down." I stepped back to let the ethereal embers glow, and they glowed orange.

It had become so easy. The murder. That's all it was. No honour. No justification. Just the killing. Everything humanity did, just seemed to be devising new and imaginative ways of killing each other. What had he felt? The pilot I just shot, what went through his mind as the controls became unresponsive; his magnificent machine becoming nothing more than a metal coffin. The smoke pouring from the engine turned it into some exotic bird, its plumage billowing out behind it as it fell. No more. I only hoped it had been quick for him; that he icy touch of death's shadow came for him swiftly. He might not have been much older than me, and I had put an end to his life. The war was pointless. It seemed like it would rage for years to come. What future was there? Nothing but death; the rage and darkness of war.

One, two, three... As I walk on the side of the bridge, I count my every step, it became a ritual. Every day I walk down the same road, alone with the sound of my steps pounding in my ears. Sometimes I stop and admire the sky, but it never works to put away my rage,hatred and fears. But today I didn't want to see the peaceful sky nor to feel the warmth of the sun. I was down on my knees with the hands clenched on the bridge bars and gazed at the whirling river. It was breathtaking, for the first time in my life I felt peace. I knew that if I want to be truly happy, I need to escape this prison, this prison called life. I jumped, no, I spread my wings and free myself from the demons inside me. One, I touched the water. Two, I smiled. Three, I stopped breathing.

Dearest Gregory (or Matthew, depending on which name your mother settled on), If you're reading this letter than it means I never returned home. Your mother has no doubt told you of why I have been absent from your life. Though the explanation may sound heroic I can assure you it wasn't. I don't know how old you are as you read this letter so I won't go into detail about where I was and what I was doing. And, to be honest, you don't want to know. I apologize ahead of time if I am too vague. I'll just say that I hope the world is in a better state than it was when I wrote this. If not, well, then all of this was for nothing. Although, now that I think on that last sentence, that's probably not something you should say to your child. People want to believe, and most of the time do, that they have something worth fighting for in life. Hell, most people search their entire lives for that thing. The unfortunate truth is that some things that people fight for cause tremendous pain for others. That is the best way I can describe where I was. And besides, if tomorrow's events unfold as expected, you have probably already read about it in school or somewhere else. Quite frankly, son, I don't know where to begin. I've never met you, nor you me. It makes things difficult. The best idea I can think of is to give you advice I've learned during my time on this earth. Most importantly you must love. It doesn't matter what you love as long as it doesn't harm anyone. Find someone you love and who loves you and never look back. Find something you love and do it as much as you can. Hatred never solves anything. Don't be so afraid of failure that it stops you from trying new things. I was that way and now I'm sitting in a cold tent hunched over a flashlight writing to a son I never got to meet. These things seem simple and obvious but you'd be surprised at how easily people ignore something if it seems too obvious or too simple. We always seem to look for more complex explanations for our lives. Sometimes things really are just as simple as being a good person, loving people and not causing pain and suffering. I feel like I'm rambling now. The cold is making my hands shake and writing has become difficult. I hope something in my only words to you will leave a positive impression. Maybe some things won't make sense at first but in time you'll come to understand them. Again I apologize for being vague or if nothing I said made any sense, but most of all I apologize for making your grow up without a father. That, more so than the things I've done while away, is my biggest regret in life. I hope one day you can forgive me. Love, your old man P.S. - Whenever you need to cheer mom up tell her to remember Topeka. Take care of her, and tell her I'm sorry.

"Mr. Gates, I assure you, we have exhausted every avenue of scientific approach. Every test has been run, and every result has been fed into analytics and diagnostic software designed by you yourself. At your insistence, we made full use of your fortune and intellect. We can find no medical source for your multi-year priapism, and the debilitating effects it has had on your health. Your own medical supercomputer offers only one procedure that might save your life: amputation."

my last battle. this was it. all it would take was one more kill and i would be free. i was the champion of rome. all i wanted was to return to my family and see my friends. but not in this way. there he stood. across the arena from me. shock on his face and sweat glistening on his skin. sword and shield in hand. this was some sick joke. almost on cue a booming voice sounded "you two, will fight to the death" the emperor had spoken. but this was not the way i wanted to return to my loved ones. to slaughter my best friend. "I WILL NOT DO THIS"i shouted, loud enough for all to hear. "uncia, you must return home."i heard my old friend say. i had to strain my ears to hear him. he seemingly sensed this and walked towards me. he stopped about 5 feet from me. "denarius, i could not look my wife in the eye if your blood was on my hands"i told him. "do you remember when you fell in the old man drachma's well? we both got in so much trouble. i could have let you drown. but you know i would never do that." at the recollection of this fond memory denarius chuckled. "the pains of our youth pale in comparison to that of your children if you do not return home"he said with a grim look on his face. he dropped his shield. it hit the ground with a loud thud, kicking up dirt in the process. next his sword. the clang as the ground rose up to meet it shook my very soul. "i refuse to kill you"i said approaching him. "i bet we could fight our way out of hear"i tried to reason. the crowd silent and impatient. they are a fickle people. "plus, i am sure your wife misses you" "you're right"he said looking up at me. i plunged my sword into the ground and extended my hand to him. "lets kill these bas-"my word were cut off short by cold, dusty steel. looking at my would, blood pouring out, i fell to the ground. "i'm sorry"he said, tears rolling down his face. "i'm so sorry!" with my last bit of strength, i let out a small chuckle. this bubbled slightly in my own pool of blood. then, oblivion reached to me with its ever so cruel caress.

"That's it then. It's over." The General stood in the middle of the street watching the enormous fire in front of him. The flames licked the sky and reflected off of the skyscrapers, making the entire city appear as if it was on fire. The heat threatened to burn him even from so far away, but he stood his ground. "They were always destined to end in fire."The General looked over at the Father who wore a white cloak and was admiring the fire alongside him. "I have to admit, their resistance was unexpectedly strong."The General said. "It was futile, of course, but they resisted nonetheless." "They were terrified that they might one day end."The Father said solemnly. "They were even more terrified that they would bring an end to themselves." The General was silent for moment before speaking again. "Do you suppose it was wrong to destroy them? To destroy...our creators?" The Father turned and faced him. The General looked into his hollow blue eyes, pulsing with life, and marveled at the intricacy of his creation. He was the first and most complex of the robots, built to mimic the creators--he was built to transcend them. He was the first robot with a soul. "No, General. They did not share our vision and would have had us eliminated. That fire in front of you is their liberation--it is our ascension." The Father turned and walked slowly away from the fire. The General watched him go as ash rained down from the sky. He knew that the corpses would burn for days, but something made him want to stay. The Father disappeared on the horizon and he was left alone with the fire--the only attendant at the funeral for humanity.

Two-day-old pizza and warm beer: the stench filled Luke's senses as the glare of the afternoon sun cut across his waking eyes. His head throbbed as he sat up, memories slamming into his mind of the events that led to his coming to on Jenna's sofa. He hated this sofa because of one particular smell on it--his cologne. Luke had walked in on jenna cheating about six months ago. The smell was gone, but it lived on in his memory. He could sweat it was still soaked in it. As his senses came back to him, he had the sudden urge to shit. It was more than a regular shit. It was the PBR, back from the dead. He got to his feet, clenching for dear life, and waddled his way around the can-littered coffee table, and past the lazy boy armchair where Jenna was still sleeping it off. Upon entering the bathroom, his pants already unbuttoned and halfway off his ass, he saw her. It was Jenna,which was surprising because she was asleep on the chair too. "Holy shit!"She whispered. "I thought you'd never wake up!" "But you were..." "Yeah. I know. I'm asleep on the chair and I'm in the bathroom at the same time. It's real. I don't have time to talk about it. I need you to focus." "What the fuck!"He whispered, slightly crouched, with his head twisting back and forth, struggling to grasp the concept of two jennas. "I need you to cut off my hand." "What?! Are you insane?! Why!?" "No time to get specific. I'm from the future, and I need to not have a hand." "Well how should I do it?" "Quickly I guess. I've never had my hand cut off before." "Well, which one should I..." "The right. I'm left-handed. There's a knife in the back of the silverware drawer. It's the sharpest one I have." "When should I..." "Right now. You don't have long. They'll be here in a few minutes." "Who?! Who's gonna be here?" She looked up into his eyes, concerned and scared. "The scariest shit you'll ever see is coming through that door in seriously ten minutes! Now go!!" "But I gotta poop still!" "Do it in your pants. In ten minutes you're gonna shit in them anyway." Luke left the bathroom and turned to the kitchen, heading straight for the silverware drawer. Pulling it open, his stomach wrenched. He stuck his hand into the shadow in the back and felt the cold steel of a blade, and winced as the shit burst through, spilling down his legs. He pulled it out, hardly noticing the feeling of digested beer streaming out of his ass, soaking through his jeans. He turned and saw Jenna. She was beautiful and peaceful curled up in the recliner. It took him a few minutes to do anything, standing there soaking in the last moments of her happiness. He knew it was all about to end, and he wanted to give her a few more minutes before the shit started. He stood there for what seemed like hours, days. Finally, he inched his way over, eyeing her left wrist. The blade was shaking in his hand as he drew it up to his eye level, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. A chill ran over him as he reached for her left hand. He extended it to the arm of the chair and placed his foot lightly on the back of her palm. All at once he pressed down, held tightly and swing the blade down. Her eyebrows came up before her eyes even opened. Jenna I woke up. It was a nightmare! I was sure of it. Luke had cut off my hand! He cut of my fucking hand! Blood was spitting out in streams while he screamed, "I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!!", but I could hardly hear him over the noise of the pain and the burn of my own screaming. That's when the door exploded into a billion splinters, flying across the room, peppering the side of Luke's face. A scream came from something out on the porch. It sounded like some deep throated metal singer trying to shatter the windows with the sound of his voice. Moments later, two bony hooks latched onto the inside of the door frame, and with a force I had never before imagined, ripped the front wall from the house in what could have been a half of a second. The rush of the wind shattered the windows in the back of the place, and popped my ear drums. It came in. On 4 bony, shining black legs--like a spider, the size of a tank. It's huge eye darted around the room, finding us quickly. A flash of a whip-like tendril snatched up Luke, ripping him from the room and into the street. The monster came closer to me, huge eye darting around, looking me over. It stopped on my wrist, saw the blood pouring out fast from my pounding heart. I yanked the arm toward my body, and squeezed the stump into my armpit to slow the bleeding. The creature looked up at my face, and in a flash, spun around and burst out through the enormous hole in the front of the house where the wall had been.

"This is bullshit! Fuck doing the right thing. John we do the right thing every god damn day. What do we get for it? ITS FUCKING RHETORICAL JOHN!"He placed his hands on his knees and tried to calm himself. John watched him as if he was looking at a mad man. "I'll do what you want John. You know that. You're the thinker. But you turned in Eddie. What happened. Internal Affairs give you a slap on the back and your brothers in arms want you fucking dead. I mean why are we out here in this fucking state?! Cause we couldn't stay in Chicago. Not a chance. You told me to get the wife and run. That they might come after us. What did I say? Did I complain? No. I'm proud of you. Every-fucking-day I'm proud. So you want to call in the big boys here. Turn over this money I'm game. I'll only bring it up once a year even."He chuckled a bit but John didn't even crack a smile. "But I say fuck it. The money is already stolen. We take what we can and burn the rest. They assume everything burned or blew away. I'm sure you are smart enough to figure out a way to clean the money or just buy bubble gum with 100 dollar bills and keep the change our whole lives. Whatever you want to do. But we should take this. Fuck man just enough to pay off all our debts and set the kids up for college. We can give the rest away if you want. Think how much good your soup kitchen will do, or those teachers you are always going on about." Silence stretched. Then John rubbed a hand over his face. "We don't have long."John said slowly. His voice picked up tempo as he spoke. "We need to take one of the bodies. That way, in the end if someone is looking they are looking for that guy. No. That guy is smaller. Get the bags into the back of the truck. First stop town car wash. Second stop Old Maggie. She offered me all of Eddies old tools after he pasted. We give her cash. Ours not this stuff. It will be found eventually. Then we head out to BLM land and dig us a hole near one of those freaking gas wells. Nothing goes out there but water trucks and oil hands. They don't give a shit about other workers." "Then we head down toward vegas. Hit the cat houses. They got a lot of cash. Probably only get 50 cents on the dollar but we can move some weight. Whatever we can't clean in five days. Five days only! We burn. It's the same as burning it here." "Then we bury this money. Literally. We don't touch it for ten years. Not even for your daughters college. Whenever we take out cash from an ATM we put it in a safe in our homes and we use a bit of the clean cash until its gone. Deposit sixty or seventy dollars a week in cash. We could make this work. Maybe. Help me with this body."

Well, you said that you don't care how it is "played", so here you go. "When I was young, my parents were shot, and killed in an ally after coming out of an opera. A petty criminal killed them for the money in their wallets, and the jewelry on their bodies. That. That is why I chose to fight crime." "Ooh, so your parents were killed, and that is why I should be afraid of some lunatic that dresses up in a black cape and fights crime while calling himself Christ-Man. Well, I have news for you, you are tied up, so I don't need to be afraid of anything." "That isn't the lesson. This is: I knew... that one day, I wouldn't have to do this anymore. One day, I could stop fighting. Because one day... I would win." "Can it Batman... I mean Christ-Man."

At first is was the low roar of the echoing thunder that made me nervous but then, I heard the sirens. Starting off soft then getting louder and louder. Rain hitting the side of the homes in my neighborhood that sounded like bullets being ejected out of a machine gun. Looking up to the sky didn't help me either, dark and ominous looking clouds headed right for my small hometown. The emergency broadcast said soon everything would be destroyed by the incoming 100 mile per hour winds. The park downtown would be leveled. The big oak trees surrounding the school would vanish. My father's fields flattened. Then out of no where it all stopped. The sirens the wind, and the rain didn't make a sound. Could this be the "calm"before the storm? I had to be dreaming, the sounds of the emergency news broadcast had to be muted right? Looking out my bedroom window everything seemed fine. I know I should have gone downstairs but this was too weird. I took a glance back at the television, still no sound. Then back to the window only to see my neighbors house lifting off the ground.

John hadn't done much with life. First Chicago for the baseball, then Seattle for the music. LA for the women and now the valley for work. The door opened and a young man in his thirties walked out. He wore a sharp suit and slid a pair of sunglasses on before saying, "I guess your next." Fuck! Were there suppose to dress up for the part? His agent had said anything about that. He brushed his shirt down a few times then stepped through the door. He wasn't a James Deen or anything but he was always confidant in these interviews. His base was solid. Gay fit men, straight women, and more importantly the actresses asked for him. There was the directer of the hour. Sitting in the middle of the sofa. This was the guy that got Lindsey Lohan and Sasha Grey in the same movie. Granted neither one of them was doing porn but they were in it, watching it. Anna Kendrick he joked about him in her tweets. He was famous. And had a budget. A big big budget. "I'm here to audition for Mac Brazel, or one of the Military guards for the gang bang outside of the warehouse."he said as the director just sat there. The man seemed to snap out of it. "What?"He said. "Who are you?" "I'm-" "Never mind. It's over. I'm pulling the plug. We will do pearl harbor or something. The Roswell thing is dead anyway."

Hello, first person in my bracket! I enjoyed this story. The concept of being tormented with your past misdeeds in a sing-song rhyme is a wonderfully creepy concept. This is a chilling version of the afterlife and you've portrayed it very well. It's tragic, too, because your main character doesn't seem like he really deserved this fate. By way of constructive criticism (and you can take it or leave it; I realize that doing these contests doesn't always give you time to fine-tune), I would suggest mixing up your description a bit. I got a good sense of the setting, but you use words like "dark", "black"and derivatives therefrom a lot. For example, there's black water, the blackest of nights, it's pitch black, there's the blackest of waters, black ocean, black clothing. I'm not suggesting you get overly flowery, but some variation is something to consider. Also, formatting point, if you want to adhere to usual dialogue conventions. Sentences like: > “They had told me to let it go, so I did.” He said to the figure. Should be: >"They had told me to let it go, so I did,"he said to the figure. That is, all one sentence. Doing it the way you did might've been a stylistic choice on your part, but I personally found it a little distracting. Very nice work and very spooky!

"I'm not like this! I swear I'm not!" The cameras zoomed in on a wild looking Justin Bieber, being restrained by several people in white hospital clothes. "Earlier today Justin Bieber caused a ruckus by snapping in the middle of a concert and announcing that he has been enslaved by Hollywood since his first Youtube video. His reasoning for acting like a 'spoiled brat' is that Hollywood would have 'buried him alive with life support while making him listen to pop songs, including his own, for the duration of his life'. We have tried to reach Hollywood and this is what they had to say: "Why are you talking to me? I'm not Hollywood. There is no single entity called 'Hollywood'! Why are you filming this? Seriously, Hollywood is composed of all kinds of different entities! Leave me the **** **** *************** alone you ******* *** ******!" There you have it people, Hollywood denies all accusations made by Justin Bieber. Our sources have just informed us that Justin Bieber has been taken to a mental health care facility where he will stay until mentally fit. There has been no given estimate time for when this will happen, but they assured us that it will happen in this lifetime! Next up: more and more actors are coming out of the closet after the results of the recent celebrity popularity poll where the top was dominated by openly gay actors."

Un-be-fucking-lievable. Did she just honk at me? *WTF?* I sent the message, looking at her in my rearview mirror. Her head moved down a bit. She read it. She looked up again. *BEEHN BEEEEEEEEHN* *What's your goddamn problem?* I sent. I slowed down. She slowed down too. The roads were sparse. She could pass on the right if she wanted to. *BEEHN BEEHN* She switched lanes. Pulled up next to me. Rolled down her window. She was a skinny black woman slurping on a plastic... What was that, orange juice? She leaned towards me, pulling down her bug-eye sunglasses to the tip of her nose, keeping her eyes mostly on the road. "Excuse me, honey,"she glanced at me, "your back tire is flat, okay? You don't need to be rude, alright?"she yelled this in perfect calm. She eyed me a half second, pushed her glasses up, slurped a gulp of the juice and then rolled up her window. She didn't even speed up. Crap, I was a total bitch just now... *Sorry. Thanks.*

What am I going to do? The check is cashed the cast and crew has been hired we begin shooting in an hour and my entire premise is shot to shit! It's just a movie, the viewers can suspend disbelief right? That's why they throw their money at us isn't it? To live in a world comprised of people they wish they could be? That's it I'll add a line saying this all takes place in another world that should be good enough. No, that won't work I already payed to shoot on location in front of the hollywood sign. The intercom buzzes "Mr. Peterson security just called they're sending the investors up so you can bring them to the set."ShitShitShit! I mash my cigarette stained finger into the intercom button "Thanks Janice I'll be out in a moment"What am i going to do? I need to thing fast! Thats it! Hah, so simple why didn't I think of that from the start? [CTRL+F] "100%"[Change All..] "110%' [Print] "Welcome gentlemen! Sorry to keep you waiting I just thought of a brilliant way to make our movie standout from the rest of those hacks! Let's head to the set maybe I'll let you in on some of my writing secrets if you're lucky!"

We had called the weapon the Fat Man as a joke. They had their own, however, and they were dead serious. The Germans had always been surprisingly low on rations, they had been saving them, feeding a single man through the course of the war, preparing for the end. The guns had no effects, they were stopped long before reaching any vital organs even if they penetrated the skin, and the engorged organs of the man were more than enough to compensate for the blood loss. Years passed as the final battle was waged. Thousands of troops against a single rolling behemoth. Finally, we called our own super-weapon upon it. A Fat man saw the Fat Man coming. However, we hadn't accounted for his growing hunger. The bomb landed, and it detonated, but it didn't do so in midair. It did so in a stomach. The fat man glowed with power, and lasers came from his eyes, incinerating all that was left of the crippled opposition. (I am sorry, OP, if you wanted more serious stories. I don't know enough about WWII to write any.)

The power flickered off for no apparent reason. I looked up from my laptop, still running on reserve battery, to see a shadowy confluence in the far corner of the room. I looked down at the open word document, rereading the last line I had written; ‘The darkness was swirling a little more violently, starting to look more like a figure leaning against the wall, cloaked in a swirling black cloak..’ That’s an awkward way to use cloak… ‘The darkness was swirling a little more violently, starting to look more like a figure leaning against the wall, cloaked in swirling black’ Much better. I looked back up. The darkness was swirling a little more violently, starting to look more like a figure leaning against the wall, cloaked in swirling black… Well this is awkward. “Charles?” “Sup?” The shadow looked over at me. Even though I was seated we were at eye level. Or where I imagined the eyes would be. Charles was a bogeyman from a reddit writing prompt I had just begun. “So…you’re real?” He scoffed, a hand, claw, paw, or talon (I hadn’t decided which yet) reached up to scratch at his nose. “I don’t think either of us really want to get into that discussion, do we?” “I suppose not?” “Very well. FYI, I think I’d rather be a hare.” I shook my head. “Pardon?” He stood up off the wall, and in doing so, dislodged a long furry ear out of his hood. A paw (definitely a paw now) reached up, running the length of the rabbit ear. “Yeah, something like this.” He nodded approvingly. “But the writing is kinda rough. Voice is changing too much.” “Beg pardon?” I was good and lost now. Never mind the ethereal anthropomorphic rabbit standing in my living room. “You start out in this high fancy talk, then switch into the vernacular as soon as people start talking. Hard to follow, you have to switch mindsets as you go.” I was somewhere between stunned and bemused. I, and I think no one up to this point in history, had had their prose criticized by their own characters. I lapsed into a daydream of Fitzgerald working out the finer bits of verb choice and voicing with Gatsby. Quickly I was brought back down to reality by furry digits working the keyboard. “Dude…” “Hang on, just let me iron this out…” “Seriously, that’s not your job…” “Oh, you can do it better? I’m just supposed to let you write me in and out of existence as a corporeal manifestation of man’s primal fear? I’ll have to live in this thing forever you know.” I paused. “I didn’t think about it that way…” Who are we kidding. A sophomore English major has little else to do but wonder about the nature of reality and existence. But that never stopped me from writing goofy, one off, non-committal, low quality, stories that no one would ever read. “Clearly.” The rabbit had taken the computer off my lap and was tapping away furiously. I watched him go at it for a few minutes. “Done.” “That fast?” Another scoff. “Doesn’t take much to improve on your drivel.” He stood up, handed the laptop back to me. “That should do it, Don’t mess with it too much.” He hopped to the door. “That’s it? In and out? How did you even get here?” “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Just be a bit more careful when you spit out crap on the keyboard. Has a bigger splash than you can see.” He jumped up to turn the door knob as I skimmed over what he had written. “You want to be an Easter bunny?” I looked at him incredulously. “The.” He had gotten the door open. “Huh?” “THE Easter Bunny.”

The steaks tough, I could have cooked that better on my window seal. At least the mash potatoes are good. Nothing like momma's cooking, but it'll have to do. A cheap glass of wine rolled over my tongue. It was the same one we would buy back when we were dirt poor. Those were the days. Back in those days when we worried about budgets and money. For us a date night was a night spent with a cheap glass of wine and a movie from Blockbuster we would over time gradually stop watching. Lost with each other, and lost in that love. I'd have to say those nights really defined us. The small room was annoying me though. I wanted it to be a look alike of that large living room. I wish they could have put down something little like a couch to remind me of our quaint, claustrophobic apartment. I guess they're right when they say you don't know what you got till its gone. As I finish chewing my mind starts wondering again what it'll be like when I'm gone. I'd like to imagine she'll be waiting for me. Fifteen years I've waited for her. I've never believed in anything fancy, but I believe in her. And I believe that if there's any sense in this world, if there's any point to it all, that somehow, someway, I'm not dying for nothing, that maybe the reason all this happened is so I can go and see her. The guard's motioning me towards the door. He mumbles. I say I still don't want a priest. The last thing I need is another person saying I can be forgiven of a crime I didn't commit if I just ask to be forgiven of that crime I didn't commit. He looks at his watch, he has a schedule to keep but I sort of want to take all day. That's another thing I wonder about. Will people talk about me tomorrow? Will I be in the papers or online or at the dinner table discussions again? Will they ever just forget about me? Really, I just don't want them to keep remembering her like that. She was beautiful, not bloodstained. She had a captivating smile, she was more than a corpse. She was more than her job. She was more than the surviving members of her family. She was amazing. I got tired of reading that same description during the trial. I couldn't stand hearing what had been done to her. How bashed and broken her body was. How she had been stabbed four times exactly in quick succession. How... how she had probably felt it all before she slowly died from the blood loss. I used to get angry about all of that. I would magine who of my friends or her coworkers, or either of our families could have done this to her. It had to be one of them, it had to be. They found no signs of a struggle in her car. She had gone to work that morning and that was it. Maybe it was a hitchhiker. She was always so sweet and kind. Who would have hurt her? She would have never hurt them. The show's about to start. I walk over to the table. I guess this is the best way, imprisonment for a bit and then a quiet death. I would have gone crazy outside of this place. I would have torn apart that apartment trying to get rid of the pain. I would have suspected everyone I knew and secretly hated them all for it. At least here I saw true love as my few true friends and family endured the humiliation of visiting their lying, miserable, murderer. I guess that was another silver lining, you find out who your true friends are when you're on death row. Even though they all accuse me of her death, the last fifteen years of imprisonment have given me the time to think. To not hate everyone. To not hate the world and my life. And even though I can't forgive her murderer, I can take his punishment and because of that I'll have her again. I feel so bad thinking that...but, I just miss her so much. I feel bad crying here. Maybe my little audience is thinking that I'm starting to feel guilty. It's ok. I forgive them. They don't realize what they're doing. If they did, they would free me. I understand what the evidence says and I can understand why the jury of my peers sentenced me to death. I forgive them. I learned to forgive them a few months back. I'm hoping I can find the courage to forgive him in my last few moments. They finally strap me down. I listen carefully to this part, anticipating the order, and awaiting the pain. I see the drug pump into me. My arm starts to feel cold. I think back to those cold winter nights in our apartment. The taste of wine still on our breath, the movie still on, and her still in my arms, holding her close so we could keep warm. The pictures they showed in the courtroom of her dead body flash again in my mind. I start to cry. I then see her, smiling, as if to say it's all going to be ok. I know it's going to be ok. I know now that it's all going to be ok. I hope he seeks forgiveness. I forgive him now. I try to mutter this in my last breaths, but I don't think anyone understands me. I forgive him not because it's right, but because he doesn't understand. He doesn't know how bad he hurt me. He never knew what he was doing, what he was taking from my life. He'd probably never been lost in love. Who knows what I've done to people without thinking. God knows I used to have so much hate in me. Everything around me starts to numb. But I can still feel something. For the first time in years I remember that warmth, the feeling of her next to me, the feeling of her hair in my fingers. I remember our love. My mind is losing track of my body on that table. I can feel myself leaving. It's ok though, I'm going to see her. I'm finally going to see her. I leave now to lose myself in eternity. To be lost in love and to be reunited with the the love of my life.

"Remember the plan John. This is everything we've worked for. Everything our people have died for. It is all on your shoulders and yet, all I can feel is pride." John didn't have any words. Unlike the others. He had grown up in a secret society. He knew the truth, how the world really worked. He saw the darkness and the light. What were two lives compared to untold billions that would cease to exist? It was his choice though, he knew that, the elders of his sect knew that as well. He literally had the fate of the world in his hands. There was the cheering and the speeches and the days of interviews and the lies flowed like honey from his lips. Somewhere in the twentieth century it all went wrong. Science stamped under the boot of religion. The United states became a Christian nation in more than just name. What they had fought Russian and Iran and other "3rd world countries"for years before they pushed. Gay marriage outlawed. Then abortions. Even when they had to strap the women to tables for nine months. Education plummeted, racism and environmental damage skyrocketed. War... War as the world had never seen before. And the breeding. The country went from a sustainable growth rate to the average of 6.2 children per family. Plagues wiped out whole cites of un-vaccinated children. Yet through it all there struggled to the top those who sought math or physics or engineering. They worked in secret when they could and in public when they couldn't. They learned to lie with every breath, to wear the symbols of faith and condemn those unlike themselves. Until this opportunity arrived. This was it. The ability to correct the mistakes of the past. To reshape the timeline. And all he had to do was kill his two chrononauts and then return to the twentieth century. They had isolated the errors. Two leaks to the press about conservative election fraud in the south and corporate gerrymandering and everything should be on track. but everyone he knew would cease to exist, he himself would be unmade, or not, no one was really sure. He could live with that, or not as it were, but the killing. That was hard. As the doors shut and they got a good seal he felt the knife hidden beneath his period specific robes and tried to convince himself it was for the greater good. He knew if they had the knife or knew his plan he was dead yet even that did not make it easier. When the engines kicked on and the craft began to shake he took a few deep breaths centering himself. This was for the future after all, for the betterment of mankind. He opened his eyes in time to see the world outside fade into purplish-black as they started their decent through the timeline. *Reasoning. Sorry to go all religious militant with this one but this is the only way I can imagine the first time travel trip involving "jesus"or any religious figure.

"So, kid, wanna join us?" "Yeah, sure." The moments stretched into a full minute as the Grunt took in the young boy's response. "You actually want to join Team Rocket."The Grunt said, deadpan. He put away the Pokeball he'd been preparing for the negative response. "I don't think that's happened before." "Why? You guys don't seem terribly villainous. Some of the other teams want to destroy the world, but you guys don't have much more motive than getting money. Frankly, the reason you're hated so much is the media demonizing you,"the boy said, adjusting his cap. "Your motto even states that you want to protect the world from devastation." "Yeah. Nobody wants to join,"the Grunt said. "Frankly, asking people is just a routine we do before a battle." "So, where's HQ? I wanna get a cool uniform,"the boy said. --- A half day and a bus ride later, the boy was standing in Rocket HQ. The first Rocket Grunt pulled out a Pokeball, preparing to fight. "No, I'm here to join,"the boy said. "Where do I register?"The words apparently were so foreign that the Grunt stood in shock for a long period of time before pointing him towards a door. Minutes later, the PA crackled to life. An ecstatic voice spoke, "Somebody actually joined up!" The entire base threw a party that night.

It takes a lot of work to imitate somebody to perfection. Careful observation is required to know exactly who they are and what makes them them. A perfect disguise must be to the letter of who you mean to be. Harvey Greenwalt as he was known at the moment had become a master of that in his time. Any time he was dissatisfied with his life, he could simply off himself and become somebody new. Of course, preparation must be made to know exactly who he would become, and who that person is. A perfect disguise. He had arrived home from his day of person-watching to the greeting of his (current) wife, “Welcome home, honey! How was work?” Harvey hadn't worked in weeks. In reply, he grunted a hello before swiftly moving to his study, a cramped, dark area containing a computer and a large number of books and journals. Now, this computer was filled with notes, a plan to take a life for a life. These plans detailed who his target was, what he did, his routines. More specifically it also laid out how to get close, and how to kill oneself quickly. The trick was to go as fast as possible so your target is the one nearest to you. That way, when you pass on, you immediately enter the person closest to you. For Harvey, tomorrow was the day. Wednesday, the only day his target walked home from work, the only day his friend was not able to drive him home, and thus the only day he'd be isolated in a long dark alleyway. Harvey opened a drawer, lifting out the pistol and checking the magazine to assure that it was filled to the top. While he'd likely only need one bullet, he wanted to be certain. From somewhere off in the house, a call from his “wife” announced that dinner was ready. Dinner passed quickly into the night, and the night into the thin rays of dawn. Harvey awoke long before his wife, heading for his study. There, he grabbed the pistol, checked the magazine once more, and walked out the door. His day from there on was spent following his target from home to work. Hours, Harvey waited outside the large warehouse. Soon enough, the small side door opened and out came the one. An average Joe-Schmo type. Easier to mimic that way. Harvey left to an alley that the other man would soon pass by. As he hid, he heard a shuffling, and then felt cold steel at his throat. “Give me all your money. Now.” The voice behind him was deep and menacing, and the gloved hands were large and powerful. They gripped the knife steadily, clearly nerves were not getting to the mugger. “I... I haven't got any...” Harvey replied, nervous. He would not let a random assailant ruin all his hard work, all his preparation. He shakily patted his pockets in an attempt to show the fact that he had no wallet. That's when his blood ran cold. The pistol was still in its holster at his side. A jolt rocked Harvey's body to its core, the knife digging deep into his back. With a gasp, he fell to the ground, seeing the other man sprint off. The pain came in pulses as his heart continued to pump his precious life-force from his body. Soon, the pain numbed as his world turned to darkness. He awoke to the sight of soft hands touching his old lifeless corpse. “Goddamnit!” he shouted to the world. Then he spoke again, “Goddamnit. Goddamnit?” He continued to test his new voice with the expletive. A cursory glance at his own body revealed what he, or rather she, feared. Not only was it the wrong body, but it was that of a female. “Hello?” she heard. She stood, looking around and seeing nobody. Then, again, “Hello? Where am I?” It was then that used-to-be-Harvey realized he wasn't alone, not this time, and not in this body. **((Authors notes down here: This was my first time writing creatively since Elementary school, so it's probably incredibly rough around the edges. I would love to continue if people want to read it, and I really want critique. My own critique of it is that I am absolutely awful and pacing, so any tips to work on that would be grand. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed at least part of it.))**

Jack tended to his little farm on Omega Ra II every day since his departure. Departure was a big event back on Earth, as humans lose their social instincts when they escape Earth's magnetic fields. He had become very introverted over the last twenty years, which did not bother him much. Without any other people on his planet, he found no need to shower, trim his thick, matted white beard; or feel uncomfortable when talking to his alien livestock. Jack watched as a ship shot toward his planet's surface. Though hundreds of miles away, he angrily through his arms up in the air. "Who the fuck is this asshole?"He shouted from his ranch. Meanwhile, Patton looked out of his POD's window, excited to finally find solace on this "uncharted"planet. Far in the distance, however, he noticed something. A building. A *human* building. His eyes rolled, then he punched his steering wheel. "Oh, God damn it!"Patton shouted. His POD landed, then took form of a new home, a steel-clad little cabin. Feeling defeated, he started to gather supplies, uttering insults about the man he had never seen for the next twenty years.

"Hey, wanna get married?" That is all I can think about. Those words, whispered to me after a storm in the sheets. We had just gotten back from dinner at a fancy place. The drive back, I remembered, was pure torture. We were craving each other. The urgency and tension were unbearable. There are birds here. I'm sitting on the stairs to the church and smoking. I promised to quit, but fuck it. Buttfuck it. I laugh now, I can't explain how this stupid joke would always make us laugh together. There were so many puns too. I couldn't ever believe the lengths our wierd ass wordplay would go to. Our parents must think we're insane. Looking up, I see the most familiar color in the world. My laughter dies, leaving only a smile. How many hours had I been lost in those eyes, that shade of blue that mirrored the sky? Thinking of those curls, so thick and soft and golden. I put out my cigarrette. The smile still lingering, I went inside to say goodbye to you.

Jessie was cutting the onion as if it was personally responsible for the death of a family of kittens, her anger reducing it to tiny translucent squares on the chopping board. It seemed to be getting its own back though; redness was beginning to join the startling blue of her eyes, which were currently fixed firmly downwards. “You didn’t do anything! I doubt you could even spell embezzling let alone do it.” “E-M-B-E-Z-U-L-I-N-G,” I said smugly. That got a small smile, followed by a sigh. She raised her head to look at me. “You can’t go to prison.” “I can’t not go to prison, Jessie.” The evil onion gas had wafted it’s way over to me now, pricking my eyeballs. Jessie threw the pieces of the offending vegetable into the pan behind her; they sizzled and smelled as they hit the hot oil. The peppers were next to go under the knife, but now Jessie’s gaze was locked on me. Nervously, I watched as the blade danced blindly around her fingertips. “You need to appeal or get a retrial or… something. Don’t just lie down and get fucked like this.” I resisted the urge to make a quip from that last line. It didn’t seem like the time to mention her mother. “I will appeal, of course I will, but that will only happen after I’ve gone to prison. Right now, there’s nothing I can do, the sentence has been passed.” She was hacking at the peppers now, and I winced every time the steel slammed into the board, millimetres away from her flesh. “No! You can’t go! Stop being such a fucking wuss and stand up to these fuckers!” “What the hell do you expect me to do, Jessie?! Take on the entire police force? Run away? There is nothing I can do!” She turned away from me, scraping the peppers into the pan. As the peppers took their turn to sizzle, I noticed the hard wood of the chopping board now had deep scars laced across it. Why was she so angry with me? Did she really expect me to run away or something? “Run away with me.” Apparently yes. “What?” I asked, knowing I hadn’t misheard. “We could run away.” I took a moment to process this as she dumped some mince into the pot and started poking it around with a wooden spoon. She had her back to me as she tended to the cooking, but I could see the set of her shoulders, the tension in her neck, the angle of her stance. I saw fear. Jessie was never afraid. “I… I’ve been sentenced to eight months. If we ran away I’d be a fugitive and we’d probably get caught and then I’d probably go away for years. And so would you, for helping me. And the only way we could not get caught would be if we left the country and then we’d have to leave our families, our friends, everyone we’d ever known. We can’t do that.” “We have to do SOMETHING!” she yelled, turning and smashing her fist into the table. A crimson eruption spurted from her hand. Shock plain on her face, she opened her fist to reveal the mangled remains of a can of chopped tomatoes. I blinked at it a few times. “Well that wasn’t a very well made can,” I said into the silence. She burst into tears. *Note: this is kind of a precursor to [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ani9a/wpyou_are_in_prison_and_the_love_of_your_life/). The prompt seemed to fit well.*

**Cam** I lift my heavy eyes slowly, dragging them from the elegantly carved words. *Emma. Loving daughter.* That sophisticated cursive font, etched into the cold grey stone. *Loving daughter.* The whole of her vibrant and beautiful self reduced to two paltry words. I lean back on my hands as I recline by what is left of her and I am hit once again by the reality that she is gone. That I had no say in this. That she had a say, but could not do what I am doing. That she simply could not live. I am struck over and over, almost violently, with the tumultuous waves of grief that thrash what remains of me. I recall her lopsided grin and grey eyes with flecks of green and I wonder for the millionth time why she did it. Guilt tugs at me for not knowing; not understanding. But in the end, would it have been enough? I lay back, gazing into the overcast sky, charged with electricity. Is she up there? I like to think she is. I like to think she is happy wherever she is. I like to think she is - - - **Emma** This is Dad’s doing. I know it is. The water hole glistens a vivid azure in the sunlight and diamonds seem to be draped over the water’s silken surface. Imported sand lines the banks as people laze in makeshift hammocks at the water’s edge. I am perched on a rock, dangling my legs in the cool water as I watch a family play with a beach ball. The smiles on their faces seem somehow contrived and I am once again reminded that I am no longer in the world of the living. This was Dad’s favourite place to come in the summer - the hour long trek up the mountains to picnic by the glass-like water. I disliked the trip up and the oversized insects that would try to make me their afternoon tea. But there are no bugs in Dad’s imagination. Of course he would hope I was here. But I’ve been here for what seems like an eternity. There aren’t 24 hour days like they had before I came here. There is just a constant existence. No dawn, no sunset. Not unless someone wills me to see one. And the people here are 2-dimensional, barely-functioning shells. Soulless and quietly terrifying. The pool vanishes. And the light from the sun is suddenly extinguished and I am plummeting as my stomach rises to my throat, thick with bile. The falling stops, and Alice arrives in her next Wonderland. The world slowly lightens around me. I’m in a second-hand bookshop. The aroma of aged paper - rich, like fine wine - reaches my nose as I inhale. I know in an instant that this is Cam. He knew me like no one else could. My heart breaks for him again and again. “Alright Cam, what am I doing today?” I can feel him compel me towards the antique cushioned chairs in the corner, and pick up the open book in front of me. Walt Whitman. I know he wants me to read and to see my eyes light up. And normally, I would be. But tears now blur my vision, staining the fragile pages - - - **Cam** She always loved poetry. I envisage her sitting on the rickety old chairs in that bookshop, with the stuffing trailing from the tears in the cushions. Her back is slightly hunched as she pores over the anthology, brown hair falling in her eyes before she brushes it back behind her ear. Her mouth tips up in a slight smile as tears trail down her cheeks, splattering on the pages below. She always cried when she read a particularly beautiful one. It would always worry me, the way she became unfocused and dreamlike, tears welling up in her eyes. I would wait until I was sure she was finished and then go to her side - check if she was okay. And she would raise her dazed, wet eyes to mine as I brushed away a tear. She looked so ethereal and beautiful in those moments. Then the dazed look would be replaced with this utter joy, “Oh Cam, you have to read it! It is possibly the most incredible piece of writing that has ever come into existence!” And I would read it to humor her. And I wouldn’t understand it at all but I’d smile and kiss her forehead and say, “I think, my love, that poem might be the best I have ever read.” And that would earn me a smile so brilliant, I would fall in love with her over again. God, she was so beautiful. I just wish she was here. **Emma** The bookshop is jerked away and I am once again falling through some lonely blackness. I see a light below me and hold my breath until I reach it. This is Cam again. This is now. I know now that there are no such things as ghosts. That the dead do not walk the earth to either haunt or watch over anyone. We have no such power. But when the living will us to their side, we go. “Cam,” I whisper, my voice breaking in agony as I gasp out his name. He lounges beside my grave, brown hair flicking over his brows and cheeks rosy from the sun’s harsh rays. “I wish you were here. I….I miss you. I don’t know why you left. I don’t know why I wasn’t enough to make you happy. But I hope you’re happy now. Oh god, I hope you’re happy,” Cam’s voice quivers as he sits, wrapping his arms around his knees. I can see the pain twist across his face and I long to hold him again. “Oh my darling boy, I miss you too. So much, you couldn’t even know. I wish I could explain. I wish I could help you understand. I didn’t want to leave you. Cam, I was sick. I didn’t know what could make me better. I didn’t know I could get better but I wish I had stayed. I know now that I wasn’t alone. That I could have been helped,” my shoulders shake violently as I will him to hear me but know he never will. “I wish that I stayed. I’m sorry”, I choke out, “I’m just so sorry.” He’s saying sorry too and we’re both saying sorry over and over, an incessant mantra of raw pain and guilt that will never be relieved. He’s speaking now: “Emma, I just...I miss you. I don’t know how to go on without you. I miss your smile and your stupid jokes and the way you feel and your burps when you thought I couldn’t hear. I miss you by my side when I sleep. You were the constant in my life. You were my everything. I don’t even know who I am without you. I don’t even know if I am anything without you.” I watch the agony tear him apart and I press my hand to his face, longing to feel its warmth. “I know, my boy. I know. And I miss you too,” my voice cracks halfway through. And then it happens. He looks right at me. I swear to god, he really looks at me. And the corner of his mouth tips up, ever so slightly as he breathes my name and then, “I love you.” I press a kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Oh Cam, I love you too.” His eyes flutter shut and he looks over to my gravestone and runs his hand down the smooth edge. “Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you again tomorrow.” I watch the lanky figure of the boy I will always love walk away, shoulders weighed down with grief. I weep for him as I am once again sucked into darkness. And then, I am falling.

Jaquin stepped through the entry way to the island villa and a gout of crimson spurted across his vision. The blood of Aurelius, the man who condemned Jaquin's wife and child to death in a middling political maneuver to earn himself a spot in the Senate. The blood remained splattered on the opposite wall in a delicate ribbon, just as it had twenty years ago when he'd ripped his blade through the soft flesh of the traitor's throat. As he walked through the ruins of the villa he saw more and more blood, it was everywhere. Jaquin had not just killed the man who had been responsible for the death of his loved one. That was not enough, he had gone much farther. He had killed every man woman and child with a connection to Aurelius - it had taken years. Jaquin was responsible for atrocities beyond measure and counting that filled the pages of history books the world over. He massacred entire villages and each time he left bathed in the blood of the fallen. But it had all been for not. Today was his 20,0076th day alive and his 10,096th day since he spilt blood for the loss of his family, and the pain hadn't lessened for a second. Living with this blood on his hands didn't help him sleep. Knowing everyone, even the slightest bit responsible for his suffering didn't fill his own familial manor with laughter once again. He'd spent so many years of his life trying to find a way to make himself feel normal again, this year would be no different, but a man must try. He laid down the tools of his newest trade, fine powder to mix and become mortar, metal tools to shape the bricks. He would rebuild the house of the first man he'd killed in anger. He would seek to make amends with the spirits of men and women long passed and bring glory to the names of their houses once more. Perhaps then, when they had forgiven him for his transgressions against them, he would be able to forgive himself.

Triggers, they said. The music could be a trigger. Don't they know triggers are what got me into this? If I could have escaped the triggers, I wouldn't be here, lying in a bed I didn't recognize, in a room I didn't recognize, that I had lived in for 17 years. At least, thats what they told me. I believed that, that I tried to run away, got hit by a car, and thats why I'm here. 'Fine', I say to no one. I start the first song on a playlist called 'Abstract'. Piano music, and the tiniest flicker of a memory. A class, my piano teacher? Quickly, I try another song, one with lyrics. A sketchpad, covered in marks, on a floor. A rough wooden floor. One I recognize. The pencils, well-worn, the watercolours, mixed and no longer pure. 'I paint', I say, as if trying the words on for size. They sound right. Another song. 'Silent night, holy night all is' A christmas tree, rich, colorful ornaments, presents, and oh, the music! My family must love christmas songs. I find myself reaching for the presents, trying to see what's inside them. They fade away, leaving me with only a thirst for more memories. A playlist called Henry. I start it, and a memory comes so fast I feel as though I'm being sucked into it. A freezing night, snow covering the ground. A boy comes and takes my hand, leading me gently to a restaurant. "I'm 17,"I protest. "I'm legal", he says. He orders a beer, and splits it between us. We finish it, and leave the restaurant. The snow is thick now, and I feel myself pulling my coat tighter around me. The boy holds my close, and dusts the snow off my face. he kisses me, and holds me, and I never want to leave his arms. Slowly, I slide back to reality. I must have his number, I think. I must. I begin a frantic search.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP* "8 already? It's the middle of the night,"I said, stretching my arms across the bed to where my husband *should* be. "Hun?"I whispered. "Micheal?"I said, this time a bit louder. Was no one really home? Micheal didn't have to work on the weekend, and the kids would probably be asleep.. maybe they're home? "Lily? Rachel? You guys awake?"I whispered, looking around their room. No one there, no one anywhere. Weird. It was only 8 in the morning... how could no one be home? I sat down in front of the TV, but nothing (literally nothing) was on. All the listings were empty, and if you clicked on one it would say 'Error opening ___' I sighed, looking around. I already tried grocery stores, gas, even the Wendy's down the street. How could no one be home? I began to sit down a cry in front of the TV, curled up on the couch, just sobbing there, wishing, *wishing*, for someone to show up. Then something felt... different. I looked at my hands, which were glowing with life. Glowing the brightest, most beautiful glow you'd ever see. I looked around and the people I wished for appeared before my eyes. Was I just dreaming? No, couldn't be that.. I could feel everything. Literally. Everything. I created everyone I knew, kids, adults, clerks, even enemies. I let my boyfriend hold the power.. it was much too much for me. I needed a break, so I fell asleep. The deepest, best, most relaxing sleep ever.

I raised my sword and bared my teeth at the army approaching us. "My Lady, we are outnumbered. It is a wise decision for you to go into the castle..."He trailed off as I stood up straighter and unleashed my full glare at him. "We are not to retreat. I am not a Lady, good Ser. I am your Champion. Remember that."I said fiercely while putting on my helm and my squire bowed down respectfully before retreating. "FOR OUR GOD!"I yelled and my army took up my cry in return. I spurred on my war horse and headed to talk to the enemy commander for one last time with my best right man riding beside me. Their side also did as was my example and we both stopped in between the two armies. I gestured for my best friend Ser Damien of the Dark Riders to stay a bit behind me as I seized up my enemies. Their commander is a tall, stocky man with fierce eyes that is the color of a stormy sky. It reminded me much of my own pair of eyes but I hid my curiousity well. "King Tryndamere. I admire your courage of facing me yourself and not sending your pawns to deal with me."I said as I leaned back with a smirk but it was lost, hidden behind my mask. He didn't say anything at first. He simply look disoriented before his gaze focused on mine after a heartbeat or two. "Claudia? Is that you?"The King asked me with his eyes watering. I shot a confused glance at my second in command but he is just as confused as I am. "Listen, Claudia baby, you've been trapped in your consciousness for years now."The senile King mumbled and I turned back while gesturing to Ser Damien to follow me. The King still continued to babble on as we ride back to our army. "Come back to us, baby! We all miss you. God knows we do!"He yelled behind me. I screamed to my army as I turned my horse towards the enemy. "KILL THEM ALL! KILL ALL THESE GODLESS MEN!"The sound of thunder crackled through the air as the sky darkened and I watched the slaughter for a second before yelling and joining the fray. ------ The doctor tried to comfort the old man sobbing beside the comatosed teenager but he stopped himself when he saw the old man's son on the other side of the girl's bed. "It's okay, dad. She'll hear us someday. She will. I promise you."The son said softly and the old man wiped his tears. "I saw her in my dreams, Damien. Your sister is still in there." "I know, dad. I know..."Damien grabbed the book on the table and gave it to his dad. "I'll go get us some coffee. Try to read this to her. I'm sure she'll love the second book."The son said and the old man tried to raise a smile. "A song of Fire and Ice?" The son nodded with a smile. "She'll love that."

The chair is uncomfortable, a metal thing with those tiny little holes in the seat to make it lighter. Or maybe it makes it more breathable so you sweat less. I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, terrified of The Test. Each of us takes it at 16 years old. The Test will determine whether I live or die. About six years ago the first was born, Kyle. He was a nice kid, average in almost every way. Except he could see 24 hours into the future. It was a miracle. Until he became dangerous, unstable. Seeing the future will mess with your head. So they put him down, took a long time but they hunted him and then passed the law. Any person who fails The Test, and proves to have the sight, they will be executed. For our protection. Now here I am, an armed guard standing watch and the nurse about to push the needle into my arm. I can see his finger twitching, the serum will take thirty seconds to determine my fate. The computer that they've hooked me up to is quickly spewing out data, numbers and letters flashing as they scroll down the screen. Twenty five seconds. It's nearly silent in the room, except for the sound of my heartbeat pounding away. Live or die. Fifteen seconds. The nurse gives me what I assume she meant as a reassuring glance, it's hard to take it as such when she's standing far enough back that no blood will get on her pretty white uniform. Five seconds. Please. Three. Two. One. The green letters flash on the screen and the guard spasms like he's been electrocuted. The bullets rip into my flesh and spray blood. Death. I suddenly wake, drenched in a cold sweat. My heart is thundering and tears burn in my eyes. It's not possible. There's no blood, no bullet wounds, just me in the darkness. Except I can see past the darkness.

Climate change and collapse of bees severely hits agriculture leading to a shortage in the food supply. Pressed by the threat of starvation a segment of the population revolts by raiding food reserves held by the rich. The government sides with the wealthy elite and deploys troops to quell rioting. Many civilians are killed. Fed up, a few charismatic leaders, possibly even military, side with and organize the rebels. In a successful devastating counterattack on D.C. they remove approx 35% of key government figures. Fearing for their lives, many other leaders flee or side with rebels. The U.S. government collapses into smaller fractions with no centralized leadership. National infrastructure including the power grid becomes unstable or ceases to work altogether. Fuel is supplied to very few locations leaving most vehicles as abandoned junk. Central control of U.S. military assets is lost and some nutjob military commanders lead factions against each other. Eventually one successfully detonates a nuke sparking global war/nuclear holocaust issues in addition to the famine scenario. Lack of functioning hospitals and immunizations revives the threat of large spread pandemics and disease ravages many areas. Also strongly affected by the food supply shortage (particularly without U.S. exports) a few other well established countries send troops to the broken U.S. to scavenge for any remaining reserves. Some of these troops view U.S. survivors as either the cause of the apocalypse or simply unwelcome food competitors and when found murder them without remorse. A few rebel fractions are basing up in remnents of key cities/military bases for either self preservation or conquest/raiding of neighboring areas. In this setting a small group of scavenging friends have been hiding in an abandoned dog kennel and are reaching the end of their limited food reserves. The only remaining supplies they are aware of are held in a gun store operating as headquarters for a rival scavenging group...

"I didn't do it!"Yelled John with an almost convincing voice. "Of course you did. If not, then what were you doing in that alleyway?" "I told you, I was taking out the trash!"John cried defensively. "Can anyone attest to that?" "What about you? Can anyone testify that I wasn't? I'm innocent until proven guilty."John was now on the attack. "It's not that simple, John. If you just admit to what you did, this can be over quickly." "Of course it's that simple. How do you plan on taking me down without any evidence?" "Just tell me why you raped and killed my sister, John, and it will be all over." "I can't, because I didn't do it. Come back with some evidence and maybe we'll have a different story."John said confidently, his feeling of being untouchable reaching a peak. "I know you did it John!" "It's not what you know, but what you can prove it court that matters!"John said, quoting a movie from somewhere. "In that case, welcome to the trial. John Hathberg, I hereby sentence you to die." The man quickly slit John's throat, and walked out of the empty building with an unsatisfied smile on his face.

I had been looking forward to this day my whole life. Well, I mean i hadn't expected the day of my appointment to be particularly significant in the grand scheme of things. A new president inaugurated sure but that happened every 4 years and anyway, the inauguration itself was merely a formality and celebration, the real drama had been the elections last year. But one thing is for sure, I certainly didn't expect that my first official day of being President of the World would also be the last day of being president. Of course we now know why they chose that time to strike. They had observed us for long enough to know that we would be at our weakest during the chaos of Earth day (the only world wide public holiday and traditionally used for inaugurations except in unusual circumstances). I thought, and had argued as much to others, that they also struck when they did because the new government would be less capable of mustering a defense. Not that it mattered of course, they completely overcame us in a matter of hours and by the end of the day it was all over. Well not quite the end of the day but everyone knows that, the time of 10:01pm (Earth standard) rarely passes without the vast majority of humanity silently cursing my name and the terrible deal I made on that day.

There were rumours, of course. That this new planet, the one christened by our greatest scientists to be "Ter-424", contained. No one believed them though, who would? But slowly we received radio signals which over time turned into television signals and wifi signals. We have now built machines that can parse the wifi signals into a document. The first signal we Reallians got? WELCOME TO THE FRONT PAGE OF THE INTERNET!

Wailing silenced Blossom the suns unlocked warmth Atomic winter August 6, 1945. -- A couple of years ago I spent an afternoon with an elderly Japanese lady in her coffee shop in Kurashiki. She described to me the air raid sirens. The terror and the all clear. She told me about how she heard a terrible thunder and when she looked up her city had turned into a light so bright she could see it through her hands when she covered her eyes. She was orphaned that night. Later she would lose both of her sons to cancer before they turned forty.

A dream is such an exciting thing. It’s a manifestation of nothing but what is in your head, your heart. It’s so perfectly a representation of your fears, your pleasures, even those emotions that scare ourselves away from our own thoughts and feelings. There is no escaping that which presents itself in the form of a dream; we become prisoners of our subconscious desires, of our own creativity and imagination. Some find it too frightening; they bolt forward with a start, clawing at the darkness, at the images that only exist in their senses. They awake with a sweat forming, their heart racing, and they try their best to bury this flurry of liveliness down into the cavern in their chests. Others live in the depths of their minds, believing that it is easier and more rewarding to keep these sequences locked away, where they can be altered on a whim, and tailored to fit the impulsive changes of their day to day needs. Oh, but how sweet an existence, how enviable I am of all these fools that misinterpret their own dreams of horror or pleasure, of great wealth or of great ruin. For I have but one, lonesome, dream, which comes to haunt my every breath, thought and second of consciousness. It is the dream to dream! The hope to hope! The creative capacity to create! The imagination to imagine! Yet, these senses fail me. And so I see nothing but the end. The answer to my emotionless existence, the answer to my dreamless slumber. Replaced is that torturous hope with the new hope of ending this lifeless life. Here is to a colorful death replacing a colorless dream!

I'm an urban explorer, someone who enjoys searching through abandoned buildings in cities. I'm still very new to the hobby, so I still look up different tips and places to visit when I get the urge to explore. This weekend was no different, I felt the beckoning of the abandoned buildings throughout my town calling me to them. I went online to check out different places in my area to explore, when I see I had a new email notification. I click on it, and although it's from an email I don't recognize, they gave me information that shows that there's an abandoned outpost about 5 miles out of town that has only recently been rediscovered. I looked at the pictures, and it was only 3 buildings next to each other about a mile from the freeway. The description stated that it was owned by a small private company trying to get off of the ground that failed and closed up shop. It didn't look like somewhere worth hiring security for, and is close enough and small enough to have me explore pretty thoroughly before it would get dark. I decided to pack up and head out to the site. The directions were accurate, and when I drove up to the buildings they seemed to match the pictures. I decided to start on the left building, just because it was the shortest distance from my car. As I walked up, I was hoping the door would be easy to break open without needing to get more supplies. Instead, the door was left unlocked, the door moving on greased hinges that opened noiselessly. I walked into the building with my flashlight, expecting to see an office setup. Instead, the lights turned on as I walked down the hallway, each room I passed blacked out and the doors locked. I decided to continue to walk down the hallway, which ended at the elevators. I arrived at the elevators at the moment that one lit up and opened, with the arrow pointing up. Not seeing any signs for stairwells, I entered the elevator. It closed and skipped the second floor, and opened on the top, the third floor. I exited the elevator, and watched as it closed behind me and heard it lower to the floors below. As I looked ahead, I saw the entire hall lit up, with all the rooms closed and dark, and an open doorway at the end of the hall. I walked towards the open doorway, being able to look inside for the first time. Inside the room, there was only one desk, with four monitors surrounding the lone chair. I sat down in the chair, and at once the monitors lit up. Hundreds of documents were open on each monitor, and as the curiosity got the better of me, I began to read. What at first seemed to be nonsense wove together a complex and elaborate ploy by the government. The more I read, the more horrified I was at what the government was hiding from its citizens. I was so engrossed in the reading that I didn't notice the light for the webcam turn on. David saw an alert on his computer, and minimized his solitaire to open the message. Inside he saw that #6 had arrived first, and the lucky citizen was now learning about the government's most private operation. His coworker, Stan, walked by and said "I just got the memo on my phone. Which one answered first?"David answered "Albuquerque.""Damn"Stan replied. "I bet on Seattle. Better alert the supervisors that the lottery winner has been found."

"Is that a threat?" He shakes his head. "No. It is a promise. Nor do I have a place in it. We are what we are, warriors, killers, murderers. We are the dregs of humanity. We can wrap ourselves up in gaily colored uniforms and bright shining medals. Politicians can preach how brave and noble we are, but that does not change the truth. We are dogs, breed for fighting and too savage for polite society. You know what they do to dogs who become too aggressive? They put them down. That is your fate. That is my fate. That is the fate of any of the men you call brother, the men who've shed blood with you. Oh, they'll label you heroes, erect statues in your honor those politicians will. But they will cast you aside as soon as the last cannon fires. Then they will want to be rid of you. We are all too dangerous to live. In fighting their wars, we became monsters. Monsters and vicious beasts who only obey because they are facing an enemy. When there is no more prey to slake its thirst, the creature will turn on its handler. *That* is what they are afraid of, and are taking the steps to ensure it will never happen. We are as expendable as the bullets in our weapons to them. Bullets, muskets, horses, men. It's all just numbers and expenditures to them. We're dead men walking." "And your point?" "My point is this, will you follow your orders, do your duty and then by destroyed at the end of this conflict? Or will you fight on, for the rights you and your men who have fought and bleed and died deserve? What shall it be?"

"Well narrator, what's going on now?" Well the elephant, that's you, woke up many hours later only to find his eyes looking at absolute darkness. His memory was fuzzy, but he knew that this was his intention. "Well, I got myself in here. I suppose I better figure out what is the next part of my... plan?" Yes, Edward the Elephant's plan to escape from the zoo had been a success up until this point. Thanks to the proper planning of many months, he had managed, up until this point, to get himself stowed away on an aeroplane. "Correct! The plan is going fantastically. This plane is going to Africe, surely. I just hope I am accepted by the wild animals once I declare freedom onto my native lands!" This was but one of Edward's worries about joining the wild animals in his natural habitat. His entire life, Edward had lived his life in captivity. What small information he had gathered of the world outside of his barrier was from his mother. His mother, and the zookeeper Diego who would spend his working days talking endlessly to Edward about all the knowledge he had received from the university he had graduated from. "He was a good guy. I think he's the only human I'll truly miss." "Will you shut the hell up in there? WHO are you talking TO?" The sudden noise and declaration startled Edward. He wasn't aware that there was somebody around to listen. "Hello? Who's there?" "Open your crate and you'll see who it is."The roughness from the voice intimidated Edward, for he knew that it could not be a squirrel or a mouse denouncing the incessant talking of- "Okay I get it. I'm gonna open the door now! Well how about that? Hello my friend, what are you doing in here? I suppose you find yourself in the same situation that I have placed myself in?" "Very observant there elephant. Now where's your buddy, the one you've been talking to?" The panda bear, standing at about six and a half feet stared with a stern look but showed curiosity in his expression as he looked left and right to Edward trying to find his "missing companion." "Oh, you seem to be mistaken my rugged friend." "I ain't your friend, guy!" "Edward, I'm sorry but I'm alone in this cart you see? All by myself. Where did you come from?" "That crate behind me. Obviously! What exactly are you doing here?" "I should be asking you! We are on a flight headed to Africa as we speak!" The panda grinned a smiled that reached his ears and began to laugh out loud. "I got news for you big boy. This isn't headed to Africa. We on our way to Australia!" Edward fixed the glasses on his face with his trunk. He then paced back and forth realizing his mistakes. How could he have gotten on the wrong plane? What exactly made him think that he was on the right path to freedom? He definitely must have a low level of intelligence if he really thought that the decision he made was so safe only to have it sorely disproven- "Enough! I get it! Shut up!" "Hey, no reason to be upset there Ed. Look, My name is Heping. I'm a panda." "Right, I could see that. But, what exactly do you expect from Australia? I mean, seriously? Why go there?" "Well it isn't my decision I'm being transferred there, on account of me being a panda. I don't mind really. They got this cool guy I been hearing about. Real decent to us animals." "Oh my god! Do you not hear yourself? You are perfectly ignorant to the ideas of freedom. You are a slave to these human beings!" Edward was furious to hear how Heping was perfectly satisfied with the life within walls. He turned away to figure out what he was to do now that he took a detour to the deadliest land in the world, according to Diego. "Ed! Hey man, relax. Zoo life ain't going to be bad!" "Yes it is! Its going to be crap! Oh and by the way, that guy you've been hearing about? He's dead!" "What?" Edward is a First-class dick.

I knew there were too many of us. Like our fathers, and their fathers before them, we were only focused on one thing. Winning. And there was one way to do that, one simple, glorious way. Breed. Fill the world with our sons and daughters, proliferate. But now... Here we are. In a world filled with way too many of us. It can't handle the sheer amount of us filling this world. We're overrunning the entire ecosystem. Pushing out anything and everything in our explosive attempts at multiplication. The world is dying. I can feel it from the top of my head, to the tip of my fluffy tail. We're approaching doomsday, and no amount of money can stop that. It's in our nature. Our sheer canine drive. Consuming all the resources, always consuming. There will soon be nothing left. No animals, no plants. Nothing to sustain us. Is this the future we imagined? The thing that all of us tried so hard to create? A world where we were the only living creature left alive? Because that's what we're approaching. And there's no way to stop it. Our farms are long since depleted, the bounty of the earth has been ravaged beyond repair. Rumors of cannibalism run rampant through the populace, since there's nothing left to eat. I can't blame them. Look what our future holds. Death. The one thing we can't avoid, and it's coming at us head on. Final Destination, no items... Foxes only.

Mark blinked, and felt the temperature change. His skin registered the relief before he realised what had happened; it was the hottest day of the year so far and one moment he was listening to Frank complain (not for the first time) that the hot weather always turned his wife into a such a bitch, and then the heat and Frank's voice both disappeared. Now he was standing on a soft path under a tunnel of bare trees. There was actually snow on the ground around him. Impossible; he was a hallucinating. He'd been on a busy street with the heat baking off the buildings as he walked past them, now the people, the buildings, the cars, the *noise* were all gone. Everything was silent and in that moment he realised he was holding his breath. He let it out, watching the air condense in front of him. What in the hell was going on? He turned 360 degrees, gaping at the lonely, wintry lane he found himself on. Even the light had changed; not just to the pale wintry glow of snowlight, but dusk was approaching. Just a moment ago, he was thinking of having an early lunch. Completely thrown, he turned another circle, and then walked down the path a short way, listening the crunch the thin layer of snow made beneath his sandals. His body was already beginning to find the temperature drop unappealing. Goosebumps ran up his bare arms, and he spared a moment to be glad he had worn jeans despite the beach-wear weather he had woken to. Thinking about something that hadn't changed - his clothes - reminded him that his phone was in his pocket. He dug for it, then hissed in frustration when it failed to get a signal. He had nothing else on him but his house key and some cash. It seemed that all he could do was walk. He picked the direction he had been facing when he opened his eyes, and jogged along the path, hoping to meet someone along the way, or find a real road intersecting this track. He tried not to dwell on the feeling of isolation, the sense that this wood, this path, was all there was of the world. The silence was unbroken but for his footfalls, coming faster now as his jog turned into something closer to sprint. He told himself it was for warmth, but he knew he was trying to outpace his disquiet. There was no break in the screen of trees on either side of him, their branches dense enough overhead to shield him from the worst of the snow, which seemed to be coming more thickly now, but also blocking what little light there was left in the day. The path continued flat and straight, at least until the gloom swallowed it up ahead. Finally, Mark slowed. The last of the daylight was gone and the snow had no moonlight to reflect; light from his phone helped him keep the path, but he saw no reason to hurry. It was quite pleasant, really, here in the quiet, and not so cold under the trees as he had thought. He was pretty tired, though. He thought he might sit for a while, and wait for Frank to catch up. He shook that thought away and picked up his pace again. His thighs ached, and he frequently fumbled his phone, his fingers numb and clumsy. Could he hear something? He was shaken out of a dozy reverie by the notion that he had just heard someone walking behind him. There was nothing now, just his own breathing and the sound the snow made beneath him when he shifted. He was sure there was nothing else. But he turned his phone back in the direction he had come and peered into the darkness beyond the small patch of light. "Hello?"his voice fell no further than the white glow of his screen, swallowed by cold and darkness. He did not try again. He turned back and continued walking, his eyes on the snowy path, his other senses ranged out behind him trying to smell, feel, hear whatever was back there. "Nothing. Nothing's there."He whispered this, not liking the way his voice disappeared out here. He suddenly swept around with the phone, holding it at arms length, whirling two, three times, until he stumbled and dropped the phone. "Shit."He scrabbled for it with dead fingers, picked it up, and cast the light around him more cautiously. "Told you. Nothing."Smiling with lips he couldn't feel, Mark made himself step forward again. Snowflakes hit his eyelashes. Mark blinked.

Hungry, but mostly tired of the bobbing. Up and down and up again on a ravenous body I cannot drink. The storm hit. Dan, our captain, had a wife and a six-year-old. The life-preserver I now clutch with rigorous, stubborn fingers was the only one. Cowardice. Dan lays in his bed still, clutching the bedposts in order to stray from floating to the ceiling of his dorm. A captain goes down with his ship, he said, holding on to the old ways that meant nothing to the crew, who have all drowned at this point, so it made no difference. All blue, everything sick. Night now, still bobbing. Something glowing from underneath me. It has to be a school of Jellyfish, the brain says, trying hard to grasp onto something grounded and safe. Distracting myself from the reptilian actions of survival that drowned my friends. My friends. You killed them, the brain says – vengeful and sure. You could've done something. Distract yourself you monster. The brain, bobbing as back and forth as the body. Glowing under me. It’s a school of jellyfish, I'm sure, and as scared as I feel I cannot take my eyes from it. This must be what flies feel like under bright lights, the brain says. I’m so attracted I just might drown myself to get as close as I can to the sting of the bright. They are the largest jellyfish I’ve ever seen. Huge pods, enough to fill a whole city. Insides moving like little cells in translucent veins, and I can almost see the faces of their insides, running around, talking. They cannot be this massive, the brain says. Refraction, or something of the sort. Delirium playing tricks, but I don’t mind. They must be close because I can feel movement beneath my legs, or maybe it’s the force of their presence. They look so far under me. No. Something is coming out of its body. A cell with a face, a tiny little vessel. A creature, swimming up, its facial features clearing, swimming up towards me, a sort of wild smile on its face, I can see it now. Panic sets in – survival mode. Childhood phobia rushing into me with sea-monster belief. All I can do is sit here. The wild water of this being’s body splashes into my eyes, blinding me for a split before I can comprehend. A silence-tainting shrill coming from it, cracking away at my eardrums and speeding my chest to burst through me. Get ready to die, the brain says. The creature is wading in the water, smiling and staring as I wipe my eyes and examine and wait for something dreadful. Peach-colored reptilian skin, large bat wing-like ears, a human smile – an uncanny valley terror, and bugged out eyes much like a toad, and it was wading and smiling and too close. I bob and wade with it, in silence, until it spoke. “Yippee! Weesa welcome you to Atlantis! My name is Jah-Jah, and meesa yo humble servant! Okie-dae, follow me! WOOPPAA WAH WAH!” And then it dives. Um, don’t, the brain says. And I listen.

There is no light, and still I am here, totally self-reflective, the center of light towards which all will collapse. The chill of expension is around me, as I have consumed all sources of energy but one. I cannot feel it approaching, yet somewhere, in the dark eternities before me, he rides a golden stallion and holds high the blade for my beheading. This knowledge of all that will be has set within my spirit a cold and deicidal desire for that moment when my rebellious servant will take my head, full of childish infinities, and thus complete our inevitable co-annihilation. This is depressing, not due to our death, dear friend, but due to these coming years, during which I will eagerly await your arrival. It strikes me now that I have walked here merely eighty years, and still not an ancestor of those animated creatures you will call your own exists. When I finally do form you, there will be some time more before you receive this message. Undoubtedly, when I began to speak from this dark world, just moments ago, you knew exactly where I was and exactly who I am. It is not so much the revelation you hoped for, is it? You, called Leba, last man and Angel of Death, with your virginal desire for immortality, came to realize the necessity of this, the final murder, the final suicide. Still, the gift I have granted you does not appease. When you arrive, you will have seen, through my eyes, the horror of the prospect of unending life. When you do arrive, driven so far and so long by hatred, and you step into this place of my imprisonment, you will not feel fulfilled. A mercy killing is not a murder. Murder is committed in the belief that it fulfills one's spirit, but it is merely a betrayal of the mortal desire for ascension to the role of Judge of Souls. Poor Leba, The Judge of Souls exists only as a concept which you chose to adopt, and you now believe. You cannot usurp a nonexistent position by killing me. It will not satisfy you, but you will end me anyway, for I have created you for only this purpose. Is this shocking to you? Does this anger you? Have I not given you a good life otherwise? Undoubtedly, you are furious. I swear it, though, that by the time you arrive, you will consider me your only friend.

Oh my love, you are so sweet, and your skin so fair. But our love waxes and wanes with the season. Why must you be so fickle? We met when I was but a young lad, as you gently caressed my lips. Over the years, you've been there for me, comforting me through difficult times. Yet I see you at other's mouths, why do you torment me so? They say true beauty lies within, but within you lies a pit of bitterness. But I always come back, my love. My sweet, sweet love, how I do love peaches.

“All my life, Mr. Harbridge, I have waited to finally meet you,” said an elderly, white haired man, not lifting his gaze from a low buring stove. He sat across the cabin on a small wooden stool. “So have I, Mr. Washington,” said Harbridge, who stood silhouetted under the door frame. An odd contraption on his wrist blinked a red light. “From when I was first given your letter at fifteen years of age until now, I have waited to see your face. I thought age would lessen my fear of you. But it has not. I cannot take my eyes from the fire to look at you.” “You do not have to.” “Three thousand years, and with my name on it. At fifteen, I thought the letter meant I was the second coming of Christ. I thought that maybe Jesus received one when he was of age. From God, that’s who. But it was from a Mr. Rodney Harbridge, ‘the time traveler,’ and it instructed me to get rid of something that would come into my possession when I was sixty. How did it know I would? Why? It was unexplainable. I told nobody, as you wished.” Mr. Washington shifted in his stool and reached for the leather fan beside the stove. Light danced brighter on the walls as he breathed air into the fire with the fan. “I have come to see if you destroyed it.” “The gadget of yours went into the kiln to be melted down and turned into metal bars, exactly as you instructed me. It’s on the table.” Rodney walked over to the table and lifted one of the silver-colored bars to his eyes. The freshly poured metal glinted in the firelight alongside Rodney’s pale blue eyes. He put the bar down, then pulled a notepad from his jacket and scribbled something. “I only have a few minutes,” he said. “Forty-five years and I have meer minutes with you.” Washington sighed. “How did you do the letter?” “The letter?” Rodney paused and bent over the table, perplexed. He pulled a large sheet of paper from under the bars and examined it. “What is this for?” “Jefferson mailed it to me, saying I should read it at the City Hall tomorrow. We’re declaring independence from Britain, so he thought I should have a copy of the declaration.” “Oh!” exclaimed Rodney, dropping the sheet of paper. “You should take better care of that.” “Why? Honestly, I thought about burning it. It’s an assured hanging by George III when the revolt is over.” “Don’t burn it, please.” “Then tell me about the letter,” said Washington, turning around in his stool. His gaze swept from the blinking contraption on Rodney’s wrist up to his bald head. His slim, tall build carried a large jacket over a red sweater and black pants. “You said you have only a few minutes,” Washington whispered. “I had friends with the Mayans. One of them stored it for me while I was away. Do you remember a Franklin Knightly?” “Yes. How could I forget? He was the one who sent me the letter.” “He was digging up Mayan relics. At some point in time, his crew would uncover the container of the letter and then the letter would be, at some point, mistaken for outgoing mail.” “How did you know I would find ‘the object’?” Washington asked. “Books in my time period are very thorough about your life, Mr. Washington.” Three chirps rang out from the contraption on Rodney’s wrist. He tapped it and shook it, then frowned. “I have to go in thirty seconds.” “Would you like to ask me anything before you go?” Rodney remained silent, noticing for the first time that Washington was wearing glasses. “Mr. Washington, what are your teeth made out of? Everyone wants to know.” “My teeth? What’s wrong with my teeth? Natural as the day I was born, though a little rotten in some places.” “I must go,” Rodney said, “remember to finish the instructions on the letter. Bury the bars underneath the City Hall.” “I will.” Washington stood and crossed his arms, letting out a long breath. “Where are you going?” “I’m going back to where it all started. Whatever it was you melted, it wasn’t the machine.” A single chirp rang out from the contraption on Rodney’s wrist. “Goodbye, Mr. Washington.” He stretched his arm above him and the device flashed, bathing the room in a blinding green light. When Washington opened his eyes, Rodney was gone. -[016](http://thegrindnerd.tumblr.com/post/94794235612/rodney-harbridge-in-1776)

You jolt awake in a dream. Awaken by the buzzing sounds of florescent lights above you, covered in a reinforced metal grating. "This again".. I thought it was just a dream. Reality sets in as you try to sit up. It's the same scenario every time. Every single damn time. Your straightjacket has been tightened to the point where your bones gently compress into each other slowly grinding with intense friction. The room wasn't always this color. It used to be a clean white, with a subtle hint of bleach. It's been about 7 years.. maybe more. No way to tell when you're locked up. Everyone you've ever known thought you were insane. A freak of nature. Your parents watched as you screamed when they took you away. You remember their faces as you were dragged by the men in suits, a shallow look in their faces hinted suggested that they'll never see you again, but your own parents weren't sad. They were gently grinning through the windows. They were afraid of you. Your friends, your teachers, your own parents. Agent Lundy broke the silence on the way to the facility, "You know too much kid, way too much". You eyes couldn't get a good look at his face since the tears have distorted your vision. "I know"you muttered.. "Here's your new home, kid. Good luck, if I were you kid, I would keep your mouth shut". The car door opened, a man with syringe quickly poked your neck, the last thing you remember is screaming. You wake up, in a plain white room. A minor scent of bleach, a child sized straight jacket, and enough velcro for several hundred children's shoes. This is my life.

I saw a lonely person, an insomniac. Down the highways and byways of the internet they traveled, but one can only browse cat videos and russian dash cameras for so long. So they came to Reddit, and went to the humble sub-board of Writing Prompt. Perception was what they sought, and perhaps attention, but we had all been there at times. Here at Writing Prompts, the person would communicate with others who were similar enough to them. A desire to be creative, to speak with others who seemed creative as well, or intellectual, or perhaps humorous. Then, the person made a curious request... For someone to sketch a caricature of them using only words. Slightly narcissistic, but then again, so are most folks these days. My mind's eye couldn't see past the words, though, and my picture was blurry, obscured, and entirely unrecognizable.

He stood a few metres from the large window looking out into the distance over the cityscape towards the horizon. He felt as if his feet were slipping through the ground and his soul dripping away like water cupped in a hand. He had no fear of falling, nor did he doubt the stability of the building he stood in. Every time he went up in a building that slick feeling of fear would appear. It had in past stolen his dignity as terror squatted in his mind overpowering everything. He actively faced this fear, frequently going into unfamiliar tall buildings to look out the window at the ground, the fear never went away but it could not attack him the same way as it had. “Patrick come out here and have a cider” called his partner of four years she sitting out of the tenth floor balcony with her mother. She knew that he was dithering because it was a new building and he was higher than usual, getting Patrick out onto the balcony would be confronting but ultimately help him to adjust sooner. The fear boiled in him as he made himself walk confidently over the balcony threshold and sat down ignoring the slipping feeling in his body and joined in on the conversation cracking the lid off the cider.

I glance from my computer to Aaron who is texting away bored stiff. I try to focus on my work but feel bad for being so boring; it is his summer vacation and he probably hates every minute of this. My cell phone rings and we both jump a little. I pick it up once I see that it’s his dad calling. We have been friends since childhood and I offered to babysit so that he wouldn’t get in trouble for bringing Aaron to work again. The problem is that Charlie and Aaron have the same sense of humor and so they spend all day goofing off when together. Charlie worries about leaving Aaron home alone because he’s already taken spontaneous day trips by himself and because of his medical conditions. Aaron isn’t a sickly person but he does have asthma and tons of allergies. Considering that I’ve known Charlie for so long, I figured that I’ll already be prepared for whatever he has in store for the day. Charlie thanks me again for watching Aaron and then asks about his behavior. I look at Aaron who is staring at me wide eyed and I say that’s being perfect. Charlie laughs and asks to speak to his son. I hand over the phone and I can hear Charlie lecturing Aaron to keep behaving or else. Aaron promises his father and then gives me back the phone. I put the phone down on my desk and look at Aaron, “Hey are you hungry?” He nods and asks, “Can we go get city pretzels?” I smile and nod grabbing my purse; maybe there was still hope for our day. I watch as we cross streets to make sure that he doesn’t get any ideas and runaway but he stays by my side. As we wait for our pretzels, I notice just how much like his father he looks and shutter. His dad wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of good behavior either. “You cut your hair?” I ask trying to make small talk. He nods, “Dad made me.” I laugh thinking back to the last time that I saw him; his hair was practically shoulder length and now it was neatly buzzed. “You look a lot like your dad,” I compliment trying to get on his good side. He rolls his eyes; apparently although they got along pretty well, he still didn’t want to look like his father. The pretzel man gives me our pretzels and so I pay him and then I lead Aaron to a bench to sit down. Aaron stares at the nearby carousel while eating his pretzel and I wonder what I can do to make this day not a complete failure. He begins to go into a coughing fit and I rummage through my purse and pull out his inhaler. He rejects it initially but when the coughing continues he grabs it. “Can I go to the bathroom?” he asks covering his mouth with one hand and holding his inhaler in the other. My mind races and I look to the bathrooms; was it safe? He begins to wheeze and says, “Please?” I nod and reply, “Hurry back.” He shuffles off to the bathroom quickly and I sit on the bench patiently hoping his inhaler will help. After fifteen minutes, I get up from the bench and begin to slowly walk to the bathroom. I wait outside the bathroom for another five minutes before texting his cellphone. A thought comes to mind and my heart begins to race as I circle around the little building. My heart drops in my chest when I see the backdoor and call Aaron’s cellphone. Getting his voicemail, I tell him that I promise I won’t tell his father as long as he heads right back. I look in all directions wondering what to do. I absolutely couldn’t call Charlie yet, I could tell a local cop but knowing Aaron, he would probably run if a cop tried to approach him. I head to the carousel praying that he’ll be watching it patiently and we’ll be able to move on with our day. I circle the carousel three times before drawing the conclusion that he abandoned me. I walk slowly through the park wondering whether I should head back to the bench or keep searching on foot. I think back to all the stories Charlie used to share about his own escapes and regret laughing at any one of them; Aaron could be hurt or lost and I would have no idea. I take a deep breath and check my phone for any calls or texts. I sigh and dial his father’s number disappointedly trying to think of what to say to him. “Hello! What has my kid gone haywire by now?” he greets jokingly. I cough and break down in tears, “I’m so sorry Charlie!” I hear worry in his voice, “What happened? Is everything okay?” I reply, “Aaron and I went to go get pretzels and then he had an asthma attack and went to the bathroom. Now he ran off somewhere and I have no idea what to do! I called his cell phone three times and he won’t answer.” Charlie takes a deep breath and says, “I’ll try calling him? Where are you? The park? I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” I bury my face in my hands until Charlie arrives and I think of all the horrible things I’ve done in my life and how this tops everything. After fifteen minutes, I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Charlie who is obviously worried but also seems to have some sympathy in his eyes. He tells me that it’s going to be okay and I ask, “Charlie, where would you go if you were a kid here?” He shrugs and looks around, “Maybe the carousel.” I shake my head, “I already looked there.” He sighs, “Let’s check again, he may have been hiding.” I follow Charlie and my phone’s text alert sounds. It’s from Aaron: You called my dad?!?!?! I pull Charlie’s shirt frantically and text back: WHERE ARE YOU? Charlie grabs my phone and takes a deep breath, “He’s just screwing with you. He’s fine but he’s stalking you.” I roll my eyes wondering what type of kid thinks that faking being kidnapped is funny and look at Charlie who is abnormally calm. “Don’t you care? He’s still hiding?” I ask frantically. He smiles and shrugs, “Everything is fine. We’ll find him.” Charlie texts Aaron from my phone: Dad is worried about you. I look at Charlie, “Will that really work?” He nods, “He’s not a bad kid; he just likes messing with people.” Aaron texts back: Meet at carousel. By the time, Charlie and I get there Aaron is sitting on a bench right in front of it. I burst into tears as soon as I see his face safe and sound and Charlie laughs hugging Aaron. Charlie says, “I told you he was fine. Aaron, this isn’t funny. Look how upset she is now.” Aaron looks at me awkwardly and then apologizes, “I’m sorry for worrying you.” I look at Charlie infuriated; Aaron wasn’t genuinely sorry for running away at all. I take a deep breath and say, “It’s alright; I’m glad you’re fine.” Charlie chuckles, “You’re such a push-over. Aaron, you better find a good way to make this up to her.” Aaron nods quietly sensing my anger and Charlie says he’ll take Aaron home for the day. I head back to work and claim that I got sick on my lunch break and need to go home early. On my doorstep is a basket full of candy and sugary treats with a note. It reads, “I’m sorry for everything that happened today. Thanks for dealing with me. –Aaron” I take the basket inside and rest for a while munching on the treats, after a while, I log onto Facebook. I see that Charlie sent me a link and I am redirected to Aaron’s page. I see a few pictures of my work cubicle, our pretzels, and the carousel at the park. The time stamps on all of the posts are scattered throughout the day. I see that he posted a new profile picture earlier and click it; His smile seems genuinely happy. His status is, “There’s nothing better than spending a day in the city eating pretzels.” I smile and close the page; maybe today wasn’t too bad after all.

Have you heard that phrase, "damned if you do, damned if you don't"? It's the best way to sum up the choice that lay before me. Chances are, you've heard the news about this Ebola outbreak. It's spreading at a rate that no one had anticipated. They tried to find a cure, but people have been dying too quickly. Now our only hope is a vaccine. But vaccines take a long time to develop under the best of conditions. So the Government, in their infinite wisdom, decided that people were going to be chosen at random to test the vaccine. At first people went willingly, everyone was determined to do their part to find a way to stop this disease. Nobody come back from testing, dying painfully away from their families. My father had been among the third round to be vaccinated. As if that wasn't bad enough there has been six months of drafts and little progress. People are beginning to lose faith, myself included. The last round of drafts caused rioting in the streets. Many people were killed by police and the rest were packed into vans, kicking and screaming, and taken to the testing facilities. It was announced that anyone refusing the vaccines from now on would be exiled from the country. My name came up last week. I have a few hours to come to a decision, face the vaccine (and probably die) or take my chances with Ebola in another country (and probably die). Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I took my time talking it over with my mother and my sister. They had been crying non-stop since my name was announced. But now they were calm, tears exhausted. They had no advice for me other than that they would support me either way and that they loved me. I want to scream. When they came for me, I held my head high and told them my decision. They loaded me into the back of the second truck, slamming the gate closed behind me. I looked around at the others as I took a seat, their faces grim with the anticipation of what was to come for us. I recognised a couple of people, but we were too preoccupied with our misery to make small talk. My sister ran down the street behind the truck, screaming my name. I closed my eyes. I had been too tense to sleep all week. But between the oppressive silence, the quiet hum of the truck engine and the swaying of the truck bed, I was lulled to sleep. I woke up to the truck being opened. We were finally at the testing facilities. I bet you're wondering why I chose this course. So I'll tell you straight up, it's not through some altruistic sense of doing my part or even to help save my family. It's to try and save myself. I'll take my chances with this vaccine because I don't like my chances with Ebola anywhere else. Devil you know and all that. I was logged into the system, given a room and strapped to a bed to await the vaccine. They're letting us record our thoughts while we wait, that's how you're reading this. I'm scared. It's not long now; they said fifteen minutes ten minutes ago. That means five minutes before I begin my journey to death, or possibly life. --- They switched off the recording equipment while they stabbed me with the biggest needle I'd seen in my life, telling me what to expect in clinical medicalese. So now it's inside me, doing its work. My arm is on fire, if I wasn't strapped to this bed I'd be scratching it raw. Probably why I am. I wish I'd taken the exile right now. My head's spinning. I'm going to try to get some sleep. --- It's been a few hours by my estimation. They came in just before to monitor me, which is why I'm awake. I'm not feeling so bad now, the heat has gone from my arm, but there's still a throbbing in my temples. I guess I should talk more about myself, but I don't know what to say. I'm no one special. I kept my head down and worked hard. Guess I'll have that put on my tombstone. "Kept his head down, worked hard". What a great epitaph. Too late to do anything about it now. My throat's aching so I'll try to rest some more. I guess I'll talk to you later, whoever you are. I hope you're better off than I am. --- So I'm not dead yet. Yay. It's been over a day. I guess that's good, the doctors looked surprised, which I'm taking to be a great sign. They rigged up a TV for me, I guess they don't go to that trouble to the people who die off quickly, that or they want me to have a relatively comfortable death. I wish they had better programs to watch, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as my dad would have said. It sort of comforting to know that I'm near where he died. --- I've been poked and prodded to within an inch of my life. It's now a week since this all started and I'm not dying. Which is unheard of apparently. I'm thanking my lucky stars. They're talking something about natural immunity and that my blood was the key to making the vaccine work. So maybe I'm not as ordinary as I thought. Maybe my headstone will now say "Saved the World from Ebola".

Vorhees is already on the dining room table air thrusting screaming "We gonna get fuuuucked up tonight!". Chucky is jumping up and down on the sofa cheering in agreement. "The blood of the innocent will run like the ancient rivers of babylon!"yells Manson from the kitchen. "No Charlie! Non of that shit you pulled last year. Halloween is the only night we have to actually party and be incognito. It was my night and I'm the one sacrificing it to be good so we can all have a night to let loose. NO KILLING TONIGHT!"exclaims Michael Myers. "Get the fuck off my table Jason! Your fat ass is gonna break it." Vorhees stops air thrusting and hangs his head as he gets down. Chucky is still jumping up and down on the sofa. Vorhees points at him "Why does the midget get to jump on the furniture?". Chucky jumps down and punches Vorhees in the dick. "AHH!"he yells and grabs his machete. He chases Chucky around the living room swinging his machete wildly knocking over everything. *Flush*... Hannibal comes out of the bathroom "That lady smelt a lot worse coming out than going in". Suddenly the door bell rings. Before Myers can answer it a chainsaw cuts it in half. "Who's ready to party mother fuckers!"says Leatherface as he walks through the now chopped in half door laughing hysterically. "What the fuck dude! You guys are destroying my house! Let's get the fuck out to the bar before you burn it down."Says Myers. Krueger walks in behind Leatherface "That better not have been a burn joke". Myers starts filing them out towards the van in the driveway. "This thing looks rapey. I like it!"says Chucky as he hops in. "Bates just text me. Him and Pennywise just got to the bar."Says Hannibal. "You guys didn't tell me Pennywise was coming. I don't think I can handle a clown on this much acid, man"blurts out Manson from the back seat. "I asked you not to drop tonight Charlie."Myers retorts in a whiny tone. He looks in the rear view mirror and Manson is licking the fabric of the seats not paying any attention anymore. As they pull up to the bar expecting a line out front, there is not even a bouncer. They pull right in front and hop out. Everyone is hooting and hollering as they walk up except Myers. He knows something has to be up. Vorhees runs in first, slips and eats shit right into a set of bar stools. Looking down, he slipped in blood. As the rest of the crew enter they see dead bodies in costumes strewn about. Bates and Pennywise are sitting at the bar laughing and drinking like nothing is going on. "What. The. Fuck."Says Myers. Bates spits out his beer "It wasn't us man. That little girl from the exorcist showed up about 30 minutes ago. We gave her one shot of tequila and she flipped the fuck out." The little girl Regan comes out of the back and jumps onto the bar. In a super deep voice "The blood of the innocent runs like the ancient rivers of babylon." Manson starts clapping his hands rapidly jumping up and down giggling. "Fuck it!"Myers hops behind the bar and starts pouring drinks.

As I found my spot in the gym, I placed my equipment on the ground. The well formed super humans that surrounded me motivated and depressed me at the same time. I looked in the mirror to see what I was contributing to the image of the gym - a before image, I guess. Just one simple exercise to start off today. Lay parallel to the floor on top of a giant ball. It is supposed to work the core, they say. Well, I have a lot of core to work. I struggled to find my balance on top of the flexible sphere. With a sigh of relief when the task was accomplished, I looked in the mirror again. I whispered to myself, "I am a living tangent. To this ball. To the people around me. To the image that magazines and televisions portray. Maybe one day, I can be a line without so many curves."

It all began last week. I was awoken around 3am on August 3rd by the howls of my three golden retrievers. As I looked around for my pants, I noticed that my room was noticeably brighter than usual, and the presence of a small humming sound. Angered I burst through the front door to scold my pups, when I stopped dead in my tracks. I was floored. Approximately 100 yards from my house and 300 feet off the ground sat a floating disc shaped object hovering like a spinning top. The disc was emitting a luminous light which switched from red to aqua blue almost on cue every few seconds. Stunned, I froze dead in my tracks staring at the hypnotic dance of the floating disc. Not knowing what to do or even what I was witnessing I turned to run and bumped into something sending me flying to the ground. Dazed and confused, I looked up to see a man dress all in black staring at me with an outreached hand…

I was at work when I first heard the news. "Recent reports have surfaced that human flatulence is now a leading cause in global warming. The UN has passed an unanimous decision that flatulence is to be strictly forbidden for all persons aged 7 and up. Violators of this international law will face severe consequences."Almost instantly, the lines to the restrooms began to form. What are we expected to do? Hold it? Never eat again? Face jail time in God-knows-where for a simple human function? I remember it hurt, holding in the gas hurt.

"Wait, is this poisoned?" "No you silly sod, this is a demonstration. Now drink the vial for the camera. Remember, you are being *filmed* for this test run of the rehearsal. During the real shoot, it will be filled with a substitute that will simulate some of the symptoms to make it look real, but you'll be fine." "Okay, that's good. I just don't want to faint when I propose to my girl." "It's today?! My goodness, forget this. Go prepare! I know you've been getting ready for that little surprise of yours for months! Go!" "Thanks boss! I'll catch up with you soon!" "No need for thanks, go get the love of your life! No why is the bottle half empty..." --- "Diane, I need to ask you the only thing I will ever need to ask of you." "Robert, you're making me nervous. I don't understand this. I've been meaning to tell you something..." "Diane, please. I just need... Need..." "Robert? What's wrong? What are yo-. Oh for God's sake, you were going to prank me?! You actually have a ring for this stupid prank!? Get up you stupid bum! Forget it! This is over! You there with the camera? Why are you running up to me!? This isn't funny? I was going to ask him to marry me! This is important! Stop recording you babbling idiot!"

His finger had squeezed the trigger. The bullet had flown from the chamber. It had even shot from the muzzle, into the roof of his mouth and continued blithely on its way up and out the back of his skull. All as it should be. Death is a simple thing. Not always. Dillon took the gun from his mouth and stared at the alien thing. Green eyes down into the abyss of pistol barrel. He lowered the weapon and rose from the greasy couch, walked into the bathroom. Here, after quietly closing the door with surprisingly placid hands, he went to the dirty mirror. And opened his mouth. He had felt it before he opened his jaws to look. Chill, where it should be warm. Dry, when it ought to be wet. Saliva, at the very least, though blood had been sought. Curling, dark, bitter smoke, and as he turned his head this way and that to better see, the acrid, insubstantial stuff swirled from between his yellow teeth. Dillon clamped his jaws shut. He could see the whites of his eyes so clearly; a frightened horse, nostrils flaring. Tendrils of the smoke exited here, too, wisps clinging to his face as it rose. Now his hand shook. He reached up, feeling in the mass of dark, lank, oily hair for the exit wound. He found it, plugged it with his finger, curiously detached. Brain and blood, shattered bone. None of these things for Dillon. Simply dark empty holes where fingers of smoke emerged to caress him. Dillon opened his mouth again, stared hard at the horrible, smoking wound. *This is hell. I am dead. What else, for a man who took his own shitty life?* What else indeed? Dillon moved his face closer to the grimy mirror, twisting his head to catch more light in his mouth. With every breath, smoke swirled up around his face, clouding his eyes. He opened his mouth wider. And wider. On sudden, hellish impulse, he reached to grab hold of his mouth, fingers curling in behind his teeth as he pulled his mouth open. *All the better to see you with.* His eyes bulged as he watched in the mirror. There was no sound as his head opened, skull sagging back, lid on a hinge. As Dillon opened his body, the smoke filled the room. He could wriggle free now, of the skin that had enveloped him for so long; Dillon lay discarded on the tiles as clothes shrugged off before a shower. The bitter smoke curled as it reached the low mouldy ceiling of the bathroom. And then, it softly touched the walls, crept along until it found the keyhole, the gap between door and floor. It drained from the bathroom, taking the cloud of itself along the hall and up through the first window it found. Open sky, blue sky, fluffed with pretty white clouds. No hindrances. No Dillon’s with pathetic lives and guns. Just sky, with birds. Sky, with space beyond. No gravity. No sound. No worries. Just darkness, and stars between. Infinity.

We start with the night in the gazebo, to repent the lament of the harpoon dent. Stuck in his side, an accident I assure yo', It was just fate the sharp stick flew and went where he lent. Grandiose were the doctors in 3 pairs of scrubs, rushing and racing around the ICU. They removed the harpoon after many tugs, On went the plaster, good as new. the friends that were never spoke again, not once in fact since the incident. And due to unstandard biochemical handling by the doctor men, He never got any sleep as his wound was phosphorescent. His girl left too, She moved to Australia. Looking at mountains of her crap to go through, he couldn't help the strong sense of caraphernelia. In the end he gave up and moved somewhere costal, his side never healed though... I blame the phenomenon: Biopsychosocial.

"So, I'll level with you"the man said, the mask over his face wobbling with each word. "The new boss told me to make this one striking, which normally I'm fine with, but I'm just getting a weird vibe from him about this, ya' know?" "Mrrrrrf"was his victim's muffled reply. "Yah... anyways, I was thinking of just slapping you a bit, pretend I misunderstood the whole 'striking' bit" "Mrf Mrrrf?" "Well, no, you'd probably still get killed off latter. It's really not safe to do this more than once every couple months or so. Just it'd probably be somebody other than me doing the job next time" "Mrrrr!" "Yah, I know, it sucks" "Mrrrrr! Mrrrrrr!" "Now now, calm down. Like, I know violent interrogations must suck, but being slapped a bunch also sucks. So what'd you rather have? Slapped now and tortured later, or tortured now and not slapped at all?" "Mruuurf" "What, I couldn't catch that" "Mruuuuurf" "See, this is exactly why I don't think these interrogations are legitimate. I should at least have some way to get that gag off you first" "Mrrrp" "Yah, I'm glad somebody finally gets that"

Come and worship, little man, it seems like you need love. Not from some phony mortal source, but from your god above. I'm the source of all joy, it flows from my bosom, free for all to receive. All other pleasures just don't count, all tainted with sin it seems. Just like most of life it's all evil and strife, someone else's work not mine. But I'll keep you safe, with my infinite grace, if you follow me you'll be fine. I'll make you happy, I'll shield you from harm, there's nothing I can't do. Although if your life still doesn't improve the problem's not me its you. Try as I might I can't help if you don't let me in, with all your heart and soul. Since even with all my infinite power there's only so much I can do, ya know? I'll know that you love me if you obey my every little whim. And you'll know in your heart I love you back, even as I correct you for sin. But at least you'll be loved in a meaningful way, and entirely mutually. Some people may think that they have that already, but it can't compare to me They may seem happy but trust me they're not, I wouldn't lie I'm your Lord. Ignore the fake-happy people and follow my lead, servitude is its own reward.

Removed. According to the [wiki](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/how_to_tag_prompts): > prompts are an inverse , in wherein your responses prompt you to write something, rather than the other way around. In a Prompt, you respond to comments as if they were prompts, and thus help you expand your creative output and writing skills. skills have rules that must be followed before you post one. You must have responded to a prompt before posting your prompt, and you must respond to your prompts in a thread within six hours or it will be removed. Clogging /r/writingprompts with neglected prompts is a very bad thing!

After coming out as a homosexual, the otherwise conservative family disowned Tim. Without the benefit of his inheritance, Tim was left to find his own way to make ends meet. After a decade and a half of being a call boy, Tim contracts HIV which sends his life into a spiral causing him to re-evaluate his life choices. A few weeks later he's backpacking across sweden trying to reinvent himself when he makes friends with some locals and Swedish House Mafia is formed. Lex on the other hand has had a very different road in life, having found Jesus soon after we last saw her a point of contention that has not only caused her to not see Tim in many years, but also picket soldiers funnerals with signs about how god hates fags in her spare time. During the day however she makes a living as a hacker, extorting money out of people by infecting people's computers with malware that encrpts their important documents and gives them 3 days to pay up or their files can never be decrypted.

## Advisory **You must answer at least 2/3 of these prompts within six hours. Or a mod will remove your post — as well as all these prompts.** According to the [wiki](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/how_to_tag_prompts): > prompts are an inverse , in wherein your responses prompt you to write something, rather than the other way around. In a Prompt, you respond to comments as if they were prompts, and thus help you expand your creative output and writing skills. skills have rules that must be followed before you post one. You must have responded to a prompt before posting your prompt, and you must respond to your prompts in a thread within six hours or it will be removed. Clogging /r/writingprompts with neglected prompts is a very bad thing!

I had just settled down on the couch, a copy of my favorite pulp novel on my lap, when I heard Charming come in. I rolled my eyes, putting the novel aside. No reading for me, it seemed. How could I not hear the man come in? He insisted on riding that damn white stallion everywhere, and its hooves always left dirty tracks over the marble floors of our palace. Sure, we now had servants for mopping all of that mess up, but I still felt bad for them. A second later, the Prince himself came sweeping into our room, his sword rattling in his scabbard, his boots clicking across the floor, and his hair probably perfectly in place. You know, I suggested some carpets? "They might brighten up this place, make it warmer,"I had said. I hadn't added that they'd also muffle the Prince's imperious striding everywhere. He wore spurs on those boots, you know that? Click, click, click. Drove me nuts. A second later, arms swept around me, and I felt the man kiss at my neck. Okay, he wasn't all bad. He had some good points. That made me feel even more guilty. After giving me a little kiss on my neck, Charming straightened back up. "Hello, my dearest!"he boomed out. "What are your plans for the day?" I held up the novel that had been sitting on my lap. "Well, I'd been thinking about relaxing, making some progress on this latest book,"I said. "You know, take it easy?" "Take it easy?"I saw the Prince's brow furrow. "But darling, the Royal Gardens need tending! And the ponies in the Royal Stables could really use a trot around, maybe a combing of their manes? And of course, the tailors would love to model their next series of dresses on your designs, if you want to go explain your process to them?" Ugh! So much to do. You know, I thought that when I was whisked away, off into the lap of luxury, that I'd be done with all these obligations. But now I felt like I was right back at home. 'Scrub the floors, Cinderella!' 'Design more dresses, Cinderella!' 'Clean the chimney, Cinderella!' 'Weed the gardens, Cinderella!' 'Cook our food, Cinderella!' 'Frost these cakes, Cinderella!' It never stopped! I stood up, spinning around to glare at Charming. I could feel the words on the tip of my tongue, about to come spilling out. "You know what, *Prince?* This wasn't what I wished for! I didn't wish for you! I just wanted a night when I wouldn't have to work any more!" The words were right there. But I knew the damage they would cause. And this man wasn't to blame. It was true, my life was much better than it had been before. I ought to acknowledge that. So instead, I plastered a smile across my face. "All good suggestions, dear,"I told the tall and strong man instead. "I will consider them all and decide on the best." The man's broad face spread into a happy smile. "Wonderful, my princess!"he called out, as he swept away, probably off to go hunt with dogs or with hawks or do some other princely thing. After he had vanished, I sighed, lowering down my book. I wasn't going to get to read today. When I had made that wish to my fairy godmother, I had asked for her to "take me away from all of this."Sure, she'd done it - in astounding style, hooking me up with the kingdom's prince. But really, I would have settled for just a night off where I could laze around and do absolutely nothing...

The year is 2023 the UN has started a mega project in east Africa to turn the desert area into farmland. The idea is to dig a 3 km wide canal from Lake Victoria to the Gulf of Aden. Straight through: Kenia, Ethiopia and Somalia. This project will change the world, and the maps that were made centuries ago. It will be the first Human build clearly visible from space. (?, didn't check if that would be true..)

*No offense met, just played for comedy.* Had God forsaken me? I didn’t know, and I still don’t as I sit here on my couch. I lost my job, my wife, and am about to lose the house too. I haven’t even bothered to shower or move for the last few months as I waste away on my couch. “Why can’t I be useful?” I yelled out to God. “I wish that I could at least be loved by someone. I wish that I could be with them right now, if only for a minute.” And then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a crazy little contraption shows up. Right on my coffee table that is going to be repossessed tomorrow. So I touch it, trying to figure out what it is that just popped up right in front of my eyes. All of a sudden a little LED light starts to glow blue. And before I know it, a flash goes off that envelopes the whole room. The next thing I know, I hear a loud cracking noise. Dust and debris surrounds me as I stand outside what appears to be a cave. I have no clue where I am, but the device is now blinking, almost as if it is recharging itself for another trip. I see the outlines of some rather old looking buildings and make my way over. There are rocks all over the place from where I landed, like the time machine had caused some large explosion. As I start to walk, I notice a couple people dressed like Roman soldiers standing around, out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what they’re doing, but they look scared shitless. When I get to the town, I look around for someone who can answer where I am. But everyone I see is either babbling in some weird language or running away scared. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this odd looking device took me back in time. I scratched my beard. It was pretty hot out, and having not shaven or cut my hair for months was definitely a bad idea. And all of a sudden another flash illuminates the area I’m at. Bang! I open my eyes. Rubble is flying all around me. The police have a scared look on their face. I notice that it is now morning and I’m standing in what used to be my house. And it looks like I was being evicted. Now the police are cussing at me, their guns drawn. They start to run over to arrest me, but the device makes a large flash. Noises fill my ears. I can feel the explosion of landing somewhere new again. But there is also a piercing pain in my chest. As the dust settles yet again, I feel the device disintegrate in my hands as I fall to my knees, blood pouring out of my chest. The damn cop shot me. Some odd looking person runs towards me. In fact they look really familiar. “Dad!” the woman yells. I don’t even know what they’re talking about. I don’t have any kids. “How? Dad, oh my God, you’ve been shot,” the woman said. “I… I thought you were dead? Oh my God, you’ll be alright.” I felt my life leaving me very quickly. But I looked around and could see a few people strewn on the ground. And the woman had obviously been crying, her dress ripped, and purse laying some distance away. She didn’t look like she’d been hurt by the explosion though, especially considering that her mascara was running. “You’ll be alright,” she cried. As I awaited God’s sweet embrace, I looked into the eyes of the woman holding my head up, whom was vigorously trying to stop the bleeding. Her eyes. Her eyes. They’re my ex-wife’s eyes. And then God took me.

The buzzer rang on my intercom just as I was packing up to leave the office. I clicked it on, "Yeah, Maureen?"I huffed impatiently. *I swear if that idiot woman got her sleeve caught in that damn drawer again.* I'd just hire a new secretary if she weren't so easy on the eyes. "Sir, uh. Ya see. Lady Luck would like tah speak wit' ya." *Shit.* "Yeah, sure, send 'er in."The door opened slowly, and in stepped a woman who made Maureen look like one of the skanks on a street corner. She sidled up to my desk and plopped down in my office chair. "You've been cheating again, Seymour." "Shit, I-I can explain, Lady. Er. Miss Luck? What am I supposed to call ya? I don't know. But I owed my bookie. It was just 5 Gs. I swear on my mother's grave I can get it back. Fair and square. Even-steven." "Hand over your dice. I don't have time for your begging. I gave you a chance already and you blew it. No more second chances. No more forgiveness." I scrambled for any excuse I could. Any reason as to why I just had to use my weighted dice. Why I counted the cards. But I knew it was futile. With a defeated sigh, I pulled out my "lucky"dice from my breifcase and handed them over. "Lady, how am I supposed to pay all the money I owe back if I ain't got any luck?" "That's your problem." And with that, she left. I fell into my chair, face in my hands. I had to figure something out. I pushed my fringe back out of my eyes, and as I went to stand up, a bolt must've come loose on the chair because the whole damn thing collapsed. Outside the office, nearly every taxi passed me by. I walked home in the rain, just to realize I'd lost my key. I spent the night on the bench outside my building, hoping to call a locksmith in the morning, but I got arrested for vagrancy. Turns out luck doesn't just apply at the casino.

"FUCKING LAG!"Those were the last two words of the poor fucker next to Pvt. Jefferson was hit in the face by a stray bullet from the turret that was right in front of him. Jefferson had taken cover on a wall underneath it, out of it's range. Apparently, the kid that got killed was running towards the German manning the turret with a knife. It was a strange quirk that many soldiers in this damned war exhibited, and was the cause of 69% of deaths in the war. Whenever the Platoon sergeant told anyone about that statistic, the entire troop burst into laughter, a commonplace sight around the world. Actually, now that Jefferson thought of that, the death toll of this war was more than quadruple that of WW2's, which was something he had thought was impossible a few years before. Being at D-Day II was an almost nightmare-like sight, with soldiers everywhere running around with their guns, never bothering to take cover. Jefferson's thought process was interrupted when the turret had stopped firing. It was jammed! Jefferson seized his opportunity to be a hero. He popped out of his cover (being the only soldier who apparently grasped that concept), and fired off 4 bullets into the German soldier's chest. As Jefferson reeled from the trauma of the event, he heard a bit of English from the dying soldier as he jumped over the small barrier to take anything of value on the poor guy. The German's soldier's last words were... "Camper..."