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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Alone, he spoke his final words. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The grave was so very small. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | It just isn't worth going on. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The dog died confused, in pain. | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | It would have been a girl. | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I did nothing with my life. | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Sometimes, I really miss my mom. | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | You only live once? I wish. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | It would have been a girl. | You're gone; I still love you. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I did nothing with my life. | You're gone; I still love you. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I did nothing with my life. | The dog died confused, in pain. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | The dog died confused, in pain. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | It is all your fault, son. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Sometimes, I really miss my mom. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | A fresh gravestone without fresh flowers. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Alone, he spoke his final words. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The grave was so very small. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | Everything dies, as you will learn. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | A fresh gravestone without fresh flowers. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Alone, he spoke his final words. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The grave was so very small. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | It is all your fault, son. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | Sometimes, I really miss my mom. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | Sometimes, I really miss my mom. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. | A fresh gravestone without fresh flowers. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | A fresh gravestone without fresh flowers. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | A fresh gravestone without fresh flowers. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Alone, he spoke his final words. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The grave was so very small. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | Sorry, we did all we could... |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | From cradle to cradle sized grave. | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | She smiles. He smiles. I weep. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. | Alone, he spoke his final words. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | Alone, he spoke his final words. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | The grave was so very small. | Alone, he spoke his final words. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | Alone, he spoke his final words. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | From cradle to cradle sized grave. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | Daddy, why is mommy bald again? | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | Unloved, unmourned, his note never read. |
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[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with | I died before my body did. | The grave was so very small. |
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[WP] Someone with an eating disorder is havine Christmas dinner with their family | I filled up a glass of water at the sink and slowly made my way to the table. I found my seat and sat down, dreading the next hour. I had chosen a seat that was next to the kids’ table, and a there was a small gap between the two tables where the dog would often walk through, hoping to pick up our scraps. Everyone around me was talking excitedly, passing bowls of mashed potatoes, grilled fish, salads, and bread, not a care in the world. I looked down at my plate anxiously and someone handed me a large salad bowl.
Salad was okay, I could pick at that. I piled some onto my plate, grabbing as many big leaves as I could. Next was the fish. I took a tiny piece. “Is this the cajon spiced fish? I don’t like that kind,” I muttered, as I passed the dish along. I stared at the plate of my cousin sitting next to me, filed completely with food. He began to eat and I looked away, stabbing a large piece of lettuce with my fork. I pushed it around on my plate, listening to the clinking of dishes and chatter amongst my hungry relatives as they filled their bellies with food.
I looked back up. No one was watching me. I quickly slid the piece of fish to the edge of my plate, and let it fall to the ground. The dog immediately came over and devoured it. I looked down. My plate was still so full. I picked up a piece of lettuce and put it to my mouth, chewing it very slowly as I pushed the rest of the food around on my plate. Dinner was an eternity. I sat quietly, to avoid drawing attention to myself. At this point, that was the norm for me. I listened to others’ conversations but was too caught up in my own anxiety to pay much attention. I continued to push my food around, eventually taking a bite and chewing it, then discreetly emptying the mouthful into a napkin.
Eventually, plates were clear. Great, now it’s time for dessert. “No thanks, I don’t want any, I’m so full from dinner!” That was the excuse I always gave, and it seemed to work. Hours later I retreated to my bedroom. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the folds in my stomach and pinching them. “All I want for Christmas…”
She sighed as she walked down the hallway after tucking her son into bed. She paused at the door to her daughter’s room, which was ajar. She looked through the crack and watched her gaunt daughter running her boney hands over her ribs, which protruded out from her torso. “All I want for Christmas…” | The tines on my fork rake small, even lines through my mashed potatoes; like a Zen garden, I think to myself, with a grim smile. I continue my circuit of the plate, not noticing that Aunt Zoe has heard the tiny sounds of metal cutlery dragging across a plate. Her frank blues eyes study the patterns I’m creating, now extending to the foot of a wobbly tower of green beans coated in a creamy slime. As I look up, she catches my eye, and pencil-thin brows, drawn so precisely, raise just a fraction higher up her lined forehead. “Your mother,” she intones placidly, “worked quite hard to make all your favorite foods for today”.
I shivered lightly, involuntarily, and deliberately swallow the saliva that filled my mouth. Favorite foods were the dangerous ones. Resolutely, I scoop a few gray-green peas onto my fork and carefully raise them to my lips, realizing I have now also attracted the attention of my younger siblings across the table. Twins, their faces are set in a similar stony impassiveness as they regard what is surely my first bite of the meal. Sarah flips her long dark hair over her shoulder with a quick movement of her delicate wrist; she rests her hands on the table, watching me chew, one-two-three-four-five times. A tight-eyed smile flashes across her face when I finally swallow.
Various family members are now clearing plates and platters to the kitchen, and I move slowly to take my own to the sink, carefully dropping a paper napkin across the wreckage of my meal before I can surreptitiously scrape it into the garbage. My father opens his mouth, frowning, while I move from cleaning my plate to putting unused silverware away, but a tense, quick shake of mom’s head stops whatever he was about to say. I grab one of the mugs of black coffee that has appeared on the counter, hugging the almost-too-hot porcelain gratefully in my cold hands. Slouching away to the living room where my sisters are now dealing cards to our relatives, surrounded my steaming mugs and piles of sweets, I curl up protectively in dad’s big soft recliner. Shivering, I watch everyone begin the traditional game of gin rummy while calculating how long of a jog I can fit in later in the evening. I’m sure Aunt Zoe or my father will put up some resistance when I try and slip out with my running shoes into the cold, but I will get past them. Getting around everyone trying to stop the goals I set has become an art; but I managed at dinner and I will manage later tonight. I have to. I must.
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[WP] Someone with an eating disorder is havine Christmas dinner with their family | The trick is to make a tornado. If the turkey and the side of mashed potatoes are mixed and disheveled in a spiraled mess on the plate, people make the assumption that the food has been partially eaten. Most people don’t pay enough attention to know the difference. Pick up a fork and relocate some peas. Ask how the cousins are doing in school. Distraction is key. Butter some bread and break it up in to little pieces. Wow, this stuffing is really delicious, gets better every year. Most people are so wrapped up in their own meal that no one is the wiser. I haven’t eaten a thing at Christmas dinner in 5 years.
Everyone finishes. Bellies bulge. Buttons tighten. Buckles are furtively loosened under the tablecloth. Everyone has his or her own little secrets to get through it. They don’t realize that I’m a master at secrets. I’m the James Fucking Bond of holiday diners. Not only do I hide my secrets, but I know all of their secrets as well. Mom sneaks extra vodka in her drink to help ignore dad’s innocent flirtations with Aunt Clare. Aunt Clare eats up. Hotel keys burn in her purse to meet up with him later. Uncle Lou could not be more oblivious. A simple man with a rich background. My brother watches too. He’s only 8, but he already senses something is wrong, though he probably doesn’t understand what yet. He’ll learn to cope. We all do. The food coma is my final cloak. I clean the plates while everyone talks about how full they feel and how delicious the meal was. I scrape my uneaten food into the trash bin and watch as my family member’s eyes droop in buttery ecstasy. Not me though; I am wide-awake.
| The tines on my fork rake small, even lines through my mashed potatoes; like a Zen garden, I think to myself, with a grim smile. I continue my circuit of the plate, not noticing that Aunt Zoe has heard the tiny sounds of metal cutlery dragging across a plate. Her frank blues eyes study the patterns I’m creating, now extending to the foot of a wobbly tower of green beans coated in a creamy slime. As I look up, she catches my eye, and pencil-thin brows, drawn so precisely, raise just a fraction higher up her lined forehead. “Your mother,” she intones placidly, “worked quite hard to make all your favorite foods for today”.
I shivered lightly, involuntarily, and deliberately swallow the saliva that filled my mouth. Favorite foods were the dangerous ones. Resolutely, I scoop a few gray-green peas onto my fork and carefully raise them to my lips, realizing I have now also attracted the attention of my younger siblings across the table. Twins, their faces are set in a similar stony impassiveness as they regard what is surely my first bite of the meal. Sarah flips her long dark hair over her shoulder with a quick movement of her delicate wrist; she rests her hands on the table, watching me chew, one-two-three-four-five times. A tight-eyed smile flashes across her face when I finally swallow.
Various family members are now clearing plates and platters to the kitchen, and I move slowly to take my own to the sink, carefully dropping a paper napkin across the wreckage of my meal before I can surreptitiously scrape it into the garbage. My father opens his mouth, frowning, while I move from cleaning my plate to putting unused silverware away, but a tense, quick shake of mom’s head stops whatever he was about to say. I grab one of the mugs of black coffee that has appeared on the counter, hugging the almost-too-hot porcelain gratefully in my cold hands. Slouching away to the living room where my sisters are now dealing cards to our relatives, surrounded my steaming mugs and piles of sweets, I curl up protectively in dad’s big soft recliner. Shivering, I watch everyone begin the traditional game of gin rummy while calculating how long of a jog I can fit in later in the evening. I’m sure Aunt Zoe or my father will put up some resistance when I try and slip out with my running shoes into the cold, but I will get past them. Getting around everyone trying to stop the goals I set has become an art; but I managed at dinner and I will manage later tonight. I have to. I must.
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[WP] Someone with an eating disorder is havine Christmas dinner with their family | I wanted to go with the opposite of not-eating disorders and go along the lines of binge eating. This is my first one, it’s a little short but I don’t know where to go with it.
“Another helping, please” I ask as a hold my plate out to be filled, heaping with food spilling over the side. Why can’t I stop eating? I feel the pressure of my bulging belly stretch against the fabric of my pants. I feel the strain of the leather belt as it sinks into my flesh. Surely today will be the day the button goes flying off my pants, sailing across the room to smack my dad in the face. I can see it happening.
“Now don’t over eat, you will make yourself sick” mom says.
I don’t want to be eating so much. I just can’t make myself stop. The food just tastes so good. Mom really outdid herself this year with the hearty breakfast this morning then this feast of a meal. I know my parents are concerned about how much weight I’ve put on. I am concerned about how much weight I’ve put on. I’ll go for a run after this, maybe even get to the gym tomorrow morning. For now, all I can do is eat. I will eat the turkey and dressing until I am past full. I will continue to eat beyond being full until I am sick. I will lay on the couch all afternoon sick to my stomach making sure I finish all the chocolates from the stocking. I’ll probably even be hungry for left overs tonight, before bed.
I feel the grease of the turkey slide down my chin as I take another fork full of food and stuff in into my face. I can feel my stomach churn as I think I might start to be getting sick. I won’t allow my mom to have the satisfaction of seeing me get sick from eating too much. I grab my glass of cola, take a swallow, and go right back to eating. I will eat the pain away. | The tines on my fork rake small, even lines through my mashed potatoes; like a Zen garden, I think to myself, with a grim smile. I continue my circuit of the plate, not noticing that Aunt Zoe has heard the tiny sounds of metal cutlery dragging across a plate. Her frank blues eyes study the patterns I’m creating, now extending to the foot of a wobbly tower of green beans coated in a creamy slime. As I look up, she catches my eye, and pencil-thin brows, drawn so precisely, raise just a fraction higher up her lined forehead. “Your mother,” she intones placidly, “worked quite hard to make all your favorite foods for today”.
I shivered lightly, involuntarily, and deliberately swallow the saliva that filled my mouth. Favorite foods were the dangerous ones. Resolutely, I scoop a few gray-green peas onto my fork and carefully raise them to my lips, realizing I have now also attracted the attention of my younger siblings across the table. Twins, their faces are set in a similar stony impassiveness as they regard what is surely my first bite of the meal. Sarah flips her long dark hair over her shoulder with a quick movement of her delicate wrist; she rests her hands on the table, watching me chew, one-two-three-four-five times. A tight-eyed smile flashes across her face when I finally swallow.
Various family members are now clearing plates and platters to the kitchen, and I move slowly to take my own to the sink, carefully dropping a paper napkin across the wreckage of my meal before I can surreptitiously scrape it into the garbage. My father opens his mouth, frowning, while I move from cleaning my plate to putting unused silverware away, but a tense, quick shake of mom’s head stops whatever he was about to say. I grab one of the mugs of black coffee that has appeared on the counter, hugging the almost-too-hot porcelain gratefully in my cold hands. Slouching away to the living room where my sisters are now dealing cards to our relatives, surrounded my steaming mugs and piles of sweets, I curl up protectively in dad’s big soft recliner. Shivering, I watch everyone begin the traditional game of gin rummy while calculating how long of a jog I can fit in later in the evening. I’m sure Aunt Zoe or my father will put up some resistance when I try and slip out with my running shoes into the cold, but I will get past them. Getting around everyone trying to stop the goals I set has become an art; but I managed at dinner and I will manage later tonight. I have to. I must.
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[WP] Someone with an eating disorder is havine Christmas dinner with their family | *Trigger warning? Male eating disorder.*
I'm sitting in the bathroom as the food is served. My mother yells at me to come out and eat, everyone else is seated and waiting on me. I take a deep breath and head to the kitchen.
I'm seated between my father and my older sister. She still has her softball uniform on, showing off her varsity letters to our relatives. It makes me uneasy.
One by one, my family fills their plate with food. I tentatively put portions of potatoes, slices of turkey, and a medley of cooked vegetables on my plate, separating them evenly so that none of them touch. We hold hands and say grace, but I can barely breathe. The saran wrap and bandages that suffocate my torso leave me hunched over and stiff. It's my reminder that I will be punished if I gain even a pound from this wretched meal.
Our family makes idle chit-chat. My sister boasts about her team, excited about the scholarship she is sure she will receive. I remain silent, pushing the food back and forth, nibbling on cooked asparagus and green beans. I cut up the turkey slices and push them under the potatoes.
"James," my father interrupts my thoughts. "Tell your uncle how wrestling is going."
My father is baiting me. He knows I am not doing well. My weight class means I am pitted against the larger, stronger wrestlers that I can't match up to. My father knows this. He knows that if I want to be a good wrestler - just like my admired uncle - that I need to change my weight class.
But I can't. At least, not yet. I eat what I need to, only to keep my strength up. But at night, I do the work I need to. I wrap my body from my underarms down to my hip bones in the tightest wrap I can find. I blast the heater in my bathroom, making me woozy and sweaty. I stick a toothbrush down my throat and prod until I hit the sweet spot of my gag reflex. I puke out every calorie and regret and failure I can, and then I tighten my wrap even more. I plunge the toothbrush down again, and repeat my process until I can barely stand.
I carefully put a piece of turkey into my mouth. My father and my uncle watch me. They know I can't win in the weight class I'm in. They know I need to move down, down to the lower weight class before I have a chance to be a winner - to get the scholarship, the admiration, the respect.
Their looks of disgust mean that I'll be up tonight again, wrapping and gagging, until I'm finally good enough. | The tines on my fork rake small, even lines through my mashed potatoes; like a Zen garden, I think to myself, with a grim smile. I continue my circuit of the plate, not noticing that Aunt Zoe has heard the tiny sounds of metal cutlery dragging across a plate. Her frank blues eyes study the patterns I’m creating, now extending to the foot of a wobbly tower of green beans coated in a creamy slime. As I look up, she catches my eye, and pencil-thin brows, drawn so precisely, raise just a fraction higher up her lined forehead. “Your mother,” she intones placidly, “worked quite hard to make all your favorite foods for today”.
I shivered lightly, involuntarily, and deliberately swallow the saliva that filled my mouth. Favorite foods were the dangerous ones. Resolutely, I scoop a few gray-green peas onto my fork and carefully raise them to my lips, realizing I have now also attracted the attention of my younger siblings across the table. Twins, their faces are set in a similar stony impassiveness as they regard what is surely my first bite of the meal. Sarah flips her long dark hair over her shoulder with a quick movement of her delicate wrist; she rests her hands on the table, watching me chew, one-two-three-four-five times. A tight-eyed smile flashes across her face when I finally swallow.
Various family members are now clearing plates and platters to the kitchen, and I move slowly to take my own to the sink, carefully dropping a paper napkin across the wreckage of my meal before I can surreptitiously scrape it into the garbage. My father opens his mouth, frowning, while I move from cleaning my plate to putting unused silverware away, but a tense, quick shake of mom’s head stops whatever he was about to say. I grab one of the mugs of black coffee that has appeared on the counter, hugging the almost-too-hot porcelain gratefully in my cold hands. Slouching away to the living room where my sisters are now dealing cards to our relatives, surrounded my steaming mugs and piles of sweets, I curl up protectively in dad’s big soft recliner. Shivering, I watch everyone begin the traditional game of gin rummy while calculating how long of a jog I can fit in later in the evening. I’m sure Aunt Zoe or my father will put up some resistance when I try and slip out with my running shoes into the cold, but I will get past them. Getting around everyone trying to stop the goals I set has become an art; but I managed at dinner and I will manage later tonight. I have to. I must.
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[WP] Someone with an eating disorder is havine Christmas dinner with their family | The trick is to make a tornado. If the turkey and the side of mashed potatoes are mixed and disheveled in a spiraled mess on the plate, people make the assumption that the food has been partially eaten. Most people don’t pay enough attention to know the difference. Pick up a fork and relocate some peas. Ask how the cousins are doing in school. Distraction is key. Butter some bread and break it up in to little pieces. Wow, this stuffing is really delicious, gets better every year. Most people are so wrapped up in their own meal that no one is the wiser. I haven’t eaten a thing at Christmas dinner in 5 years.
Everyone finishes. Bellies bulge. Buttons tighten. Buckles are furtively loosened under the tablecloth. Everyone has his or her own little secrets to get through it. They don’t realize that I’m a master at secrets. I’m the James Fucking Bond of holiday diners. Not only do I hide my secrets, but I know all of their secrets as well. Mom sneaks extra vodka in her drink to help ignore dad’s innocent flirtations with Aunt Clare. Aunt Clare eats up. Hotel keys burn in her purse to meet up with him later. Uncle Lou could not be more oblivious. A simple man with a rich background. My brother watches too. He’s only 8, but he already senses something is wrong, though he probably doesn’t understand what yet. He’ll learn to cope. We all do. The food coma is my final cloak. I clean the plates while everyone talks about how full they feel and how delicious the meal was. I scrape my uneaten food into the trash bin and watch as my family member’s eyes droop in buttery ecstasy. Not me though; I am wide-awake.
| I filled up a glass of water at the sink and slowly made my way to the table. I found my seat and sat down, dreading the next hour. I had chosen a seat that was next to the kids’ table, and a there was a small gap between the two tables where the dog would often walk through, hoping to pick up our scraps. Everyone around me was talking excitedly, passing bowls of mashed potatoes, grilled fish, salads, and bread, not a care in the world. I looked down at my plate anxiously and someone handed me a large salad bowl.
Salad was okay, I could pick at that. I piled some onto my plate, grabbing as many big leaves as I could. Next was the fish. I took a tiny piece. “Is this the cajon spiced fish? I don’t like that kind,” I muttered, as I passed the dish along. I stared at the plate of my cousin sitting next to me, filed completely with food. He began to eat and I looked away, stabbing a large piece of lettuce with my fork. I pushed it around on my plate, listening to the clinking of dishes and chatter amongst my hungry relatives as they filled their bellies with food.
I looked back up. No one was watching me. I quickly slid the piece of fish to the edge of my plate, and let it fall to the ground. The dog immediately came over and devoured it. I looked down. My plate was still so full. I picked up a piece of lettuce and put it to my mouth, chewing it very slowly as I pushed the rest of the food around on my plate. Dinner was an eternity. I sat quietly, to avoid drawing attention to myself. At this point, that was the norm for me. I listened to others’ conversations but was too caught up in my own anxiety to pay much attention. I continued to push my food around, eventually taking a bite and chewing it, then discreetly emptying the mouthful into a napkin.
Eventually, plates were clear. Great, now it’s time for dessert. “No thanks, I don’t want any, I’m so full from dinner!” That was the excuse I always gave, and it seemed to work. Hours later I retreated to my bedroom. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the folds in my stomach and pinching them. “All I want for Christmas…”
She sighed as she walked down the hallway after tucking her son into bed. She paused at the door to her daughter’s room, which was ajar. She looked through the crack and watched her gaunt daughter running her boney hands over her ribs, which protruded out from her torso. “All I want for Christmas…” |
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[WP] In a funny twist of events, someone gets lost in a city that they have never been to before, in a country where they don't speak the language, and ends up getting married, all while looking for the perfect lampshade | *Warning: This bad boy is pretty long. Grab a drink, get comfy, and dare to read on
The shimmering dawn fell upon Gabriel's sleeping face. It was a cold and quiet morning. He stirred in the bed, he was freezing. He wrapped the duvet around him, but it was too late. If the cold wasn't going to wake him up, it would be the pounding headache that would get his ass up. He sat up and looked around the room; it took a second for his vision to adjust. For one second of blissful ignorance, Gabriel did not know where he was.
Then he put on his glasses and looked around.
He was in what seemed to be the aftermath of a party he didn't remember attending. Feeling nature calling him to fulfill his morning obligation, Gabe realized why he was freezing cold: he wasn't wearing anything other than his boxer shorts. Not the sexy black one that put a strut in his steps. No, he was wearing his lucky pair, the one with the batman symbol all over. He had a monster hangover, went to a party he can't remember, and woke up in his lucky boxer shorts. He knew what this meant: he got piss drunk, partied hard, and got laid.
As Gabriel attended to his urgent need to use the facilities, he noticed something on his finger. As he realized what it was, he began to panic at the implications it would bring. Thereupon his left ring finger was a golden band. In mid-stream, Gabriel raised his left hand to inspect the piece of jewelry closer. There were delicate carvings in the ring, it looked almost Celtic, but Gabriel didn't recognize it. As the last drops fell, he took off the ring and looked inside. There was an inscription:
*Maria Ross 06/21/2013*
Wide eyed and confused, Gabriel *Ross* saw his reflection in the mirror and he looked like hell. His lower lip was busted pretty badly, he was sporting a shiner in his left eye, and he had a pretty nasty bump.
Maybe he wasn't so lucky after all.
He washed his face very gingerly. The cold water woke him up some more to realize that he really needed right now was a cup of coffee. And maybe some clothes, that is, if he could find his clothes.
He found his pants on the armchair by the window. The sunlight was peeking through the drapes, but sunlight was not exactly Gabe's best friend at the moment. Right now, Gabe just really wanted some coffee. Some strong ass coffee. He made his way outside the room when he saw her.
She stood at threshold of the door. Bathed in the natural light of the early morning sun, she hesitated. She paused, biting her lower lip. One hand on the handle, the other holding a pair of heels. One foot inside, the other heading out. She turned her head and saw Gabriel. Her hair was a dark mess that still had enough sass to flip as she turned her head. What he noticed at first was that she was wearing his plaid shirt. A closer look and he would have realized that the only thing that she was wearing was his shirt. Yet, as he was about to point out that it was his shirt, her eyes caught his. Hers was a piercing brown pair and she held his grey eyes for a split second before she left.
"Hey! Wait!"
But she was gone.
At some point, a man should know how to read the eyes of a woman. He ought to, as a courtesy, be able to read the slight nuances in her use of words, her tone of voice, and what she means to say when she says nothing at all. These thoughtful and rather tedious skills would have told Gabriel that the girl at the door was trying desperately to convey a message.
Gabriel, however, was under the impression that he just lost his shirt.
Eventually, he found another shirt that he was pretty sure was his. As he suspected, he was in a hotel room. He was brewing the coffee as he tried to re-construct the night before. He was looking around the room when his phone rang. He found it in one of the many pockets of what he recognized as his grey winter parka. He missed the call, and ten others. On the bright side, he found his pair of aviators. He put them on and the light no longer seemed to be punishing him for the sins of the night. He went to the window and opened up the blinds. The shock of what was outside caused Gabe's knees to buckle.
There was snow everywhere. It was the middle of June and he was in the middle of a winter wonderland. Well, that explained why Gabriel was freezing.
As Gabriel drank his coffee, the memories began to resurface. The cold, the caffeine, and the memories sobered him up quickly.
Gabriel was in Nunavut.
*EDIT: it gets pretty long from here......
His phone rang again and this time he answered it.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Ross, good morning. I tried calling you multiple times, but when you didn’t answer, I started to… become anxious” said a voice with a European accent. “I trust you have acquired my client’s item?”
Crap. He was on a job. Gabriel was a stylized treasure hunter. Well, actually, he was a storage auction hunter. After watching T.V. reality shows about people making a killing from buying abandoned storage units and selling the treasures inside, Gabriel left his cushy banking job to try his luck. His friends and family thought he was crazy, but for the first time in his life, Gabriel Ross felt like his own man.
He was his own boss. He called the shots. He could go anywhere he wanted, when he wanted.
But his friends and family were right. After a few months and a sea of useless crap, he was flat broke. It seemed the old adage “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” proved false. Some trash was just that, trash. He began hiring himself out to clients who were looking for rare and special items. He was a treasure hunter for hire. He made quite a name for himself, to the point that a mysterious man called one day and offered him this job.
The man’s client was looking for a rare treasure: a Victorian style lampshade. It was last seen crossing the Atlantic Ocean from England to Toronto by a cargo plane over sixty years ago. However, a freak plane accident caused the plane to crash. The mysterious man had been searching for the lampshade for the last twenty years. A few days ago, he received a lead that the lampshade surfaced in a remote village in Nunavut, Canada. However, not wanting to go to a meaningless trip, he decided to employ the services of one Mr. Gabriel Ross, treasure hunter for hire.
“Mr. Ross? Are you still there? I trust you understand the…unpleasantness of coming, how they say, empty handed,” said the mysterious voice.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah! Everything is going fine! I’m actually just about to go right now to pick up the lampshade,” Gabriel lied.
“Most excellent! I will arrange a rendezvous with my people to make the exchange. I shall call contact you later to confirm the details,” said the mysterious voice, “Oh, and Mr. Ross, please try to answer your phone most promptly.”
Gabriel Ross was a dead man.
“Gabriel! There you are! Where the hell have you been?” said a man as he burst into the hotel room. Gabriel recognized him as the contact the mysterious man had arranged for Gabriel. His name was Michael, he was an Inuit Native. He was Gabriel’s guide and translator. Michael was an expert on Aboriginal languages and fluently spoke the main dialects of the main Aboriginal nations. The remote small village they were in didn’t speak a word of English, nor did any of the sparse reserves scattered around.
“Gabe, man, you better pull yourself together. Mia’s brothers are looking for you, and they are not pleased with the stunt that you pulled last night,” said Mike.
“Mike, could you lower your voice, I’ve got this huge headache,” groaned Gabriel.
“Well, you’re going to get worse than a headache if they find you. C’mon, we’ve got to find Mia,” said Mike.
“Ugh, who?” said Gabriel as he followed Mike out.
“Your wife,”
“My what?!” asked Gabriel incredulously.
“Your wife,” repeated Mike, “And the youngest sister of the local gang leaders.”
As they headed out, Michael tried his best to recount the events from last night to Gabe. They had spent the last two days tracking down recently purchased storage units and looking for anyone pawning off lampshades. It turns out that a local pawn shop had bought a lampshade. When they went to buy the lampshade, the owner refused to sell it to them.
“Oh yeah,” recalled Gabriel. “He was that tough looking dude.”
“Yep, and your father-in-law. We were going to try again when we could secure more money. So we called it a night and went to grab drinks. After a few too many shots you decided to storm back into the store and hustle the lamp from the guy,” said Mike.
“And? Did I get the lamp?” asked Gabriel hopefully.
They started towards Mike’s car when a white van sped up beside them. The side door opened and two gruff men grabbed Mike and Gabe inside the van. They put a bag over Gabe’s head, but he could still hear Mike.
“Nope, you got married,”
Gabe heard someone speaking in the choppy and throaty language of the Inuit. It was gruff and sounded angry. Then, Gabe was knocked out.
He woke up tied to a chair in a dark room. Mike stirred behind him.
“Mike? What? I don’t even…” Gabriel asked in a panic.
“Oh man, Gabe, this is not good. When Mia’s brothers come, we’re dead. Oh God….Gabe. They told me they were going to turn us into dog food. Gabe, I don’t want to be dog food,” said Mike with hopelessness thick in his voice.
“DOG FOOD?” said Gabriel as he tried to break free from the ropes. As the thought of being dog food ran across his mind, Gabe managed to tip his chair over. He saw light coming from underneath a door.
“Mike! Mike! There’s a door over there. We can get out. You got anything sharp?” asked Gabriel desperately.
“Yeah, Gabe. Let me just get my hunting knife out. Who do you think I am man?” he said back with sarcasm and panic.
“Well, excuse me. Don’t you always brag that you come from a long line of hunters?” Gabe shot back. “Where’s your inherited hunting skill now?”
“Shh—I think hear someone coming,” said Mike.
The door opened and a figure turned on the lights. However, it wasn’t an angry gang leader that came in. It was the girl from the morning. She was still wearing Gabe’s plaid shirt.
“Mia! Thank God!” said Mike as he continued in Inuktitut, the language of the Inuit.
Gabriel just watched them on the floor as they had a heated argument. This girl, Mia, had the fiercest look in her eyes. Gabe couldn’t help but notice how pretty this girl was. He especially liked the little crinkle in her nose when she got really angry. She crossed her arms and shot him a death stare.
“Shoot, Mike, what did I do?” he asked, taken aback at the scary look on Mia’s face.
“She wants to know what gives you the right to buy her like she was some kind of antique from her father’s shop,” Mike answered.
“What?! I bought her!? That is messed up man! I’d never buy anyone!” Gabriel said. He looked at her and pleaded, “I swear, I didn’t mean to buy you! I would never buy you!”
Mia raised her eyebrow.
“Uh, I mean, it’s not that I *wouldn't* buy you. You’re very pretty and I would pay anything for you,” Gabriel added.
“Honestly? You’re flirting with her right now?” Mike said. He continued to speak to Mia in her language. Then, Mike gave a sigh of relief as Mia cut him loose. She bent down to cut Gabriel’s ropes. Gabriel felt her soft, cold hands brush against his as she cut the ropes. She smelled like strawberries, it must have been her shampoo.
She helped him up and got too close to each other. Even if it was for an instance, he caught her warm brown eyes. She turned away, but Gabe saw her blush.
“Gabe, Mia’s dad took the lampshade to their hunting shack,” said Mike, ignorant of the special moment between the newlyweds.
“Oh, cool. So we just need to grab it, right?” said Gabe.
“Not exactly, since the shack is a two day trip into the Arctic. I don’t really want to piss off a hunter with his rifle in the middle of nowhere. Besides, the only way to get back the lamp is to make a trade,” said Mike.
“Ok, fine. I’ll find another lamp. I’ll get him a lampshade from freaking Ikea, ok? We just need that lampshade,” said Gabe.
“Gabe…” started Mike as Mia looked at him intently. “The only thing that Mia’s dad would trade for the lamp is Mia,”
“Even better!” said Gabe, “We’ll grab a divorce, I get the lampshade and everybody wins.” He didn’t know what the problem was. Yet, the sad look in Mia’s eyes caught his attention.
“Everybody wins, right?” he asked Mike.
Mike shook his head. “Mia is used goods now. Not worth anything to her father,”
Gabriel looked at Mia. She held herself tightly and looked away. Mia turned to Mike and said something. She turned around and looked at Gabriel. Gabriel understood something in her eyes. She was hiding great suffering behind the strength of her eyes. She stretched her hand towards Gabe and touched his cheek.
Then she slapped him and stormed off.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?” he groaned. Mia’s slap staggered him and left his cheek stinging.
Mike couldn’t control his laughter. “She told me she can take care of herself. We, however, should get out of town before her brothers and father return from their hunting trip,” he said with a grin on his face. “Man, we really lucked out,”
“We’re not in clear yet. We still need to get that lamp back,” Gabriel reminded him.
“Forget the lamp man! I don’t want to turn into dog food!” Mike said.
Before Gabriel could remind him of why they needed to retrieve the lampshade, his phone rang. He answered it.
“Mr. Ross, thank you for answering most quickly,” said the mysterious voice. “The meeting has been arranged. Please meet our contact at the Toronto Pearson Airport. I have arranged for you to fly there tonight.”
“Uh, right. About that. There’s been some…complications,” said Gabriel. “I don’t exactly have the lampshade at the moment,” he said, losing hope with every word.
There was a moment of silence. Gabriel closed his eyes, awaiting the final blow.
“Mr. Ross, I am most disappoint. You did not deliver,” said the voice. “You will retrieve the lampshade in the next 24 hours. If you do not, you will be most sorry for breaking your promise. You will soon find that I break more than just promises.” And he hung up.
“Mike, we need that lampshade,” said Gabriel in distraught. “I’m a dead man if I don’t get it”
Mike just shook his head. “The only way to grab that lampshade is to steal it from Mia’s dad. They’ve already got half a day’s head start. And I don’t even know where their hunting shack is,” he told Gabe.
“Ah, I bet I know someone who knows,” Gabe said. “Where did Mia go?” | A week ago, I had moved my butt over from America to India, but sort of on the border of Nepal. My heart was yearning for adventure! Craziness! And most of all, stories to tell my loved ones back at home. A day after I had moved all my belongings and found a place to stay, I began to get worried. At first the house was perfect, quaint, and incredibly cheap. Although the furniture that occupied the house was dusty, perhaps a bit old and creaky, it was fascinating. Then, I began to notice the sofa didn't feel as comfortable as I thought, the dresser was chipped and wobbly, and worst of all- the lampshade was a different color than any of the furniture! IT DIDN'T MATCH!!
But I knew I was going crazy over worry that there might be people sneaking into my house, beating my sofa cushions to uncomfortability, children sneaking in and gnawing on my dresser, and that my house would feel irreparably ugly with the wrong color lampshade! Well, outside my house, I was worried too. My internal dialogue was constantly berating me: I don't speak these dialects, I rarely see/hear English speakers, and worst of all, I didn't understand their customs here. Somehow, I made friends.
We met at a friendly locals at a place that served home-brewed alcoholic beverages. We got piss-drunk and I blacked out.
When I came to, I realized I was not in my city. My friends had dressed me up in some crazy fancy getup with tiny mirrors embedded into the fabric, ornate designs, and lots of colors. Why did they feel the need to steal my clothes? I had my wallet, phone, everything but my clothes.
I had to find out where I was so I simply walked around town, hoping to see any indication of English words or some sort of map in a store I could glance at. Lo and behold, I found one at the only trading outpost in the small city of... well, Nepalgunj! I WAS IN NEPAL! And to think just last night I had been out drinking in India. I had to get back soon, lest all the little sneaky children wear down my drawer to bits and my couch cushions crumble from all those beatings. Each foot stepped in front of each other but I took my time- my money was in my pocket and I could technically have paid for a ride back to my city for $3 USD.
While I took the time to explore the city and head West, I saw a janky furniture store and figured I would love to explore. The outside was littered with tons of household items and lots of decoration. People were speaking excitedly to each other and the small store/house seemed so abundantly alive! My feet found the entrance and everyone hushed around me- but I hadn't realized why. My heart was beating furiously- I HAD FOUND THE PERFECT LAMPSHADE. It was huge, atop a large, draped statue's head but I had not cared for the base as I wanted to purchase that lampshade. The colors and designs would definitely match my house and bring a sense of character and cohesiveness to the interior. I found a man who had been curiously staring at me ever since I had walked in and figured he was the storekeeper. Handing him $5, I pointed to the lampshade, and he shook his head. $10? He shook his head again. $15? No. $20? He paused and stared at the money. I stared at him and the lampshade while the entire shop was eerily quiet until I saw him quiver his head up and down- the entire shop flew into a frenzy and everyone began to celebrate, laugh, and smile, all while moving the lamp and myself together. They took off the lamp shade, tossed it aside to my woe, and undressed a female before me. The townspeople then began to UNDRESS ME! The embroidered shirt was ripped off of my back and was given for the girl to wear.
My face paled.
I had just bought a woman.
All I wanted was that lampshade. So I brought her home and had her stand next to the lamp, as a shade.
I guess it worked out- she is the perfect lampshade. |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Why..?" The man softly said.
I dug my boot smack into his head, nose facing the deck. "The kill spot for a buck is right above his two front legs. You have to be accurate though, a little up you'll shoot 'em in the lungs. A little chip to the front of the heart, and you wasted a slug in the shoulder blade. Eventually, you become a pretty good shot. Then it becomes routine."
Butt stock high in the pocket of the shoulder. High, firm pistol grip. Slow, steady squeeze. Brace for recoil.
"Then hunting deer becomes no fun anymore."
| We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "You're a monster, why are you so evil?". It was my second day without food or water,I'd kept quiet hoping She'd explain what was happening but no more.
I had simply been tied up and left to die while She tinkered with something on a table in the corner of the room. "Please tell me why you've done all this!"
She turned, looking confused and then gasped "Are you still there?.. I swore I let you go ages ag.."
"No." I sighed as I shifted once more in my bonds. "Why are you doing this? Could you please tell me?"
"I've been bored since the baby really.. I decided to do the first thing that came into my head which was to tie up the next person I saw and try a new jigsaw"
She sighed "I'm dreadfully sorry I forgot about you, the puzzle I chose is a thousand pieces and I'm having a dreadful time working it out"
"Need a hand? I can help you if you untie me." I questioned hoping for a chance to escape.
She sauntered over and started tugging at my bindings and blood starts rushing into my fingers and toes leaving them twitching and prickling helplessly.
"Sorry again, I'm so embarrassed.." She blushed as she handed me a large glass of water which was swiftly gulped down. "I'll take this puzzle home and I can drive you back to your home if you like"
"I think I'll walk..." I paused at the door. "Try putting the edges together first on the puzzle you'll probably find it easier."
And with that I walked away from the (not quite) villain and shook my head. Fuck my life.
| We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Black is more slimming." | We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Because when people see me, they scatter. And that way I never have to wait in line for Chipotle." | We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "And so, we come to the part of the event where you beg for your life, and I give you some reason why I couldn't possibly spare your miserable excuse for an existence. Go on, then- ask me something".
As he laughed, I struggled against the ropes that held me tight, the rough hemp biting into my flesh, rubbing my skin raw, and I realised with horror that I would never live long enough for the wound to heal.
"Why?", I whispered, my voice shaking with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that I wouldn't live past the hour. "Why do this? To me? To *anyone*?"
He laughed again, and shivers ran down my spine.
"Why? *Why*? Why do I terrorise innocent people? Why do I kidnap, murder, and torture? Why do I victimise pretty young things like yourself? Why, why, why? All you people do is ask **why**? You should be asking *how*. How. Where. When. What. Not *why*. But fine, fine", he sighed melodramatically and gestured vaguely. "why do I do it?"
I nodded as best as I could, swallowing softly, watching as he stepped closer, as he moved out of the half-shadows into the light. I could see him for who he really was now, and the revelation chilled me to my core. I had no time to reflect, though, as he spoke again, his voice soft, gentle- and filled with madness.
"Because they cancelled Firefly." | We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | My wrists hurt; tied to a chair for several hours, I needed some water, but nobody was paying attention to me.
Armed police at the doorway, remains of the door scattered around, negotiator in the room, criminal poised, hostage (me) waiting with baited breath.
They had been talking for a few minutes. I wasn't really listening, but then my ears perked up.
"Why?" asked the negotiator.
"The counselor told me to do something new, expand my horizons, escape my familiar behavior patterns. I thought for a bit, and then realized I never imagined I could be *bad*. It sounded like a challenge. I thought I'd give it a try."
"But why this? Why not, say, climb a mountain?" asked the negotiator.
The criminal looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that. Yeah, that would be fun.". | We agreed to meet each other before the battle, exchange pleasantries and what not. Just us, three advisors and forty guards. Mine were from my chosen regiment, the 1st Royal Lancers. For a household unit, they are rather somber and austere. Their black uniforms with green facings lends them a grim aspect. My opponent has brought his personal guards, his elite Prince's Own Cuirassiers. Their chromed breast plates and helmets shining against the rising sun. They are a gaudy bunch, nobles almost to the hilt. Most of my officers and most of the lancers are raised from the ranks of the normal lancer units. Out of the 46 officers in the regiment, only 10 are of noble birth. With the 1st Royal Lancers as the tip of the spear, my army of nearly 350,000 strong has won victory after victory. One more battle and they must accept peace. I've read the Nova Antwerp times, about how I'm a power hungry dictator, how I committed the act of regicide and how I am a bastard playing at king. I take offense to that last one.
We reach the farm house in the middle of the field. The famer and his family have long fled, taking all their valuables away. Prince Ivan's servants have already made arrangements. A cold breakfast is set up. Although he violated the agreed upon numbers, I don't mind. It is inconsequential. Though I've already had my morning meal, I help myself to raspberry tarts with fresh whipped cream and a cup of tea. The blockade on my deep water ports has prevented such luxuries as tea and coffee from getting in. The food comes from his armies larders. Anything I can do to decrease his food stock is a minor victory for me. Prince Ivan arrives went I get up to fetch a second cup from the samovar. He helps himself to food and sits across from me at the dining room table. We smile at each other as we enjoy the meal. Our aides and officers are standing while they eat, and from the window, I see both units of guards eating a breakfast of bread, hard cheese and sausage. I'll thank him for the kindness.
There is a map hanging on the wall. Prince Ivan points to it. "I'm sure you also know. The field to the west of the village Verton is impassible. The river overflows from the rains in the mountains and the entire east bank is flooded over. It is all mire." I nod in agreement. I make a mental note of having the 3rd Grenadiers and 14th jaegers placed in the village. The 3rd distinguished themselves in the streets of North Haven a year ago. Colonel Lucius is a man of the bayonet. He instills that mindset on his men. Colonel Muller's 14th should be able to make Verton a hornet's nest for any attackers. Few enemy officers make it out of a fight with the 14th alive. This farmhouse, Major Mannes and his 46th will hold. They won't retreat without an order. I can trust him to hold this place to the last man. My adjutant steps forward holding his silver pocket watch. "Sire, It is ten minutes till nine." Prince Ivan and I wordless look at one another and rise from the table. Our horses are all ready prepared. As I walk to my horse. I hear his voice. "So tell me Lord Voss. Why all this? Why the twelve years of war and fighting and conquering? Why were you not content with your own nation?" My men snicker at that. They are well aware of the answer. I turn face him. My color sergeant tosses me something. I catch it without turning my gaze away from Prince Ivan. I then toss it to him. As I ride off with my men thundering behind me, he opens his fist. In it is a silvered badge. It is a finer version of the insignia everyone of my men wear. It depicts a griffon rampant with a crown on its head. Beneath it, is a scroll bearing the motto,
*Because I can* |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Black is more slimming." | "I played a lot of Grand Theft Auto growing up." |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "You're a monster, why are you so evil?". It was my second day without food or water,I'd kept quiet hoping She'd explain what was happening but no more.
I had simply been tied up and left to die while She tinkered with something on a table in the corner of the room. "Please tell me why you've done all this!"
She turned, looking confused and then gasped "Are you still there?.. I swore I let you go ages ag.."
"No." I sighed as I shifted once more in my bonds. "Why are you doing this? Could you please tell me?"
"I've been bored since the baby really.. I decided to do the first thing that came into my head which was to tie up the next person I saw and try a new jigsaw"
She sighed "I'm dreadfully sorry I forgot about you, the puzzle I chose is a thousand pieces and I'm having a dreadful time working it out"
"Need a hand? I can help you if you untie me." I questioned hoping for a chance to escape.
She sauntered over and started tugging at my bindings and blood starts rushing into my fingers and toes leaving them twitching and prickling helplessly.
"Sorry again, I'm so embarrassed.." She blushed as she handed me a large glass of water which was swiftly gulped down. "I'll take this puzzle home and I can drive you back to your home if you like"
"I think I'll walk..." I paused at the door. "Try putting the edges together first on the puzzle you'll probably find it easier."
And with that I walked away from the (not quite) villain and shook my head. Fuck my life.
| "What happened to you? What hurt you so bad you had to wear this mask and take out your anger on innocents? Why do you do these things?"
"What are you rambling about? I just love wearing this mask. I mean, look at it: it's awesome!" |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Black is more slimming." | "What happened to you? What hurt you so bad you had to wear this mask and take out your anger on innocents? Why do you do these things?"
"What are you rambling about? I just love wearing this mask. I mean, look at it: it's awesome!" |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Because when people see me, they scatter. And that way I never have to wait in line for Chipotle." | "What happened to you? What hurt you so bad you had to wear this mask and take out your anger on innocents? Why do you do these things?"
"What are you rambling about? I just love wearing this mask. I mean, look at it: it's awesome!" |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "And so, we come to the part of the event where you beg for your life, and I give you some reason why I couldn't possibly spare your miserable excuse for an existence. Go on, then- ask me something".
As he laughed, I struggled against the ropes that held me tight, the rough hemp biting into my flesh, rubbing my skin raw, and I realised with horror that I would never live long enough for the wound to heal.
"Why?", I whispered, my voice shaking with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that I wouldn't live past the hour. "Why do this? To me? To *anyone*?"
He laughed again, and shivers ran down my spine.
"Why? *Why*? Why do I terrorise innocent people? Why do I kidnap, murder, and torture? Why do I victimise pretty young things like yourself? Why, why, why? All you people do is ask **why**? You should be asking *how*. How. Where. When. What. Not *why*. But fine, fine", he sighed melodramatically and gestured vaguely. "why do I do it?"
I nodded as best as I could, swallowing softly, watching as he stepped closer, as he moved out of the half-shadows into the light. I could see him for who he really was now, and the revelation chilled me to my core. I had no time to reflect, though, as he spoke again, his voice soft, gentle- and filled with madness.
"Because they cancelled Firefly." | "What happened to you? What hurt you so bad you had to wear this mask and take out your anger on innocents? Why do you do these things?"
"What are you rambling about? I just love wearing this mask. I mean, look at it: it's awesome!" |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | My wrists hurt; tied to a chair for several hours, I needed some water, but nobody was paying attention to me.
Armed police at the doorway, remains of the door scattered around, negotiator in the room, criminal poised, hostage (me) waiting with baited breath.
They had been talking for a few minutes. I wasn't really listening, but then my ears perked up.
"Why?" asked the negotiator.
"The counselor told me to do something new, expand my horizons, escape my familiar behavior patterns. I thought for a bit, and then realized I never imagined I could be *bad*. It sounded like a challenge. I thought I'd give it a try."
"But why this? Why not, say, climb a mountain?" asked the negotiator.
The criminal looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that. Yeah, that would be fun.". | "What happened to you? What hurt you so bad you had to wear this mask and take out your anger on innocents? Why do you do these things?"
"What are you rambling about? I just love wearing this mask. I mean, look at it: it's awesome!" |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Black is more slimming." | "Why..?" The man softly said.
I dug my boot smack into his head, nose facing the deck. "The kill spot for a buck is right above his two front legs. You have to be accurate though, a little up you'll shoot 'em in the lungs. A little chip to the front of the heart, and you wasted a slug in the shoulder blade. Eventually, you become a pretty good shot. Then it becomes routine."
Butt stock high in the pocket of the shoulder. High, firm pistol grip. Slow, steady squeeze. Brace for recoil.
"Then hunting deer becomes no fun anymore."
|
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Because when people see me, they scatter. And that way I never have to wait in line for Chipotle." | Through sagging eyes I watched the figure cloaked in shadows approach from the corner of the room where I was held. I had been here for days and days, never knowing the warmth of sunlight upon my barren excuse for a body. It had been an eternity since my last day outside, before I had trusted this evil demon. I knew this was the end yet I welcomed it. I would finally be free. "Why did you do this? I never did anything to you!" My feeble attempt of a scream merely made the man grin. I felt rage now; pure, mind-consuming rage. I never dreamt I would die for no reason. The killer before me raises himself up to his full height and drew out a large hunting knife. It reminded me of the ones my father had used to gut deer. I could see dried blood coating the hilt. My heartbeat quickened. He looked down upon me and simply said "I enjoy it." I had no time to ponder this simple, disappointing answer as he forced the blade between my ribs and into what seemed to be my very soul. |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "And so, we come to the part of the event where you beg for your life, and I give you some reason why I couldn't possibly spare your miserable excuse for an existence. Go on, then- ask me something".
As he laughed, I struggled against the ropes that held me tight, the rough hemp biting into my flesh, rubbing my skin raw, and I realised with horror that I would never live long enough for the wound to heal.
"Why?", I whispered, my voice shaking with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that I wouldn't live past the hour. "Why do this? To me? To *anyone*?"
He laughed again, and shivers ran down my spine.
"Why? *Why*? Why do I terrorise innocent people? Why do I kidnap, murder, and torture? Why do I victimise pretty young things like yourself? Why, why, why? All you people do is ask **why**? You should be asking *how*. How. Where. When. What. Not *why*. But fine, fine", he sighed melodramatically and gestured vaguely. "why do I do it?"
I nodded as best as I could, swallowing softly, watching as he stepped closer, as he moved out of the half-shadows into the light. I could see him for who he really was now, and the revelation chilled me to my core. I had no time to reflect, though, as he spoke again, his voice soft, gentle- and filled with madness.
"Because they cancelled Firefly." | Through sagging eyes I watched the figure cloaked in shadows approach from the corner of the room where I was held. I had been here for days and days, never knowing the warmth of sunlight upon my barren excuse for a body. It had been an eternity since my last day outside, before I had trusted this evil demon. I knew this was the end yet I welcomed it. I would finally be free. "Why did you do this? I never did anything to you!" My feeble attempt of a scream merely made the man grin. I felt rage now; pure, mind-consuming rage. I never dreamt I would die for no reason. The killer before me raises himself up to his full height and drew out a large hunting knife. It reminded me of the ones my father had used to gut deer. I could see dried blood coating the hilt. My heartbeat quickened. He looked down upon me and simply said "I enjoy it." I had no time to ponder this simple, disappointing answer as he forced the blade between my ribs and into what seemed to be my very soul. |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | My wrists hurt; tied to a chair for several hours, I needed some water, but nobody was paying attention to me.
Armed police at the doorway, remains of the door scattered around, negotiator in the room, criminal poised, hostage (me) waiting with baited breath.
They had been talking for a few minutes. I wasn't really listening, but then my ears perked up.
"Why?" asked the negotiator.
"The counselor told me to do something new, expand my horizons, escape my familiar behavior patterns. I thought for a bit, and then realized I never imagined I could be *bad*. It sounded like a challenge. I thought I'd give it a try."
"But why this? Why not, say, climb a mountain?" asked the negotiator.
The criminal looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that. Yeah, that would be fun.". | Through sagging eyes I watched the figure cloaked in shadows approach from the corner of the room where I was held. I had been here for days and days, never knowing the warmth of sunlight upon my barren excuse for a body. It had been an eternity since my last day outside, before I had trusted this evil demon. I knew this was the end yet I welcomed it. I would finally be free. "Why did you do this? I never did anything to you!" My feeble attempt of a scream merely made the man grin. I felt rage now; pure, mind-consuming rage. I never dreamt I would die for no reason. The killer before me raises himself up to his full height and drew out a large hunting knife. It reminded me of the ones my father had used to gut deer. I could see dried blood coating the hilt. My heartbeat quickened. He looked down upon me and simply said "I enjoy it." I had no time to ponder this simple, disappointing answer as he forced the blade between my ribs and into what seemed to be my very soul. |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "And so, we come to the part of the event where you beg for your life, and I give you some reason why I couldn't possibly spare your miserable excuse for an existence. Go on, then- ask me something".
As he laughed, I struggled against the ropes that held me tight, the rough hemp biting into my flesh, rubbing my skin raw, and I realised with horror that I would never live long enough for the wound to heal.
"Why?", I whispered, my voice shaking with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that I wouldn't live past the hour. "Why do this? To me? To *anyone*?"
He laughed again, and shivers ran down my spine.
"Why? *Why*? Why do I terrorise innocent people? Why do I kidnap, murder, and torture? Why do I victimise pretty young things like yourself? Why, why, why? All you people do is ask **why**? You should be asking *how*. How. Where. When. What. Not *why*. But fine, fine", he sighed melodramatically and gestured vaguely. "why do I do it?"
I nodded as best as I could, swallowing softly, watching as he stepped closer, as he moved out of the half-shadows into the light. I could see him for who he really was now, and the revelation chilled me to my core. I had no time to reflect, though, as he spoke again, his voice soft, gentle- and filled with madness.
"Because they cancelled Firefly." | "Why are you evil?" I cry, tears streaming down my face as I look into the eyes of the man that killed my mom and 15 others.
"Your mom was a bitch." He replied, shrugging. "The others were just for sport." |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | My wrists hurt; tied to a chair for several hours, I needed some water, but nobody was paying attention to me.
Armed police at the doorway, remains of the door scattered around, negotiator in the room, criminal poised, hostage (me) waiting with baited breath.
They had been talking for a few minutes. I wasn't really listening, but then my ears perked up.
"Why?" asked the negotiator.
"The counselor told me to do something new, expand my horizons, escape my familiar behavior patterns. I thought for a bit, and then realized I never imagined I could be *bad*. It sounded like a challenge. I thought I'd give it a try."
"But why this? Why not, say, climb a mountain?" asked the negotiator.
The criminal looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that. Yeah, that would be fun.". | "Why are you evil?" I cry, tears streaming down my face as I look into the eyes of the man that killed my mom and 15 others.
"Your mom was a bitch." He replied, shrugging. "The others were just for sport." |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | "Why do you do this to us? What has society done to you to make you hate them so?"
The masked villain before me shot me in my leg and I collapsed onto the floor. He walked over to me, his gun in hand and rubbed the barrel inside of my wound. I screamed and he laughed. He bent down, and began to answer my question.
"You want to know why I chose this way of life?"
Through my pain, I managed to give a slight nod.
"Wouldn't you do the same for a Klondike bar?" | "Why are you evil?" I cry, tears streaming down my face as I look into the eyes of the man that killed my mom and 15 others.
"Your mom was a bitch." He replied, shrugging. "The others were just for sport." |
|
[WP] A person asks a villain why they are evil. The villain's response is very underwhelming. | My wrists hurt; tied to a chair for several hours, I needed some water, but nobody was paying attention to me.
Armed police at the doorway, remains of the door scattered around, negotiator in the room, criminal poised, hostage (me) waiting with baited breath.
They had been talking for a few minutes. I wasn't really listening, but then my ears perked up.
"Why?" asked the negotiator.
"The counselor told me to do something new, expand my horizons, escape my familiar behavior patterns. I thought for a bit, and then realized I never imagined I could be *bad*. It sounded like a challenge. I thought I'd give it a try."
"But why this? Why not, say, climb a mountain?" asked the negotiator.
The criminal looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that. Yeah, that would be fun.". | "And so, we come to the part of the event where you beg for your life, and I give you some reason why I couldn't possibly spare your miserable excuse for an existence. Go on, then- ask me something".
As he laughed, I struggled against the ropes that held me tight, the rough hemp biting into my flesh, rubbing my skin raw, and I realised with horror that I would never live long enough for the wound to heal.
"Why?", I whispered, my voice shaking with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that I wouldn't live past the hour. "Why do this? To me? To *anyone*?"
He laughed again, and shivers ran down my spine.
"Why? *Why*? Why do I terrorise innocent people? Why do I kidnap, murder, and torture? Why do I victimise pretty young things like yourself? Why, why, why? All you people do is ask **why**? You should be asking *how*. How. Where. When. What. Not *why*. But fine, fine", he sighed melodramatically and gestured vaguely. "why do I do it?"
I nodded as best as I could, swallowing softly, watching as he stepped closer, as he moved out of the half-shadows into the light. I could see him for who he really was now, and the revelation chilled me to my core. I had no time to reflect, though, as he spoke again, his voice soft, gentle- and filled with madness.
"Because they cancelled Firefly." |
|
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There once was a website named Reddit
T'was community content that fed it
Until a man with two dicks posted some pics
Too much for some so they fled it | The toilet he did clog on New Year
A daring escape he made
No one knew due to too much beer
And they blamed it on some guy named Wade
Edit: Formatting |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | A writer is writing a poem
The poem he's writing is like foam
It builds in the shape of a dome
Crap what rhymes with dome | The toilet he did clog on New Year
A daring escape he made
No one knew due to too much beer
And they blamed it on some guy named Wade
Edit: Formatting |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There was an old man with a bucket
He said he came from Nantucket
I can't think of a rhyme; I'm all out of time
So I'll just finish this with ”Oh fuck it" | The toilet he did clog on New Year
A daring escape he made
No one knew due to too much beer
And they blamed it on some guy named Wade
Edit: Formatting |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There once was a website named Reddit
T'was community content that fed it
Until a man with two dicks posted some pics
Too much for some so they fled it | There once was a man with a cat in his ass
It have him a terrible terrible rash
One day he said "I've had enough! This is it!"
And expelled the feline in a mountain of shit |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There once was a website named Reddit
T'was community content that fed it
Until a man with two dicks posted some pics
Too much for some so they fled it | My Genetics lecturer's a master,
Breeding Fruit Flies nobodies faster,
He's got no social life, and even left his wife,
For *Drosophila melanogaster*. |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | A writer is writing a poem
The poem he's writing is like foam
It builds in the shape of a dome
Crap what rhymes with dome | I'm stuck on my prompt resolution,
But suddenly here's the solution.
For me this is piece number four,
And I don't have to write anymore!
-005 |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There was an old man with a bucket
He said he came from Nantucket
I can't think of a rhyme; I'm all out of time
So I'll just finish this with ”Oh fuck it" | I'm stuck on my prompt resolution,
But suddenly here's the solution.
For me this is piece number four,
And I don't have to write anymore!
-005 |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | -003
We kissed at midnight on New Years Day
Felt something warm and thought, foul play!
You peed your pants and ran away
But its ok, I wish you stayed
| I'm stuck on my prompt resolution,
But suddenly here's the solution.
For me this is piece number four,
And I don't have to write anymore!
-005 |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | Haikus are quite fun.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Screw 'only four lines'. | I'm stuck on my prompt resolution,
But suddenly here's the solution.
For me this is piece number four,
And I don't have to write anymore!
-005 |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | Meat, potatoes, goulash soup
Boob baboons and hula-hoops
O! heap of beans, O! fount of poop
Meat, potatoes, goulash soup | I'm stuck on my prompt resolution,
But suddenly here's the solution.
For me this is piece number four,
And I don't have to write anymore!
-005 |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | There was an old man with a bucket
He said he came from Nantucket
I can't think of a rhyme; I'm all out of time
So I'll just finish this with ”Oh fuck it" | A writer is writing a poem
The poem he's writing is like foam
It builds in the shape of a dome
Crap what rhymes with dome |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | Meat, potatoes, goulash soup
Boob baboons and hula-hoops
O! heap of beans, O! fount of poop
Meat, potatoes, goulash soup | Haikus are quite fun.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Screw 'only four lines'. |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | My father always gave good advice
He said short phrases that were nice.
One day he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said, "honey,
"Remember the most important thing: Fuck bitches. Get money." | A man was paying a visit to the doctor's office
"If you could stop masturbating, that would be a plus!"
The man asked, "but why doctor? I have no clue!"
"Only because I'm trying to examine you!"
-----
#003
(I know this one was a bit of a cop-out, but rhyming is hard!) |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | Meat, potatoes, goulash soup
Boob baboons and hula-hoops
O! heap of beans, O! fount of poop
Meat, potatoes, goulash soup | A man was paying a visit to the doctor's office
"If you could stop masturbating, that would be a plus!"
The man asked, "but why doctor? I have no clue!"
"Only because I'm trying to examine you!"
-----
#003
(I know this one was a bit of a cop-out, but rhyming is hard!) |
bonus points if it rhymes;) | [WP] Write the funniest poem you can in four lines. | Meat, potatoes, goulash soup
Boob baboons and hula-hoops
O! heap of beans, O! fount of poop
Meat, potatoes, goulash soup | My father always gave good advice
He said short phrases that were nice.
One day he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said, "honey,
"Remember the most important thing: Fuck bitches. Get money." |
[WP] The saddest and most depressing description of a snow day ever | *Hisss*. Elsa dunked the tea bag further into her cup, watching the red from the leaves swirl and explode in her drink. Although she would rather treat herself to a steaming cup of coffee, she had to admit, watching the colors kinda made up for it.
Giving up caffeine would help, her husband said. And she supposed it did. Howling frost striking against her house woke her up that day. The natural deduction is that this is normal--waking up. But Elsa didn't wake up, not ever.
She didn't wake up because she never slept.
So the tea helped. Elsa drank a cup every night before bed to help her sleep. Little did her husband know, she started taking it when she woke up, with sleeping pills. Lucky for Elsa, you couldn't even tell she slept all day. Violet circles streaked across her under-eye bags like skid marks.
*"Looks like a snowy day here at Hillside,"* the TV blared. Elsa snatched the remote to turn it off until she heard the words, *"so snowy, in fact, all school districts in the county have cancelled their operations early for today. Sounds like a good--"*
Terror bolted through her heart within the second, and fear plumed inside her stomach, souring all of her organs. Her hands flew to her clammy forehead, but unconsciousness hadn't seized her quick enough.
"Mommy, mommy!" Joshua barged through the front door, flailing his arms and legs and head to shake off the snow. He laughed and stomped on the ground, flung his mittens, hung his sopping hat on the hook. "Mommy! It's a snow day! Can we build a snowman?"
"Of course, sweetheart," she whispered. Did whisper. Would have whispered. But those whispers died long ago, and now Elsa stared at an empty foyer. No snow. No icy air. No sopping hat, no snow-caked boots, no little blue jacket. No laughter.
Elsa glided to the window in a quick motion, dropping her tea as she did so. Kids waddled off the bus like ducklings, their movements restricted in their many layers. They screamed and gigged just as he had. Right in the middle of the road, as he had. But unlike Joshua, the kids had the advantage of an empty road, free of cars.
Still, she whispered, "Please stay safe," before wiping her eyes of tears and shutting out the memory with the swish of a curtain.
| -005
I knew it was a snow day when I didn’t wake up until around noon on a Tuesday. Went upstairs. Didn’t eat anything.
It was just last month. It was a snow day. She came to pick me up so we go to a movie. I was happy then. We were all happy in one way or another. I’d look at her and she’d laugh. I’d look at her and she’d smile.
The roads were bad and when we slid into the middle of the intersection a truck came and hit the car on the driver’s side. I was, for the most part, fine. At least my body was. She, however, died instantly.
‘At least she died instantly.’ That’s what some people said. Still makes me mad. I guess people try to find hope in the worst things. I wish, perhaps, I could be like them. I’ve stopped eating. I keep staring at screens, and ceilings. I don’t talk to people. Sometimes I don’t even go to school because I can’t get out of bed.
I look at the situation and sometimes wish it could have been me. But then she would have this burden. I don’t know what’s worse.
Now my mother has pretty bad breast cancer and my dad’s somewhere. I don’t know where. Doesn’t matter, I guess. He probably doesn’t care either.
Snow days are supposed to be a time of freedom, but that day just felt like a day of restriction. Just like all the other days. There’s no point without her. There’s no point.
And now, looking outside the window, I do not see a beautiful winter wonderland. I see a cold, grey, abysmal day, so I go to sleep again. The only place I can see her look at me and cleanse my soul.
Except then I wake up. |
|
[WP] The saddest and most depressing description of a snow day ever | *Hisss*. Elsa dunked the tea bag further into her cup, watching the red from the leaves swirl and explode in her drink. Although she would rather treat herself to a steaming cup of coffee, she had to admit, watching the colors kinda made up for it.
Giving up caffeine would help, her husband said. And she supposed it did. Howling frost striking against her house woke her up that day. The natural deduction is that this is normal--waking up. But Elsa didn't wake up, not ever.
She didn't wake up because she never slept.
So the tea helped. Elsa drank a cup every night before bed to help her sleep. Little did her husband know, she started taking it when she woke up, with sleeping pills. Lucky for Elsa, you couldn't even tell she slept all day. Violet circles streaked across her under-eye bags like skid marks.
*"Looks like a snowy day here at Hillside,"* the TV blared. Elsa snatched the remote to turn it off until she heard the words, *"so snowy, in fact, all school districts in the county have cancelled their operations early for today. Sounds like a good--"*
Terror bolted through her heart within the second, and fear plumed inside her stomach, souring all of her organs. Her hands flew to her clammy forehead, but unconsciousness hadn't seized her quick enough.
"Mommy, mommy!" Joshua barged through the front door, flailing his arms and legs and head to shake off the snow. He laughed and stomped on the ground, flung his mittens, hung his sopping hat on the hook. "Mommy! It's a snow day! Can we build a snowman?"
"Of course, sweetheart," she whispered. Did whisper. Would have whispered. But those whispers died long ago, and now Elsa stared at an empty foyer. No snow. No icy air. No sopping hat, no snow-caked boots, no little blue jacket. No laughter.
Elsa glided to the window in a quick motion, dropping her tea as she did so. Kids waddled off the bus like ducklings, their movements restricted in their many layers. They screamed and gigged just as he had. Right in the middle of the road, as he had. But unlike Joshua, the kids had the advantage of an empty road, free of cars.
Still, she whispered, "Please stay safe," before wiping her eyes of tears and shutting out the memory with the swish of a curtain.
| The frozen flakes of folly fell like nuclear ash. I watched them drifting outside my window, hiding the broken bottles, the old needles, and refuse left by the men and women who lived around me. It covered the old rusted cars, jacked up on blocks and missing tires, helping the scumbags living there pretend for a day that they were just like every body else.
The descending flakes made the hookeers bundle up. It was the snows only redeeming quality. I went for walk in it earlier and found blood staining the pristine carpet pink. I followed the drops toward the alley and found the kid there. His shoes missing, his jacket taken. I found more blood elsewhere. Most likely, it was from the children who believed this a winter's wonderland. The fell into the snow, innocent and ignorant. This was still the bad side of town. The broken glass and needles were still there, you just couldn't see them.
The snow plow came through earlier, turning the sides of the street into depressing grey mounds. The children, home because of the weather, came out to make their snow men, but they didn't own scarves to give the men of ice. They couldn't spare the carrots.
The snow men were ghastly specters, and truly horrid to behold. They were white and brown and yellow, littered with candy wrappers and twigs and burrs from the gum trees. The children built them presumably to believe in magic. People who ventured into the neighborhood by accident, saw them as warning signs and fled as fast as the weather conditions would allow.
If the snow sticks around until tomorrow, I might just kill myself. No one will care or notice until the snow melts. It's a snow day. It can't be interrupted for something as trivial as death. |
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