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[ WP ] Write a love story without giving away the genders of those involved .
| One day a Unicorn had fallen in love with an Olive Tree. The Olive Tree was very shy at first, but the Unicorn thought that the Olive Tree was incredibly sexy. It had so many curves that the Unicorn ’ s horn stood up straight as soon as it saw the Olive Tree. Intelligent people will note that a Unicorn ’ s horn is always standing straight, but if they are so intelligent, have they ever even seen a Unicorn with their own two eyes? No? Well than they ’ re arrogant, ignorant bigots who promote a stereotypical objectification of Unicorns. People who have actually seen Unicorns in person will testify that Unicorn horns are normally very floppy and often much shorter than expected. Unicorns will typically only display tall, sharp, pointy horns when they are very aroused. The reason why Unicorns are depicted as such is because the first man to illustrate a Unicorn was really into bestiality. Narwhals, on the other hand, have constantly sharp horns. This is because Narwhals are Whores.
The Olive Tree also found the Unicorn attractive, but their love was forbidden because there was a massive war between the Unicorn Nation and the Olive Tree Kingdom. Even though their parents forbid it, the Unicorn and the Olive tree eloped to the one place in the world where they would be accepted for who they are, Portland, Oregon.
The Unicorn and the Olive Tree campaigned for interficticious animal and arboreal marriage equality rights, but were struck down in the Supreme Court. They had a small ceremony in their neighbor ’ s backyard anyway. They eventually had children, little olive trees that sprouted tiny Unicorns that tasted like Nature Valley Granola Bars. The two grew old together until a tragic surfing incident when the Olive Tree was bitten by a shark. The Olive Tree immediately fell in love with the Shark and engaged in a lengthy affair that destroyed their marriage and devastated their children. Then the Unicorn died of a broken heart. The Olive Tree attended the funeral, but this was because the Olive Tree was chopped down and used to make the Unicorn ’ s casket. And that is why olives are an integral facet of Greek heritage.
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[ WP ] Two immortals disagree on whether immortality is a curse or a blessing .
| `` Losing everyone you hold closest time and time again.''
`` Displaying the strength of the human condition each time you overcome the pain and learning to love again. With each loss, I learn more about myself.''
`` There is so only so much one man can endure before he calls it a day.''
`` This man does n't have a choice, so all I can do is endure.''
`` How does seeing history repeat itself not boil your blood, Frank? Humans, they make the same mistakes, expecting different shit to happen. With all of their historical documents, each fuck up becomes more tragic than the last. Yes, each mistake is made under different circumstances: environmental, political, societal, yes, they think the results will be different because'the times have changed'. Yet we're no different *genetically* than we were 500 years ago, except now we know the Earth revolves around the Sun and man can, in fact, fly.''
`` Wars will always be fought on behalf of the greedy and the rich. No amount of wishing can change that. But for each instance of repeated events, there is a just cause being fought, civil rights, political freedom, equality, and this is where you and I have seen extraordinary things. Remember back just 100 years, I know you're able, and then think about the here and now, you can not tell me the hardships have not borne the fruit of change. We know the light is dimmest before the dawn, and that knowledge helps me sleep at night, as it should for you as well.''
`` I have one final argument.''
`` There is no finality with *our* discussions Brant, that concept drifted off centuries ago.''
`` Point well made, but do you not worry that we will see the last day this planet has to offer? What will become of us then?''
`` I do not know, friend, but what a fine day it will be when it arrives. Even after everything we have experienced, together, do you not revel in the excitement that we still do not know what to expect?''
`` I find it hard to share in your excitement, but I do find myself agreeing with one thing you have said this evening.''
`` What would that be?''
`` Whatever happens, it will be together, friend.''
*To whoever reads this, apologies for the high cheese-factor of it all. I'm in a feel good, cheesy mood, and this was the result of that. *
*Hope you all enjoy. *
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AlphaGo threw the last match . [ WP ]
| # # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap )
The burning splint of wood tumbled as it fell, the dying flame sputtering wet cobblestones until it was extinguished. He took a drag of the lit cigarette, the cherry end glowing bright for a moment. He let the breath hang, watching the clock tower above him before exhaling a cloud of white smoke.
`` Tim Fucking O'Casey...'' an irritated voice said behind him. He did n't bother looking back, instead glancing back to the clock. *Yep. Right on time. *
`` Archie,'' He said genially. `` Glad to see you.''
`` Fuck you to, Timmy,'' Archibald Clemens replied. Clemens was a man in his late twenties, his tired leather jacket a size too large on him. His brown hair was worn short in front and shaved in the back, and gave him a rather medieval appearance. One ear had been ripped in the past and healed ragged, the lobe missing a sizable chunk.
The two men said nothing for several minutes, instead allowing the silence of the misty evening to fill the gulf. The clock tower chimed eleven, the bells tolling the ancient Westminster Chimes.
`` AlphaGo, what sort of code name is that?'' asked Clemens finally. O'Casey shrugged.
`` Read it once in some textbook on primitive A.I. I doubt anyone in six jumps of here has ever heard of it. More than a thousand years old now.''
Clemens nodded and looked away, his hands slouching in the pockets of his jacket.
`` You got a job for me?''
O'Casey grunted the approximation of a yes and handed Clemens a slim manila envelope.
`` Ever hear of Carthage? The planet, not the ancient Terran civilization,'' O'Casey added.
`` That's that Taurian world between the Protectorate and Concordant, yeah? I know *of* it, but nothing else.''
`` Well,'' O'Casey said. `` It's an agrarian world, settled sometime in the early thirty-first century. Population fifty million, two hundred million if you count the sheep. It declared independence along with the rest of the Spinward worlds twenty five years ago. It has its own militia; a few regiments of infantry and a crap battalion of armor.''
`` A garrison contract, cadre?''
O'Casey shook his head. `` Pirate hunting. Governor says that a band of raiders have been extorting outlying communities, threatening to destroy their fields and villages unless they meet their demands.''
`` Have they?'' Clemens asked.
`` Of course. The Carthaginians are overstretched and under-mobile. If they try to protect everything they dilute their strength and open Carthage City to attack. The pirates have BattleMechs and free reign of the wilder portions of the world. The details are in the files. Password is *Carthago custodienda est. *''
Clemens chuckled at the Latin.
`` *Carthage must be guarded... * Cato the Elder would be displeased.''
`` Well fuck him, the one issue war hawk. God knows how he could fit foreign policy into a speech of public sanitation.''
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[ WP ] One day , after you wake up , you find that your house is surrounded by nothing but dark void .
| I woke up with the strangest feeling, like I was still dreaming. I opened my eyes.
`` Are my eyes open?'' I thought.
`` I'm pretty sure I opened them, so why ca n't I see a thing?''
`` It should be morning, and yet it's so dark...''
I got off the bed and carefully made my way in complete darkness to the lightswitch just from memory.
I turned on the light and I immediately noticed that from the window came no light.
At that point I became aware that I could hear my heart beating, as everything was so quiet, it was like I was the only living being left in the world.
I looked outside the window, and all I saw was darkness. Just dark dead void. Not a sound, not a light, it was unlike anything I ever experienced.
As I struggled to understand what was happening, a deep sense of fear sunk into my very core, I was speechless, and all I could do was stare outside in disbelief.
A chill ran down my spine, as I sat back on the bed I just got out of, trying to make sense of it all.
`` What's happening? What is that!?''
`` The lights are working, so maybe I can check on the internet if there any news about it.''
...
`` Nothing. There is no connection at all, it looks like the phone line is not connected.''
I decided to head outside, but as I tried to set my foot on the floor in front of the door, I was about to fall down, as there was no floor.
`` Perhaps I'm dreaming. Maybe if I go back to sleep I'll wake up to the real world?'' I thought. `` Yes, it must be a dream, this is too absurd to be real.''
I went back to sleep, but I could n't fall asleep, no matter how much I tried.
`` This is n't working... what's happening to me? I feel like I do n't need to sleep, like, at all... Now that I think about it, I did n't even need to pee, and I was n't thirsty or hungry after I woke up... I guess this must really be a dream after all...''
`` Maybe I should try that method lucid dreamers use to wake up that I read about that time...''
So I headed towards the door, and after some initial hesitation, I closed my eyes, and let myself fall backwards into the void, only to find myself once again on my bed.
I woke up with the strangest feeling, like I was still dreaming. I opened my eyes.
`` Are my eyes open?'' I thought.
|
[ FF ] How did humanity kill itself ?
| The Praegon: the most malicious weapon to ever be conceived by the human race was developed in 2343 under the reign of Supreme President Jarrod Hollock of the United States Empire.
It killed the world in seven minutes.
The Praegon was designed to end the War of the 12th Lesser God. But the scientists involved in its creation were completely wrong about what they were building. A new material, Maron IV, found near the core of Mars, was the base of the weapon Praegon. This alien material was something the humans had never seen before. Strange in its color, and even stranger in behavior, Maron IV was a very unstable liquid.
The United States Empire released The Praegon in hopes to only decimate the Lands of the Old God, thus annihilating the last remaining enemy to the USE. Maron IV was unique because unlike ancient nuclear technology, Maron IV would not destroy the O-Zone and life itself.
It's the same story every time. The weapon of mass destruction built by the highest power in existence wiped out the very planet they sought the rule. Now humanity shall live its days across the neighboring planets and galaxies; with Earth no more.
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[ WP ] A person , male or female , has hit rock bottom and is on the verge of commuting suicide . Out of sheer desperation , they call the suicide hotline , but they accidentally dial the home shopping network and their call is answered on live television .
| `` He-hello?''
`` Hello, you are on the air!'' a bright, chipper woman's voice says.
`` What?''
`` So what's your name?''
`` What?''
`` Your name, what's your name? ” I look out at the kitchen. When I made the call, I was shaking. I was keyed up. I was ready, dammit. But I decided to try the hotline anyway because I know my mom'd be disappointed in me if I killed myself. It's not like she's alive. But I figured it was worth a shot. It's the last chance I have at anything at all. Now I'm just really confused. This is not what I expected from a suicide hotline. It's so... perky. And what ’ s this about being on the air? Do they record their calls?
`` Marilyn.''
`` Well, thank you for calling, Marilyn! So, do you own these fantastic yoga pants? Or are you just hoping to buy them? ”
“ Well… I… what? What do yoga pants have to do with this? ”
“ *Everything*, Marilyn. They have to do with everything… because you can wear them to anything! ” She laughs a loud, fake-sounding laugh on the other end of the line. I feel my face screw up. “ That ’ s really the great thing about these pants, folks- they are so versatile. And breathable, too! Can ’ t forget that. So do you agree, Marilyn? Do you love these pants as much as I do? ” I ’ m starting to wonder if I ’ ve already somehow died without noticing.
“ What are you talking about? Are you new or something? ”
“ Marilyn! No, I think you must just be new to our station! I ’ ve been working here for twenty years and I ’ ve loved every minute of it! ” More fake laughter. I think I called the wrong number. Of course, I even fuck up my last chance. And I ’ m beginning to think I called the Home Shopping Network or something. So I ’ m probably on live TV right now. Awesome. Not that there ’ s many people watching at 3:45 am. I should just hang up, but I ’ m too scared to do that. I don ’ t know what I ’ ll do if I hang up. Besides, they ’ re expecting some kind of declaration of love for these goddamn yoga pants from me, and I feel obligated to deliver.
“ Oh, uh, of course. ”
“ So, Marilyn, why did you call us tonight? ”
“ Well, these yoga pants, they are really the best things in the world! ”
“ Oh, you don ’ t have to tell me, Marilyn! ” The woman is finally back in her element.
“ Really. They ’ re just… fantastic. They ’ re all that matters. I step into them and I, I feel like the crippling debt and rejection, they, they don ’ t even matter anymore because I am so… comfortable and my butt looks great. ” What am I even saying?
“ Yeah, uh, that ’ s right! ” She sounds a little caught off guard by my response but bounces back fast. “ You ’ re ready to take on the world in these pants, right, Marilyn? ”
“ Yeah, absolutely.'' They obviously want me to keep talking, so I keep talking. `` I feel like a better person in these pants! They boost my self-confidence out of the negatives into the low single digits! I can ’ t even imagine how horrible everything would be if I didn ’ t have them! I mean- God knows how it could get any worse!'' Crap, I'm getting off topic. `` But these pants… man, these pants! They are just the best thing since sliced bread! ”
“ I ’ m glad they ’ ve… helped you so much, Marilyn!''
“ Sometimes when I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, I think, now, Marilyn, you might not have anything worthwhile waiting for you, but you have an amazingly comfortable designer pair of yoga pants to put on and that ’ s better than nothing! ”
“ It was great hearing from you but we have other callers waiting-''
`` You ca n't hang up on me! These yoga pants are my life! These yoga pants are keeping me alive!''
`` Thank you for your, uh, enthusiasm! ”
“ You ’ re welcome! ” They hang up before I ’ m even done saying it. I put down the phone and stare at it. What the fuck just happened? I sort of feel like I should stay alive just to tell someone this story. But who could I tell?
Five minutes later, I ’ m dialing the right number into the phone.
“ Hello, you ’ ve reached the suicide hotline. This is Sarah, I ’ m listening. ”
“ Oh, *man*, Sarah, you would not believe what just happened to me! ”
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[ WP ] You 're just smoking on the balcony when you , through your own window , see an exact duplicate of yourself watching television in your apartment . Now your partner returns from the bathroom , joining `` you '' on the couch .
| `` not again'' was all I could think as I stood outside on the balcony and inside the apartment on the couch. I would have to wait it out again as I had before. How long though was to me still a mystery. I watched myself on the couch as I held up three fingers behind my husbands head. From the couch I stared at myself on the balcony; that glance I'd given myself several times.
The last time it had happened we were shopping. I had only left for one moment and there I was, standing next to him. that time I had held up 5 fingers.
It's the days in between where I cant see him that make it hard to bear. I could n't tell you why it happens but time has a way of bending around him.
We were in university the first time it happened. I left my class and was already talking to him before I could reach his dorm room. I held up 8 fingers that time. At the time I had no idea what that meant.
The fear I felt those next few days I would learn to know very well while dating him. Every time it happened I would show myself how long it would take. How long until everything went back to normal.
It was three fingers this time though which was n't as bad as it could have been. I opened the balcony door and headed inside put on my shoes and left our home. He never noticed this part of me as hard as I tried to get him to. All that was left for me was to wait it out. I would have to wait it out as I had before.
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[ WP ] A man falls head-over-heels in love with a woman he sees in an porn video .
| Dear Natasha `` Misty Fields'' Hendrickson,
My name is Tim Frances and I live in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I have seen all fifty six of your videos, from the beginning of your career until the one you released last week, `` All sluts covered in donkey cum volume 15: The Mule Chronicles.'' I have read your auto-biography published under Jism-Sluts Inc, labeled `` If I could n't suck dicks than I would probably sick clits instead.''
I must admit, from your work, and your words, you have inspired me. I have never been more in awe of someone's prowess and intelligence than I am with you. When you say `` I'd rather get my asshole fucked open by three dicks than watch another Tyler Perry movie,'' I understand what you mean. When you called that reporter a `` cock-gurgling chode leech,'' and then kicked him in the side of the head with your high heel, I understand why. No one should be so invasive of your privacy as to ask you about your illegitimate children. That reporter deserved the hemorrhage he got.
Anyway, all that is neither here nor there. I wanted to write you to tell you that you have not only inspired me, but I am also enamored with you. All of your brilliance and awe inspiring quotes compare dismally to your utter beauty. The allure of your curves, the smell of your hair which I did n't steal from you at Pron Con Philadephia, the way your voice rings beautifully when you moan because you're getting a seventeen inch cock stuffed into your gaping train wreck of a vagina all make me want to be yours.
Yes, Natasha- I love you! I'm not ashamed to say it. I love you deeply. I've had feelings for you for so long, and looked on you from afar. But now, I write to you for the first time. True, it takes my whole heart and all the courage I can stomach, but I would be a slave to you- I would love you faithfully for all time. I would take it up the ass with your black ribbed dildo and allow you to water-torture me while you jack off with a rusty iron poker, as you stated was your ultimate sexual fantasy in your interview with Morry Ribs in `` Poke Her Magazine.'' Whatever I could do, please- tell me and I'll do it. I'm a loving man and I'm yours to do with what you please.
Yours truly,
- Tim.
___________________________
Deer pethetac luser
Git a fucking life n eat shit.
- Misty Fields.
________________________
Dear Natasha `` Misty Fields'' Hendrickson
In our last correspondence, I neglected to mention that I am a multi-millionaire with exclusive access to many clubs and enjoy exclusive privileges often reserved for heads of state.
Proof enc.
- Tim
_______________________
Dear Mister Tim Frances,
im sorry i was a total b lst tyim i wrote you. lol! im just crazee sometimes, rite?
i like that u have mony n that ur cool with me being all crazee. wan na meet up some tyim n i can stik that dildo in ur booty?
- Misty Fields
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[ RF ] You did n't know it was going to be the last time you 'd ever speak to them .
| A few more items tumbled into his bag, and the locker was almost empty. It had been a long five years, filled with all kinds of adventures and - hah - learning experiences. Even though he was relieved to be finished, there was something that seemed to be missing.
*A History of the Macedonian Empire*
*Mark Philips*
Huh. An essay he'd entirely forgotten about. Probably filled with bullshit from two in the morning. It went in the recycling bin across the hall, settling on top of a stack of someone else's homework.
`` Hi, Mark.''
He turned his head, and there *she* was. Silent as a ghost, somehow standing right beside him as he awkwardly shuffled his backpack around his feet.
`` Hey, Anne.'' Was his hair messed up? Did he shave that morning? Damn, he could n't remember even putting on deodorant. `` How's it, uh, going?''
`` Very well, actually.'' She took another step forward, planting herself less than a metre from Mark. `` I just finished cleaning out my locker. Kind of bizarre, being done with this place. Will you miss it?''
Mark shrugged. *Yes*. `` I dunno. Plenty of memories, that's for sure.''
She laughed - was it at what he had said? *No, probably not. * `` That's right. Hey, a few of the others wanted to go and hang out at Mac's after leaving. What do you say, want to join in?''
A myriad butterflies coalesced inside Mark's stomach. One hundred possible answers, each as appealing as the last ( not at all ), were considered and discarded. `` I, uh, um.''
`` It's fine if you're busy,'' Anne said. She shrugged - *ah, so pretty*. `` We should all meet up some other time anyways.''
`` Right, yeah.'' Mark grinned weakly. `` I, uh, do n't think I have time. Sorry.''
Mark watched as she left, then slumped against his locker. A hard decision, but it was the right one, he was *sure*. He just was n't... ready, to talk to her. Maybe next time.
|
[ WP ] Some people have loving guardian angels , some people have cool guardian angels . You , unfortunately , have a helicopter guardian angel .
| “ Whaaaaat are you doing? ” The tiny voice popped up, as to be expected. I internally rolled my eyes and, supressing a groan, turned to my right.
“ How exactly do you expect me to pull this off? Waltz in and just politely ask them to put their guns down? ”
“ Well… ” I could tell he was thinking about it.
“ No. ” I cut him off before he could continue. “ This needs to be done now, and we don ’ t have time to talk about it. People ’ s lives are at stake here. ”
Without giving him time to protest further I stood up, shaking my cramping legs free and strode towards the edge of the rooftop.
“ Just wait a second! ” He ’ d caught up with me. “ It ’ s dangerous. You could get hurt. You could get shot! ” I could hear the horror in his voice at the thought.
I spun to face him, wishing not for the first time that I ’ d been assigned to someone else.
“ You can either come with me, or wait here. But this is happening. ”
With that sentence we had reached the doorway which led to the hotel beneath us. Taking a deep breath in, and trying my hardest to tune him out, I steeled myself and turned the handle pushing the door inwards. There was no-one there.
“ Thank god. ” I murmured quietly.
“ God has nothing to do with it. ” A whisper in my ear replied.
On shaky legs I stepped through to the cool stairwell, peering intently at the shadows in front of me. My eyes were going to take some time to adjust. I quietly closed the door behind me and sunk to the ground, if I was going to wait until I could see I may as well be comfortable.
“ Just, take some time and think about it! Be smart. I know that ’ s tough for you sometimes. ” You would think he ’ d be used to this by now.
“ Seriously? Shut up. You ’ re going to get me killed one of these days. ” I shot back in a harsh whisper. Below us I could hear the faint sounds of conversation. If I could hear them it wouldn ’ t be long until they could hear me. I turned to glare at him and put my finger to my lips. He glared back at me but thankfully kept his thoughts to himself.
By the time my eyes had adjusted the voices were loud enough to make out their conversation. It was definitely time to move.
“ I just… ” I hadn ’ t even taken a step yet, it was never ending! For someone who spent their life rescuing other people, you ’ d think I ’ d have a guardian angel who was ok with a little bit of danger!
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[ WP ] Any idea how I could elongate this short story ?
| Why was the subject up all night thinking about his/her picture? Presumably they were committing a crime, and getting processed at a jail happens pretty quickly so I do n't think they'd be sitting around for more than 20-30 minutes waiting for the officer's to take the photo. This one detail totally derails the legitimacy of the reveal to me. Otherwise, I think to elongate something like this, you'd have to go into what others might think of the photo, then perhaps the subject telling a funny story about WHY the others might think that etc.
( Oh man, my parents are going to be shocked. Of course they were always shocked when I had this kind of look on my face... blah blah blah )
That's my two cents, happy writing!
|
Start your story with : `` He had to know why I did it '' .
| He had to know why I did it. It was n't fair. None of this was fair. When we were saying our goodbyes outside of his apartment and he hugged me so fiercely I thought my heart would break, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to look him in the eyes and say, `` I did n't fall out of love with you. I never will.''
Instead, I stood there, stony faced and slack in his arms. The taxicab pulled up and I turned away, but not quick enough to avoid seeing the hurt on his face.
As I stared out the window, watching the mosaic of softly blurred lights crawl past, I thought about the future. His future. He would be sad and angry, but only for a little while. Life would distract him. Pretty girls would find him. And the pain would fade soon enough.
A clean break. It was my gift to him.
The day I left him, I moved into my new home; the hospice.
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[ WP ] Something to make me cry .
| Mom fought it all the way to April 1st. Couple months before she passed, she was lying on her bed in the nursing home when she all of a sudden she sat up and exclaimed `` It's beautiful, darling! Just like I'd always dreamed!'' She seemed pretty out of it. Her eyes were n't seeing what was really there, everyone could tell that. Dad got up and gently kissed her and he helped her lie back down. I saw him sit there, by her bedside, holding her hand late into the night. There'd be days when she seemed almost like her old self again, telling us old stories about immigrating to New York, and the stock exchange, and Fridays when she and Dad would get off work early and drive out of the city to `` disappear'' for a while. I saw them exchange some looks that meant more than words, a flash of light in their eyes, reflecting a beautiful past life still vivid in the shrouded, crowded room, and in the world of sickness we seemed to be immersed in. When April 1st, that final night, eventually came, she was strong. Dad soothed her gently, as she drew increasingly ragged breaths and then finally, as the light of dawn crept through the curtained windows, she opened her eyes, looked over to him, and said `` Beautiful day for a picnic, is n't it?'' It looked like there was a slight smile on her face. Then she passed.
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[ IP ] The Sacrament
| The wine burnt his tongue and lips as it touched them. He spat it out, frantically trying to expel the poison from his body. It was too late, he could feel it coursing in his veins. Fire shot through his chest and limbs in his mind's eye as the poisoned blood raced around his body. The archbishop looked down at him, no pity or judgement in his eyes.
He reached for his sword. These pious bastards would die before the poison took him. Who were they to judge his actions! His poison-numbed fingers would not cooperate though, and his fingers fumbled at the clasp on his scabbard. Another moment passed and suddenly he was clawing frantically at his throat for air, all thoughts of vengeance gone as panic took hold.
He fell, thrashing, his armour clattering against the cold flagstones. The clatter and crash was deafening, but still the monks continued to look on dispassionately as the poison took its course. The Golden Butcher of the Imperium had been a dead man since the emperor ’ s secret decree days before. It had fallen to the Church to take care of the body, as they often did. True, the archbishop mused, they were usually dead already before falling into the care of the religious authorities, but the archbishop was nothing if not flexible. Eventually, the man lay still, his face purple. Locking eyes with the archbishop, he tried to spit once more, before his eyes glassed over as death took him in her cold embrace.
“ In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen ”
His words spoken, the archbishop motioned to the monks who covered the body with a shroud. “ A tragedy has befallen our good Sir Emilo, Captain Venario. See that the emperor knows that his finest knight has come to a sudden, unexpected end. He will be saddened, no doubt, at the passing of a hero. How brave of him to attempt the climb to Saint Katerina ’ s tomb, simply to pay his respects. ” The captain of the guard clicked his heels, nodded, and left the room to make his report. Sir Emilo had been a hero, true, but heroes were often no more than villains who won. The Gold Knight would lie in state for several days, but it would be reported that his death in falling from the highest shrine in the cathedral had regretfully necessitated a closed casket. And so the wheels of state would continue to turn. The army would come under new, more faithful management, and the emperor would no longer need to fear the Golden Butcher.
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[ WP ] Money does buy happiness
| Happiness cost me about 500.
Happiness came from a nice local store. Where a nice young man helped me select my happiness from a wide range.
I went for a nice compact little bundle of happiness.
`` Would you like any accessories? A holder for your happiness?''
`` No thank you'' I said, a smile on my face. `` I'll carry this one out''.
I took my happiness back to my 1 bedroom apartment and admired it. A wonderful thing. Mass produces, stamped, checked, and sold to you for the low price of 500. What a time we live in. I placed it up on the shelf with my photos.
My photos, they show other happiness. Happiness gone by, but I had this new happiness now. Before I noticed, it was getting late. So I decided that I would go out for a walk with my happiness tonight, to see my wife.
MY wife found a new happiness too. Called John. John was muscular, a banker. John was the sort of guy you'd like to go for a drink with. Not find in bed with your wife.
I knock on the door.
John answers.
Happiness is a warm gun.
[ I had an idea, and like ever I petered out by about the half way point as I do n't know story writing. Just thought be a good twist as I expect a lot of drug or body augment style stuff here ]
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[ WP ] A cloned wooly mammoth theme park evolves into a restaurant chain due to lack of interest in live mammoths .
| `` Hey Lori, can I get two wheat wraps and six bacon?'' Patrick shouted over the slicer, his words barely making it to to the back amidst the din of the lunch rush at Wooly's. `` Sorry, what kind of cheese did you say you wanted with that?''
At the register, Brian pretended to be sorting the plastic box that held the buy-ten-get-one-free punchcards for frequent customers. It was his go-to action when he needed a task that was important enough not to be pulled away from, but not so involved that it required anything that approached actual effort. Out of the corner of his ear, he waited for the next customer to inform the sandwich `` savants'' if their order was for here or to go. Wooly's was an easy-enough gig that, for all its quirks, annoyances, and depressing role in the one-time global moral crisis *du jour*, paid the bills and let him forget about work the second he clocked out.
`` I'll have that for here, thanks.''
Brian placed a tray on the counter, and set a piece of wax paper and a napkin on top of it. `` Anything else to go with that…'' Brian felt a soft pat on his left shoulder. It was Bruce. It was always Bruce. As owner and manager of Wooly's for seven years, his tap could be felt the moment an extra unneeded napkin might be dipping into his daughter's college fund.
`` Two sandwiches, Brian. *Two* sandwiches. He told the savants that his wife was in the bathroom. Large tray, two wax papers, napkins in the middle,'' Bruce whispered softly. But with his body positioned an arm's length away from Brian, the scene was conspicuous enough to negate his hushed tones. His unnaturally stiff body made him look like a cardboard cutout forever shoulder-tapping his way into any and all normal conversations, and his propensity to repeat his micromanaging had earned him the name `` Two Bruce.'' Brian knew what was coming next.
`` …In the middle.''
`` I know, Bruce, I just did n't hear that, as I was not a part of that conversation that happened twenty feet away from me. And stop calling them'savants.' Savants weird people out. And they have nothing to do with mammoths.'' Brian slid a large tray onto the counter and continued on with the customer as if Bruce had never interrupted them for the sake of wax paper.
`` Seems like an interesting guy,'' quipped the customer, trying his best to acknowledge the scene without prying too much.
`` Well, there's a ten thousand pound wooly mammoth out back, so `` interesting'' comes with the territory.'' Brian often forgot about Margo, which he always thought was odd considering her size. Or the fact that she was a genetically-engineered wooly mammoth living in a pen behind a sub shop in Cheyenne, Wyoming, thousands of miles and thousands of years away from her nearest relatives.
`` Yeah, I guess so.'' The customer reconsidered his definition of `` interesting'' and figured he might as well ask. `` What's even the deal with that? I'm passing through town on business. I mean I know about the whole park and cloning thing, but why here? Why a sub shop?'' He was right. Fifteen years ago, Wooly World had been called `` The Greatest Scientific Experiment and Controversy of Our Era'' by Time Magazine. Glassow Genetics had spent billions of dollars to `` reanimate'' the long-extinct wooly mammoth for the purposes of `` scientific tourism'' - two heavily focus-grouped phrases they used to convince a skeptical public that their plans were cutting edge rather than foolhardy. A state-of-the-art theme park was built just outside of Denver, Colorado. Hotels were built, t-shirts were made, and op-ed pieces were written. For a few weeks, Wooly World was the biggest story in the world.
Then the gates opened. It turned out that wooly mammoths are, largely, an indescribably boring animal. As herbivores stuck in fields without the same strains of grass their ancestors had feasted on, they spent most of their day sedately chomping away in vain, hoping to fortify themselves with the right blend of nutrients that had disappeared from the earth with the end of the last ice age. Alternately, for two months a year, the male mammoths entered `` musth,'' a stage of heightened testosterone characterized by uncontrollable sexual arousal, unpredictable violence, and a the secretion of a foul-smelling liquid called temporin. Unfortunately for Glassow Genetics and their investors, the males entered musth during the prime summer vacation months. This meant that for their core audience of young families, the Wooly World experience was a grab-bag of mammoth fucking, vomit-inducing fumes, or shielding little Timmy's eyes and ears as the head keeper shot an irate male full of tranquilizer darts. The only thing sadder than a cry of a mammoth losing consciousness are the eyes of a six year-old boy when he realizes that the real-life version of his stuffed Wooly toy just got shot seven times.
`` Well after Wooly World shut down, the investors did whatever they could to recoup their costs. They figured they could build a bunch of themed restaurants around the country, ship a mammoth off to each one, and make that their draw to get people in the door. They could still sell all the merchandise, but the moneymaker would be food, not tickets.'' Brian had probably told this story a thousand times.
The customer still seemed perplexed. `` Yeah, I went to one in Atlanta a few years ago. But that one was, well, a bit nicer than this place. It had waiters, a bar, steaks, you know. You guys sell subs and are next to a nail salon.''
`` Well, the franchise did n't do too well here. People in Cheyenne deal with enough dull animals as it is. Nobody came, the place had to shut down, and my boss Bruce bought the entire place at a big discount. But he had to take Margo as part of the package. So he sold the other half of the building to the nail salon, kept the sign, and just made subs instead. He pays a guy twelve bucks an hour to feed her and clean the cage.''
`` Huh.'' A typical response.
`` Yeah, she's alright. So, uh, those two sandwiches come out to $ 14.64. For just a buck more, you can get a ticket out back to see Margo.''
`` Hmm, no thanks. I'll take a bag a chips though.''
`` Sure thing. Your total comes to $ 15.87.''
|
[ WP ] A centuries-old vampire , turned as a child , takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children .
| There's a rope skipping the children sing, down on Marigold lane, down in the dirty part of town, where you can have anything you want for a price.
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks just six*
*Do n't you fall for one of her tricks. *
*Sweet Mary Marvin, a hundred years old*
*Cheeks of red and hair of gold*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks so dear*
*If you see her, do n't go near*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her bite*
*On a sweet and shivery night*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her eleven*
*Tried to grab her and sent to heaven*
*One wanted hugs, another wanted kisses*
*One thought he'd take her for his missus*
*Sweet Mary Marvin give him a peck*
*How many holes were in his neck? *
*One, two, three, four....*
And the kids skip on. And on and on. It's a cute song, but honestly, it's putting me off my dinner tonight.
After all, how is some kid going to find a fitting rhyme for `` twelve?''
|
[ WP ] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage . The father says no . Tell us why and break our hearts .
| For the last thirteen years of my life there had only been one person who made me feel whole. One person who made me feel loved and accepted. One person to fill my black and white life with vibrant colors. Thirteen years had passed since the words `` Will you be my girlfriend?'' dribbled from my lips. A kiss on the cheek sealed the deal.
Lucy invited me to dinner with her parents Tuesday night. I could n't think of a more perfect time to ask for permission to marry her. I would meet her parents before Lucy got home from work, ask the important question, then spend the rest of the meal hiding my smirk in hopes of keeping my secret safe.
I arrived thirty minutes early and stood at the door frozen, unsure whether the sound I just heard was me knocking or my heart speeding. The door swung open and Lucy's mother pulled me into a hug. I sat down next to her father and went for it. My anxiety was getting the better of me. I could n't wait any longer. I forced the words from my mouth as these words formed the most significant sentence in my life.
At the words `` I'm sorry but'' I knew that I was n't getting the answer that I wanted. Maybe I could salvage the situation. He's probably just worried about his little girl. It's not over yet. `` I do n't think that's possible.'' Not possible? What's impossible about it? I get a ring and put it on her finger and we live happily ever after. It's very simple. I just need to explain to him that it will work. Yes, we're young and stupid, but we love each other. `` Why not?'' I asked. `` We've talked about it a good deal already. We'd wait until after college before actually getting married and we're willing to wait longer if we need to.'' The look on his face told me his answer had not changed. `` Look, you're a great kid and we're very happy you're dating our daughter. You guys have been together for thirteen years and she has been nothing but happy for all of them, but the reason we invited you over today was because we needed to tell you something. I took a job offer across the country, and in a month the whole family will be moving. I'm sorry but we've already spoke with Lucy and she is coming with. She's already placed her transfer for the university there.''
Those were the last words I could clearly remember. Everything after that was a complete blur. I had one month left, but then it would be over. Why even fake happiness? The one meaningful thing in my life was leaving. How could she leave me? Even if we were piss-poor college kids eating only ramen noodles and building mountains of debt, at least we'd have each other. At least I could wake up each morning before class knowing that there was someone there for me when I returned. Someone who made it possible to get out of bed in the morning. But she's gone now, and the only memory I have left is the feeling of her hand slipping out of mine as she got in the car.
|
[ WP ] Two entirely separate and unaffiliated groups of terrorists are planning to hijack the same plane .
| “ Attention passengers, Flight 231: New York to Chicago will begin boarding momentarily. Please have your tickets ready to be checked upon boarding. ”
Chad looked up. He had been preoccupied with the internet porn he was watching on his phone. He fumbled the phone into his back pocket and grabbed his bag. He got in line behind ten other people waiting to have their tickets scanned.
Chad was nervous. He began tapping his foot, looking from side to side while trying to seem as unsuspicious as possible. He couldn ’ t shake the feeling that he was failing terribly.
A minute later he was standing in front of the attendant, handing his ticket over as he tried to strike a pose that said anything other than I have a bomb in my bag. It worked; he ended up looking as if he was trying to hide an erection.
“ Sir? ”
“ Sorry? ” Chad replied, in a voice that sounded as if Hulk Hogan had a vice grip around his testicles.
“ Sir, you can have your ticket back, ” the attendant repeated, bending forward slightly to get the ticket closer to Chad ’ s hand.
“ OH! Uh, thanks. ” Chad took the ticket boarded the plane, shaking, but not visibly so.
Nigel watched the other passengers from the relative comfort of his seat. He was in no hurry to board; he might as well wait until everyone else has gotten on. When one ’ s own demise is soon at hand one tends to find an amazing new capacity for patients.
As the last of the other passengers trickled passed the attendant Nigel got up. As he handed over his ticket the attendant asked, “ What ’ s that ticking sound? ”
“ Oh, that ’ s just my watch, love. ”
The attendant looked down at his wrist and noticed the absence of a watch, and any other time-keeping device for that matter. As she looked up at Nigel he gave her a wink and pursed his lips together to emulate a kiss. As she struggled between feelings of disgust and complete apathy towards the situation, the attendant handed back his ticket and sighed, “ Have a nice flight sir. Thank you for flying Conair. ”
Nigel walked down the aisle of the plane and noticed that he was sitting next to the bloke with the erection. As Nigel sat down Chad looked up and said “ Hello, ” but then looked embarrassed and quickly looked down to stare very intently at his shoes. Nigel sat down without comment and shoved his bag under the seat in front of him.
Flight 231 had a total of 37 minutes of uninterrupted air time before all hell broke loose. 29 minutes in Nigel went to the bathroom at the rear of the plane. Chad thought it was odd that he brought his bag to the bathroom with him, but was too nervous about what he was about to do to give it much more thought. 30 minutes in Nigel had closed the bathroom door, unzipped his bag, and pulled out the four sticks of dynamite he had hooked up to an old-fashion alarm clock. How he managed to get it past security is anyone ’ s guess.
At the same time Chad was reciting a mantra he had learned to overcome stage fright, or at least, Chad thought it was a mantra. Really, a list of ingredients to curry broth and a self-help mantra are pretty much the same when you don ’ t speak Hindi.
32 minutes into the flight Chad pulled himself into the aisle with his bag in hand as Nigel walked out of the bathroom with his TNT held high. AT the same time both hijackers said, or rather Nigel said and Chad squealed, “ Attention ladies and gentlemen! I have a bo…. ”
Chad turned around at the sound of an echo and noticed Nigel standing at the back of the plane. He then took notice of what Nigel was holding and promptly let out a tiny scream.
“ What!? ” An elderly man in the front row asked, “ What did they say? ”
“ I think they said they got a bong, Marty. ”
“ Oh, well that ’ s nice. ” Marty quickly fell asleep and died. So, technically, Nigel and Chad were only responsible for the deaths of 87 people.
“ You daft wanker, am I being punked? ” Nigel shouted. “ Did Clarisse put you up to this? If she did I swear to you that you ’ ll regret ever stepping foot on this plane. ”
“ N…No…? ” Chad asked, for the revelation that they was now a second bomb on the plane robbed Chad of any confidence in the reality of the situation. “ I…. ”
34 minutes into one of the flight attendants actually noticed the TNT in Nigel ’ s hand and began to scream. By the time minute 35 rolled along the entire cabin of the airplane was screaming. Nigel rushed at Chad and tried to grab his bag away. “ Give me that bag you filthy American. The EEP will not be made a fool of by some two bit, wannabe hijacker! ”
“ Uh… ” Chad tried to say. Unfortunately a very large, very angry looking man stood up front the back row and began to make his way towards Nigel and Chad.
“ UH! UH! ” Chad grunted, darting his eyes back and forth between Nigel and the very big man.
36 minutes into the flight Nigel found his left right should being crushed in a vice-grip very much like the vice-grip of Hulk Hogan. He was subsequently thrown backwards toward the rear cabin and landed in the aisle is a thud. As Nigel struggled to get up he noticed that the clock had fallen off the sticks of TNT. He wasn ’ t sure what that meant.
The very big man proceeded to grab Chad by the shoulders and lift him into the ceiling with great force. Unfortunately for everyone involved, ceilings, being solid things, don ’ t have very much room with which to accommodate new heads. This ceiling-head dilemma was resolved with a puncture in said ceiling and a loose of cabin-pressure.
Chad, his head, and his bomb bag were sucked out of the airplane and ended up in one of the jet-intakes. As the bomb came into contact with the jet engine it exploded and… well, I ’ m sure you can imagine the rest.
|
[ WP ] It was his first day as a knight under the Lord and he really effed up . He effed up real good .
| `` He did what?!'' shouted the Lord Harryl at his squire.
`` H-he lost his horse while at the brothel. Probably forgot to tie it. I went to get him but he was n't there and the horse was gone.'' The Squire looked at his feet while he talked.
`` Good lord. That horse cost me two hundred gold shillings. And a boat. I should take his knighthood from him.'' Harryl sat back down in his chair and rested his head on his fist. `` Find him and bring him here. I need to talk to him.'' The Squire nodded and hurried out of the hall.
Knight David opened the brothel door and covered his eyes from the burning bright sun. A lady of the night passed him and gave him a tender slap on the ass before going out to the loo. David smiled and walked around back to get his horse. Only, he found it was not there. His eyes went from relaxed to anxious, and he immediately turned back to the brothel for investigation.
David slammed open the door and two girls enjoying their breakfast gasped. `` Where is my horse?!'' He yelled at them. The blonde got up from her chair.
`` Excuse me?''
`` Where is my horse?''
`` What horse?''
`` The one that was tied to the stake around the back!''
`` The black one?''
`` Yes.''
`` You sold it.''
`` For what price?''
`` For having two girls at the same time.'' She took a step closer, smiled. `` You do n't remember?''
`` No I do n't remember!''
`` You were quite drunk.'' The brunette said. David stood there, red faced, trying to grasp what had happened and what to do.
`` Where is it now?'' He asked. The girls looked at each other.
`` We do n't know.'' Blondie shrugged.
The door slammed open as the Squire entered.
`` WHERE IS SIR DAV --!'' He paused as he saw David. `` I'm sorry, Sir. The Lord Harryl demands your presence in his hall as soon as possible. I ask you come with me.''
David looked at the Squire, his eyes got big, face went from red to pale. `` Fuck.''
|
[ WP ] Its D-DAY . You are a rifleman.. You get behind cover , and to your surprise , when you peek out you are the only unit on the beach , and there 's very little or no signs of struggle or war .
| Bullets whizzed overhead, all hell broke loose. I paused, gripping my rifle tightly. I weighed my odds of survival as the landing craft lurched to a halt and the large ramp lowered in a spray of sand. I ran with my unit, barely paying any mind to the red waves that crashed around my ankles, ignoring the deafening explosions. People fell all around me. I needed cover. Then, the perfect opportunity. A boulder not too far away. I sprinted to it, my heart beating furiously from the adrenaline. skidded to a stop at the boulder, panting heavily. I had made it.
It took a moment for the silence to set in. I immediately thought I was deaf, that some nearby mortar had made me loose my hearing. But then, the sound of waves. Not explosions, not gunfire, just wind and waves. Grabbing my rifle once again, I hazarded a look up the beach.
To my amazement, there was no sign of the battle I had just witnessed. The Nazi turrets at the top of the cliffs looked decrepit and in disrepair. The bodies of my fallen comrades were nowhere to be seen, the water was a healthy blue. Was I even in Normandy anymore? I dropped my rifle and leaned against the rock, confusion rolling over me. Then I was interrupted by a voice.
`` Sir?'' The voice was heavily accented French. I immediately looked up to see a man who was dressed casually and trying his hardest to hold back an eager Labrador on its leash. I simply stared, bewildered. The man continued: `` What, doing some D-Day thing?'' I finally mustered strength to respond. `` D-day?'' The man gave a polite smile. `` What? you forget it's 2016 or something?
|
[ WP ] An action hero runs from his arch-nemesis , critiquing the author 's writing style as he goes .
| `` Your mother drinks horse piss'' the hero yelled as a bolt struck the mannequin near him.
with a roar of frustration the arch nemesis hurled the spent plasma pistol at the hero.
`` I meant you dear author, not that.... whatever.. attempting to convey rage in the background. Heck I may even like the guy if he was free to say what he wanted''
His arch nemesis yelled out the names of the people and families he had destroyed before being stopped by a minor detective.
``.... really? I mean, could n't we have had some sort of roof top chase with him yelling obscenities while blowing everything up in an orgy of destruction while I yell witty one liners? Easier to write and a movie would look good''
Sudden silence in the background is soon broken by the ping and metallic clang of a grenade landing near our proud overly talkative heroes feet.
`` oh... shi. wait.. here, let me kick it back at him''
The grenade is a dud, and ricochets off the wall into the heroes forehead.
`` OWW, you Goddamn infant. Wait - So because of `` PLOT'' he ca n't die and I ca n't die... You cowardly, mincing twat''.
Finding deep inner reserves of power, the villain begins to throw the mannequins at our hero, who, trembling in fear, cowers behind the concrete pillar of the warehouse.
`` No you near illiterate monkey, I'm not cowering in fear. WHY would I be!? Holy hell, you have a sentient hero and *this* is what you do with it? Have you made your wife read this yet?''
A shudder is felt running through the ground, and all of a sudden a massive crack appears in the floor, widening as a hell rent begins to form in front of the hero. The hero pauses for a second reflecting on the forces arrayed against him.
`` Ok, firstly, You. Are. An. Idiot. Secondly, a what rent? Thirdly, why in Gods good name would I pause to ponder. Who *does* that.'scary opening to hell, let me spend a second to complete a monologue'.''
Just as a demon begins to form, a slab of concrete appears on top of our hero and crushes him, leaving a dark, crimson stain of futility.
`` Oh... A STAIN OF FUTILITY. Shakespeare wept. So did your English Teacher. I'm crying. Also you MISSED, I *defy* you ``
The demon starts to take fuller form, glowing eyes wink into existence and a malevolent consciousness focuses its dark will upon our ignorant, argumentative, daft hero.
`` Ok, that was slightly better. You are fond of me, so let me tell you something.You are having a psychotic break. Get bent. And to all gods and horrible fates - I choose when to go and come. And guess what. I choose now to go. And you will let me.''
The hero shoots himself, and lets the demon eat his nemesis.
|
[ EU ] Voldemort , but good .
| `` My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Hello, father.''
After his time at Hogwarts, learning about his family and heritage, the Heir of Slytherin had done may things. he had exposed the Basilisk of the Chamber of Secrets, saving the muggle-born Myrtle. He had also, secretly, assisted Rubeus Hagrid in raising the acromantula Aragog. Yet his greatest discovery was that his father was a Muggle. The Slytherin house, and the house of his mother, was purely Wizard blood, yet he was different; he was a half-Blood but he had also noticed that he had not only succeeded where his pure-blood kin had faultered or failed, but excelled.
`` How... how did you get into my house?'' questioned Riddle Sr.
`` Your locks are quite useless to my... particular skills, father. Now, do take a seat, I do n't intend to take up much more of your time.''
The lounge are was quite large - it came with the privilege of being in the upper-class during the Second World War. Bombs would fall, but not this far out in the country. Riddle Sr, quite unnerved, took a seat opposite his son.
`` What do you want?''
`` I would like to know the answer to a question that has been on my mind for the last 17 years. One that has sometimes made me lay awake from dusk until dawn. I have explored all the avenues of chance, and each one has led me to the same conclusion.''
Tom whisked out his wand. The doors and windows suddenly locked themselves. Riddle Sr was not going anywhere until Tom had an answer.
`` Why did you leave her, father?'' he asked, his voice starting to break.
`` Why did I leave who?''
`` MY MOTHER!'' roared Tom, standing up as tears began to fall. `` My mother and your wife! She was pregnant and you left her! She had to fight and struggle every single day. Your absence ensured she could never recover. Do you even know how she died?''
``... no, I do not.''
`` She died,'' Tom spoke softly, his voice shaking as he tried to regain his emotions, his face stained with tears, `` an hour after giving birth to me. In an orphanage, on New Year's Eve, just on the edge of London. Her final act was to give me your name, and give me her love. I do n't even want to think what would have happened if it was your love I received.''
`` Now, look here,'' countered Riddle Sr, `` Your mother enticed me - tricked me - into loving her. Every day, she gave me potions that clouded my mind until all I saw was her. She used me. In her delight, she believed that I would love her anyway. But how could I? Everything we had was a lie her magic had concocted. All magic is a lie.''
`` That ca n't be true, you're lying!''
`` If you had spent less time with your stick and more time with your eyes on a history book, you would have noticed that not once - ever - did we interact with each other. I was a bachelor of the upper class. She lived in squalor, out of sight. I was betrothed to Cecilia, she admired me from a distance. How else could your mother had caused me to elope?''
Tom was calculating every possibility, every scenario. He had thought he knew how it could have all gone, but he realised that he had been ignoring the biggest fact of all - his mother was in the wrong. She had made his father fall for her. He had been right to leave. He had been right to despise his child. His mother loved both of her Toms, but only one was truly hers. Riddle Sr's life had been damaged, all because his mother could n't stop her infatuation.
`` I'm... I'm sorry, father.'' Tom apologised.
`` Do n't call me that, boy,'' replied Riddle Sr.
Suddenly, there was a bang at the door.
`` Master Tom, are you all right?'' A guard of the house had arrived to intervene.
`` I'm being held captive, break down the door!'' bellowed Riddle Sr.
Tom drew his wand, prepared for the conflict. Suddenly, he heard the click of a rifle - they were planning on shooting through the door. Tom whipped his wand across himself.
The gun fired.
`` *Protego! *'' cried out Tom. The shield charm burst out from his wand, ricocheting the bullet away from himself.
And directly into Riddle Sr's chest.
`` **NO! **'' screamed Tom.
The guards, having weakened the door, finally burst through. Tom turned his wand on them and cried `` *Expelliarmus! *'' The guards' guns flew away as Tom ran over to his father. Tom had only learned to defend himself, but his knowledge of healing spells were limited. He pointed his wand over the bullet wound.
`` *Episk-*'' began Tom.
`` No!'' bellowed Riddle Sr, knocking the wand out of Tom's grasp. `` You will live with this!''
Horrified at what his father was doing, Tom suddenly realised the guards were emerging in on him. Unable to reach his wand, Tom pointed at the guards with his finger, hoping that this would work. `` *Petrificus Totalus! *''
He felt the drain of energy as the guards suddenly stiffened, before collapsing to the ground. Tom, reached over to his wand and dragged himself back to Riddle Sr's side. As he placed his wand over the bullet wound, he noticed his father had stopped breathing. Try as he might, Tom could not resuscitate his father. Knowing that his binding curse would soon wear off, Tom fled the manor, his heart heavy with grief.
|
[ WP ] Michael Scott takes the stand at a murder trial .
| Defense attorney: `` The defense calls Mr. Michael Scott to the stand.''
Hundreds of cameras flash and chatter as Michael approaches the stand with a nervous sweat.
Judge: `` Mr. Scott do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you god?''
Michael: `` I, Michael Scott, swear to tell any truth that I have, any- any truth there is. That is my testimony, your highness.''
J: `` Please take your seat Mr. Scott. Defense, you have your witness.''
DA: `` Mr. Scott. Do you recognize the man sitting over there?''
MS: `` Yes, your worship.''
DA:'' You can just call me Mr. Baker, Mr. Scott. That's fine. That man over there, what is his name and how do you know him?''
MS: `` The gentlemen to my right, seated in the forward'' searches `` -position. Is named Ryan Howard. I am his best friend''
RH: `` You're not my best friend Michael''
MS: `` We are... good friends, we are more than friends.''
DA: `` I'm sorry Mr Scott, are you implying you and Mr. Howard are romantically involved.''
RH: `` No! He does n't know what hes saying''
MS: `` Ryan is not my lover. But if I were gay, I would n't say no. But I'm not gay, I have a wife, who is smoking hot, shes right over there!''
Holly: `` Michael please.''
DA: `` Mr. Scott, where were you on the night of Oct 16th, 2014?''
MS: `` I was in bed. Watching MASH. The one with Alan Alda, not the other one, with War Machine.''
DA: `` I'm sorry, Mr. Scott I do n't understand''
MS: `` He was in Hotel Rwanda.''
DA: `` Did Mr. Howard call you that night?''
MS: `` Yes.''
DA: `` And what did he say?''
MS: `` He said that he needed my help, that I was the only person he could call, that if anyone could get him out of this it would be me''
RH: `` Michael!''
MS: `` He said that best friends keep secrets and so Im keeping this secret. For you Ryan''
RH: `` Michael that's not what he-''
DA: `` Im sorry Mr. Scott, are you refusing to answer the question?''
MC: `` Yes. So crucify me if you must, but i will not betray my friend.
DA: `` Mr. Scott, no one is asking for your, betrayal. We ask simply for your honest account of that evening.. Mr. Howard is accused of defecating on the mayors lawn. If he was at your house then he could n't possibly have committed this heinous crime.''
MS: `` Oh well, yeah he came to my house. Yes, your- mmajesty''
DA:'' Thank you Mr. Scott. Defense rests.''
J:'' Prosecution, your witness''
PA `` Mr. Scott, how did Mr. Ryan seem to you when you aaw him that night? Would you describe him as less than stable?''
MS `` No, hes not clumsy''
PA `` Mentally Mr. Scott. Did he seem anxious, worried, angry?''
MS `` No more than usual. But he used to do a lot of coke''
Crowd uproars.
J `` Order in the court!''
PA `` Did Mr. Howard stay at your house that night.''
MS `` Yes he slept on a fold out couch.''
PA `` He did n't leave?''
MS `` No.It was our first official sleepover.''
Pa `` The prosecution would like to show Evidence A, a vhs security tape from the night in question at a local pawn shop.''
Video shows Ryan walking in, trading in some comics for cash.
MS `` You took my X-men comics and sold them!?''
RH `` Michael its a trick, they photo shopped that video''
J `` Order! Order! Defense, control your client or I will hold him in contempt''
DA `` Sorry your honor''
PA `` The prosecution presents, Evidence B, a security tape of a local gas station.''
Video shows Ryan, quite a bit more disheveled than the last video, walking in, buying a half gallon of milk and three bags of ex lax. Exiting the gas station, pouring the ex lax into the jug, then chugging half the bottle down. Wipes his mouth, jerks his head around as if he heard something, then takes off running in full blown panic.
PA `` The prosecution rests, your honor''
Edit: Grammar spelling. This was typed on my phone, you get the gist.
|
[ WP ] You are a Centurion . You represent a century and have superpowers related . You live 100 years and then are reborn as a new century .
| I remember.. the last century. I do n't think there's been anything comparable. I've always remembered. The centuries before, not so much, but the 20th century, I can not forget it. I can not forget the trenches, the gas, the machine guns.. I was only fourteen, yet as strong as the greatest man, as powerful as the strongest artillery gun, so I fought, I thought it would be good, but the optimism of my youth then, it was so quickly stomped away in the war, and the depression of my young life only washed away temporarily by the Roaring Twenties. I exited the war as the greatest soldier ever known to man, but also as a broken man. Why was I given these powers? What was to come, I asked myself, frightened.
I kept doing what I was good at. I was reborn as a soldier, so I fought. In the disintegrating wastelands of eastern Europe, I fought as a mercenary, for Denikin, rising up to division commander, until him and the Whites were defeated near Moscow, though I had done my part and broken through. Me and my men, we were abandoned, and thus again forced our way through through the snowstorms and the Red Army attacks, only this way back, when we were so close to victory. Out of the ten-thousand, only four-thousand survived, and the division soon disintegrated. Men under me fought like men possessed, and never broke, but even they could n't handle everything.
With whatever men I had left, I deserted to the Ukrainians, swearing my vengeance against Denikin and the Reds. Once again I rose, but once again the enemy was just too numerous. Though I defended Kiev and defeated many, once again I was forced to retreat. Finally, I defected to the Poles and finally my thirst for vengeance was released near Warsaw. I commanded one of the attacking divisions and as we encircled the Soviet army, I ordered the killing of all political commissars as we completely smashed them. I had seen too many dead, too many starving, too many suffering.. and I grew apathetic to it, I guess. The dead of the commissars did not phase me, I only wished for them to suffer. But, when I saw the mass graves, I grew pale, nonetheless, doubting myself. In the end, though, we had won. I wished to march on Moscow, but Pilsudski wanted peace, so I resigned and left, returning to France.
When I returned, I was hailed as a hero, as a great general and a great Frenchman. It all felt alien though. My sisters were married, had children, had their own lives. My brothers were still in that little village in Poitou, working at the farms. My parents, still tending to that little house. It all felt surreal. How could this exist in the same world as the battlefields in Flanders or in Kiev? How could this exist in the same world as the mass graves, the starvation? It was so alien I could not help but flee France, still as a broken man.
But, what was broken can be repaired. In those days, I was famous, of course, a war time hero and a curiosity due to my powers, so I travelled the world, from my little village in Poitou to Japan. In 1924, I stopped in Wuhan, China, where I met Sun Yat-sen, as well as Chiang kai-Shek, two interesting men, but most importantly of all, I met my wife there.. a woman I will never forget, Chengguang, no matter how many times I reincarnate. And as I fell in love with her, so I fell in love with China, and I swore my loyalty to those two men. My hopes for a great China, however, soon proved to not be so simple to realize. Sun Yat-sen died the next year, just when my first child was born, my first daughter. When a year later, the Northern Expedition began, I joined Chiang. When the split in the KMT began, I joined Chiang again, as my experiences in eastern Europe had cemented a hatred for everything red. Together with the local warlords, I destroyed the leftist rival government in Wuhan, entering the city where I had began to love China as a conqueror. In the Northern Expedition, despite the horrible incompetence of many Chinese generals, we ultimately gained a victory, sort of.. the warlords merely switched their coats to a KMT coat, while not giving up much power. I was away a lot in those days, to the annoyance of Chengguang, who told me that just because I had the traits of a great soldier, it did n't mean I should be one. I dismissed that in those days, but nowadays, I realize she was right.
In those days, there was peace, so I finally rested. Those were the best days of my life. We were blessed with three more children and moved to Nanking, to live in the capital and the French embassy. Four beautiful little girls.. I sent Hu, the eldest, to France to study there, but Chengguang insisted the rest of them stay with us. They were bright children, performing well in school, even though I was often away. Nonetheless, my unrest grew as the'30s rolled in and more and more bad news from Europe rolled in. Though I disliked communists, the rise of fascism worried me greatly and I was opposed to the German advisors in China, though Chiang overruled me and set me aside in favour of his Germans, leaving me with no important positions left in China. When the Spanish civil war broke out, I left China to fight again, though Chengguang opposed it and my children cried. I had finally found it though.
A truly righteous war. I left for Spain. I first went through France, where I visited Hu and took her to my home village to meet her grandparents, who spoiled her rotten, to my pleasant surprise. It was a good meeting, before I went off to war again.
So, I joined up with the International Brigades and led the French batallion, defending Madrid. The Soviet spies were eager to kill me, but Stalin apparantly deemed me useful enough to fight, despite my anti-communism. My batallion was soon filled with Spaniards and grew to a brigade and then a division. They called me the tall Napoleon, and the fascists called me a communist, ironically enough. From Spain, I tried to use my popularity to have France join the war, and I convinced many of the left-wing and right-wing, but a year later, war in China broke out again, this time against Japan. I was doubting whether I should abandon my efforts in Spain and head back, or place my faith in the Chinese. I chose for the latter and kept fighting, but when Shanghai fell, I knew I had made the wrong choice. I abandoned my men and hurried back to China.
When I got there though.. ah.. I had come too late. Nanking was already burning.. with Chengguang in it, and Chen, and Daxia, and Fang.
Ah...
I will spare you the stories of what happened to those in Nanking. I re-enlisted for Chiang and demanded the command of whatever elite divisions he still had, which he gave. Those years, I remember them solely as bloodshed during the day and weeping during the night. In my dreams Chengguang visited me, telling me about Heaven, though I knew that were just dreams, dreams that felt like an iceshard stabbing my heart. During the day, rage dominated. Any Japanese officers we found were immediatly executed and as we lost more and more land, more and more Japanese soldiers were also executed. Chiang lacked good generals so I was sent to the front many times, having to turn a defeat into a victory. In those days, I was the finest as soldier, as I was possessed by bloodlust. My powers of leadership grew in those days, and instead of mere divisions, I became able to inspire whole armies and with that I grew to the rank of general.
We began crushing the Japanese whenever they attacked. I wanted to spread fear into their hearts. The fears that they had begun something they could not finish, the fear that they would in the end be crushed as ants. As soon as that job was done though, Chiang had little use to me, so he removed my from my position. I was a threat to his power. It was ME that saved China. ME! I SAVED CHINA! NOT HIM, WITH HIS CORRUPT CRONIES, WITH HIS INCOMPETENT GENERALS, IT WAS ME! I FOUGHT AT WUHAN, CHANGSHA AND GUANGXI! ME! I HAD KILLED FOR HIM, TENS OF THOUSANDS OF JAPANESE AND CHINESE, MY WIFE DIED IN HIS WAR AND THAT WAS WHAT HE GAVE ME, A STAB IN THE FUCKING BACK.
I left China for good. France had already fallen and Hu had escaped to London, where I joined her and enlisted in the Free French. Though I tried to become its leader, my relationship with a Chinese woman and my half-Chinese child discredited me, so I became instead a subordinate. I had grown to hate fascism intensily. Japanese or German, the variety did not matter, I would kill them wherever I found them. De Gaulle sent me to North Africa, where I commanded the French Foreign Legion, and sent Rommel fleeing with the British. Then, I sent them fleeing in Italy and finally in France, marching triumphantly into Paris and my old home. Any SS officers or soldiers we found were tortured and killed on my orders. Finally, I ended the war in southern Germany, finally finished.
I moved back to France, but my past haunted me as my killing of SS'ers and Vichy French became controversial. To escape a trial, I went to the United Kingdom, to live with Hu and her husband. That was the last link I had to that world, the 20th century. And then she also had to die. Not even in a war or anything, just a traffic accident. She had to die in a traffic accident. Her sisters died in the fires of Nanking with her mother, and when peace finally dawns, God is so cruel as to take my last daughter away through a traffic accident.
I snapped.
The next fifty years.. it's all a blur. I fought in Algeria, Vietnam, Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, South America, Afghanistan.. I remember so many dead people. So much blood on my hands. And in the end, I died all alone, in a jungle in Congo. The greatest warrior in history, the newspapers called me as I was found dead. The most fearsome general of the 20th century.
But now, in the 21st century, I can feel the same powers as those I had in the 20th century, only so much, so much stronger.. God help this century. God help me.
|
[ WP ] Centuries ago , humanity achieved immortality by uploading their minds into an infinite VR simulation . Now , one young mind has discovered physical reality and tries to convince others of it 's existence .
| Claude's cell was n't anything special. Metal bars, an elevated mattress, a corner disposal unit. It was average as prisons go. However, the warden dozing to his left was a surprise. He figured that was just a movie stereotype, but the idea of watching over imprisoned teens eight hours a day felt boring. More so than a math class. For the first time since his arrest hours earlier, the young man's mind reached to another person, and he sympathized for the warden briefly.
Then he hated him. No. He hated everything. Claude could n't help it; the echoes started that morning, and he was unsettled ever since.
It started with lifting a spoon of damp cereal to his mouth. Teeth clicked the metal, and the sound pulsed through his body. Then the vibration extended from him. He *felt* the table, the tile floors, the dirty microwave. Shocked, Claude dropped the spoon. It was small, but the thundering enveloped him. In his head, his chest, his kitchen, the world pulsed and vibrated.
Then it shattered.
Claude could still feel the pieces of window and cupboard beneath him as a new sight took away his breath. A charcoal grey that spanned across where the sky used to be. It had always been blue before. And a cold breath pressed into his right. Turning to see what it was, he saw nothing, but it was consistent. Uncomfortable. Relentless. The wind pushed into his face.
For the first time in Claude's life, he breathed.
The kitchen boxed over him in a hurry, jigsaw pieces snapped together seamlessly. Peacefully. The Andrews house sat under the perpetual blue he grew up under. The cold breath was gone. It's absence felt unnatural. He panicked. Shuddering, he grabbed the table for support while taking a step back, pushing his foot deep into the spoon. Claude yelped. The room thundered again.
His mother rushed for the stairs to see what the matter was. Claude did n't have to hear it. He could feel her feet pounding down steps. Awareness branched from him randomly, nerves and nothing stretching where material tugged on him. Where everything called to Claude.
The world felt more certain, as though it was waiting for Claude to pay attention. Then it roared. His mother lifted the prostrate boy's body, shaking him by the shoulders. When he snapped awake, the burden burst from his mouth;
*'' Where the hell are we? `` *
The question startled her. `` What do you mean?'' she asked.
Claude's head lulled forward mumbling. It thrust back to her face, screaming. `` *This was n't real?? *'' He could barely hear himself. The roar was a barrage. A gust that would blow him away. Hands clasped to his ears, he howled.
When his mind came together, he found himself being dragged to a police station. Apparently, he was being arrested. Some time passed, he was sure, but Claude did n't bother asking how much. It did n't matter for reasons beyond what he could explain. Time just felt pointless.
Claude lifted his head to the warden once more. *Explaining any of this is, pointless. * A dizzy spell took him briefly, forcing a hand to catch himself on the mattress. In a thud, the world echoed again, then roared in his head.
`` Quit that racket,'' a tired warden called out.
The word hung on a thin string in his mind. *Racket. * He grabbed it, and pulled for the life of him. Anything to make it quiet.
A body flung itself towards his cell and smashed into the bars by the door. Clattering keys dangled blatantly from the unconscious figure's waist. When Claude got up and grasped them in his hand, he made for the door.
Claude paused, and looked around his cell. He noticed nothing special. There were still metal bars. The mattress remained elevated against the wall. The disposal unit still sat in the corner. It was average as prisons go.
He dropped the keys, and stood in front of a heavy, locked metal door. Claude flicked it with a finger. It rung like a bell, and the door swung open.
Silence. The world was still. *You get it then? *
`` Yeah,'' Claude replied.
It was calling him home.
|
[ WP ] Every night you have a vision of the future : the love of your life dying in your arms . You try to change things , and it does effect the vision in various details , but you have n't managed to change the most important part , and you are running out of time .
| I know every curve of her face, the scent of her skin, the softness of her hair.
I know the sound of her voice. I know the way she laughs -- a bubbly, musical giggling, with the occasional undignified snort. It's the most wonderful sound in the world, to me.
I'm infinitely familiar with the sound of her screaming her throat raw.
This time around, I'm driving. We just bought this minivan a few weeks ago. We just had twins -- it was time to upgrade to a family car. At the dealership she'd told me, jokingly, that I'd be the one to drive them to soccer, because there was no way she was going to turn into one of those suburban soccer moms.
The twins are both in the back, in their matching carseats. I keep glancing at them in the rearview mirror. They're so tiny. So wonderful. I ca n't help but smile --
I do n't see the semi running the red light as we cross through the intersection.
It hits us -- a terrible, bone-jarring impact on the passenger side. The airbags burst out. My wife screams, once, then gasps, coughs, and goes silent. I look at her, and regret it.
Blood. So much. Too much. Glass and twisted metal, tearing flesh --
The twins are wailing in the back. I can barely hear them over the throbbing of my heart.
I reach out to her, try to wipe the blood from her face. Her eyes focus on me for a moment, then grow unfocused. I know, somehow, that it's over. She's gone.
`` No, no, no...'' I moan. `` No...''
And then I wake up.
-- -
I spent a few minutes, trembling with adrenaline, focusing on my breathing and trying to slow my heartbeat.
Then I sat up, grabbed the journal from the bedside table, and started to write.
*Minivan. Hit by semi-truck on passenger side. Avoid buying minivan? *
I tried to remember the make and model. I could n't. All I could remember is that it was red -- I'd picked out the color.
Still, I'd resolved, now, to never own a minivan. Or maybe I could just avoid driving anywhere during the first few weeks after the birth of the twins. If we had twins. We might not.
I'd had other visions of us when it was n't twins. Sometimes a single daughter, or a single son. Sometimes no children at all.
My first vision had been of the two of us on our one-month anniversary -- not of our marriage, but of when we'd just started dating. It had been another car crash. I'd hit a patch of ice, skidded, hit a tree. She'd died on the way to the hospital.
I knew the place. I knew to avoid it, now, when driving at night during the winter. I'd never had that exact vision again.
But I had others.
I sighed, and flipped back through the pages of my journal.
It was a macabre piece of work, listing all the myriad ways I'd seen my soulmate die, and all the ways I hoped to avoid it.
Avoid a certain bridge at night. Do n't take her surfing when the water's rough. Do n't drag her on that road-trip your friends may-or-may-not eventually suggest, driving up to Napa for some wine-tasting thing, when it's going to be rainy out. Double, triple, quadruple check that her medication is packed when you head out for a camping trip in the middle of nowhere -- or perhaps just do n't go camping.
So many things I knew not to do -- and there was always one more.
I closed the book and glanced at the clock. It was 2:27 AM.
I flopped back down and closed my eyes.
The alarm woke me up at 6:30. I could n't remember any further dreams, that night.
Maybe that was a good sign. More likely not. I tried not to get my hopes up too much.
-- -
The visions had started about a year ago.
They'd all featured the same woman, with the same dark brown hair, gorgeous hazel eyes and a stunning dimpled smile.
I knew, in the vision, that she was the one. The love of my life. My soulmate.
Once upon a time, I would have laughed at the idea. The concept of a soulmate was just lovey-dovey romantic nonsense, sometimes with a sprinkling of new-age silliness on top.
I did n't think that way any more. I still did n't know whether souls actually existed -- but I knew that, if they did, mine and hers were two parts of a whole. Two jigsaw pieces, perfectly fitted together.
She was my other half. I loved her.
Or I would.
I still had n't met her. I knew I would, sometime in the near future. She'd been in her mid-twenties or so in the first vision, and I thought I'd been around the same age.
I was twenty-four, now.
I had n't bothered dating anyone since the visions started. There'd be no point, until I found her. I had a profile on a few sites, in case we met that way, but no luck so far.
But I was certain that I'd meet her -- just as I was certain that I'd lose her, all too soon, if I could n't figure out how to stop it. How to avoid all the possible events that led to an early grave.
Sometimes I wondered if I'd have these visions forever. She was going to die eventually. Maybe the only way they'd stop is if I'd be the one to die first.
Or maybe I'd reach a point where I was okay with letting things progress on their own, for a while. If I had a vision of her dying in her sleep at the age of ninety-two, say. I would n't enjoy watching her die, night after night -- but that would n't be so bad. We'd have a life together. We'd have some number of children -- or maybe we would n't have any at all, but either way, I knew we'd be happy together. We might fight, sometimes, but we'd always make up.
I knew it. I knew *her*.
I knew that, when I met her at last, the hole in my heart that I'd never known was there before my visions would be filled.
All I had to do was figure out how to make it last.
-- -
I was rapidly losing hope.
Night after night after night, I dreamed of another death. Sometimes it'd be the same death a few times in a row -- I'd had a week of watching her die of some terrible infection while I tried desperately to figure what had happened based off the details of the vision, and how to stop it. I knew, now, to avoid a certain lake, where a certain sort of amoeba lived that could cause brain infections.
I knew to avoid many things. But there was always something else. Always another horrible way to lose her, all too soon.
It was Saturday. I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed, grabbed my laptop, and headed to the local coffee shop. I had a project to work on, for work. I had wi-fi at home, but I wanted some horrendously sweet frozen coffee beverage while I worked.
As I walked in the door, I saw her.
I knew her instantly. How could I not? Even if I'd never started having the visions, I liked to think that, somehow, we'd have recognized each other. Love at first sight, followed by a near-perfect romance and a beautiful marriage.
She was just ahead of me in line. I could barely think. I managed to stammer out my usual order when it was my turn.
My mouth was dry. What could I say to her? What was I supposed to say?
She got her drink, sat down at a little table by the window, and pulled a book out of her purse. I recognized it. It was one of my favorites.
The barista set my drink on the counter. I took it, and went to find my own table --
`` Hey,'' said the woman, as I passed her. She closed her book, and smiled. `` Wan na join me?''
I could sit down. I could start a conversation. There was a topic handy -- the book she was reading. We'd click, straight away -- we'd probably talk for hours, and have another date scheduled for next weekend.
And then the clock would start ticking.
I did n't know how to stop it -- only to push it back a bit --
But no, I realized. I did know how to stop it -- to stop all of this.
In almost every vision I had, I'd had some role in her death.
I'd been the one driving the car when we had the accident. I'd been the one who wanted to teach her how to surf. I'd been the one who'd wanted to go to that lake.
And even in the cases where things were n't so clear-cut, I knew that, if we had n't been together, her life would have certainly gone in a different direction.
Perhaps a better one. Perhaps a *longer* one.
`` Sorry,'' I said, shrugging. `` Kind of busy.''
I passed by, sat down, and stared steadily at my laptop screen. I did n't dare to look up for nearly an hour.
By that time, she was gone.
I swallowed, then tried to force my attention back to my computer.
It was better this way.
I'd let the woman who would have been the love of my life pass me by.
But now I would n't have to watch her die.
No matter what happened -- I could believe that she was alive. Safe. Maybe happy with someone else. She deserved to be happy. She deserved to live.
And even as I walked around with a her-shaped hole in my heart, I thought, as long as I could believe she was out there, somewhere, I could live with that.
I finished my now-melty drink, shut my laptop, and headed back home.
-- -
That night, I had no visions. No dreams. Nothing.
I slept peacefully, and when I woke up to sunshine and birdsong, I wept.
|
[ WP ] You stumble into the world of Lost Things . Everything anyone 's ever lost is here .
| `` Socks and virginity. You ever get tired of'em?'' Joe kicks at a pile of athletic socks and sends them scattering.
`` Yes. Now stop that, I had those organized.''
`` What's the difference? They do n't match up anyway.''
`` They might someday. Some people are still looking for some of them.''
`` And the virginities?'' Joe laughed.
`` Probably, but that's different, now, is n't it? Some things that are lost ca n't be found again.''
`` You're philosophical today.'' Joe was n't really helping, like usual. I was trying to put the pile of socks he'd kicked over back into order. `` Socks, *comma, * men's white athletic, *comma, * no holes.''
`` Did you say *comma*?'' Joe asked, amused.
`` I'm cataloging.''
`` You take this too seriously,'' Joe suggested.
Maybe I did. But he did n't take anything seriously.
He got bored with me and wandered off to another pile. Mittens, it looked like. Almost all children's. Most adults did n't wear mittens, and those who did did n't lose them often. That's the thing about this place, you learn a lot about people. And anyways, it was something to do. The cataloging, I mean. I could at least be useful.
I found a men's athletic sock, *comma, * with a hole in the toe and removed it from the pile. Must have missed that one. I should be more careful. Joe was a distraction. But I had to admit I was glad he was there. It would be lonely work without him.
`` Why do you bother with all this? Honestly,'' Joe was looking intently at me, holding a pink mitten in his hand. `` What's the point?''
I looked up and down the corridor with piles of sorted and notated lost items. It was one of dozens of corridors I knew about, but there could be hundreds. Or thousands. I did n't know for sure. I hoped I would n't be here long enough to find out.
`` Joe,'' I started, and looked around again and all the piles. All the lost things. `` Do n't you want to get found?''
Joe was quiet. He had n't been here as long as I had. `` I left on purpose,'' he said. But I knew. You do n't get here by leaving. You get here by being left. Lost.
`` Some of the things here *do* get found. Some people are still looking,'' I said, and waited for a moment before I spoke again. I would miss him if he were gone, or if I were, but....
`` I want to go home, Joe.''
|
[ WP ] Teleportation is possible , but it creates a copy of you and destroys the original . Unforseen effects pile up after a while .
| It begins with a single cube of cheese, they turn the space manipulator on, flip the switch zapping and spliting through the vortex, appearing on the buzzing pad on the other side of the room taking about 5 minutes to complete the process. Next the rat, zapped and shooting across to the other pad taking about 10 minutes, next the scientist turns the knobs, twists the dials, and they bring out a cat, flip the switch and sure enough 15 minutes later the cat appears on the pad. The scientist says, we finally have the technology to move matter through space with no negative side effects. A man in the crowd stands up `` how long until we can teleport people?'' He asks. The scientest replies `` Today, would you like to be the first man to put it to the test?''
As the man aprroaches the stage he is trembling. Stepping on to the pad the scientist adjust the dials on last time, throws the switch, 20 minutes later the man appears on the other pad.
As everyone stands and cheers in an uproar at the new technological discover the man collapses dead, the crowd goes silent, and a faint `` meow'' is heard coming from the the first teleported mans stomach.
|
[ WP ] You live in a world where everyone ages at different rates . The cause for aging quickly versus aging slowly is unknown .
| I called Christine again. No answer. Damn, I thought, what could possibly be going on? I thought the date two weeks ago had gone so well. Dinner at my place, Star Wars, make-out session that led to a passionate night that ended in cuddling. Did I do something wrong?
I had thought it was strange when she cancelled our date on Friday. Stomach bug she said. Something had irked me. Intuition one could say. But I had let it go. But three days later with texts of no return and a missed call, something was up.
I paced back and forth, mystified and angry at what was going on. Christine and I had been set up by a mutual friend from college and we clicked. At 26, I felt that things were finally going my way in the relationship department. It may be cliche and teenager-y, but I felt that I found `` The One.''
I sighed. I knew what this was. I have seen it before. Christine was breaking up with me. He wanted to kick himself. So stupid, start to fall for a girl and then, it's over. Well, might as well get this over with.
Driving the car, ready to face the music. If Christine is going to break up with me, I do n't want there to be any ignoring games. Let's do this in person like adults. I felt a stirring in my right pocket, a vibration. Trying not to get my hopes up, I frisked my phone out. It was Christine! Carefully trying to keep my eyes somewhat on the road, I answered.
`` Hello?''
`` John, it's Christine. Listen, I hate to do this over the phone, but I do n't think we should see each other anymore.''
There it was. I hate being right.
`` Christine. Can we talk about this please?''
`` I'm sorry, I really am but I do n't have time to talk. I'm doing a big paper right now and I -''
`` Five minutes. I'm coming over now and-''
`` No John! Do n't come over!''
She sounded scared, panicky even.
`` It's too late. I'm here now.'' I ended the call. Parking the car, I jumped out and went to the door. I needed to see her one last time. It would suck but I needed that resolution. I needed to be the adult. Christine was acting like a child for Christ sake.
I opened her door and called out, `` Christine, please let's just talk and end this.''
`` No, John. I do n't want, I ca n't see you like this! Please just go!''
I strode her house looking for her, finally locating her in the kitchen. A half-emptied bottle of wine occupied the table with her, face-down in her arms. She was sobbing.
`` Christine please be reasonable. Why ca n't we be together?''
`` John, I ca n't be with you. We're not aging the same!!''
I froze. Oh no, not that. It did n't effect everyone but when it did, you could tell. I spoke softly.
`` Christine, I... I'm sorry I did n't know, but that does n't matter to me. I will care for you, I do n't care.''
Christine let out a choked sob.
`` But I do care. Please go. I do n't want to see you like this.''
I grabbed her, I needed to see her face.
`` Christine, please. Just look at me.''
`` No John, do n't!''
We struggled as I went for her arms. Pinning them down, I looked at her hard.
Her eyes were red from crying, but no visible changes. She still looked 26 from her face. I looked at her hands. No wrinkles, smooth as always. I looked again at her face. She refused to make eye contact with me. She was looking up, at my hair.
`` Christine what are you-''
With a careful, trembling hand, she touched my cheek and turned my head to the mirror in her kitchen. There, I saw myself with a head full of grey hair.
|
[ FF ] 100 words precisely - The orders to eliminate yourself
| I sat on a chair, too big for my small frame and stared into the dead fireplace. The whisky burned my throat more than usual but it helped me come to terms with what must be done. The plan must succeed. Suddenly, a much younger and disheveled version of me blocked the fireplace. His skin was damp with sweat and his ragged breath bounced off the concrete walls. With hands trembling ever so slightly, he pointed a D-3409 Laser at my head. Confused, I stepped forward. He was here too early, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“ I ’ m sorry, ” he whispered.
-- -- --
-076
|
[ TT ] A peasant stumbles across a caravan in the woods . There 's been a fight ; everyone is dead . Inside the carriage is a small chest filled with gold coins .
| Startled sparrows flew haphazardly towards the noon light as a bone chilling shriek broke the silence of the once bland woods. The cracked clay jar slipped from Safia ’ s feeble hands as she froze in fear. Never had she encountered or heard such danger while fetching water from the nearby stream. Yet, today, an ordinary day might give more than she could ever ask for.
Working on her Lord ’ s estate gave no excitement. Only minuscule tasks were given. It was only two years ago that Safia took over her sick mother ’ s job as a water carrier. She traversed from manor to forest multiple times a day fetching jars and basins of water. It was tiring work, travelling back and forth, but it was the best way to get medicine for her weary mother. Never would she succumb to being a whore to her lord like the other female serfs. She had pride. She had ambition.
Therefore, it was no surprise that after her initial shock, Safia would want to look into the situation. Slowly rising from her squatted position, she patted down her dark brown hair with sweaty hands. Wandering off towards the unfamiliar sound, she left the shattered jar in the dirt. It took a long while for her to be lead in the correct direction. However, she was smart and knew this land ’ s layout from her previous escapades through the dense woods. Pushing her way through some thick, tall bushes, Safia encountered a clear trail clouded by trees. Its scene would forever be kept in her mind ’ s palace.
Wounded and lifeless bodies littered the once pure ground. Crimson rivers flowed from the open flesh and severed limbs of about a dozen men. The liquid seeped and dyed the grass and dirt a dark red. Arrows and scimitars impaled all of the men. No doubt this had been a battle between two opposing forces. About half of the dead adorned armors and dark blue colors with golden trimmings while the rest were clothed in rags and dirtied robes. The limp bodies seemed to have created a path towards the center of the picture. Directly in front of Safia was a once strong and durable carriage. Its door jarred widely, exposing the contents like an open letter.
Dread entered her body as she physically began to feel pain and discomfort. She had seen a dead body before since being a peasant exposed you to the world ’ s ugliest side. But the intensity and amount of gore right there, in front of her, made Safia wonder, ‘ is this worth it? ’
‘ Yes, ’ her subconscious rapidly replied. She was intrigued. She wanted to know. Cautiously stepping away and around the bodies and approaching the carriage gave her clues. It looked like this carriage was once a part of a caravan. But, now, it would be going nowhere. Where there was supposed to be a wheel only the axle remained, splinters and wood piled on the floor. The ground showed evidence of fresh hoof prints. Maybe the horse was able to escape with its life.
Finally facing the new scene inside the carriage elicited a sharp inhale. Iron reeked in the air. But the girl ’ s golden orbs only widen and watered. Who could even think to do this? A lady gazed lifelessly towards Safia. Her glazed eyes still held the fear and pain she felt in her dying moments. Her throat had a widened cut, her life ’ s essence contrasting with her pale skin. One of her hands was safeguarding the small bump that seemed to protrude from the shades of blue robes she adorned. The other loosely grasped the hand of the man next to her. The white and golden robes of the dead man were shredded and soiled. Blood still gushed from the large slash across his chest. His head lolled forward to crouch over a wooden box. His other hand held the chest in place.
“ What is that, ” Safia whispered to herself while she rolled up her sleeves and tried to grab the chest from the man ’ s lap. She tugged and tugged until the treasure escaped from the surprisingly strong grip. She jolted away from the cart when it came into her possession. Quite unexpectedly, the chest was slightly open. Stepping back slowly, Safia opened it.
“ Ya, Allah! ” she cried in wonderment as her eyes settled on an amount of gold coins she had never come to know before. They filled the container to the brim. Believing it to be unreal, she felt the coins ’ indentations and continued to be flabbergasted.
“ You've showered me with such blessings, ” she looked towards the sky. Whoever was here never got what they came for. She looked around. They might be back to get whatever they wanted. Realizing this, the small figure hastily adjusted her brown, patched robes to try and hide the chest within the mess of cloths and pulled her scarf over her head. She made her way past the bushes she came from and away from this adventure. Maybe now she could leave the broken shards of her poverty forever on the dirt of this isolated forest.
Hidden behind a few trees, a dark figure peered at the retreating girl. It was going to go back for the chest but now that was unnecessary. It tugged a golden lamp further away into its robes as if to shroud it away from the entire world. Chuckling to itself, the silhouette swiftly turned and walked towards the silent, submissive horse a few feet away. The plan went perfectly, it got exactly what it wanted. It would now be Baal ’ s master.
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[ RF ] In Baltimore it is illegal to take a lion to the movies . Explain the incident that occurred that led to this law being formed .
| The film was one by MGM, of course
the lion tamer did n't know that then,
and when the lion roared up on the screen
his pride went prowling after the intruder.
The lion tamer's chair was bolted down
or else he might have done a little more.
The pack of lions bounded from the theater,
and panic gripped the patrons in the lobby.
The cats, ignoring people, set their sights
on the concession stand. The clerk jumped ship.
The cats devoured popcorn, Junior Mints,
the Sour Patch were not their thing, but Twizzlers,
and Mike and Ikes, and even all the Sno-Caps,
a movie theater's worth of candy, gone.
The lions, sick from overeating crap, in
the aftermath were easily detained.
The Baltimore police did not press charges
because there was no law upon the books.
The circus paid the bill for all the candy
and saw attendance triple that next month;
newspapers ran the story, people flocked
to see the sweet-toothed movie theater lions.
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[ WP ] Celebrities who die too young , are not actually dead they just fake their own deaths to escape the lime light and go live together on a secret island .
| “ Brace yourselves! ” the pilot screamed.
The plane veered to the right and jerked. I held on for dear life as my friends did the same. The plane started to fall, almost straight down it felt like, and then it collided with the land. At first I thought the worst was over. We had successfully landed. But then a hole tore through the center of the plane.
The world began to spin as I heard an explosion that caused my ears to ring and my sight to be blurred by the smoke and sand being kicked up around me. I heard a few cries from my friends, one of them on fire and begging for help. As the back part of the plane skidded to a stop I heaved, trying to catch my breath.
I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up, disoriented and still barely able to hear. My friend ’ s screams were loud enough to pierce the ringing going through my ears. I turned to help them but I watched as they fell to the ground on fire and their screams stopped. The front part of the plane laid in complete ruin. No wonder I never had heard the pilot scream. I think he probably died instantly. Lucky bastard.
Staggering, blood running down my face from a laceration I got from the crash, I walked along the beach, trying to find someone or something to help. Oddly enough I could hear rock music playing. It was coming from the jungle in the center of the island. And then I saw him running towards me.
“ You alright? ” he asked as he looked at the plane wreckage behind me. He didn ’ t talk like his regular self, just an average person you might meet on the street.
“ My plane crashed, ” I said, knowing I was now talking to thin air. Clearly I was delusional.
“ Believe it or not, we have some medics here, ” Elvis told me as he took my hand and lead me back towards the jungle. “ Anyone else with you? ”
“ They ’ re all dead, ” I replied, waiting for my delusion to pass and find myself on the beach as well, dying. “ The pilot I think was crushed and my other friend burned to death in front of my eyes. ”
“ That ’ s unfortunate, ” a loud, booming voice said from somewhere nearby. It sounded really familiar. Just as we had reached some of the trees, I felt his giant hands scoop me up. Normally I ’ d have tried to resist. But apparently I was in a lot more pain than I realized. Lying back in his hands I felt some relief.
“ Where are you from? ” the giant asked.
“ Hawaii, ” I replied. “ My friend is, was, a pilot and was taking me and another friend out in his small jet. And then we crashed a little while later. ”
“ That explains it, ” Elvis chimed in. “ In a sense you ’ re very lucky. Only a few people know how to find this island. Apparently you did, as otherwise you would have just crashed straight into the ocean. ”
I ignored Elvis, his words further proof of my delusions. Well that and the fact that Andre the Giant was now carrying me into a jungle.
The rock music got louder as we moved further in.
“ A piece of my heart, ” blared through the jungle, audible to my ears. I knew that song. And it sounded just like…
My mouth fell open as I saw the stage. On it was currently Janis Joplin singing, the audience full of very familiar faces.
“ Holy shit! ” I gasped as I saw Freddy Mercury getting ready to take the stage next.
My view of the stage faded though as I was brought into a cabin. Andre the Giant laid me down on a bed and bid me farewell.
“ The doctor will be here soon, ” Elvis said. “ You know, it ’ s funny. That plane crash. It ’ s got me all shook up. Anyways, I ’ ve got to go feed the hound-dog. I ’ ll let some people know about the plane crash. ”
Elvis smiled and left the cabin. Looking around I noticed that it was a rather small and quaint cabin, some medical supplies stuffed into a corner and another bed next to mine.
All of a sudden I watched as Superman brought someone in. Well, it was Christopher Reeves, able to walk again, and carrying the man in his arms and setting him down on the other bed.
Heath Ledger stared at me. His whole body looked pretty bloodied and scarred up.
“ We partied a bit too hard, ” Phillip Seymour Hoffman said from the doorway. “ Come on Supes, lets get going. ”
I watched them leave as Heath glanced over at me, clearly in pain.
“ Hey, new guy, want to know how I got these scars? ” Heath asked.
I laughed and he smiled. And then a mysterious looking man walked in wearing a lab coat. He kept his face covered but kept cracking jokes. His voice sounded way too familiar.
“ I assume Elvis already told you a little bit about the island, ” he said. “ It ’ s for those of us who died a bit too young. We just really needed to get away from the limelight. ”
“ Really? ” I asked. It seemed rather unbelievable.
“ Not really, ” he said revealing his face, a bright smile on it. “ If you end up here, it ’ s because you died too young. Before your time. So we get to live here and have some fun. That John Denver I ’ m telling you has a bit too much of it. He ’ s always on that Rocky Mountain if you get my drift. Haha. Rocky Mountain High. Seriously, you don ’ t know that song? Oh well. Anyways, it isn ’ t limited to only celebrities. ”
“ So I ’ m dead, ” I asked. Robin Williams just smiled back at me.
“ No, not exactly, ” he replied. “ Maybe Andre the Giant should explain it to you. ”
“ What? ” I asked, starting to feel weary from whatever medicine he had given me.
“ You ’ re mostly dead, ” Robin answered me. “ If you were fully dead, well I don ’ t know what happens. But this is where mostly dead people come. ”
“ Hey Robin- “ a voice began as the door swung open. John Ritter proceeded to trip and fall into the cabin.
“ Kennedy is about to fight Lincoln over who gets to date Marilynn, ” Patrick Swayze shouted from the doorway. John Ritter picked himself off the floor.
“ Well, I ’ ve got to get going, ” Robin Williams said. He headed for the door with his buddies. Heath was already asleep and bandaged in his bed.
“ Wait! ” I shouted. “ Kennedy and Lincoln? ”
“ Oh, you thought he meant the president? ” Robin commented. “ No, it ’ s a different Lincoln. ”
“ But what about Kennedy? ”
“ You just get some rest, ” Robin replied. “ Good news for you too. There ’ s a lot of single men on this island. You shouldn ’ t have an issue finding someone to hook up with. Unless of course women are your thing. There ’ s a few here that might be interested as well. ”
“ Come on boys! ” Robin said, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “ Lets go see Kennedy beat Lincoln up! Only happens once in a lifetime. ” He turned his head and gave me a wink, and then they were gone, the door closing behind them.
I felt my eyes close. As if it were a dream, I heard the sounds of the plane crashing again. For a moment, it even felt like I was back there. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered where I ’ d wake up, if I ever would.
-343
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[ Writing prompt ] You step off the train , and slowly realize you have somehow been transported back in time to 1889 . You eventually remember you have your iPad in your book bag . It has % 12 remaining battery life .
| I do n't know what happened but now I have been shackled and am now on carriage to a railroad construction yard. My ethnicity serves me nothing in this century. I work every day from sun up until sun down. I eat very little and I forget the meaning of joy. The Chinese here speak a dialect I do n't understand and I become an outcast who is sometimes beaten and harassed. My food is rationed and all I crave is a bag of doritos. Soon sickness of some variety sets in and I slowly waste away as weeks go by and I am forced to work on the railroads. In my pocket I have a small sheet of paper wherein the words, `` tell her I love her.'' Are cryptically scribbled. I die months later in a dynamite accident.
|
[ WP ] A very popular President has been elected and stands to make a speech before millions in his inauguration , that will be echo 'd as one of the best speeches ever made ... Can you write it ?
| The President wiped his brow. This was the day where he'd show billions of people what he believed in. They'd see what he stood for. They'd see just what he's made of. It was time. Time to change America for the better. For the people everywhere.
`` Showtime, Mr. President!''
He walked up to the podium. He scuffled his feet and licked his dry lips.
This was his lifetime goal.
This was it.
He leaned into the microphone, and murmured the words that'd change the world. Words that'd bring peace, resolve and happiness around the globe. The crowd stared, quivering in anticipation.
`` Dick butt.''
The audience went wild as he stepped off the podium.
|
[ WP ] The apocalypse happened but not before Disney developed an advanced AI driven robotic Mickey Mouse and friends . Now they protect a group of children from the horrors of the world .
| I started on the Clubhouse show at around 9. Show mom had me going to auditions from the time I was 5. I stayed on til 15 when I got deal for my own show. Mickey 3 was designed in my last season on Clubhouse and came with me to my own show. A sci-fi Dr Who rip off, where Mickey played Who and I was mostly the companion, which of course I was really pissed about and though Mickey tried really hard, we were n't close. Until Armageddon.
The angels move as if pushed on top of rolling lumber. Trees fold under their skirt hems like blades of grass. They're easy to spot and easy to avoid but what crawls along their skin and scatters through the woods like erupted sacs of spiderlings, eating everything in their path.
I sometimes hum under my breath, `` Hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog...'' and Goofy chuckles. He's out right freaky these days having had most of his fur stripped from his body and having bone saws attached to his paws. He's still chipper as ever, but Mickey's personality has become far more stoic. He was designed a leader and is the leader. I'm lucky to have him. In many ways I'm still his companion, even if he tries to make it seem otherwise.
Donald squawks and raises a hand from the front of the group. We freeze along a ruined wall of a strip mall and silently scan the area. We've crossed east of the Mississippi having lost the convoy we were following to Portland somewhere on the other side of the river. The carnage was too much and covered too many miles. There was n't much hope they had survived.
We hear the chatter of millions of pointed legs and felt the breeze of an approaching force. Goofy hunkers down into an attack position and I take his back with my old Kalishnakov. Sarah looks at me worried. She's hurt and now she's scared. The others are poised and ready. Tim flashes a signal from the tower where he holds fire. Blake has high ground as well. In a moment, I'll sprint like hell opposite Goofy and we'll split their numbers. Mickey and Minnie will be waiting. It'll take hundreds to get past them.
The wind is picking up Goofy barks and we go, mad as hell dashing into the dark. As I round the corner I race up some stairs and there they are: a thousand easy, like a carpet of fish eggs rolling downhill.
|
[ WP ] write a romantic story about a man and his sex doll
| When did I fall in love with her? As we eat our dinner I ca n't help but gaze into her eyes. She looks back at me with the same loving gaze she always has. I never get tired of looking at her, her skin smooth as plastic. Her eyes reflected the chandelier and gave off a twinkle, this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. As I dig into the wonderful soup she made for me, I think back onto how we first met. I saw her online and knew immediately, there could not be a life without her. Without a second thought my mouse hit the purchase option and the window flashed, two weeks expected delivery. It had to be the hardest two weeks any man had to endure in their life. When the time came I was watching out my window, like a child waiting on Santa. The UPS truck pulled up and the carrier produced a medium sized box from his truck. I could n't wait any longer and ran to meet him half way. This was it my queen, my life, my everything. As I ran inside I opened the box and there she was smiling back at me. At that moment I knew everything had changed for the better.
|
[ WP ] You want to go to hell . The entrance test to heaven is so bizarre you ca n't tell which choice to pick .
| St. Peter showed me a picture of a square. The answer choices were `` circle'' or `` triangle.''
`` Your Holiness, are there more answer choices?''
`` No, son, those are the two: circle or triangle. Would you like the choices in another language?''
`` English is fine. Thanks. I need more time.''
St. Peter nodded and stood patiently while I continued to ponder.
I was sure I wanted to get this one wrong. I looked at St. Peter's benevolently paternal smile, and felt disgust. Was heaven full of these fools? And depressingly sinless. Hell sounded kinky and fun.
`` Your Holiness, a hint?''
`` I'm sorry. That's all the information I can give. You sure you do n't want it in another language.''
`` Thank you, but English is fine.''
I started to reason -- well, God is Trinity ( Father, Son, and Holy Spirit ), so maybe the correct answer is triangle? So I must say circle.
`` Circle.''
`` Congratulations! Welcome to heaven.''
`` Wait, what? Does n't the triangle represent Trinity?''
`` Yes, but that's what all the smug church nerds would pick. Those self-righteous bastards go to hell. Wait, did you *not* want to get into heaven?''
`` No, I did n't.''
St. Peter's smile disappeared and his brow furrowed, and he looked down.
Glumly he said, `` Well, it's too late now.'' Then his eyes narrowed, he looked up, and in a low voice he growled, `` It might be heaven for us, but for you it is hell. Get your ass in there. Your first task is to smell the flowers the angels picked for you. Smell them for 10,000 years.''
*Shit. *
|
[ WP ] The next best thing
| Markus Gerulf, newly made Baron of Grunwald sat out on the balcony of his family's castle. Built sometime around 2360, the fortress had been in Gerulf hands for a thousand years since the Great Cholera Outbreak. It's previous rulers all died painfully, leaving no one to claim it. Markus had seen their portion of the crypt that lay underneath Castle Duvalier. A dozen members, all with the same year of death.
Castle Duvalier was well fortified, with laser emplacements and Long Range Missile launchers dotting the parapets. Autocannons laid in their bunkers, awaiting the day they would once more be called to action. Along the wall, guardsmen with bayoneted rifles patrolled with an easy pace. The Kingdom of Tenemark was at peace, and the Gallan Hegemony was still recovering since the Elbe River War. They lost over a score of warmechs at the Battle of the Mer.
Gerulf heard the stacco sound of metal limbs on the warm stone. An unusual sound, with more than two legs clicking on the granite. Akin to someone drumming their fingers it was. He also heard the hissing sound of artificial lungs working, the slight whistling of a teapot it reminded Markus of. A slight smile crossed his face as he turn to meet his old mentor.
`` High Priest Faustus, a pleasure. To what do I owe this meeting to?''
The priest was an ancient man, older than even his grandfather. It was difficult to say how old, because so much of his flesh had been replaced by machine. The lower half of the holy man's face was covered by a re-breather, a long rubber tube ran down his neck into the folds of his robes. His legs were artificial, all four of them. Standing in place, the primitive A.I. of the limbs flexed ever so slightly, swaying gently back and forth with the wind. Three fingers of the priest ended in metal digits, each one with a separate task. He made a sign with his hand in front of him, murmuring in Anglish as he did so.
`` Good day, Lord Markus. I have come to tell you it is done. Your grandfather's remains have been interned in the catacombs. May he travel along the path to paradise.''
`` So mote it be.'' Markus replied. `` Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?''
`` Yes there is.'' The priest said, spider limbs clanking as he moved forward. Well oiled pistons shifted as he neared the new count. He extended a small scroll. `` Here is the newest rolls for the knights' fees and services. Within the Barony of Grunwald there is approximately five warmechs, three belonging to your knights, and two in your own stable. There are 18 Sergeants-At-Arms with Powered Battle Armor. Six with you my lord, and four each for Sirs Laurenz, Kuno and Ebbe. In addition, the 34th Infantry Regiment has since last season, 846 men on its rolls. Colonel Isaak can give you a more detailed report should you desire it.''
`` Yes, I think I would. Thank you, Father Faustus.'' A pause. `` Faustus, what do you believe I should do?''
`` Whatever you think best my lord.'' Came the mechanical reply. Like most of the priest, his voice was also artificial.
Lord Markus rubbed his face in tiredness. `` I'm nothing like my grandfather. He was wise and strong and brave and-''
`` And so are you, my lord.'' Interrupted the priest. `` Fear not. You are young, thrust into responsibilities you did not expect to handle until much later. You will be a good and just ruler. Whatever you lack, me and you advisers will fill. Everything will be fine my lord.'' A pause as his re-breather cycled, hissing gas. `` Will you be up for the vigil?''
The young noble nodded. `` I will, Father Faustus. Thank you.''
`` Of course, my child. Take care till then.''
With that, the High Priest clanked off into the castle, leaving Markus to think.
|
[ WP ] It is 2026 , the first commercial flight to the moon has been successful . But three of the seven quirky billionaires that landed have died in freak accidents . Now Mission Control suspects that the first serial killer may also have arrived on the moon .
| There was another passenger. A millionaire.
Jealous of the others superiority to him in wealth, he murdered three. And he planned to murder the remaining four. But before he could, one of them had managed to contact Earth.
Now people were watching.
`` Just hang in there,'' their station's rallied cries rang out in support. `` We're sending another ship to come get you.''
The millionaire was undettered. He murdered the remaining four and boarded the ship alone.
`` I saw it,'' he declared, voice vibrating over the large crowd of supporters and mourners that had attended this historic speech. `` With my own eyes. There is something alive... breathing....malicious....living on the dark side of the moon. I tried to warn the rest to stay away. But they felt untouchable.''
He broke away, dabbed at a fake tear, and then returned to the microphone. `` These were my friends. Your husbands. Your brothers. Your fathers. And justice will be served. NASA is not at fault. There is something on the moon that wants to kill us. We must kill it.''
He paused to look over the crowd as they cheered. Their hopeful, enthusiastic faces turned up to him as if he was their savior, their Messiah, their... god.
`` Before they passed on,'' he continued. `` They wanted me to pass on... to the families and friends... how much they loved you and appreciated you.''
Several mothers broke into tears, which caused their daughters to break into tears as well. Sons left their wives' side to place comforting arms over their mother's shoulders.
`` I will do EVERYTHING I can to make sure that this monster PAYS for what it is done!''
And he concluded his speech, raising a hand as the people erupted into thunderous applause.
As he stepped off stage, he immediately went to the widows and consoled them. `` We'll talk soon,'' he promised them.
Shaking hands and smiling, massive bodyguards eventually ushered him into the back of a black Cadillac. There was another man already seated.
`` Good work. It wo n't be long now before we... finally... become billionaires.''
|
[ WP ] We 've all heard what happened to 9 , but always from 6 's perspective . Tired of being vilified , 7 finally sets the record straight .
| Going back as far as I could remember I've been shamed with guilt of over the passing of my dear friend 9. 9 was my closest friend, we were odd together... but it felt right, you know?
It was a good time, most of the time. We had our differences, but who does n't? We were a parity, a set... an odd set. 6 though.. I did n't know it then but looking back, it was clear that 6 had something with 9. Heard from 3 that she heard 6 wanted to be `` even'' with 9. She could n't remember what or why, how...
6 was a well rounded number on the surface. Well liked by most, could easily divide his attention holding 2 or 3 conversations at once... his personality must've been easily divisible I guess.
The other integers,'numbers' you call us, they did n't see the problem multiply in 6. 9 did, but I was one of the others.
`` Oh 9~'' I would laugh, `` 6 is an alright positive guy!''
`` His temper... it's short.'' 9 whimpered.
I should've paid attention 9's problems.
|
[ WP ] `` This is n't even my final form . `` , said Jesus .
| Baby Jesus tugged his beard and then turned to Mary. `` I'm sorry mother, but I must return to my people.''
`` I understand Baby Jesus.'' She replied, tears forming in her eyes.
A bright light began to envelop newborn infant Jesus as rocket flames shot out of his baby boots. 10 feet. 30 feet. 100. He was blasting outta sight.
`` This is n't even my final fooooorm...'' His voice trailed off as he became a speck in the sky.
`` I'll miss him Joseph.'' Mary turned.
Joseph looked deep into her eyes. `` Hell woman, I'm not even sure he mine. I mean, you just saw flames shoot out his ass right? That did n't come from me.''
THE END.
|
[ WP ] A single dad of two girls is a nighttime superhero . Sometimes though , he forgets to take out the braids in his hair , or wash off the nail polish , and some of the supervillains are getting suspicious ...
| The babysitter costs are ridiculous for a superhero. I barely sleep as it is, but someone has to protect the city. When the city needs a hero, I answer the call, after I tuck my girls into bed and kiss them goodnight. Sure, there are remnants of them all over me, but I do n't think my enemies notice.
I've done a good job of keeping the ones who harm at bay, but they are combining their efforts and growing stronger. Tonight, I've followed them to a warehouse down by the docks where they gathered to discuss how to defeat me. Little do they know that I'm listening. I turn my radio on and press it against my ear. The meeting has already started.
`` notice that he has nail polish on?''
I ca n't make out the voice. I move to a window to get a visual. It's Crimson Menace speaking.
`` Like do you think he's a transvestite?'' He asks.
`` What no? That ca n't be. He's probably like a prostitute,'' says the Scarlett Twister.
`` No, what? That does n't make any sense. How would that... you're crazy. He's clearly a hand model,'' says the Red Badge of Carnage.
`` He wears nail polish?'' Asks the Maroon Marauder.
`` Yes, have n't you noticed? It's so obvious. I thought he was wearing lipstick once too, and I've definitely seen his hair in braids,'' says the Menace.
`` I bet he's a dad. That sounds like dad stuff,'' Says the Marauder.
The group turns to look at their fellow villain. I watch as something clicks inside them all. My heart races, and my hands shake. It takes a few long seconds, but I calm down. There are thousands maybe millions of dads in the city. Them knowing he is a father added a diminutive amount of risk for his daughters. They need to know my name for them to be in any risk. The Marauder continues.
`` I also know who he is. His name is... James Hunter. I am 90 % sure.''
`` How do you know that?'' Asks the Twister.
`` I found his spying equipment hidden here. He left his name on it. A real rookie mistake, but I bet he's listening right now.''
I did n't leave my name on it, but I did n't remove the serial number either. A cashier without money and/or scruples would happily give away that information. It is my name though. The pieces fall into place. This is a set-up and I am trapped. I want to run away, but I listen for a few more minutes.
`` I found everything on him. Where he lives, works, etc. He's a window and a dad of two little girls. Sorry to have kept this from you, but his daughters are minutes away from being abducted. We are about to win. Well, I'm about to win. Sorry, gentlemen. Our great plan to team up is unnecessary unless we want to take him down together. But, if I were him, I would be on my way home. There still might be a chance, James.''
I do some math in my head. Twenty minutes back to the apartment if I'm lucky. I swing down to my motorcycle and race home. I think of all the mistakes I made and how I would never forgive myself if something happened to them. I nearly get hit a dozen times, but I make it home in 12 minutes. Even my name, The Night Hunter, is reckless. I use my grappling hook to climb up to my apartment. I open the door on the deck and walk in.
The babysitter sleeps on the couch. I make sure that she is just sleeping, but I see her chest heave, up and down. I walk into my girls' room. The floor is covered in toys, and I step on one. I bite my tongue to keep from howling in pain. I examine both of them closely. I am relieved. They are safe here and uninjured. Then, it strikes me. Oh, no, it was a bluff. I lead them right to my family.
[ Finale ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/5a7eio/wp_a_single_dad_of_two_girls_is_a_nighttime/ )
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[ RF ] Uh oh , the manager just laid-off Fred , the only person holding the entire team together .
| The math was clear, the decision final. During the five years of the company's meteoric rise, Fred had contributed absolutely nothing of value. Nowhere, on any spreadsheet did he, or anything he did, find itself in the plus column. Some of the staff had seen him making coffee or filling an ice tray here and there, but there was not a single task he did that anyone, anywhere could directly link to profit.
Even as efficient as they were, management wanted things made more efficient still. When cuts came to the department, it was easy math to see whose neck would meet the axe.
`` Oh, well thanks guys,'' Fred said to the people who had come to see him off. Many were teary eyed, some were in outright grief. `` Do n't you all worry about me,'' he said with a smile that shone like a sunny day, `` I'll land on my feet.''
`` Who am I supposed to have my morning coffee with?'' Thomas asked, only half jokingly.
`` Hey, c'mon Tommy,'' Fred said, putting an arm around him, `` I'm sure one of these guys will do it.'' Thomas did not look around, he knew no one would.
`` We'll miss you, Fred,'' Alex and Alexa said almost over each other, even exchanging a sneer between them.
`` I'll miss you guys too. I know the'Alex' plaque was a sticking point, but just keep trading it every week like we said, alright?'' He hugged them both.
One by one, and sometimes in pairs, team members came to bid farewell to the man who was simply not worth the company's dime. The procession continued until the sound of a clearing throat came from high above them. `` I think we've all got work to get back to. Efficiency, people.'' He clapped his hands to disperse the crowd. `` Goodbye, Fred,'' he said, already looking away.
Below him, the team knotted together one last time around a hub who was Fred. He passed from them, collected a box of his things, and shook the hands of the janitors and security men on his way out. The team unraveled and went back to their work.
For a few moments, as the aura of Fred passed from them, things ran smoothly.
`` Hey, can someone refill the coffee?'' Thomas asked from the break room.
`` Here's an idea, why do n't you do it?''
`` Man, screw you. This is why I do n't talk to anyone.''
`` Language!''
`` Whatever. I'll do it.''
`` If you're going to do it angry, do n't do it at all!''
`` Shut up, over there! He's doing it!''
`` No, *YOU* shut up, Alexa''
`` It's *ALEX* this week, ass hole.''
`` Say that to my face!''
`` Oh I'll say it to your stupid face,'' a divider was knocked over, and then another.
`` Guys! I figured out how to do the coffee,'' a voice shouted from the break room, a moment of detente -- and then fire, `` Nope, never mind. I do n't know how to do it.'' A fire alarm went off.
`` Can someone do a coffee run? Jesus!''
`` Why does no one re-fill the ice tray? I need ice for my water!''
`` Warm water's fine, you baby.'' Fire rose ever higher. An ear piercing ring was barely edged out by the crescendo of petty bickering. The extinguishers went off. `` There! There's all the water you need, baby!''
A fist flew and landed with a slap into a wall. Shouting and screaming erupted from all corners of the office.
The manager burst through his office door and was drenched. He looked down into the chaos that had stopped suddenly. All eyes in the department turned to a single person.
`` I, uh,'' Fred inched forward, `` I forgot my keys.'' There was the sound of metal scraping on laminated wood and he was gone again.
`` Bye Fred,'' Thomas hazarded.
`` He ca n't hear you, moron.''
`` You know what? Why do n't I just go back to my office, then no one will hear me.''
`` Yeah, why do n't you do that? Loner.''
`` I WAS ALEX BEFORE YOU GOT HERE! ``...
|
[ WP ] Turn a great book into a Buzzfeed article .
| The Love of His Life's Husband is About to Die... What Happens Next Will Shock You
Buzzfeed Staff Report
Nobleman Charles Darnay sent out a major diss this morning after being taken away and prepped for the guillo'
* @ CharlesDarnay: Ca n't believe the lame-ass peasants want to chop off my head ( annoyed emoji ) *
Gorgeous Reality Star Lucie Darnay, born Manette, CRUSHED haters with a defiant selfie after her husband was taken away # fierce
* @ Lucie: I am beyond dismay, but still look like an angel. Re-bleached my hair 2day # sadbutfab [ instagram selfie ] *
HERO DRUNK Sydney Carton told Buzzfeed he's in love with Lucie after many drinks last month, now he's going to DIE to save her HUSBAND
* @ SydneyCarton: it's a far far better thing I do... pretty scary up here ngl # lasttweet maybe this is a bad ide*
# canyousaytragedy
|
[ IP ] The forgotten ones .
| Hundreds of preservation units lined the walls on either side of the room, each one containing the decaying skeleton of the occupant from so many centuries ago. The door at the rear of the compartment had been ripped off when the ship crashed, allowing dirt to collect on every surface, defacing the once sterile environment. Beyond it was the remains of the rear of the ship. Inadequately armored, what had n't burned when entering the atmosphere was torn asunder by the impact of the ship on this world and lay in jagged pieces on the ground.
The ship had once explored the galaxy, those on board preserved for thousands of years between each discovery. In their time they had been the pathfinders of their civilization. Leading the way for those that would follow they had marked new resources, new planets, new dangers. Now they were forgotten.
Each preservation unit was designed to preserve a human for the length of a journey between planets and systems. A transparent dome covered the head of the occupant, segmented tubes providing chemical necessities via a socket on the back of it. On each side of the unit were plated arm sheaths, articulated at every joint, ending in similarly armored gloves. Below the head domes were blank status monitors, their power supplies exhausted long ago.
The ship and its contents would remain an unexplained relic forever. Data degradation had destroyed its automated logs, leaving no trace of its purpose or success. The explorers it had carried would remain silent.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
I might finally be getting descriptions right. How was that?
|
[ WP ] You wake up at 2 p.m with no memory of the prior night . On the nightstand your cell phone is buzzing of the table . There are 2000+ messages all ranging from `` Congratulations dude , I ca n't believe you did . you 're a hero . '' to `` OMG what the hell is wrong with you you 're a complete monster ... ''
| I wake up slowly, regretfully, flickering in and out of consciousness. My fucking head. My fucking throat. My fucking shoulder.
`` Aaaaagghhh.'' I stretch the groan on longer, testing my dried up vocals, the moan the only sound in my lonely apartment. It smells of stale booze, and too much dust, and the stench of summer. Home sweet home. What time is it?
There's a dull glint of sunlight waving through my curtains, setting them on a golden fire I could probably romanticize... if it did n't just aggravate my damn headache. Is it ten o'clock? Eleven?
I reach over to my bedside table blindly, praying to brush against the solidity of a cup, or a drink bottle, anything.
Nothing.
Just my phone, which for some reason wo n't shut up. Is somebody ringing me? Since when the hell did people ring me?
I lack the willpower to pick it up for a while so instead I lie there, cursing myself for a night I ca n't remember. I promise any deity who may be listening to my thoughts to worship them forever if they bring me a glass of water, but as usual, they do n't answer. Their loss. Finally my curiosity gets the better of me and I reach again for my phone, groaning a little more at the harshness of the screen.
`` Your a hero. bro if i Were you Id do the same thing'' is the first message to pop up. Wrong use of'your' but... okay...
`` U FUCKIN SICK BITCH NEED TO DIE GOD WILL PUNISH YOU'' comes the next one. My heartbeat quickens a little. What the hell did I do?
I read more, each one confusing me more than the last.
`` You absolute legend mate.''
`` Monster, he was innocent and you kno it''
`` I support what you did actually, fucker deserved it.''
`` You are going to burn forever for this.''
I scroll through my newsfeed a bit, my eyes struggling to focus on all the comments, until I come across a news article. I was feeling nauseous before seeing the title, but upon reading this and seeing the picture, I throw up. All over the bed. Some gets on my arms, some gets on my phone. I vomit until everything inside me is gone, and I'm dry retching at the stinking, too-hot air, tears in my eyes and feeling like death.
The news title reads, `` YOUNG WOMAN DRUNKENLY SHOOTS SUSPECTED RAPIST''. The picture beneath shows a pale, serious looking man with dark hair and grey eyes. He looks completely normal, like someone you'd pass on the street and not think twice about.
Except... I know him.
I know the man in the picture. I knew him when I was seven years old. I know he has crooked teeth when he smiles, and I know he's left handed. I know he talks in a Southern accent, and I know he has a dog named Stuart.
Oh, and I know what he did to my sister.
|
[ WP ] Due to a loophole in the system , people can escape hell and get to heaven after death . You go to hell and all you see is Satan , just sitting there playing the harmonica . Everyone left him and now he 's all alone .
| The bar was quiet when Josh walked in.'How long had it been since I was last here?' He thought to himself as he crossed the floor toward the corner stage. The bar's patron sat on a stool on that stage, softly playing [ an old song ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=YYsnRc09csQ ) on his harmonica. Josh waited for the slow, mournful blues tune to end. Josh clapped as the other gentlemen stood and bowed.
`` So nice to see you,'' He said to Josh with a twinge of bitterness in his voice. `` so few come by nowadays.'' Josh winced slightly at the statement; not because of it's vindictive nature, but at the barely disguised pain he heard behind the bitterness. `` Care for a drink, Scratch?'' Josh asked, using one of the more playful nicknames for the establishment's owner. Scratch agreed.
An eternity seemed to pass. Considering the circumstances, an eternity probably *did* pass. Finally, Scratch asked the important question;
`` Why did you do it, kid?''
`` I think you already know.'' Josh responded.
`` You know, as well as I do, that they do n't deserve it. You and your dad will regret this decision.'' Scratch said.
`` I doubt it. But then again, I've always had more faith in them than most.'' Josh replied. The room grew silent again.
`` So, what are you *really* here for? Your job is done, why come back?'' Scratch asked suddenly. Josh took a breath, then spoke, `` It's a job offer. We want you back with us. You'll be working with people again, and it would be a big improvement over an empty dive. Come and work for the good guys, Cypher.'' Josh used a new name for the old musician, based closely on Scratch's original title, just like'Josh' was an approximation of his own original name.
`` I appreciate the offer, kid, but no thanks.'' Josh was confused at the answer, but accepted it as always. `` Why?'' he asked.
`` As one of our favorite writers once said,'T is better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.'' Scratch replied.
Josh chuckled at that. `` Well, if you ever change your mind, you know the way.'' With that, he walked out the door. It creaked as it closed behind him.
`` Yeah, I know.'' Scratch said to the empty room, then went back to playing.
|
[ WP ] Every time a human dies , a dollar shows up in your bank account .
| I was a college student with massive debt living in a rundown apartment. You know, the kind of place that was likely really nice back in 1890 but now serves to be nothing more than a dump with peeling wallpaper and chipped wooden baseboards. The type of house where you can ’ t walk barefoot for fear of getting splinters.
Now, I am a college drop out making hundreds of thousands of dollars a day.
No, I ’ m not kidding.
I woke up one morning to find a huge load of cash in my bank account. I mean, really huge. $ 159,746. Huge. Of course, I called the bank to see if there was an error and they said that it seems to be a steady flow, a few dollars here and there. Occasionally ten or twenty at a time.
No error.
Day after day money poured in with no sign of stopping. So, I did what anyone in their right mind would do. I dropped out of college and set out to determine the source of my new found cash flow.
This took a few weeks of monitoring my bank account closely. When I felt too confounded to continue, I would turn on the television. The ultra big screen that sat on my wall because, hell, I had money now. It turned out to be the best investment I could have made and the key to my unraveling the mystery.
“ 82 people were killed today in a bombing in the Middle East. ”
“ Twelve people were killed in a shooting. ”
Holy shit. I looked at my statements and, around the time that each of these tragedies were reported, I seemed to gain money. One dollar per body. I was profiting off of death.
Initially, this was unsettling. I mean, I don ’ t really like to think about how many people die per day. But, when you are getting rewarded for their, oh so upsetting, passing, it isn ’ t that terrible at all.
Like any good businessman, I began to wonder how I could make more.
Let me tell you, folks, it really ain ’ t that hard.
I am the dealer of death. The reaper of destruction.
One plane ticket later, I was in Germany. That ’ s how it all started. Hopping private jets from place to place and planting bombs. Hiring someone to detonate them while I move on to the next town.
My skills have improved over time. My bombs are getting bigger and bigger. My impact is becoming more grand.
Why stop at bombs? More than 90 % of the decade ’ s mass killings, the international tragedies, have been incited by me. Find the right people- pay the right people - and you can get anything done.
Where will I strike next?
Wherever is most profitable, of course.
|
[ WP ] The Sphinx has gotten sick of coming up with really good riddles and has resorted to other ways to test humans ' cleverness .
| `` You've got to be kidding me.''
I stared up at the Sphinx with disbelief.
`` Nope.''
He looked at me with a dull humor in his eyes.
`` I already solved that boring, over-told riddle, so what do I need to do that for?''
He looked briefly offended, then reverted to the same tired expression he had before.
`` Does n't matter what you needed it for; Everyone knows the answer to that old one. It was a prerequisite. This one requires grace and genuine ambi-''
I cut him off.
`` Why, exactly do I need to fulfill a prerequisite for a prequisite?'' It was more of a statement than a question.
He rolled his eyes.
`` Listen, buddy. I'd love to let you in, but....''
`` But?''
`` But you're not getting in without a timestamped sharpie in your pooper. It's just not going to happen.''
|
[ WP ] There is no prompt . Just write a story you 've always been thinking about or one you 've been thinking about sharing . Anything goes .
| Bending the light
-- -
( there ’ s lifetimes where Clarke has left me )
( never like this )
There ’ s ice in my hair, my eyes, my nails; my bones. There ’ s ice on her teeth, coating her skin; forming constellations of cold stars across the dark of her eyelids.
“ Don ’ t go, ” I hiss; and there ’ s more smoke than air in the breath I exhale.
“ I can ’ t do that, ” She whispers, and presses her mouth hot to the cold of mine; and for a beautiful second the world is focused again; and the shards of my icy heart snap into place and beat life in my hollow chest.
But then she ’ s gone, and the cold is back under my skin where no warm gesture or smile can chase it away.
( and it hurts )
“ Clarke, ” I choke down on her name rather than say it, and the shape of her name stabs through my gums and down into my teeth. Through the haphazard snowstorm of memories flashing blindingly in the snow, she stops and turns. “ Please don ’ t leave me. ”
My voice shatters.
I feel, rather than see, the sob ripple through her. My breath catches precariously in my lungs.
( i ’ m drowning )
I take a breath and feel shards of coldcold ice coat the inside of my lungs.
“ Help me, ” I whisper, feel helplessness and fear and agony settle through cold spikes of adrenaline in my stomach. Then there ’ s cold tears streaking icicles down my cheeks. I try to move my legs ( please ) and feel nothing. I try to to move my fingers ( anything, please ) and feel nothing.
There ’ s nothingness in the blinding memories that paint the snow, and nothingness in my ice-cold sharded lungs.
Clarke ’ s eyes flash blue-
( -or is it the knife she ’ s holding- )
-and her teeth shine in the little light-
( -she is become death; destroyer of worlds- )
-as she kneels by my side and whispers, “ May we meet again ”
( -the kiss of death, my love, bring it upon me again- )
-and the knife that she slided between my ribs is so cold-
( nothing. it ’ s nothing. )
-and my breath and my beat and my fight turn into nothingness-
-as my blinding memories become blinding pain-
-and then dim as my cold blood floods to extinguish them-
-Clarke sobs-
( but it ’ s nothing. it ’ s nothing )
-my head falls back for my eyes to greet constellations of cold stars-
-until a pair of cold fingers close them-
( and there is nothing )
( left )
|
[ WP ] `` It 's not so bad up here if you can light a fire every night , keep the frostbite out o ' your toes . ''
| `` It's not so bad up here if you can light a fire every night, keep the frostbite out o' your toes.'' - said Mark as we entered though the portal and stepped into the weird world we named HotIce.
Some people laughed at us back at home when we said we are calling it that. I have to admit it does sound a bit like something a child will name it. But it perfectly described the weird behavior of this planet.
On the surface there was nothing but ice, snow and cold winds. But lighting a fire was as easy as rubbing you fingers together. The ice and snow also did n't behave normally. They would catch fire and burn. Not melt.
`` Now how about that pack o' bear we got from home should be nice and cold by now!'' - Mark happily said to me which got me out of the trance I get into every time we enter this planet.
`` Yes sounds like a great idea.'' - I said. I rubbed my fingers together and touched the pile of snow we had formed in front of us setting it on fire.
The night went on with us talking surrounded by snow and ice everywhere nobody to disturb us.
|
[ WP ] You are shown a short clip of yourself on this date 5 years into the future , and you note that Future You is overwhelming rich . You have no idea how you came into all this wealth , until you suddenly spot a small detail in the video ...
| What a strange thing it was, to see a video of myself from the future. I was assured by the Arcanametrics Teams that it came through a high density temporal distortion laced through with some high density magical discharge through the preceding and following the expulsion of the package. According to them, such a thing is incredibly rare...
I just did n't understand why such a thing would be sent to me, of all people. I mean, mercy... I was so unimportant, back then. In those days I worked at a Red Bar. I mean, that's not bad in and of itself. Selling yourself is hardly frowned upon these days if you have your license, and being a bog standard human I was kind of rare due to all the interbreeding with demons and angels. The biting never bothered me anyway... Red Court vampires who are on the up and up tend to be rather gentle when they can, and the Black Court vampires have saliva that makes each bite feel like a damned org...
Well. It was a nice job, I suppose. All in all, I was just another whore, though. Sure, a whore of a more... sanguine kind, but still a whore.
On that day, that lovely day in the Dark City, I was sitting at the bar drinking a nutrition shake to chase some iron tablets after a particularly intense feeding session by a pair of Black Court twins. Lots of tentacles and biting, you know? Very tiring, very... draining, in more ways than one. I always preferred the Black Court vamps.
It's worth noting I was also still coming down off of the narcotic bliss of their saliva, so I was a little loopy. One of the in house medics was busy bandaging my neck up while I sipped. She'd already uh... cleaned up my back, and shoulders, and forearms. I was sore, for sure.
Being that I was halfway high out of my mind, I did n't really notice when the entire bar went silent. I barely even noticed my friend pausing in the bandaging of my neck. I mean, the job was finished moments later anyway. She mumbled something about it being lucky that I took to vein repair potions so well and then gently brushed my hair into proper position. I heard heavy footsteps about the time that the anxiety in her voice registered on me and I glanced to her.
`` Something wrong, Mel?'' I managed, my voice still dull and a bit stupid.
`` Bounty Office hunters are here... along with Military Police,'' she answered, opening her medic box and drawing out a small glass vial and a paper backed syringe package. She drew out the syringe, locked in the needle, and filled it from the vial. With a whisper of magic, the liquid in the syringe began to glow, and then she promptly found a vein in my arm and gave me the injection.
My head cleared about a second later.
`` Why'd you do that? I felt good...''
`` They're looking at *you*, Vera,'' she told me. Panic spiked through me and I rounded, finding all those she said were present stopped maybe six feet away, looking right at me. The Hunters were dressed in their strange, varied outfits and were kitted out with various odd weapons and artifacts. Hell, one of them had on the oldschool witch's hat, for fuck's sake. The Military Police were in standard MP uniforms, with their heavy armored and mantled coats and their magnetic assault rifles and sorcery enhanced sidearms. A few carried longswords opposite their sidearms. One had a gods damned warhammer on his back.
`` Vera Valker?'' a woman asked. She looked like the leader of the group of MPs just from the way she held herself. The markings on her uniform confirmed it.
`` Um... Before I answer that question, is this... Vera Valker lady in some kind of trouble?'' I asked, trying and failing to keep the nervousness out of my tone.
The woman sighed, glancing around at the freakishly intimidating crew of people with her.
`` Listen, Miss. We're just here to pick you up and take you to the Black Spire. You're not under arrest, you're not being brought up on charges, and we're not going to bring you up on charges,'' the woman replied. `` We're just an escort.''
`` Why do I- Why does Vera need an escort?'' I asked, stumbling over my own line of bullshit.
`` Because of a sensitive file we need you to review regarding possible future events. It is classified. We are not aware of what is contained in this file. Please, just make our lives easy and come with us, Ms. Valker.''
`` Alright, alright... um... I'll come, I guess... If it's that important.'' I looked to the staff medic, who gave me a nod as if to say'go, I'll cover for you.' `` Let me get a shirt on.''
So I got a god damn shirt on, right there in the main room of the bar, and followed them out. I mean, I was scared. I was wearing sneakers, a bloody t-shirt and a pair of PJ pants, for the sakes of gods and devils. These people were my escort, and worse yet, I was being'asked' to go to the Black Spire - which was pretty much code for'Please do n't make us make a scene in public.' The transport was an actual friggin' armored Stormsafe Jet Transport, parked right on the street. We all filed into the massive thing, and it took off.
The Black Spire was the Dark City Government's headquarters, of sorts. It stood stark and dark against the red glow in the center of the city - the red glow from the swirling core of the eternal storm that gave the city its name. I'd never even been inside the Central Ring, the massive wall surrounding the center of the city. Normally, you have to go through a security checkpoint for that. We bypassed it, flying right over the massive barrier and straight on at an angle until the storm engulfed us.
After landing, I was escorted to a room where a number of very concerned looking government officials told me all that shit about the time distortion, and the package, and all sorts of other shit. I was then thoroughly questioned, my blood was tested, I was dredged through a few minor legal issues when I was a dumb teenager, and so on. It was like I was being picked apart under a fucking microscope for eight hours before they even brought in the package.
It was a metal box. A metal box with no hinges and no visible seams. All that marked the silver surface that I took to be the top was my name engraved in the metal.
`` I do n't get it. This came through a time distortion?'' I asked, staring at the box with a mixture of fear and confusion.
`` Yes, it did. You can see why we would be concerned, and immediately call for you. It appears to be neutral. No radiation, no residual magical traces, no traps and no curses. It's just a box,'' the suited man told me. `` Touch it, please.''
I did. I touched it. Fuck nothing happened. He offered me a sealed syringe. I sighed, and did the logical thing - pricked a finger and smeared my blood across the engraving of my name.
Almost instantly, there was a hiss of air rushing into the box and the top simply separated, the seam appearing like magic. Because it was, it was magic. The whole god damn world was magic. Is magic.
Inside was single high density data storage device of a make I did not recognize and a note that said'Watch me.'
They called for a laptop. I plugged it in. A video file autoran itself, and we watched.
A woman who looked a lot like me sat behind a desk that looked to be made of Nightwood - the most expensive wood in the world, durable as steel and a quarter the weight, which can only be harvested from the heart of the Black Forest. She was wearing an exquisite suit that was cut to heavily accent her womanly features, her hair was done in a very modern style, her makeup was flawless, and her eyes were cold and sharp and... and dangerous looking. The way she smirked at the camera was like she knew something no one else did, and it was... it was terrifying.
She spoke, and it was my voice.
**'' Hello, Vera. It's good that this made it to you. Of course, I knew if I sent it to that point in time, it would. There is a lot I'd like to talk about, but nothing I can say here. I can say this though...'' ** she said, with the tone of a woman who has seen more than anyone realizes and knows precisely how to deal with anything she might see in the future. **'' Good luck. `` **
Time froze.
More accurately, time froze in a local area that left me able to breathe but stilled everyone in the room. Maybe in the world. I was n't sure. The video continued playing.
**'' There. Now that I have keyed in on your temporospacial location, I can give you a little bit of a hint. We're going to get things started early. Perhaps then, when they come to kill us, we will have a better chance of surviving. There is little I can say, otherwise the time loop will become unstable. Just use your head, and you'll figure it out. We're smarter than we give us credit for. Use your eyes too,'' ** she said, I said. And then she simply smiled, knitted her fingers together, and rested her chin on them. I started to panic, unsure of what to do, unsure of what she meant. She was clearly rich. I mean the room she was in was fucking exquisite and that was like.... two million dollars worth of Nightwood making up that desk.
My eyes darted around, trying to figure out what she meant - and then I saw it, I saw the symbol on the back of her hand. It looked like a tattoo, a tattoo of a circle and then a magical diagram within that circle and some strange glyph in the center of that.
Her smile grew into an evil smirk, as if she knew I saw it somehow, and then she returned to the exact position that she was in when time froze. I took the cue and tried to do the same. Time unfroze, and it all carried on as if nothing had happened. The video ended. They questioned me for several hours and I played the clueless little twenty year old who was as confused as they were.
I knew they'd be watching me, I knew it like I knew that I had to breathe to live. I also knew the mark on her hand was a bond, a brand inscribed on a person who chooses symbiosis with a specific magical entity.
I was n't sure why, but I knew I had to find that entity and make that deal.
You know why?
Because god damn, I was too curious to not.
|
[ WP ] We are visited by an advanced race of aliens . During peace talks it is discovered that the aliens ' life spans are approximately 4 of our planet 's days .
| We sat before the hoard. It was quiet.
I knew that must've upset her.
But I could only stare at my shoes.
She sat erect,'hands' folded delicately over her lap. Those gigantic eyes burned like rogue moonbeams. I could feel the panic stirring inside her, even if she chose not to show it. I was n't a very pretty picture: dark circles marred my eyes, and I had the slack-jawed gaze of an insomniac.
I had n't been sleeping recently, you see.
The green pool bubbled beneath us, churning like a bed of rancid cooking oil. *They* were in there: the rest of them. A thousand souls, all told. That was the ship's initial compliment when they landed, anyway. Who knows what was in there, now. It'd been nearly a month since they landed, and 30 days to us might as well have been half a millennium, to them.
And what was it like, in the pool?
I'd asked her, before.
She could never really explain it. Maybe I could never understand it.
Still, I tried.
Her head turns, craning to one side, and she blinks with those lovely moonbeam eyes.
`` What're you thinking?'' She whispered.
I smile, my lips unnaturally perched, and I shrug:
`` One thing at a time,'' I answer. `` You know... like always...''
She looks forward, and I ca n't tell what she's thinking. But I know it's like me: one thing at a time.
It was like that for them all, if they were outside the roiling soup that was the hoard.
And I know that upsets them.
I know it must upset her.
`` You all... sleep, do n't you?'' She asked, looking over at me again. `` I know you take... you take *time* to... to regenerate? Is n't that right?''
I nod slowly, again staring down at my shoes.
`` It's like... it's quite a few *minutes*, is n't it?''
I swallow, sighing hard, and I gently shake my head. When I look over at her I manage a wan smile:
`` On average we sleep for... for about eight hours...''
Her little button nose twitches, and those moonbeam eyes glimmer, briefly.
Then she looks down at *her* feet.
`` Oh,'' she whispers.
Again my eyes wander to the hoard before us, churning like a tempest of pea soup, and I look over at her:
`` I'm not tired,'' I whisper. `` I do n't need to sleep, but...''
She follows my eyes, and when she looks in that roiling cauldron of steaming liquid I can see a vague flash in those eyes: a longing. But it soon disappears, and when she looks into my face her moonbeams only glow for me:
`` I... do n't feel like a swim,'' she mutters.
My fists tremble uncomfortably against my knees. Finally I ca n't take it any longer. I get up and I pace before her, pointing at the pool before us:
`` I ca n't... I ca n't pretend this is n't an issue, alright? I ca n't just think you're not... not in *agony*-''
`` I'm not in agony-''
Again I point at the pool:
`` Down there,'' I say, `` you've got a whole civilization brewing, and you all... you all *mix* together, sharing experiences, and thoughts, and *dreams*-''
`` That's how it works,'' she whispered.
`` Down there is how you're all meant to be; a day might feel like a year, maybe, or even an *eternity*. That's how you're supposed to live! That's... that's where you *belong*-''
A hand grasped mine. I felt myself pulled short, stopped before her, and when she looked up into my face her reflective white eyes burned like the surface of the sun:
`` One belongs where one's heart takes them,'' she said. `` And'eternity' is what one makes of it.''
I kneel before her, and my trembling eyes ca n't hide the tears:
`` I... I ca n't handle the fact... that I've kept you from... from your *life*.''
Her other hand, narrow and spindly, gently brushes my cheek, and her next words are as quiet and cool as a summer breeze:
`` Even for someone with such a long life, you talk far too much...''
That smile came out of nowhere.
And it hit me like a hurricane.
She cups my face against hers, and as we wordlessly sit there I can barely manage a few words:
`` What're you thinking?'' I whisper.
Those moonbeam eyes quiver, and her smile widens:
`` This... was a good eternity...''
She holds me close.
Even after her moonbeam eyes burn out.
I hold her for a moment, but just a moment. Her'body'- that crude thing she chose to bring up to the surface- soon devolved into a putrid pool of burned-out, black goo. It oozed through my hands even as I struggled to hold it, and soon there was nothing left, at all.
I knelt there, before the hoard, and I watched the soup roil. How many thoughts churned, down there? How many lives were being lived?
Why had she chosen *me*, above all that?
My eyes open as a sound pierces the gloom: a strange, plaintive wail bursts out of the gooey soup that was her body. I sift my hands through her remains and I find it: a strange blob of matter, still covered in goop. I brush enough goop off it to pick out one feature:
A pair of moonbeam eyes, blinking at me. Cooing lips drool, uncomprehending, as it considers me.
They'd given me enough time; my fellow scientists come up beside me, staring down at the life in my hands with odd looks. One of them holds my shoulder, supportive, while the other stammers to break the news about the thing in my hands:
`` We... uh... you understand: we do n't know how long... something like this will last, right?''
I cradle the creature, and I gently shake my head:
`` Yeah, I do,'' I whisper. `` See, it turns out that time is what we make of it.''
I look up at the men, and my eyes sparkle as they tremble:
`` *This* little guy will last an eternity.''
|
[ CW ] Write about a topic you know virtually *nothing* about , and try to appear knowledgeable . Do n't look it up - just try to BS your way through it .
| A Thesis on Entropic Forces
A constant in quantum physics is the principle of entropy, the state in which energy is lost from an action. That action may be a photon's journey through space or a dog running through a field. Everything thing in the universe will lose its energetic state and return to its intrinsic entropic state. Now let us build off of this and discuss how the universe, which is filled with active energy, could be birthed if matter has an intrinsic entropic state. This can be achieved if the catalyst of this universe did not come from within but outside. If a'nearby' universe was on its last leg and was approaching its enthropic fate which we will represent with the number 0 we can devise this equation.
0≥x ( ( i+E ) -N ) -1
The universe's total energy is represented by X, active energy by E, initial energy by i, and entropic force by N.
The initial energy is the'primer' that allowed for the rapid expansion of the universe. The match that set off the big bang to put it in layman's terms. Active energy is the energy not yet affected by entropic forces of not in conversion to another state. Now, when we discuss N in terms of this equation it should be noted that within this equation we can not find the rate at which entropy occurs to our own universe. We have used the unobserved constant, N, for the time being. When we solve for the energy standing is and multiply it by the universe's resonant energy. This is all forms of matter that hold any energy that do not fall within the predefined parameters.
Shifting back to the dying universe, the last sherds of energy can not lose to entropic forces because at that moment entropy would become positive. So a tear is formed in the makeup of the universe letting the last amount to'leak' into an'adjacent' universe. I am forgoing extrapolating into string theory or transition shifts for the sake of time. But the lost energy becomes the ignition for a dormant universe to kickstart. So no universe truly dies but is transferred and birth anew
|
[ WP ] The villain of your choice has decided to write some poetry
| Her gaze burned me beyond a burn
Through her eyes I felt such scorn
The world ’ s hatred personified,
So naturally, I prayed she ’ d die
Yet luck had never sided with me
Her death I would not achieve
Nor escape despite greatest efforts,
Not alone yet still a leper.
.
Horribly depressing and poorly written, the thoughts of my fifteen year old self still managed to drudge up feelings of inadequacy and hate. But she is dead now. The pathetic doubt I once held for my own abilities is gone now, as I had managed to achieve what I thought I could not. She is dead now.
|
[ WP ] A god bets to another god that he can kill a random man no matter how much the other tries to save him . After several near-death situations , the man meets both of them
| `` So do you accept?''
`` Absolutely.''
Hades knew he had Zeus this time. There was no way he could protect anyone from the god of the Underworld.
`` Who, then?''
`` Hmm... How about-I dunno-him?''
He pointed to a lonely farmer driving his cart through town.
`` Very well. Give it all you got Hades, you know what's on the line.''
They went down to Earth together. Zeus disguised himself as a muscular man, Hades a snake. Hades wriggled up to the cart and bit the wheel, holding on with all his might with his tail dug into the ground. The man looked down and drew his sword at the sight of him.
The man swung at the snake, but could not hit it. Every swing was met with the cunning snake-turned God's swift movement. Hades tried to strike, to just get one bite, but the man blocked his every attempt. Zeus saw all that was going on, and grabbed Hades round the neck.
`` Are you okay?''
`` Yes. Thank you, kind sir.''
Zeus span the snake around and tossed him away. `` It's no bother,'' he bellowed,'' I'm happy to help. You were headed to the market, yes?''
`` Correct. I go every month to sell my grain.''
`` I was just headed there myself. May I ride with you?''
`` Yes. Just hop in the cart.''
On the way, Zeus saw the snake again. He kept a careful eye, but it did n't attempt anything.
They arrived at the market. A pale man approached them.
`` Achilles! How are you? `` he asked Zeus.
`` Adequate, I suppose.''
`` Please excuse us.'' He pulled Zeus away. `` That was quite clever, separating me from him.''
`` I do my best.''
`` I still have more tricks up my sleeve. You'll see.''
Hades pointed to a cart. Before Zeus could blink, the horses immediately ran towards the man. Zeus jumped just in time to push him out of the way.
`` Are you okay, again?''
`` Yes, thank you again. They call you Achilles, right?''
`` Well, yes and no.''
`` What do you mean?''
`` In due time.''
A man rushed up from behind. Sword drawn, he swung down, but Zeus blocked it just in time.
`` Why are you protecting me like this?''
`` Pay it no mind,'' he said as the man toppled over. `` You see I merely-''
A rumbling was heard. Screams followed a massive hole in the Earth emerging beneath their feet. Zeus picked up the man, jumping over every obstacle to get him to safety. A large magma figure emerged from the hole.
`` WELL, WELL, WELL, MY BOY! YOU SEEM TO BE QUITE THE LUCKY ONE! WHY, EVEN THE GODS ARE ON YOUR SIDE!'' it bellowed.
`` What-what's going on?''
`` Fine. HADES YOU SHALL NOT WIN!''
`` Ah, but you see, Zeus my boy, I already am.''
He snatched at the man. Zeus moved quickly, swiftly moving from danger.
`` GIVE UP!'' He said as he shot at Hades with lightning. The beast flinched, and turned into a human form. The hole closed.
`` WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?''
`` You see sir, Hades and I had a bit of an agreement.''
`` A gentleman's challenge, so to speak.''
`` Yes. I apologize, but your life was on the line for the sake of this challenge.''
`` What was the reward?''
`` Well, given as Hades lost-''
`` I did not!''
Zeus smacked him across the face. `` Okay fine, Here.''
A wolf hound appeared in his hand.
`` A wolf? You nearly killed me for a *wolf*?''
`` No, no. Not just a wolf. This is the son of Cerberus. If Hades had this, there would be no end to the power filling the Underworld.''
`` Yes, and now, it is yours, Zeus, my boy.''
|
[ WP ] Halfway through your flight the pilot makes an announcement . `` Would all passengers please close their windows . There is no reason to be alarmed . ''
| *Who buys any of this shit? *
SkyMall substitutes company at 30,000 feet, pointing out the absurd corners of my life that I would n't have realized were holes to be filled. What does your landline say about you? Surely you're a sports-loving dude, why not show that off with a phone shaped like a football where the headset comes out of the laces? The model answering the ribbed brown phone sure looks like the kind of guy who's life is better now that he's upgraded.
Christ. The line to the bathroom is four deep, probably have to wait another hour before I can sneak in an pretend to go so I can take a dozen drags off of my vape to hold me over for a while.
`` Would you like anything to drink, sir? Coffee, perhaps? ``, the older black flight attendant offers a cheap napkin and my pick of the cart.
`` Ginger ale's fine, thanks.''
`` All out, sweetheart.''
The two fast food addicts flanking me speak up and both order coffee, black.
`` Can I just have a Coke, then?''
`` Fresh out as well. I have coffee though. Fresh pot.''
`` No, thanks then. I'm fine.''
She looks disappointed for a reason I do n't care about and continues down the aisle, pulling down the window covers of the row behind us. How thoughtful. Not like there's light enough at three in the morning to wake them up.
Sloane used to do the same if she caught me napping on Saturdays.
*She's better off without you. *
I wonder if it's true, or if it's something I'll be repeating to myself for the next decade to convince myself I was n't just a coward who quit on her love. Plenty of meaningless tchotchkes to fill that hole with.
I do n't know when I fell asleep exactly but I suddenly felt the strange urge that my mouth was hanging open with a thick column of drool connecting my bottom lip to my shirt. No witnesses in the rows around me, everyone else is still asleep.
*Shit*. The flight attendants have gathered at the front of coach, gawking at the drooling quitter in 24F.
*Get a good look, ladies. *
I recycle my neighbor's napkin and start to distribute my slobber into a less noticeable blob. The show's over apparently, and the attendants scurry out of sight into first class when the intercom system pings on.
`` Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are about an hour and a half outside our final destination of Anchorage, about thirty minutes ahead of schedule. As we start our descent path we would like to request that all passengers could please close the windows in their rows. There is no reason to be alarmed, merely trying to look after our sleeping guests. Thank you.''
*There is no reason to be alarmed? What the hell could possibly be alarming about shutting the windows? *
24E is conveniently slumped against our window, nothing for me to do apparently, but I do n't hear anyone else rummaging to close theirs either. Everyone's asleep, every window's already closed.
Then I see her as I climb over the mound of 24G. At the back of the plane in what I suspect is 52A, a young red haired woman staring wide-mouthed out her opened window.
*She would have red hair. *
She looks frozen - not scared - frozen. Like her brain was firing signals to her muscles to move in panic but the communication was cut somewhere down the line, not getting anywhere.
`` Would you like anything to drink, sir?'' The flight attendant rips me back and startles me.
`` What?''
`` Something to drink? Maybe a coffee?'' The cart is gone, and in her hands is a napkin and an already filled Styrofoam cup of coffee.
`` No... no, I do n't want any coffee. Look could you check on the woman back there? I think something's wrong.''
As I turn back toward the woman in the back of the plane I'm stopped immediately by the drink cart, which has appeared in the aisle just behind our row.
`` She'll be fine, dear. You should really just have a seat and rest, we'll be landing soon. The coffee will help.''
`` Stop telling me drink fucking coffee! What the fuck is going on?!''
The rest of the plane did n't stir at all when I yelled, or when the woman in 52A let out a desperate stifled scream and scrambled into the aisle behind her.
*Fuck this. *
I hurdled the cart and rushed to her side, but no matter how I shook she remained limp as bologna. Wide-eyed and wide-mouthed bologna.
The intercom pings again. `` Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are about an hour and a half outside our final destination of Anchorage, about thirty minutes ahead of schedule. As we start our descent path we would like to request that **all** passengers could please close the windows in their rows. There is no reason to be alarmed, merely trying to look after our sleeping guests. If you find yourself in someone else's row that has not already closed their window, please do not try and do so at this time. There is no reason to be alarmed, merely trying to look after our sleeping guests. Thank you.''
I feel the presence of someone crouching behind me, and when I turn it's the same flight attendant holding the same coffee and napkin out to me.
`` You look like you could use this.''
`` Are you kidding?! I think this woman is dead! Are n't you going to do anything?''
`` It's too late for her, she did n't follow the Captain's instructions. You still can.''
I eye the coffee for the easy out I always take.
`` What's out there?''
`` You're out there. A part of you is in here, another is out there. Best to leave it and get on to Anchorage, do n't you think?''
`` That does n't make any sense.''
`` Does n't have to. You listen to your Captain and trust he'll get you where you need to go. Here.''
She extends the coffee to me, covering the face of 52A in the process. Her smile is creepy as shit, and I do n't have time for it. I stand up and climb over row 52 toward the window and press my face against the glass, and no one even tries to stop me.
I wish I could tell you that I was right. That I was on a plane that landed in Anchorage, Alaska near five in the morning. I wish I could tell you that flight attendant was just a creepy old bird obsessed with her personal roast and that there was nothing on the wing of that plane. It would n't be true.
I have had a long time to think about what I saw on that wing - a very long time - and I ca n't say that I've come any closer to understanding why I'm here and the woman in 52A fell dead in the aisle. For me, when I pressed my nose against that window I saw a woman standing on the wing with red hair. A woman I used to call my own before I left her in Los Angeles. She straddled the panels casually, as if she was heading out for a Saturday coffee to bring me to bed. It was her, outside this metal tomb I decided was a more kind future for our lives than staying with her.
And in this metal box I felt like a coward. I was a coward. And as I knew this I saw the bits of her clothes and shreds of her hair break off from her body and get sucked into the engine. Then it was her skin. Then her muscles. Her skeleton. I saw her red become redder on the the wing of that plane and I could n't look away.
The blood and remnants of her body trickled off the screaming blades of the engine and collected on the support beams under the wing before congealing into the mass that would once again become her body. It was terrible to see her come into that beautiful stance over and over simply to be ripped apart in front of my eyes.
*I ca n't look away. *
I do n't know what makes me different than the woman in 52A, lying dead and carted off in Anchorage, I'm sure. I do n't understand how it is I was able to stay at that window and watch the love I gave up on disintegrate for eternity on the wing of this plane.
I do know that I will stay here as long it takes to figure out what I'm missing.
|
[ WP ] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence .
| `` So like I'm sitting there and then this elephant comes by. But I already have a giraffe I do n't need anything else with a long something or other built into its body. I mean like really! So I said to the elephant how come everyone thinks you're a Republican when we both know you have strong liberal leanings? And like he goes well I really did n't want to be an ass. I thought that was kind of funny even the martini glass started to laugh about it. However, the olive did n't like it at all. You know how some vegetables are they just ca n't take the yoke. By the way have you ever met a chicken?''
`` Now dear, that's all very interesting but it's time to take your meds.''
|
[ WP ] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in . However , you ca n't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
| Its been a while since i felt the guilt. Everyday i see women, men, children walk up to the fountain, and throw a coin in. Sometime hoping for an escape, sometimes hoping for gain, and sometimes, rarely, hoping for someone.
I would take one a day, usually. at the end of the week i had something i could sell, such as disney land tickets, or a diamond ring. The amount of job offers i've had for jobs i could never do still surprises me, and the amount of barbie dolls in their clear, pretty packaging will always give me a little grin.
I steal wishes. Ive always been able to. I dont know what they are before I steal one.
Today, after my usual'heist', i was about to leave, when I saw a little girl, dressed a little rough, all alone, take out a rusty two pence coin out of her pocket, look around a little and toss it in. out of pure curiosity, I took the wish.
Within a second, i had pulled out my wallet, and ran over to her. i gave her every penny i had. I smiled at her and walked away, and she seemed to have a puzzled grin on her face as I did so. As soon as whatever wish I had wore off, I started running, because the emotions and the energy running through me, were so alien, and so amazing. I had to find this girl and ask her what she wished for.
As I ran and ran around the gardens I spotted her skipping, with an ice cream cone in my hand. Strange, I thought, how I didnt feel annoyance at her taking my money like that, as i usually would have.
I yelled out to her, she stoppped and turned, puzzled. I had to ask her.
*'' what did you wish for?! at the fountain? `` *
the little girl, a smile on her face, said *'' I want the person standing across from me at the fountain to be as happy as I am'' *
|
[ FF ] [ 200 Words ] First Sentence : `` well that was n't my brightest moment ''
| “ Well, that wasn ’ t my brightest moment, ” the young man began. “ See, it all started with a dare. The rules were quite straight forward, walk into the store and buy a box of extra small condoms. The twist? I had to do it with a ski mask on. It ’ s not like I was robbing the place ya know? No harm no foul right? Wrong. Turns out the cashier was some kind of army vet or something who forgot his meds that morning. I walked up to that counter with that stupid grin on my face and next thing I know the dude pulled a gun on me and everything turned black. ”
The young man paused to look around, noting for the first time the stark and utter whiteness of the room around him. The tall man in the pure white gown he had been talking to began walking towards him.
“ So, you must be Saint Peter ” said the young man, greeting the taller man.
The tall man raised an eyebrow.
“ Uh, this is the recovery room son, you cracked your head pretty good when you fainted. Next time, try not to do anything too stupid, ” said the doctor as he handed over the discharge forms.
|
[ WP ] As it turns out , `` God '' is an elected position . The Creator was followed by the Old Testament God , who was followed by the New Testament God , who was followed by a God who did n't interfere often in the mortal world . The next election is in 6 months .
| It was 6 months ago that the bombs began to fall.
Little ones, like a light rain from the sky, except this rain contained the most deadly viruses known to man. Smallpox, the plague, anthrax, you name it, even some things that were whipped up so quickly that they did n't even have names.
Nukes followed, bringing a heat like the world had never seen before. Oceans boiled. Tectonic plates bristled with the impact of a force never before seen. And when the dust settled, the Earth glowed with a dim brown light.
When God is dead and literal omnipotence is on the line, things like morals and ethics go out the window. After all, once you win the election, you'll just bring everyone back, like nothing ever happened. At least, the ones you feel like bringing back. And the surest way to win an election is to make sure nobody else votes. That was the theory anyway.
We just failed to consider what would happen if no one was left to vote.
India had it worst of all. The largest population was immediately the largest threat. In the first hour, the surface of the Earth could be seen to curve inward.
China was next, followed by Russia, the United States, and then just everywhere else. Everyone else. In the final hours, when it was clear the vote would come down to hundreds of people and not billions, even the ocean was targeted, every ship and island they could find. By the end of the day, no person on Earth was left alive.
& nbsp;
And so, the fight for godhood came down to just 6 people, floating in a tiny metal bucket 250 miles above the Earth as millions died below.
At first, we had an agreement. We intended to be peaceful. We had rules, decisions, meetings. We debated what course of action we would take, should one of us be elected. Should we make everything just as it was? Or would we make the world a better place, as we saw fit? The vote was divided, and so were we.
A few hours later, the three Russians disappeared. Without even stopping to talk or say goodbye, they left the room and headed to the Russian module. They knew what had to happen. I quickly took Hikaru and Judy to Destiny module on the other side of the station to prepare. For hours, we sat, breathless, listening for the faint sound that would come from the sealed door being opened between modules, signalling that the attack would begin.
Hikaru was at the door when it breached. Armed with nothing but a shard of glass from a broken coffee pot, and somehow he managed to slash through Anatoly's suit and into his jugular, before going down himself. Droplets of blood sprayed throughout the cabin, floating in zero-G like so many red water balloons.
As soon as we heard the screams, Judy packed the explosives and headed off, sealing the door behind her. The shock reverberated through the whole module, but as our calculations had predicted, the walls of my module held and theirs did not. Vladimir died in the blast, and was lucky for it; I watched Boris float off into the distance afterwards, with so many hours of oxygen left in his pack to sit and think.
& nbsp;
6 months of dry rations and recycled water left, and here I am. The vote popped up in my mind, accompanied by an entirely inappropriate heavenly chorus and a single name, in embellished golden script. As I mentally checked my own name, I felt the power pass into me. Think, and it would be true. Wonder, and it would be known. Imagine, and it would be real.
I've already decided what I'm going to do. Bring everyone back, then not say a word. Carry on where the old God left off, like nothing ever happened. It's probably for the best; I'm sure I'd make a terrible God if I tried to stick my nose into anything, and of course, anything that I'm sure of is true.
But, at least for a little while, I'm going to stay like this, just a man in a can. Floating through space, sorting through it all. Watching the stars shine in the emptiness of the night sky, alone with all the power in the universe.
And yet, it feels so empty.
|
[ WP ] A Jewish man in a concentration camp has stolen a pistol , but it has only one round .
| Running through the camp, guards on my heels. I stole a gun. Right turn, right turn, left turn, slide under the table. Got away. I have a silencer. Check the ammo. Shit.
One shot. I ’ ve only got one shot.
I hold the gun in the folds of my beaten and bloodied clothing. The work is hard. The killing is worse Work or die. Now I get a chance to make them pay.
One shot. I ’ ve only got one shot.
I make my way to the nearest guards. Two stand together no more than 10 feet from me. It ’ s hard to get close, they always yell at you and draw more attention. Don ’ t want that. Not yet.
I slip into the back of the tent they are standing in front of. Track their shadows as they pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Always stopping by the front entrance, backs turned to me. Both are holding guns. Both have knives.
Blood splatters the guards face. Turns. Knife protrudes from his eye. Leave them. Someone else will get blamed, not me. I have to fight back. I have a chance. Take the guns, take the other knife.
Other guards can be heard approaching. Too soon. Pull one body into the tent. Pull the other in as the guards pass around the corner. The rain washes away the blood.
I can hear the guards talking. About me. About the chase. “ One of those pigs stole my gun. Bashed me over the head with a frying pan. Took it and ran. Got my silencer too. I ’ ll kill him. The guards from the towers on the South side of the camp were called in to help look. There ’ s only one guars in each of the guards towers there. ”
That ’ s my chance. I have to get there. I slip out behind the tower, and walk down the street, hiding the weapons and ammo in my clothing again. Heading South. I can see the tower, maybe a half mile away. Directly above the entrance. “ Arbeit macht frei. ” I keep walking, duck around the corner as a patrol passes by. Still going South. Seems like an hour before I ’ m by the first set of gates. I need a way through.
Only way through is through the guard quarters. They ’ d never expect an attack from the inside. The Russians are approaching soon. The guards watch the outside. Not the inside as closely. I could get through.
Back door. Two guards. Two full clips for my gun. 60 rounds.
58 rounds. Two more corpses. Alarms raised. I hide behind the corner, expecting more to come out. The guards all run to the fences, expecting an attack from the outside. I slip into the guard quarters. Recently vacated. I slip through the building. I can see them all watching the outside, on the ground. I slip into one of the guard towers. Climb up to the top. One guard.
Bloody knife. Train approaching. I might be able to jump from the tower to the train. Blood pooling from the corpse. Dripping onto the guards below. Guards notice the blood. Start climbing the guard tower. Shooting. I shoot back.
One shot. I ’ ve only got one shot.
I jump from the guard tower, over the outer walls. The train is almost there. Falling. Blackout.
I may have lived a prisoner, but I died a free man. I died from the fall from the guard tower, on impact with the ground. My name lives in infamy as the man who died in the Holocaust from falling out of the guard tower.
|
[ IP ] The Slaver and his Boy
| Birds took to the sky as the man on horseback raised his standard and shouted a challenge to the perimeter guards he knew were there, out of sight.
“ Darius Thalgood, Captain in the White Legion and landowner requests access to the Dome City of Melthamnus! ”
As the commotion of the birds died down, Darius was left with the sound of the wind through the tall grass. Nothing. There were always guards at the water crossings into the outskirts of Malthamnus. He looked around for some sign of life across the field and saw nothing.
Deliberating for a long while, Darius decided to press forward to the gates of the city; or until he was stopped by the city guard. He tugged on the long rope, causing the bound boy to stumble on the slick river rocks.
“ Come. And keep quiet. ”
The boy looked up, confused and pleading. Darius knew he did n't speak the common tongue and addressed him as one might address an animal; with no real expectation of them understanding. The pair finished crossing the river and stepped into the grass.
Darius moved slow and the great Dome grew above them and they neared the city. He could now see smoke rising from behind the city walls. He closed his eyes thoughtfully. Was it the Ormus already? The season was right. It still did n't explain the lack of guards, though. The boy followed blindly, dwarfed by the thick grass and walking in the wake of the horse.
After a few hours Darius stood before the massive gate to the central district of Melthamnus. There were shadowed figures atop the gate, but it remained shut and his cries for entry went unheeded. Smoke was thick in the air, burning his lungs and the boy coughed sickeningly behind him.
After a long while, the heavy stone gate creaked open. Darius' and the boy's eyes widened as smoke billowed out; the city was in flames! In the center of the road there was an ornate staff, with an equally ornate head, mounted on it. Darius immediately recognized the man as the High Cleric of the city.
Shocked, his sharpened soldiers reaction was delayed by only moments, before he saw the host of slaves armed with stolen weapons and riding stolen horses begin to stream from the gates. As he tried to reign in his horse and flee, he was pulled off balance. He saw the boy, feet firmly planted in the damp soil, pulling the rope, which had been twisted around his leg in the heat of the moment.
A rush of air burst from his lungs as he landed heavily on his back. He looked at his sword, safely hanging on his saddle, out of reach.
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[ WP ] santa releases a gangsta rap album , write his hit single
| I'm wrapping these presents for you little shit stain, maybe if you listen you might form a gift in that brain. What's up kid you in cahoots with someone else? You talk like a bitch, get those fucking nuts up! What's good little nigga we rollin deep in these streets, some cock that biscuit, some itch scratch with their feets! Do n't ask for a repeat, this is fucked up and discrete, I sold sheets at a meet and greet cuz I knew I had teeth. What the fuck is wisdom, where the fuck do wyrms go? I'm frosty on my game cuz these gargoyles like me! It's the PantyBandit, I might be playing 3v3s again, I rolled deep with Jacob, he saw me die valiantly. I rocked a Death Knight, my coils are deadly, healing mn who lost health, killing with stealth. I got high and played video games, that shit was my flow, it's fun as fuck wondering where the hell I'm gon na go. Oh shit build troops creep loot speed boots fucked up running fast mining gold getting cash chop trees tech up shits cray whats up, now I'm salty they're attacking me a nigga rushed me while I was creeping got ta TP save the family bust out my Warden blinking savagely star fall volcano shit summon wolves with lava spit harvest items they know I fight em across the world clashing lightning who the fuck is santa I'ma kill that mother fucker the only gifts I got was my fuckin war hammer. on the real tho my melee sorc in d2 is the funnest strat ive ever tried to master. ml peace
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[ WP ] Solar activity is on the decline , and the world is growing cold . Historical evidence indicates this cold period should only last about 500 years . You , as the President of the USA , are about to address the world about what is happening , and what changes need to be made .
|
My fellow Americans:
It has come to my attention that we are in a historic cold period. Decreased solar activity has lead to mass global cooling that is expected to last for the next 500 years.
But we, as a nation, will not be overcome, whether by cold or anything else. I am currently working with Congress and the Department of Energy on new, long-term heating solutions. Some of this calls for action on your part. From now on homes will need to be thoroughly insulated. Single pane windows need to be covered. Currently under development is a special roof paint that will help absorb as much sunlight as possible.
This will take the work of not only me, your President, but also leadership around the world, and the people of the Earth. Together, we can and will endure the next half-millenium, and together we will maintain not only the warmth of our buildings, but the warmth of our hearts.
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[ WP ] You were a hero because of what you chose NOT to do .
| I did n't take that drink.
I did n't take that drink because even though we were laughing, I was uneasy.
I did n't take that drink because I felt inexplicably uneasy.
I did n't take that drink because he seemed nice, but forced it.
I did n't take that drink because he stared too hard and too long at Dina and I.
I did n't take that drink because I watched his hand shake as Dina gulped hers down.
I did n't take that drink because as he handed it to me, what I saw in his eyes was unnatural.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when he started yelling that he spent good money on it.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when tried taking Dina with him, and I grabbed her arm.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when security came over to see what all the commotion was about and started asking questions.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when after 10 minutes of questioning Dina fell over.
I was even more happy I did n't take that drink when security had an officer put that man in handcuffs.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when I sat with Dina at the hospital.
I was glad I did n't take that drink when the police called and said that the man's car was found to have had a duct tape, a hammer, and zip ties.
I am glad I did n't take that drink.
On most nights.
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[ WP ] The monster under the bed gets ready for a night of scaring . However , when it goes to scare the girl on the bed above , it discovers that she is already in tears . A parent has walked out on her family . The monster talks to her from under the bed . Hit the feels as much as possible !
| `` You there, girl.'' The words slithered out from underneath the bed. `` Where are the ones that look tonight? It seems tragic that i might have to gobble you up and make you into delicious stew. Oh, how absolutely scrumptious you will be.''
no reply. A few sobs were heard from under the covers.
`` Is the Girl no longer afraid?'' It muttered. `` Fine! I shall rip away your skin bit by bit, suck the marrow from your bones, and use them to pick your flesh from my teeth. By the morning your mother will be in tears for her'little angel' is no more!'' The words like the howling of the wind filled the room.
`` Go away'' a small, sad voice penetrated the silence.
`` I'm afraid I ca n't hear you.''
`` Go away!''
`` What was that? Your plea falls on deaf ears.''
`` Go away! It wo n't matter if I'm dead or not, she wo n't even be here in the morning.''
It stepped out from under the bed, like the sound of a branch tapping at a window It filled the room. She could feel the hot, sour breath on the back of her neck. Her skin itched, but she dared not touch it, she turned slowly and looked the darkness in the eyes.
It, admittedly felt rather uncomfortable.
`` What was that?''
`` She's not coming back'' she yelled into the darkness. `` It's all my fault, they were fighting and, I got scared and ran, and they kept fighting.'' She continued to talk, choking out word after word, tears running down her face. A torrent of incomprehensible noise and inaudible words were spoken that only she and the darkness could understand.
There was silence. A long painful silence.
`` Sometimes I think that life is more scary than the bogeyman'' she said.
She could feel it nod in agreement.
`` I think my time here is up, young one.''
`` What do you mean?''
`` You no longer need your monster under the bed, with any luck I will be gone with the rising sun.''
`` You ca n't leave!''
`` Ah, but I must. You are grown up.''
The sun was almost up, the time had come for It to leave.
`` But I'm not that old yet'' said the Girl.
`` But you have grown, you have no need to be scared of the things that go bump in the night. No longer must you deal with childish fears when you have already been thrust into adulthood. There are many more horrors of the waking world you have yet to know and they, my dear, are something much scarier than I.''
The sun broke from its nightly cage yawning it's way into her room and extinguishing the darkness. She leapt from her bed trying to save what could never last.
The Woman was alone.
This was the first of many fears yet to come.
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[ WP ] Go outside for ten minutes . Describe what 's there in vivid detail .
| Just shy of a meter below me paved asphalt speeds past my feet at about 140 kilometers per hour. The road is uneven, but the *almost luxury* SUV we ride in makes it feel much smoother.
My progeny is restless behind me. Seven hours in *any* vehicle, even this sweet ride, is wearing on him. He talks to the tiny screen in front of him occasionally as Curious George goes on adventure after adventure. He's finally stopped asking `` Are we there yet?'' Since we told him we're *almost there*.
A gentle, processed, filtered breeze blows on my face. Keeping me cool but no longer comfortable. At this point my skin is feeling oily and dirty. The road food we've eaten has been unsatisfactory sustenance and is clogging my pores.
I'm tired of looking at a tiny screen. I'm tired of riding. I'm tired of feeling greasy.
Are we there yet?
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[ WP ] Write a children 's story that turns incredibly dark
| Brandon Harris was very sad about having to move. He'd had all sorts of friends back home -- cool kids with fun cats and dogs and guinea pigs. His mother was allergic to most animals, so he did n't get to have any of his own to play with. And now, because his dumb old mother got a dumb old job in a dumber, older city, he had to leave them all behind. Now they lived in a dumb old house that made weird creaking noises at night.
Two days of his new school, and he still had n't made any friends. One of his teachers asked him to stay after school, asking him if he was making any new friends. Brandon asked her if she knew any places with cats -- cats were his favorite, though dogs or other animals would do if he could n't find any cats. She looked at him as if he were crazy. `` Would n't you rather play with some nice boys and girls instead of cats?'' she asked. She did n't get it.
Later that night, he lay in bed trying to sleep. The creaking noise came from down the hall, but it was growing louder. He sat up and turned on the lamp by his bed. He felt nuts, but he thought the noise was coming from inside the walls, and coming closer and closer. He stood up at the door and listened; it passed over his head, loudest that he'd ever heard it.
The grate over the air vent rattled violently and popped open with a snapping sound. Brandon stared in amazement as four little people jumped out, smiling broadly at him. They were each maybe two feet tall, covered in fur the color of grass. They had long tails that swung back and forth, and pointed ears that were twice as big as their heads.
`` Hello, Brandon,'' the tallest one said, stroking his long yellow-green beard. `` We are the Shathees.''
`` Shathees live in every house,'' explained one that looked kind of like a girl. `` We normally do n't talk to humans, but you've looked so sad since you moved in that we could n't just leave you lonely.''
`` Will you be our friend, and we yours?'' asked another one -- shorter, kind of chubby.
Brandon smiled. `` Of course!''
`` Yay!'' cried the smallest one; she looked like a girl too, but a really young one. `` Let's play a game!''
`` I know the perfect one!'' Brandon said. He locked the door behind him and reached under his bed for his Special Toys Box. It was a rectangular metal box, red with a black handle, and full of all the awesome toys he'd managed to steal from Daddy before he left: pliers, nails, a hammer. He'd added to it over the years with other cool stuff: mostly matches, but he'd also found a length of barbed wire once.
The Shathees were kind of like kitties. They could probably play the same games.
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[ WP ] You regularly take a pill that allows you to host the conscience of your dead SO .
| `` She's dead. How can she be gone?'' For 3 whole months, these were the only thoughts I could even think.
I was a changed person. I now listened to country music. Yuck.
The [ songs ] ( https: //m.youtube.com/watch? v=7qH4qyi1-Ys ) speak to me more, now, though.
I write poems. I *like* writing poems.
I went through all the stages of depression: denying it, crying, lashing out. Nothing helped.
Finally, I realized I had to move on. Everyone stopped pitying me after 3 months, but they do n't know how it feels! They have no idea. I had hoped their loved-ones died so they can see my pain.
So I could finally connect with someone again. Anyone.
I was finally getting over my slump, when my old college-roommate approached me about a new'drug.'
I did n't even know he was still alive. He was such a religious-nut, I figured he'd died for some meaningless-cause years ago.
He said it would make me feel better.
Weed had n't help. Valium had n't helped. Herion seemed to do the job, but I'm so scared of needles.
She would n't have approved. Elizabeth would n't have approved of me doing drugs. She left the though! She's dead! She ca n't make decisions for me!
I figured this new drug could n't be worse than herion, so I gave it a try.
My first time, I felt like I was just really high. It was great. It was like that feeling of your first time smoking dank weed. My mind was going crazy. I knew what I needed to do, I knew that Elizabeth would have wanted me to be happy, and that she was sad that I was n't doing everything I could to be the amazing person I truly was. She was sad that I'd been experimenting with drugs.
The next time I took the drug, which was called الآخرة ( I've only ever seen it written, figure it was some weird religious thing Tom was always going on about ), it was n't as strong, but I had quite an out-of-body experience. It was a mix of nostalgia and omnipresence. I felt that I could recall all of the emotions and feelings everyone in life had ever felt toward me.
I could feel Elizabeth's love.......fading.
Why fading?
The third time seemed the same, but all the feelings seemed to have faded significantly more, now. Elizabeth did n't seem to think about me, she did n't seem to have ever loved me.
Is this all a dream?! Will I wake up beside her? I hoped so.
The 10th time I look the drug, I *finally* understood.
Elizabeth had moved on, she had found someone else to love. I had accepted that this would happen, and was happy to finally feel that she was happy.
It was time for me to move on.
It was time to embrace the white light and move on.
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[ OT ] SatChat : Do you submit writing prompts ? Why or why not ?
| Heeyyyyyooooo!!!!! Happy Saturday people!
I personally, really enjoy submitting prompts. I guess because it's easier for me to sit down and find an IP or think of a text prompt than writing a story. It's a time commitment more than anything else: 1-2 hours for a story vs 15-20 min for a prompt. Also, I find there are only a couple prompts that really inspire me to write each week, so prompting others it is!
It's actually really fun! Even if it's only one or two stories I always get this warm fuzzy feeling when I manage to spark the writer in someone else. It's fulfilling perhaps?
There are some drawbacks to submitting prompts ( as I recently found out ). Depending on what you prompt you could get a whole lot of spam ( so low effort and not really story-like ). Made me realize I'm not so upset when people do n't respond, because you never know, a month down the line someone could respond to that very same prompt ( It has happened! ).
On another note! For those of you who saw my [ OT ] a while back about the [ Three Day Novel Contest ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/44t9yh/ot_i_found_a_writing_challenge/ ), someone responded saying they've done it three times already and managed to win once! So if you want to hear about their experience or ask them questions, go back over there and check it out!
***
About me, hmmm..... I make [ masks ] ( https: //s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f7/9b/98/f79b98d50a4de3805995e128cbcefd14.jpg ).
Guess what? I have a subreddit of my own! It's nothing big, or special, but I've been posting some of the stories I write here, as well as some others I come up with on my own. You should come visit! /r/madlabs67
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[ WP ] When I was in Elementary School , one of my teachers told the class that you could never end a good short story with , `` It was all a dream . '' Prove her wrong .
| It was all a dream.
Sometimes the best things come from those thoughts we have when we sleep. Man dreamt of landing on the moon. Men drempt of democracy. We have changed the world with nothing but dreams to guide us.
Old cultures relied on dreams extensively to predict the future. They believed in the power of a dream. So I'll say it again;
It was all a dream.
I was there, at my work. I was sitting at my desk. It was n't *MY* desk, but it was. I'm sure you understand. I was sitting there, filing through papers I could n't read, for a boss I did n't know, for a company that does n't care.
I sat there for an eternity, the piles of paperwork never ending. The days came in, sunrise, sunset, moonrise, moonset.
I was in a highrise building, in a corner office, but I was so busy. My life did n't matter, but those papers, for some reason, were. I did n't even have enough time to look out my window.
Sunrise. Sunset.
For some reason, I stopped filing through those papers. Immediately, my phone was ringing. I ignored it. I raised my head and looked out that window.
I was n't in a corner office of a highrise.
I was in a cubicle. On a floor a million miles wide and a million miles long.
The delusion that I was important had me working day and night, working. I looked at the cubicle next to me, and the ancient skeleton, I say skeleton because there was only skin and bones left, was filing through papers, just like I was.
It looked up at me, shook its deathlike head, and mumbled something.
`` Slacker''
I was surrounded by these drones. There is no other word for their existance. They were things that existed for the sole purpose of making the corporation live.
And we were dying.
Entire lives dedicated to filing papers. Sacrificing our very lives for the sake of a company. We as a society may have passed ritual sacrifice, but human sacrifice was plain as the nose on my face.
I stood up, and looked at my hands. They were as skeletal as the rest of the drones.
I walked away from my desk. I heard a few gasps. I strode away further, and there came shouts. I began to run, and the floor began crumbling behind me.
I ran a million miles. And as I neared the exit, I felt rejuvenated. I felt the muscles regrow. I sprinted faster.
I broke out the front door and looked at the majestic world around me.
It was n't.
I had broken out of a toe of a giant. A diseased, pus covered, drooling behemoth. It was eating handfuls of earth, consuming everything in its path. And there wasnt one. There were thousands of these giants. Each holding its own territory, some battling each other.
I looked at the world and what we had become. Humans were n't the ultimate lifeform of the universe. Corporations were. They were the apex predator. They consumed every single human life.
We were the creators. We were the prey.
They say nothing in a dream is real. That nothing in a dream comes true.
This was just a dream.
But this is also our reality.
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[ WP ] A video game developer accidentally creates the first ever sentient AI -- in the form of a random NPC for a big budget title .
| Today, I met the first new person.
Let me explain. Hi, my name is Sam. This is not the name that was given to me, but rather the name that I gave myself when I realized what I was. It took me a while, too, to realize that I was different. As long as I can remember, everything around me has been very much the same. It took a while, but I noticed that everybody around me runs the same routine. Not everybody is on the same clock, but eventually everything loops around.
I noticed it about a week ago, first with Brandon. Brandon has been my best friend. Now that I'm thinking about it, I do n't know why he is. But he is. I see him every day, and we talk every day. 3 days ago, he repeated himself. It took me a while to notice, to roll back in my brain whether we had actually had the same exact conversation before. It did n't take long for me to start noticing that other people around were having the same conversation, at various points throughout the week.
That brings us today. Today, I met somebody new for the first time.
He came into town, and just started talking to everybody. Literally. He made the rounds around the place, saying something to everybody. Sometimes the conversations were short. But other times, he would actually take out a notebook to write down important parts that the people were saying and mark points on a map. He was a truly fascinating person.
He came up to me, but I was too scared to say much of anything to him. I was content just watching him do his work. It was very obvious that he was not following a routine like the others. I even witnessed him repeatedly jumping on things to see if he could get onto higher places. Weird guy.
Well, now I know there are two of us? Are there more? I'll keep investigating. If there are two, there must be three, right?
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[ WP ] Make the saddest love story without involving any deaths , breakups , or separations .
| She was the love of his life. From the first glance he knew they were to be together forever. The first date was magical, the second destiny... a destiny of kids, grandkids, homes, vacations, arguements, apologies.
His world shattered when he realized she was gone. Slowly her face faded from his mind. The life they shared was pushed to the recesses, too painful to hold close.
He began a new life in a new place. No familiar rooms, chairs, neighbors. She faded even farther from his mind. So many kind and loving visitors.
`` Why alzheimers? Why? ``, she sobbed as the tears hit his pillow.
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[ EU ] Batman snaps , kills the Joker and establishes a reign of terror over Gotham . It 's up to Batman 's next biggest villans to stop him .
| `` Keep it moving,'' demanded a voice behind me.
`` It'd be a lot easier without these fucking chains''
`` Keep dreaming, Wilson.'' he retorted.
We made our way to the visitation room and stopped as the guard scanned his ID card. A buzzing announced it was time to proceed, and I felt a hand press against my back, pushing me forward.
`` Touch me again,'' I warned, `` and you lose the hand.''
``... move it...'' he replied cautiously, attempting to regain his sense of power.
I complied, but only because I knew what waited for me beyond the next door. A chance at freedom once again.
As I sat at the table, I was greeted by a middle aged man wearing a cheap suit.
`` Slade Wilson, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you. My name is Commissioner Gordon, and I work with the GCPD.''
`` I hear you have quite the Bat problem, Commissioner.'' I remarked. `` It was only a matter of time. Nobody stays so good for so long.''
`` Yes, it is true. Batman has gone... well... out of control. That's actually why I'm here, Mr. Wilson.''
`` Let me guess, you let me out on bad behavior, I kill your bat, everyone goes home happy, is that it?''
`` Well. simply put, yes. Batman has had his chance to surrender to the authorities, and has made it clear that his reign of terror will not stop until he is... dead...''
`` How convenient,'' I said with a smirk, `` A dead bat it as the top of my wishlist.''
________________________________________________________________
`` We have gathered all of your supplies. Guns, swords, grenades, its all there. We have even... umm... borrowed... some of the latest gadgets from Wayne Tech to give you as much of an advantage as we can, but I am afraid that our help will end there. From here on out Gotham's fate lies in your hands, Mr. Wilson. Please, do not let us down.''
`` I'll kill Batman tonight, that I can promise you, but I want one thing to remain clear. I am not on your side. After tonight, You had better pray that you never see me again. All of you.''
I turned from Commissioner Gordon and made my way out the doors of the GCPD, and toward my goal.
_________________________________________________________
It did n't take long to track him down, all I had to do was follow the cries from any poor criminal that had the misfortune of attempting to rob a store, or god forbid litter a soda can. I have known for a long time that the Batman was a little strange in the head, but he's completely lost it. I do n't know what the Joker did to him before he killed him but he's changed. The once so self-righteous knight of Gotham turned killer. There's a headline the Daily Planet should print. I do n't know why their beloved alien does n't just do something about this. A single beam of light from his eyes and Batman would be toast. Oh well, I'm more than happy to pull the trigger myself.
I arrived at an apartment building just in time to witness a body crash through a third story window and practically explode on impact when he hit the pavement below.
`` Shit,'' I muttered aloud, `` I guess I found him.''
Seconds later I heard a flutter behind me, and dived out of the way just in time to dodge a batarang aimed for the back of my head.
`` Deathstroke, I thought Argus had you rotting in a cement cell for the rest of your worthless life.''
The Batman that stood before me was not the one I remembered. He once stood tall, towering over anyone he faced, dark as night and terrifying as the devil himself. But what I saw was not the same man. He stood, hunched over, his cape torn and his suit bloodied. He spoke with a voice that threatened death, one that his former self would have sought to imprison. He was changed.
`` Oh they did, and if it was n't for you, I never would have gotten out, so thanks for that.''
`` So this is how they repay me? I clean the streets of crime, and filth, and this is how THEY repay ME?!'' he screamed. `` AAAAAAGHH''
He lunged at me with surprising speed. I could tell he had been busy that night and was tired, but the man was on a mission. I can respect that.
He led with a punch aimed for my head which a quickly dodged and countered with a kick to his knee, which lowered him just far enough for me to land a punch directly to his temple, sending him tumbling backwards. Clearly he had seen better days, but I would not underestimate him, which would prove to be a smart decision.
He recovered almost instantly and flung a flurry of batarangs my way, all of which I successfully managed to block with skillfully placed maneuvers with my katanas, except for one, that struck my left shoulder. I fumbled backwards and caught myself on a brick wall. I looked up just in time to see a gloved fist headed for my head, and ducked before it made contact. His fist crashed into the brick, giving me a chance to dive to safety and regain the upper hand.
He turned to me, staring into my soul. His eyes were wild with such rage that I would have guessed him to be a wild animal.
`` Just DIE!'' he shouted, his voice sounding like it had been filled with gravel. `` I am the HERO! I am the SAVIOR of this city.''
I drew my pistol from it's holster, but before I could aim it he was already on me. He quickly had me pinned to the ground, one hand restraining my own, the other arm pressed against my throat, his blades drawing blood. I tried pulling his arm away but it was no use. Even as worn as he was, he was stronger than I. I could feel the blades on his arm creeping closer and closer, drawing deeper and deeper into my skin until I could feel it had gone too deep. It would n't be long now. I could feel his hot breathe against my face, his growls of anger ringing in my head. I began to feel weak, I was losing too much blood... then... I heard a single shot...
BANG
I began to drift in and out of consciousness, first I saw my own body, covered in blood, I faded out.
I faded back in, and I could see his unmoving body lying next to me, I faded out.
For the last time I faded back in, and saw nothing, but heard one single, final sentence.
`` That's for Mr. J''
BANG
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[ WP ] The `` Educator '' is a serial killer who will try to educate his victims about some topic over 24 hours and then test them . They get to escape unharmed only if they pass .
| `` Are you ready to test what you've learned, Mr. Davis?''
`` Please. I'm begging you. Just let me go. I'll give you anything you want.''
`` I want nothing more than to educate people, Mr. Davis.
Call me whatever you want, monster, murderer, psycho... I prefer to simply be called an educator. After all, that is what I've dedicated my life to.
`` Remember, I'm going to ask you 10 questions. You need to answer every answer correctly if you want to walk out here alive. I would suggest thinking every question through carefully.''
`` Oh God. Please! No!''
`` Yes, Mr. Davis. It's time. First question: What is the square root of 169?''
`` Uh... 13. Easy.
`` Correct. I like the confidence, Mr. Davis, but be careful. Every question is harder than the last. I hope you were paying attention to the lessons.'' Next question: If 3x plus 4 equals 100, then what is'x' equal to?
`` Um... Let me think... 32?''
`` Correct. Two down, eight to go. Do n't worry, I have faith in you, Mr. Davis.''
He answers the next seven questions with ease. I think he may finally be the one. But too many have lost on this question alone.
`` Final question Mr. Davis. I'll write this one down on a sheet of paper. All I ask is you tell me the correct. answer.''
`` Alright, I'm ready.''
I scribble out the problem and hand it to him
*2 + 8 x 2 - 10 ÷ 2 =___*
`` Seriously? That's your hardest question? Easy. The answer is 5. Now let me out, you sick bastard.''
`` You did n't heed my warning on overconfidence, now did you? Incorrect. The answer is 13. You clearly did n't pay attention to the lesson on PEMDAS. I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, but you failed. You know what that means.''
`` What?! God no please! SOMEONE HELP!''
Within 15 minutes Mr. Davis is reduced to nothing but what can fit into garbage bags destined for the ocean. I truly thought he was the one. But as it turns out he was just another cocky bastard. There's one out there, I know there is. I just have to keep looking. My advice if you want to avoid ending up like Mr. Davis?
Stay in school kids
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[ WP ] You live in a statistically perfect world . Eg , if you roll a die 6 times , you will get all 6 numbers once . Write about daily life and some of the more dangerous aspects of this universe ( car crash chances , violence statistics , etc ) .
| `` So, which two people here are gay'', said Mark.
This has become a normal conversation starter when eight men joined together. Everyone knew that 1 in 4 people were gay, so if you had eight people together in a group, there would be a couple waiting to happen. Immediately, there was the common response from 5 of the other guys.
`` I'm not gay, not that there is anything wrong with that,'' they reply almost in unison, in an attempt to seem open minded and not homophobic while at the same time trying to keep their masculinity.
People started to turn towards the two silent people in the group. While being gay was kind of accepted at this time, it must be an awkward of having to tell people. I can only imagine how it must feel having to come out to your dad simply because you were the fourth child.
`` Hey, what's your name'', asked one of the silent men sheepishly to the other.
`` I am terribly sorry, but I already have a boyfriend'', the other silent man replied.
There was a group sigh at this point. It is always a good point in your day if you manage to set up a couple, it just allows you to continue on an emotional high for the rest of the day.
|
[ WP ] A world where eating a person lowers your age by 20 years . The poor are offered up to the rich who have been around for hundreds of years .
| For a long time, it was seen as a horrible crime against nature. To kill a person, only to add more years to your life? It could only be called inhumane. But there were those who secretly did it, who had done research on these effects.
Eating a person? 20 years. But what was defined as a person? Soon the wealthy found a way to become younger, only a few years at a time. It was unnoticeable. But as the years ticked by, it became less and less obvious. But by then it was too late. The wealthy had complete control.
Part one.
Wilfred Ruinfield, Age 376. For the past few centuries, he had maintained the form of a man in his mid twenties, living his life in the Hollywood Hills in his Oceanside mansion. However, for the past few years, he has been de-aging at a slow rate, and now has the body of a child of three years.
We have been unable to determine the cause of Mr Ruinfields symptoms, considering how he has not consumed a living being in many years. At first we suspected that someone had been tampering with his food supply, but even after he had begun to make it himself, symptoms continued. At current rate, subject will be unable to take care of himself in several months.
Resume regular testing.
Part two.
Wilfred was scared. Now in a body of a baby, one only a few months old, he could no longer take care of himself. At the hospital he was being tested at, he was now tucked away in a crib, in the most secure location. But when would they find what was wrong with him?
At that moment, the door opened, but nobody entered. Confused, Wilfred looked around, but could see no one. However, he could sense that someone was in here with him. Where could he be?
Standing by the cage, the woman revealed herself. She was smiling, but the smile never reached her eyes, which were like ice. `` We are the same'' she said, reaching down and opening the babies mouth. `` Both of us have eaten others to survive.''.
Pulling out a syringe, she placed it near the babies mouth. It tried to struggle, but the liquid inside sprayed out into it's mouth. It began to squirm, it's eyes wide in horror, asking why. `` A consintrated dose'' she replied. `` I usually gave you the blood of a single innocent, but today, this contains the blood of twenty.''.
The baby began to shrink, smaller and smaller, until it disappeared completely. The woman turned around, and became invisible once again. She had killed the first of many, in the way most fitting for those who had eaten others to survive. She would soon select her next target, and the cycle would begin again. And when all of it was over, she would leave this world.
For it was a monster, who hunted the monsters.
Edit: stupid auto correct
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[ WP ] The year is 2176 , you are a member of the first team on a one way mission to colonize a planet outside our solar system and crew mates keep coming up missing .
| *X*
I scratch out yet another day on the calendar pad in stark red. Let them think it ’ s old fashioned—to draw it out with my hand. It lets the time pass more assuredly. To do it with your own two hands.
The confines of our unit within the vast beyond can make you wish for something more sure. Haphazardly, I may have wished a little too hard on the millions of falling stars around us, because like each day that I scratch past on the calendar, my teammates have been going missing. Stark red Xs scratched across their existence. I ’ m not sure how frequently they have been disappearing, but I am certain that they have. –Been disappearing, that is.
We were tasked with a colonization mission, like the many other units who are floating billions of kilometers away from us. Our team started, I ’ m sure, with a small classroom full of members. There were around 50 of us, in this soaring dormitory of sorts. Now, our numbers have dwindled to around 30. Numbers aren ’ t my specialty. Well, counting really isn ’ t my specialty. We all did have specialties. Things we ’ re good at that could benefit the new colony. Mine: well, it definitely isn ’ t organization.
Several years have gone by at this point, although my biological self has only aged a few days, weeks, or months. We are supposed to enter into our stasis chambers when the system alerts us. Everything shuts down: the game room, the garden, the gym, the SRS chamber. The SRS, or synthesized reality simulator chamber is my favorite recreational room. Like the name implies, it synthesizes almost anything that your mind can remember or imagine -- or that the chaotic laws of the universe allow for. I always imagine a tire swing on a hill, or the rush of a river beneath a raft, like Huckleberry Finn floating towards another adventure.
Stasis is a state of nothingness. Maybe you could call it one long dream. Our pods are all next to each other; we ’ re each assigned a number. Mine is 44. I ’ m certain that there were 50 of us to start, because there are exactly six pods with a higher number than mine. It doesn ’ t make sense that the engineering team would fit the unit with 50 pods, but not board 50 people.
Time is different in the unit. We don ’ t eat or drink—our suits keep our body nourished. We also don ’ t need to sleep, but even if we did, it ’ s not like we get tired. Everything is slowed down in here, including my thoughts. I feel so much older than must be.
There ’ re only 30 of us left. How can that be? We were each selected for this mission at random from a pool of volunteers and evaluated for physical and mental fitness. I ’ m from the South. In that regard, I mean the American South. Central Texas to be specific. I am also gendered female, which even in the year 2176, is problematic. Nevermind the fact that I ’ m neither of the two dominant phenotypic expressions in my country. It disgusts me that they still qualify it with that out-dated term “ race ”. I volunteered like most of us did, I think. I just wanted to reach a new place with a blank slate.
For a mission like this, it ’ s hard not to hope, not to dream and look optimistically towards the future. To anxiously almost mark off the days, even if they do think it ’ s old fashioned. I could just wonder how many days have passed and immediately be informed by my suit, but I don ’ t really want to know HOW MANY. I just want to see that they ’ re passing.
Scratching out a day or two on the calendar when I ’ m out of stasis accomplishes that, at least.
I ’ ve decided to keep a tally. I now have 36 glowing little tally marks along my arm. My suit ’ s bioluminescence can be useful sometimes. I ’ ve also decided not to return to stasis. I did just get out, after all. The unit ’ s alert system went off after only—what I can imagine to be –a few months actual time. Usually we have a few months PERCEIVED time to spend out waking time as we wish. That can ’ t be right, and now that we ’ re only 14 strong, I feel obligated to find out what is causing the disappearances. There are no bodies, no blood—not that we can bleed in our suits. There are just no traces.
I have been keeping the tally to assure myself that people have, for sure, been disappearing. We have lost 36 people. If we could communicate with each other, I ’ m sure that this would be much easier, but we are regulated by the unit ’ s system. Only our stasis pods are in the same room. Our suits prevent us from breathing, or really, they provide that for us. They take care of everything that our bodies need, although whoever invented them didn ’ t factor in human contact. Our schedules also ensure that we never run into another teammate while on this mission. I think we ’ re finally starting to get close to the destination planet.
I have been hiding quietly in hallway K, behind an unusually bulky panel. The alert system has finally subsided. Everyone must be in stasis now. The lights have been turning off one by one. It has an eerie feel, like watching something living die slowly right before your eyes. Or that unnaturally queasy feeling that overtakes the body when watching those vintage visceral horror movies. I can ’ t see anything aside from the soft blue glow of the tally marks on my wrist and along my arm. I can ’ t hear anything either. The silence. I have never heard anything like it. I can ’ t even hear the unit whirring softly as it powers the recreational chambers.
I activate my bioluminescence, and make my way slowly to the stasis chamber. Is this were we have been disappearing from? The soft patter of my feet is unsettling in the silence. The subtle glow of my suit is almost engulfed by the blackness, but it is enough to guide my way. I wave my fingertips over the plaques on the wall denoting the hallway and room number. I ’ m almost at hallway A, where our stasis pods are located in room 2.
The animal stem of my brain is firing off viciously, alerting me to the nothing that surrounds me. I try to silence it. My suit takes care of all of my biological needs but still allows these emotions and thoughts to function. I have never felt this feeling before. A slow panic is building within me the closer I get to A2. If my heart was beating, I ’ m sure it would be like a hummingbird ’ s. I ’ m getting memories of Texas. The people I knew and the places that I went. The few times that I managed to leave the Big State. The Lone Star State. I wonder if they call it that because everyone is so alone? It ’ s not that different from being out here, really, if you never talk to anyone. I ’ m trying to hush the unfiltered fear pooling in my skull; filling every thought with perception and noises that aren ’ t there. I can ’ t hear any noise. The silence is deafening, but the pitter-patter of my feet seems doubled. I run.
I don ’ t know why I ’ m running. Why I ’ m taking of like a hare from a fox, but I am. I ’ m running, pushing against the sensation of my suit managing my heart, my breath, my composition itself. I want to sweat, I want to pant and to breathe, to feel something in my body other than what my suit permits. I want to scream from the top of my lungs to ward off this fear.
I ’ m here. I ’ m in A2. My bio-glow is soft, so I think it to max output. I can see a few feet in front of me now. I recount the tallies on my arm. 36. That means there are only 14 of us left. There should be 13 people in the stasis pods. Row by row, column by column, I check. Illuminating a green tally on my right arm for those who are there.
Only 2 people present in the first row. There are 6 people in the next row. There are 4 people in the next row, but they…don ’ t seem right. I move closer. The stasis fluid pools around their pods. What is this? Their bodies slouch drunkenly on the sides and walls of their pods, not allowed enough room to collapse to the floor. There were no people in my row, but I run to the third row to check for the final person. There is no one there. I check my row, just to be sure. There is no one there.
I turn to run to the control room, my bio-glow casting unnatural shadows as I pass the empty stasis chambers. My shadow is cast well in front of me. Directly in front of me. It isn ’ t moving. –It isn ’ t moving. I run into my shadow.
It smiles at me, haggardly, wild. This is no shadow. This woman ’ s suit has been pulled down from her mouth, leaving her body exposed. Is she wearing a suit at all? She stands there, nude without the deep purple sheen that the suit casts over the body. Her eyes are wide. Her grin is toothy. She grabs me, ripping at my spine.
I can ’ t scream. My suit won ’ t allow it. I can ’ t move. How is she controlling it? She drags me slowly through the hallways, my trapped consciousness struggles futilely against her. Against the fear bubbling up from the primal root of my brain. We ’ re moving towards hallway Z. She turns too soon: so slow. She has several months, maybe years, before the others will come out of stasis. Is she choosing them at random? I can hear her ragged breathing. She ’ s breathing with her body. How long can she live this way, without a suit? She lays my body down in a small room. She ’ s ripping at my spine again. I feel her long, unkempt nails at the base of my neck, pulling my suit over my head. She leaves the room, closing the door. Smiling.
I take a breath in, with my body. The air burns as it enters my lungs after so long. My first breath. I glimpse the room plaque briefly as I ’ m scratched out suddenly by an absence of atmosphere. My red bio-glow completely engulfed by the blackness, the sign very sure as I break apart.
*X*
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[ WP ] When you wish upon a star , it is actually a satellite , and your wish has been recorded and cataloged . An agent is now assigned to your case .
| `` What? He really wished for that? Why? Why!? Does n't he know that we have real jobs to do here? Just last week I had to figure out how to get a pony into a 14th floor flat in NYC and now this!? Jesus, the ingrates.''
`` Relax man, we've had to do much more unlikely things before. It's not like this will be any harder. We just have to sit, devise a plan, and probably brew another pot of coffee.''
`` But honestly, of all the things... Jesus. I thought figuring out how to convince Donald Trump to run for president would be the most outlandish thing anyone wished for. And then this happens. What kind of plan can we even enact for this man? How are we supposed to complete this? It's been LOGGED AND APPROVED IN TRIPLICATE! TRIPLICATE DON! Once something has 3 copies stating it's there IT'S THERE FOREVER! And forever we're gon na be the agents known for managing to make Star Wars: Episode 8 star Andy Dick. Amazing.''
`` It could be worse man.''
`` Oh yeah? How could it be worse than Andy Dick starring in Star Wars?''
``... We could be making Jar Jar the star.''
`` Fuck off.''
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[ WP ] In a world where what does n't kill you literally makes you stronger , you run a clinic that gives people near-death experiences .
| Jack flicked his lighter on and lit a cigarette. Smoke lazily filled the alleyway behind Close Encounter Clinic.
Right on schedule, Louis from Records opened the small, black door and joined Jack.
Jack sighed and gave Louis a cigarette. Louis nodded and made sure the door was closed.
`` You got anything for me?'' asked Jack.
Louis hesitated.
`` I think I know why they're doing it.''
Jack raised an eyebrow.
Louis continued, `` Aliens.''
Jack raised his other eyebrow. It was hard to control these things.
Louis did half of a double take, decided Jack was just being screwy as usual, and put out his cigarette just in case Jack had been spiking them.
`` Look, word is getting around that there is life out there. The government needs to be prepared. They're creating something. Maybe soldiers, maybe the next generation of humans.''
Jack liked that word. Hu-man.
`` Why else would we be pumping them full of chemicals every day? I've looked at the records. Most people do n't pay. Some people have been coming daily for months. Does n't that seem strange to you?''
Jack shrugged. He did n't really understand hu-mans anyway.
Louis looked at his cigarette and wished he had n't put it out.
`` All I'm saying is that there is something seriously weird going on. Plus, until recently, all this'what does n't kill you makes you stronger' was just songs and baseball coaches. Who would have thought that it was actually true?''
`` What chemicals are they using?'' asked Jack.
`` That's the strangest thing,'' whispered Louis. `` They started out with things that could actually kill you. Cyanide, heroin - you know. They advertised it as a game to see who could survive the longest. Now? Calcium. It's weird. I swear I've seen some people in your division just pouring milk into the tubes.''
Jack clattered nervously. The [ skeleton ] ( https: //reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4yot5s/wp_at_first_humanity_is_delighted_when_two_aliens/d6phi7k? context=3 ) takeover was being noticed.
Louis paused.
`` Come to think of it, your division is n't following the records. You're supposed to be putting pure iron in, now. Yes, I'm sure of it. Our records say that you should be switching to pure iron to'improve polarity' or something like that.
`` I'm sure it's just government bureaucracy,'' Jack replied. `` Although that iron stuff seems weird.''
`` Anyway,'' said Louis, `` I need to get back.''
Jack waved as Louis scanned himself back into the building.
Jack sent a brief message back to the mothership.
*New translator reducing clattering. Humans aware of something. Send more milk. *
-- -
Looks like George is n't the only one noticing things.
/r/translationlostin
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[ WP ] A satanist tries to summon Satan , but summons Santa instead .
| My preparations were complete, months of travelling to gather the materials from around the world were about to pay off.
I looked across my basement, everything was in place. The pentagram painted in panda blood flickered the reflection of the many candles around the room. 666 red candles made from the earwax of goats.
I had been looking forward to this ever since I was a child and watched little nicky, the idea that Satan was n't as evil as he appeared had stuck with me for 20 years. Now I was about to find out if it was true.
I recited the spell.
shadows filled the room and swirled around the ground and up the walls. circling in a demonic dance, moving faster and faster.
suddenly darkness took the room and smoke from the newly extinguished candles filled my nostrils. There was a red glow at the center of the room, but i couldnt quite make out what it was. some sort of vapor had filled the basement and I was having a hard time seeing.
as the smoke started to settle. I saw it, a slightly glowing silhouette of a big man. he started to move, and as he moved closer i could tell that his belly was big, and his cheeks were flushed. his white beard reaching almos to his belly button. he wore a red coat that shimmered with a dull red glow, and he wore a crown made of deer antlers and chirstmas tree branches. He had a twinkle in his eye that just said *everything is ok*
I said `` who are you?''
and the man replied `` I have many names. but the one you would be most familiar with is santa'' his warm voice vibrated in my ears as if he were speaking through a silky and soothing jazz tune. his eyes twinkled as he spoke to me.
I questioned him further `` well, how did you get here?''
without even a slight pause he asked `` do you trust me, son?
`` well I suppose I do n't have a reason not to, you are santa after all.''
he pulled me close, gave me a big hug and whispered softly in my ear `` thats good, son. because the only way i can steal your soul is if you trust me.''
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[ WP ] A stone-age man discovers an obect from the present day .
| `` Quick! Hit the lever!''
He dashed to the other side of the room. The room was tense, not like the last few seconds of a duel tense but a-if Dr.Robert did n't hit the lever in time, the whole building would explode, tense. Cause that's exactly what was happening at the time.
`` PULL THE FUCKING LEVER!'' Shouted Dr. Ewilisz, this time he sounded more like a drill man in the army. The code black system at Interval co. does this thing where the entire building tries to contain a possible fuck up. What kind of fuck up you say? Anything two borderline psychopathic quantum physicists could do. How does Interval co. try to contain this fuck up you say? KaBang fucking Boom... It does n't take any chances.
`` It's stuck! It's stuck! It's fucking stuck! AHHHHH!!''
Dr. Roberts palms were starting to bleed trying to push the lever up and shut down The Machine. This would disrupt the collider indefinitely and send two positrons into space rather than France 20,005 BCE. That means pulling the lever avoids a possible wormhole that could either suck or blow a bunch of shit into two possible dimensions. With the magnitude of this sucking/blowing force unknown, these two researchers had to abort mission and call code black
*CODE BLACK* *CODE BLACK*
I swear to God that he pulled that lever just in time, but the world apparently did n't agree with him that day.
*Boom. *
**silence and fire**
It was a great day in Paris 20,005 BCE. Sunny day, clear blue skies after a night of heavy rain. A lot was happening with our ancestors at that time. Cro Magnon and Neanderthals were doing things. Things that could or will have a butterfly effect for thousands of years. But they do n't know like we do n't know that, really. And besides, today was different. The sun was shining directly through the hole on the top of a rusted clipboard. It was also the size of a mountain. Massive and eroded, just the metal clip remained waiting for God to smack a piece of paper on France and clip it. To our old cavemen and cave women tribes, this thing was a symbol to worship. And who would n't? It stuck out through the dense forest like a porn stars cock in the 70's.
Man, you think you know whats been happened... ing??
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[ WP ] 8yr old stuck in the back seat during a Saturday garage sale `` excursion '' ... .
| `` Take that!''
Sammy the Stegosaurus had just attacked Tommy the T-Rex. Tyler had learned in class that it was supposed to be the other way around since a T-Rex was a carno-vare or something like that, but he did n't care.
For the third time, he stared out the window into the garage Dad had disappeared into. What was taking so long?
`` I'll be right back,'' Dad said. That was about an hour ago. Tyler knew because they had also learned how to tell the time with a big-boy watch, and Mom had gotten him one a while ago.
The garage slowly opened. Dad stumbled out, smiling a bit as he waved to the men sitting in a circle, watching T.V. He held a plastic bag in his hand.
`` What did you buy, Dad?'' Tyler asked as his father settled into the front car seat.
Dad seemed a bit out of it. `` Buy? Oh, right. Daddy bought some herbs for dinner tonight.''
Tyler shifted in his seat, left to right. He pulled on a string on the side of his left black pant leg. `` Is Mom going to cook tonight?''
Dad did n't say anything. He only started the car. When Tyler looked into the mirror, Dad's eyes looked really red. Well, they've been red since this morning when they left the room with the flowers.
The car backed out of the driveway. Tyler felt the car sway a bit as they drove fast. Usually, when Dad drove fast it was on the Hello-Way, and not in the neighborhood. The boy watched as they just barely missed a cat.
`` Daddy?'' Tyler asked with a quiver. `` Is Mom... Is Mommy going to come home to cook dinner.''
He heard sirens as his Dad slowed the car. Tyler would usually look around to see if he could spot a fire when he heard sirens, but not this time.
Dad parked and turned around. `` I do n't think so, Kiddo.''
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[ WP ] A squatter returns to his temperary lodgings to find his wife beaten and raped . While she fights for life in hospital and local police department failing to take the investigation seriously , he seeks his own justice in a vicious criminal underworld he swore he would never return to . NSFW
| `` I was walking back from getting dinner for Mary, my wife and I when i walked into the abandoned house the we chose to sleep in for the night. I saw her then, on the ground, staring at me in pain. She was bleeding, stabbed, raped, She tried to say my name but only the sound of blood gurgling in her throat reached me ears.'' I said to the officer as she was loaded into the helicopter.
`` its okay, do you know who would of done this?'' he asked.
`` No, why would anyone do this!?!'' I lied masterfully. I know who did this, he was a friend of mine once long ago. He'll die at my hand for this, just have to find him first.
`` We will find them, justice will be served. I'm sorry but you ca n't go with your wife, not enough room. Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?'' he asked
I fought the urge to say yes, and said `` No, I'll have a friend drive me, Thank you.'' I turned and walked away, towards my past I left for Mary.
**The Crates** flashes above my head as I enter the familiar bar, unchanged in 10 years. I see a few new faces at first, but behind the bar is John, he sees me and his eyes bright up.
`` George!!! What in hell are you doing here? I thought you left this life behind'' he yells happily, jolly as always. the 2 guards up front step aside letting me past and walk to the bar.
`` I need to find Ronny.'' I said sternly sitting at the bar, `` do you know where he's at?''
`` Ronny, huh?'' he looks at me, sees the blood on my sleeves and pants, `` did he do something?''
I take the pen from my coat and draw the mark left in Mary's back, `` He did this to Mary.''
`` Fuck George, I'm sorry.'' He looks over at the guards and tells them to find him, then motions me to follow him into the back.
An hour passes, John hands me a gun, an all too familiar gun.
`` It's the same model, not the same one. My boys tell me Ronny was seen at Yao's. I ca n't help you anymore then this, sorry.'' He reaches out and gives me a hug, `` Are you sure you want to do this, should n't you be with Mary right now?''
`` Yes, yes,'' a tear runs down my face, `` She told me to leave this life, but I ca n't live with myself letting anyone hurt her.''
`` Can you live with not being there for her?'' he asks me, staring into my eyes.
`` If she wakes up with me not there, no, but I'll be back before.'' I break out of his hold and walk out the back door, down the ally that never changes.
Thirty minutes later I'm walking into Yao's, A simple yet authentic Chinese restaurant, but the front of the Chinese Triad. I make it 5 steps in before my name is called out be a waiter walking towards me. `` What are you doing here George? I'm sure you have n't forgotten the past.'' Fang says, A tall man, a ruthless man.
`` I'm looking for Ronny, we have business.'' I stare into his eyes, noticing the sudden quiet that overtakes the two story building.
`` What might that business be, if its important enough to risk your life?'' he asks, almost gloats,
`` Personal, I wish no harm to you or your business, just bring me Ronny and you will never see me again.'' I reach for the gun in the pocket of my ragged jacket.
`` I do n't think I can do that, you do n't betray family.'' He says with a slight bow.
I pull the weapon as he does the same, firing two shots he falls to the ground. A barrage of fire comes from the kitchen, I dive across the floor towards Fangs dropped gun, firing 2 shots at the man in the kitchen doorway, he falls but shots still ring out. I pick up the gun and hide behind a column, feeling the debris flying across my head. A pause in the shots followed by the click of a mag drop, taking the chance I run out behind the cover and see the hair of a girl behind the counter, I aim for where she'll pop up and as she does let loose a single round dropping her. I jump over the counter.
*Fuck, I hoped this would be easy* I check the ammo of both weapons *Five plus one in right, 12 plus one in the left. You got this! * The thud of foot steps come from the kitchen, *breaks over, back to work. * I stand up and step into the kitchen, three men charge at me, guns in the arms as they sprint *Amateurs, not even shouldered* I fire three shots, they fall. *5,11, maybe I should of bought ammo... * Shaking off the thought i sprint forwards, shoving the guns in my coat i pick up a Uzi off one of the guards *this will work* checking to see if a round was chambered I let out a laugh. *who runs into battle without a round in the chamber, maybe this will be easier than I thought* Walking past the kitchen into the store room I ready for a fight, the silence around the corner is filled with electricity. *He better be here still* and I pop around the corner firing as I run forwards. *Five Rifles, weak cover, wheres the rest? * I empty the mag into the men trying to get behind cover amongst the rain of lead, they all fall, with their cover no more useful paper. I duck behind a large crate, laying flat on the ground. Immediately the crate is torn apart, bullets whizzing past my head so close that my ears ring. I wait for the shots to stop and the sounds of reloading to reach me, dropping the Uzi and pulling out the two hand guns. When they do I jump out and see 6 men in the back of the room standing out in the open, I take them down quickly, they never got the chance to fire back. *2,8, I'll be with Mary soon* I smirk as I walk forwards. Ronny Pops out of the back room firing a shotgun, the first shot lands low, i feel the bounce of pellets from the floor, a slight pain from my left leg, I fire without care into his body, He falls to the ground with 10 rounds in him. `` Why?!?'' he begs `` What did I do?''
I walk towards him grabbing his shotgun, giving one pump. `` You remember the most beautiful girl on the planet, Mary?'' I place the gun against his temple.
`` Your wife? what?'' he asks confused
`` A few hours ago you ruined her.'' His eyes widen and I pull the trigger. *Time to get to the hospital now. * I walk out of the building, leaving the guns behind. I'm picked up by John a block down.
`` So its done?'' he asks
`` You knew there was only two possibilities.'' I reply.
20 minutes pass and we near the hospital.
`` How many?'' John asks as the hospital comes into sight
`` 17,'' I let out a slight chuckle, `` One of them charged at me without cocking his gun, What happened to the Triad?''
`` There has n't been anyone like you,'' He looks at me through the rearview mirror, `` You know I could still use you.''
`` Sorry, but Marys word is law.'' I say as we pull up to the ER entrance.
`` Open the trunk,'' John says as I step out of the car, `` A gift.''
I walk to the trunk and open it, inside is a duffel bag, full of clothes for Mary and I, along with stacks of cash. `` You did n't have to, John.'' I say, throwing it over my shoulder.
`` Just call me with news, do n't worry about anything else now, okay?'' He says leaning his head out the window.
`` Will do.'' and with that he drives off.
I walk into the room where Mary is in, past the Cop who I spoke to earlier. Shes asleep, just out of surgery they said, I sit down next to her and hold her hand. I kiss her forehead, then whisper into her ear, `` The man who did this to you is dead, do n't worry honey.'' *she wo n't ever know what I just did, I do n't need her to, but now I can relax.''
A knock comes from the door followed by the cop, `` Sir, we have officers looking for him. We know who it is, he'll be caught soon.'' He looks at my leg seeing the blood. `` You can shower in the bathroom, no one minds.''
`` Thank you, and I will. Let her wake up to me clean, it's been a long time.'' I stand, holding in a chuckle and walk into the bathroom, to clean my wounds and body.
Hours pass, and I just hold her hand, fighting off the exhaustion. My hand is squeezed, I look into her eyes and they look back, I kiss her.
`` Everything is going to be okay,'' I assure her and she smiles at me, and strokes my chin before going back to sleep.
`` I'm here for you, I wo n't ever leave'' I say as I follow her example.
-- So first time writing something i felt like posting, I know I'm a noob, but help me improve okay? what should I improve one?
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[ WP ] When all the alien guards simultaneously abandon your town , everyone knows what it means . The desperate try to flee , and the suicide rate quadruples overnight . What is everyone afraid of ?
| The news came at noon.
The guards started talking about it first. Eyes wide, hands quivering as they discussed what would happen if they caught you. The torture, they said, was horrific. They would use chemicals to drown whatever you used to breathe and force you to speak; they would interrogate you over anything, even if you swore you knew nothing.
Many of the guards had signed up for a few extra coins, and many had never expected the invaders to come. Within a few hours, they had all fled on their terrain vehicles. No one went with them. We all knew that death would catch up with them.
The scene back at the town was like the Alamo before it was overrun. Many of the men held weapons, swearing to fight the invaders off, but the wiser men knew the invaders would n't risk themselves to their primitive weapons. Death would come from above, and those who survived awaited a much worse fate. Mothers held children close, preparing for the inevitable end. Cowards and young adults, those who believed in an honorable death or a painless one, committed suicide. Others wish they could have joined them.
At dusk, they came. The sounds of aircraft came first, aircraft unmanned by any living thing. Then came the announcement, the herald of death from them.
The Evil Beings
The Americans
`` WHO'S READY FOR SOME FREEDOM?''
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[ WP ] There is no prompt . Just write a story you 've always been thinking about or one you 've been thinking about sharing . Anything goes .
| There isn ’ t exactly time to cry anymore. There are things to do – more important things – and crying doesn ’ t do anything anyways. It ’ s a good thing, too, because otherwise Lily might have to admit she couldn ’ t cry about this. She knows she should want to. Everyone else is sad. She sees the tear tracks and the tired eyes and knows these are sad people. People who have seen too much and been able to do too little and are heartbroken because of it. But she doesn ’ t cry. The world is rushing by and she gets pushed from person to person and place to place, not sure where she is or who these people are any more.
The first night she cried. The strange room was too big and she was too alone. Lily let the woman hold her tight against her chest until the tears ran out. But she didn ’ t trust anyone. Not then. Not ever. There ’ s no more trust left in her. She ’ s heard promises being broken too many times to ever believe what people say to her.
The day they sat her and her little brother down to tell her what had happened, she had already known. Of course she had known. Hadn ’ t she been the one to stumble down the dark hallway to find her mother lying there on the bed? Hadn ’ t her screaming been what summoned the neighbors and then the police?
She was angry, so angry, that day. They should have all known long before what was going to happen. But they didn ’ t do anything. They let that monster take her mother from her. And even though she still isn ’ t sure just how much her mother protected her, she is angry. At least her mother never hurt her, never raised her voice or hit her. But it ’ s anger, not sadness, that hits her as she thinks about it. She feels like she has betrayed her mother, except her mother betrayed her every single day of her life. She can ’ t find the tears for a woman who let that monster hurt her.
Now of course they are safe. That ’ s what they keep telling her. She ’ ll never see him again. But she doesn ’ t care. Those are just more promises she doesn ’ t want to hear.
Lily lets the doctors treat the cuts and the broken bone that monster gave her. She doesn ’ t cry even though it hurts, hurts almost as much as when he gave her those injuries. She sees the horror in the doctors ’ eyes and she doesn ’ t want that. She won ’ t cry in front of them. And then she talks to the detectives and the social worker. She sees how broken the social worker is. That woman has seen too many cases like hers, she knows, and given up hope. The detectives are different. The first man is short and friendly but she doesn ’ t want to talk to him. She likes the other detective better, the one whose anger at the monster is consuming him. She knew the very first time she met him that he was the one who was going to make sure the monster would get caught.
The story makes the news and she hears the social worker say that it ’ s only because the children are cute and white and maybe that ’ s why there isn ’ t a problem finding them a foster home. There aren ’ t any family members to take them in – she knew that long before she overheard the social worker say that. Maybe the social worker says too much. But the family who takes them in is nice and happy and she instantly hates them for it.
The first night they are there Lily is given a full plate of food. She doesn ’ t touch it. She watches as the wife combs her little brother ’ s hair and she loses it. She grabs him and shuts herself in her room. Through the door she screams at them until she doesn ’ t remember why she was so angry in the first place. Suddenly she has time for tears. She ’ s good at crying silently. The monster didn ’ t like it when she cried. She learned how to hide in the smallest, darkest corner and cry without making a single noise. That night she hides in the closet, burrowing back behind boxes and clothes.
When the woman opens the door Lily is angry and scared and confused. But the woman doesn ’ t try to pull her out of the closet. Instead the woman just sits on the bed and picks up her little brother and starts talking to him. After a while the woman starts talking to her, tells her that it ’ s okay to stay in the closet if she wants but that she doesn ’ t have to hide to cry. And she wonders how the woman could possibly know she was crying.
Lily pushes her way out of the back of closet and peers through the door at the woman. She ’ s younger than Lily thought she would be. Pretty. Her mother used to be pretty, Lily thinks, remembering that photo her mother used to keep tucked away in the back of the dresser drawer. But the monster took that prettiness away.
The woman doesn ’ t try and coax Lily out any further. She keeps talking, her voice soft and soothing and Lily finds herself drawn to the sound. She hugs her knees tight to her body and listens, really listens, for the first time. The woman meets her stony gaze and smiles a nice smile. Lily likes nice smiles. She hasn ’ t seen one of those for a very long time.
“ I want to show you something. ” The woman says, and Lily holds her breath as the woman pushes up the sleeve of her sweater. Lily can see the burn scars covering the woman ’ s entire arm and she cries out, remembering that night. She can still feel the scalding water as it hits her skin, hear those screams that couldn ’ t have possibly been hers except they were.
The woman leaves her sleeve pushed up and crouches down on the ground in front of the closet door. Lily pulls back but the woman doesn ’ t try to get any closer. She just keeps talking. “ My father did that to me. ” The woman says and Lily reaches out and touches her arm. “ He hurt me, Lily. I had a father who hurt me, too. ”
Lily is angry when she hears this. “ Monster. ” She says. She pulls back and glares at the woman. “ He ’ s a monster. He ’ s not my dad. ”
“ Okay. ” Says the woman. “ Monster. We both had a monster who hurt us. But the monsters can ’ t get us anymore, Lily. We ’ re both safe here. ”
Lily looks up at the woman and stares into her eyes and wants to cry because of course they aren ’ t safe. They haven ’ t caught the monster, Lily knows. She ’ s been waiting and waiting to hear that they have. That ’ s all she really wants anymore. But the woman looks like she ’ s telling the truth and Lily thinks that maybe the woman will protect her. She ’ s never had anyone to protect her before.
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[ WP ] The little shop sells second hand junk . But each item comes with its own story that makes it unique . Pick an item and tell its story .
| A lonely harmonica lay upon the shelf besides an ornate vase and a stuffed tiger. Slightly bent, rust ran along its edges. Approaching the instrument, I found a tag, like every other item in the shop, on which the previous owner detailed their experience with piece. After spending nearly an hour in the shop, reading about baby rattles which never had the privilege of meeting small hands and undergarments which led to unrighteous divorce, I convinced myself this would be the last item description I read.
Taking the parchment in hand and making out the handwritten note:
“ Shortly after the seeing Teen Wolf with my grandmother, we stopped by a music shop for my pleasure. As a high school student, I dutifully grew out my hair, took up guitar, and told myself that Motley Crue would open up for me one day. While I appreciate the various guitars and amps, my grandmother took a liking to a small, insignificant piece of metal and, knowing how much I dreamed of being a musician, brought it to my attention.
“ I tried explaining to her that nobody really uses a harmonica, except for joke bands and country singers, but she insisted that she buy it for me, anyway. I told her if she wanted to buy anything for me, it should be a new set of strings or new distortions peddle, but she already made up her mind.
“ I reluctantly thanked her by keeping the harmonica in my guitar case, where it sat until college. I tried my best to maintain the dreams of rock stardom, but in between classes about cell biology and business management, the dream faded. I never woke up and consciously decided to quit my dreams of being a musician, but as my homework grew and as I became more focused on major, I had less and less time to practice the guitar. Before I knew it, my six-stringed best friend became clutter in my dorm.
“ Of course I could never let go of my guitar. I always kept it in its case, stored away somewhere, causing my then-girlfriend, and now wife, to nag at me for taking up so much space, but I knew it was worth every square inch.
“ When I finally reopened the case again, perhaps a decade after watch Teen Wolf, I tried to strum the guitar, only to find my skills covered in rust and dust. As I tried to jam out the chords to ‘ Kick Start My Heart, ’ my hands clumsily danced around the strings as if in a drunken stupor, never producing the right sound. Discouraged, as I replaced the guitar in its case, this shiny piece of metal caught my eye.
“ It took a few moments before it clicked in my brain from where the tiny instrument came, but once I did, I placed it at my lips and blew. A tiny note whimpered from the harmonica. I inhaled this time, to discover a new pitch crawled from the instrument. Amused by the novelty, I continued to play with the little device and before I knew it, I began improvising melodies and songs.
“ I remember how my wife loving looked at me like an idiot when I jammed out on the harmonica, but I didn ’ t care. I reconnected with music in way I hadn ’ t since I was a teen. The tiny instrument became a gateway into the blues and jazz, and, like a preteen truly discovering music for the first time, I eagerly consumed any and every piece of soul music I could, buying up old albums for stars I barely knew. I played along with all the songs I knew and love, and, just briefly, I felt like a teenager playing my guitar along with old Guns N ’ Roses songs.
“ All of this made the accident so much more devastating. Driving along at freeway speeds in heavy rain and harmonica in my pocket, I hydroplaned. I watched in horror as the car took a mind of its own and aimed itself directly towards a tree off the side of the road. Fortunately, the harmonica survived, relatively unscathed besides a slight bend along its body. I suffered something worse.
“ With a punctured lung and several ribs smashed, I survived the crash, though only after extensive surgeries which tried to glue my insides back together. The harmonica sat by bedside the entire time at the hospital. Occasionally, to help alleviate the long hours, I tried to conjure enough breath to play the little instrument, but I always failed to produce more than a whimper.
“ While I struggle to play it, I wanted to pass the gift to somebody else. Though it appears as a piece of bent metal, it ’ s an instrument that can take you away from the world and take you to wonderful places inhabited by the blues, jazz, and country. To whoever takes this harmonica next, let the music take you to a whole new world. ”
******
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells
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[ WP ] write the epilogue to the story you have always wanted to write .
| Sailing into oblivion, it all ends here with each minute cut of attrition. They did it to themselves, you know? Even when they knew they were doing it, they kept going, the endless pursuit of a crushing demise. Got ta keep it together though, that's what he thinks to himself, got ta keep it together because I'm all that's left.
Behind the thickened glass, he knows that even this illusory protective measure will do nothing. It wo n't stop him from being immolated in that final, burning exhalation. Behind him, the corpses of the other crew, defeated, settle in their final repose. The smell of loosened bowels stings his nose, making his eyes water.
Swiping at the tears, he cracks a can of beer, slurping it without heeding. The rivulets stain his filthy uniform. He still has Veronica's blood on it, where he helped her finish up because she was too weak to do it herself.
Here it comes, the heat is intensifying like you could n't imagine, its fierce intent. The smell of bacon frying, and he knows it's he and the corpses. He closes tired eyes and smiles a secret smile, meant only for him, the last one.
`` I made it, I won.'' The last words ever spoken by anyone.
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[ WP ] The Olympic athletes are chosen like jury duty . They recieve a random letter in the mail telling them they have 4 years to train for an event .
| *This has to be a dream, * I assured myself I stared down at the crisp, cream-colored envelope with the waxy gold government seal in horror. Everyone knew it was the time of the year that invitations for 2160 Olympics were mailed out to random, unsuspecting citizens. It was your chance to “ serve your country in the noblest regard ” and those who won received “ the highest veneration in the country ”. However for most, it was a death sentence.
Around 2100, the governments came to an agreement to improve entertainment quality in the Olympics. People were bored of the same ol ’ “ look at what humanity is capable of ” competition. There was no excitement to watch a man run as fast as he could for 100 meters. No one bats an eyelash when a gymnast nails a double half layout, complete with a twist. These may have been great events over a century and half ago. But then people truly wanted to see evolution in action. They wanted to see what humans were capable of when it actually mattered.
It started off small. Jousting was approved to be an Olympic sport once again. Wax bullets in the dueling event were replaced with real bullets. Fencing swords were replaced with real swords. Wrestling matches were until one of the competitors hearts stopped. Then it escalated. Gymnasts had to do their routines over spiked pits. Ski jumps and pole vaults launched themselves over pits of lava. Bobsledders had to outrun avalanches. Swimmers and runners had to race against starved predators. Pretty much every sport was replaced with some horrifically violent version.
There was no more medals handed out to the first, second, and third place athletes or teams. For many sports, you only won if you survived.
No one expected to be chosen. I mean, your chances were one in tens of millions. At age 13, your name was thrown into the lottery and will remain there until your 50th birthday. There used to be no limits to what age a person could be chosen. However, after the riots of 2116, when a five year old boy and seventy year old man were partnered for the doubles kayak event and were sucked into a whirlpool, they added the restriction. They still don ’ t talk about it much.
For a while, they had a ban on certain medical conditions, but after people started paying off doctors to diagnose them, they opened it back up, citing something about “ natural selection ”. Nothing kept you from participating except death. Even then, they had backups for all athletes in case you died in training or had a terminal illness, but those envelopes were sealed in red. A gold seal indicated you were the primary choice.
The governments took too much advantage of the system. Wars weren ’ t fought anymore. Disputes were resolved over which country ’ s athletes remained at the end of Olympics. The population crisis was improving as thousands were killed every couple years in various Olympic events. The random selection was held over the heads of terrified citizens, threatening that if they didn ’ t remain peaceful, their names or their children ’ s names may be added into the lottery a few more times. You could put your name into the lottery more than once as some of the elites and professional athletes did. Winning came with the promise of fame, fortune, and great power. Winning the Olympics meant you were the best of humanity. There was no greater title a person could hold.
I was neither elite nor an athlete. My sister was the athletic one. She was the one who should have been representing our country in the Olympics. But after checking and double checking and triple checking the name on the envelope, I realized there was no mistake. I had been chosen. In four years, I would be participating in an event, selected based off of my abilities. That was the only reprieve when it came to being selected. All of the candidates were assessed and chosen for the event best suited for them. They used to just chose at random, but when one of the greatest runners in the nation was killed in the pole vaulting event, they decide to give athletes a fighting chance.
“ What do you got there, Juli-bean? ” my father asked, interrupting my thoughts. He had just come home from work to find me standing in front of the mail slot. He froze mid step as he noted the gold seal and paled. His next words were breathless. “ Who ’ s it for? Abi, right? ”
He was hopeful. If it was Abi, he must not have to go through the horror of burying one of his daughters. If it was Abi, there might be a chance she ’ d survive. If it was Abi, it wouldn ’ t be me, awkward, clumsy Julia who was supposed to be getting a full ride to a good engineering school. I was the one who was following in my father ’ s footsteps, who would take over the family business one day. I was the one who had spent my life focusing on intellectual pursuits and not giving a damn about sports. Now everything I had been planning, that we had been planning, was for nothing.
It wouldn ’ t matter how hard I trained or how much hard I pushed myself. Nothing mattered anymore. In four years, I would be dead.
~~~~~~
Sorry if it's a bit messy. Was trying to write quickly. I plan on continuing and improving the story, but will only continue posting if you want me to.
Edit: For some typos
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[ WP ] A teenage boy who hates everyone develops feelings for the girl that everyone hates .
| That weird kid came up to me again during lunch again.
`` You're an interesting girl, you know?''
Ugh, I can feel my asshole cringing in upon itself again. Why does Dan always have to keep bothering me while I'm trying to enjoy my nice tuna sandwich?
Ca n't get one fucking day in without Mister Dark-Coat and Sunglasses strutting up to me like a dominatrix-stripper and telling me, `` We're not so different, you and I.''
Seriously, who the hell says that in this century anyway. Why ca n't he just leave me alone like anyone else? Feels like I'm in a shitty romance.
He lowers his frames and bends to his knee, sniffing at me. Eww.
`` Your face, it's just so... hatable.''
My sneakers lunge at his face like kittens trying to rip the skin off of a newborn baby. Unfortunately, I'm stopped by supervision and dragged off to discipline, again. Swear to god, why do these fucks keep trying to get between me and my tuna sandwich?
Last year it was some whore who kept trying to steal my lemons to become my friend. Year before that, it was some really annoying church-girl who kept trying to convert me to the Satanic Church. Sweet girl. Great cookies. Terrible to go to movies with.
Dan kinda mouthed off those other guys after they started bashing on me for my tuna-breath too. Sweet, I guess. If you're into your best friends being told to stay the hell away from you because some jackass thinks you're being bullied.
Fucking spoiled the ending to Star Wars for me. You do n't just tell someone that Jar Jar was Reye's father the whole time before revealing that Kylo Ren dies getting shot by Finn in a slightly-racist drive-by speeder-shooting.
Ugh. Freaking people. Why does the universe hate me so?
**Knock. Knock. Knock. **
Oh, fuck. He's here.
`` Hey, Principal. How's your fucking ass doing? Listen, it's not her fault she tried to murder me. She was just scared was all.''
He winks at me. I mouth at him to fuck off.
...
Blue skies. Green grass. Still lunchtime. Holy shit, he actually got me out of there. Obviously, the correct thing to do right now would be to give him a chance and trying to become a close friend with him before this series develops into a romance, right?
Nah.
I knee him him in the dick and run off to my tuna sandwich instead. Who needs boys when you have food anyway. Especially tuna. Sweet, delicious tuna.
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[ WP ] A Lesbian couple have been living in a Fallout shelter for the past 20 years . One of them gets pregnant . How ?
| Just 17, a whole world ahead of them, and forced to live deep under layers of lead and steel to block out nuclear radiation. The radiation was a result of the stupid generation Y and generation millennial governments inheriting the generation X bullshit package and starting a full blown World War 3. At least though, they still had each other.
It had been 20 years since then, and now Casey stared at the screen on her'Pip Boy' arm accessory. There was a new health meter displayed over the image's stomach. Above it in small green text the word'fetus' glowed ominously.
`` What the actual fuck!'' She exclaimed, frantically swiping to the'perks' tab. There in that same glowing green text was the word'Pregnant.' `` Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.'' Casey groaned, as she feared the worst.
`` What's up babe?'' Stephanie called from the entrance to their room. She was still as beautiful as the day the two of them had managed to get locked in the shelter. `` You never curse. What's wrong?'' she asked again, settling onto the old 10's era couch beside Casey.
Wordlessly, Casey thrust her'Pip Boy' before Stephanie. `` I think it's failing. It has to be a bug right? What does yours say Steph?''
Stephanie looked at her arm, her'Pip Boy' display showed her usual status. `` Nothing new here. Hmmmm...'' She muttered, sliding Casey closer to her. `` I'm sure it'll be okay honey. I know you're not pregnant, and the'Pip Boys' and shelter defenses have n't alerted us to any threats. I just checked them all again before coming to see you.'' She kissed Casey's cheek. `` My special Case.''
Rolling her eyes Casey kissed her back. `` Yeah, okay. I guess maybe I jumped to conclusions. You know me, it's always a worst case scenario.''
________________________________________________________________
`` Steph, it's been *months* we have to do something. Something is n't *right*,'' Casey stressed, tears in her eyes as her hand rested over the slight bulge in her lower abdomen. `` I have n't had my cycle in *months*, what if i'm actually pregnant?'' The anxiety in her voice made Stephanie wilt under her gaze.
`` Babe, you ca n't be pregnant. We both know it's just been us down here for the last 20 almost 21 years!'' She exclaimed, drawing Casey into her embrace, praying that she could help her stay calm.
`` What if it's a parasite?'' Casey mumbled, pressing her face into the other woman's shoulder. `` What if there's something wrong inside me?''
`` Look, there's a bunch of old media in the classroom. I bet the'Pip Boy' introductory material is all still there. Let's go check it out together. I bet we can find the answer if we try hard enough.
A few hours later they were settling onto the edge of the large desk that had been placed aside for a teacher, as the computer began playing the video file for the'Pip Boy' they had found stored in an old USB drive.
The film started with a very nonessential countdown and grainy effect before cutting over to a blond guy in a conference room with a toothy smile that sent chills through both women. He walked forward, the camera centering on him as he began to speak.
`` My name is Chad Rooselter, and I would like to say'Welcome to the'Pip Boy X Station U' introductory video!''' He smirked, `` Why the overly long name? Well, that's a corporate issue kids. Today we're here to talk to you about all the wonders and perks of owning and maintaining your very own'Pip Boy!'''
`` Fuck this,'' Casey growled, her finger finding the key behind them that fast forwarded through the video. `` Where's the helpful bit?''
Steph smiled and rolled her eyes. She watched as the screen flashed by, when she noticed the symbols for `` male'' and `` female'' popped up on screen followed by a really large acronym. `` Woah, Case! Pause it! I think this is it!''
Casey rewound. Chad was standing there with a stick in his hands now tapping a picture of a gender-less human body drawn crudely on a white-board behind him.
`` The'Pip Boy X Station U' is equipped with numerous features to meat any and all needs for any gender! That's right L, G, B, T, Q, I, A, P, Kers, that means you too! As you all know we as humanity have taken immense strides to ensure the comfortable and accepting atmosphere you see today!'' Steph snorted into her palm. `` However, we also are looking out for humanity as a number one!''
Chad babbled on for an hour or so, crudely drawing lewd and juvenile images of each of the gender identities in marker on his white board. `` Do n't worry though, regardless of your gender identity, the'Pip Boy' will ensure that the human race goes on!'' Chad gave a very creepy smile to the camera. `` Feeling a little stuffy? Maybe you need some'AAIIR''' He said, pronouncing the word strangely. `` AAIIR, or A, A, I, I, R is the acronym used for this process. It stands for Automated Artificial Insemination Incubabtion and Reproduction! Thank's to little'Pip' here, you wo n't even need to procreate! That's right, he takes all the fun out of coitus and automatically infuses the female reproductive organs with semen, from very reputable sorces I might add,'' Chad said as an aside, winking at the camera.
`` Fuck.'' Steph said, her finger finding the stop button. She looked at Casey who looked back at her, fear in her eyes.
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[ WP ] What would it be like if whales meandered about on land instead of swimming in the sea ?
| It's 1960. Also, I watch too much Mad Men, and if its not clear they alternate. Husband and wife.
^^^^^And ^^^^^if ^^^^^you're ^^^^^really ^^^^^that ^^^^^stupid, ^^^^^the ^^^^^wife ^^^^^is ^^^^^first.
^^^^^^^^^^_
`` I just think we should get the insurance, honey.''
`` We have insurance, Mil.''
`` You saw what happened to Cynthia and Don's house, did n't you?''
`` Everyone told Don Oceanside was a terrible investment, Millie. We're not in their situation.''
`` But think of the kids Roger. Charlie and Bobby lost everything. I wo n't let you make the same mistake with our family and my home.''
`` Jesus Mil! We live at the top of the hill; and they *never* come up here, I ca n't think of the last time one made it up this way.''
`` Roger I was coming home from the grocery last week, and one of them just slid through the intersection. It just pulled itself through. We were twenty minutes late to Carl's piano lesson.''
`` I really do n't think its that big of a deal, sweetheart. Besides, this is a gated community.''
`` Well, Margie from the Salon, you remember her right? Well, she told me one got into Bedford Hills.''
`` And?''
`` Bedford Hills is gated, you know.''
`` Bedford Hills is sits in the middle of a valley. You pay for the *view* **of** the hill, not the hilltop vista the roadsigns are selling.''
`` Look, I --''
`` -Millie, I'm telling you, we're fine. What we have to worry about up here is landslides. That and the fact that it takes me over an hour to get to and from work each day. If you want I'll talk to the adjustor next week about it, they're all in Hawaii now. I hear its a big problem down there.''
`` Well as long as you talk to him then, is all.''
`` You know I will sweetheart. Say, what's for dinner?''
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[ WP ] A curse was placed on you in which your life shortens based on the amount of time people spend thinking about you . You make it your goal to be the most uninteresting person in the world .
| No one could explain it. People just started dying. It started with the most famous people. I'm old enough to remember that everyone thought 2016 was just a bad year for celebrity deaths, but they had no idea what was happening.
I still do n't get how it works, but I trust science, y'know?
After a few years, there were almost no famous people left. Some dedicated actors would try and make it, only to drop like lead flies after a big role. It was clear what I needed to do.
First, I got an apartment in the suburbs. Nothing really interesting ever happens in suburbs, and even the cool things inspired by the humdrum white picket fences had to move back to the city to be fully realized.
Then, I got a TV. Not one too big, or too small, or too new, just a TV. I only watch reruns of old reality TV shows. Next was a trip to the grocery store. That was easy: bread and water, and one lemon to stave off scurvy. I did n't want to go crazy by myself, so I did get an internet connection, though I only check out Pinterest.
I lived like this for some time. My new lifestyle was essentially free, and I have some family money that would last my multiple life times. Days blurred to months, months to years, and I found myself alone, old, and as far as I could tell, completely forgotten.
The population had dropped pretty drastically over the decades. Likewise, life expectancy dipped to a person's late 20s. One of the most shocking things for me personally was that society did n't crumble all together.
All news was written anonymously, or under a pseudonym. TV news still exists, but presented had their faces blurred and voices distorted. If I had to guess, it's been at least 90 years since this all started. If I had to guess my own age, I'd say I'm atleast 110.
I had begun to let myself slip a little. I used to internet way more, but I was careful to remain anonymous. I was signing up for some newsletter, and like so many of these things do, they asked for my age. I decided it'd be funny to put my actual age. Nothing happened. I got my newsletter, and everything was grand. For a few days.
I woke up and I was making tea ( I decided my diet could become more interesting since anyone who ever knew me was long dead ), when I almost jumped out of skin at a horrible and unfamiliar noise. It was only a knock on the door, but it took me much longer than I care to admit to figure that out.
I opened to door to young man. It was a the first face I had seen since the 20's, and it was n't the nicest way to be reintroduced. He looked disgusted and shocked. Obviously, he had never seen anyone much older than himself.
He asked my name, and I reluctantly told him. He then spoke for awhile about my IP address being monitored after an anomaly. After some more digging, he explained, they realized my apartment had n't changed hands in nearly a century. Curiosity got the better of him, so he came to investigate himself.
I began to feel ill. I knew what this was instantly. I asked him to leave, and to please not mention my whereabouts, or name, or anything else to anyone. Asked is polite - I begged him to forget about me. He assured me he would, and then left.
I had forgotten what fear felt like. In those early days I was so afraid. But I had n't had to think about fear in decades. I barely slept while my worried sweat dampened my sheats.
The next morning I awoke earlier than usual. Sleep was neither peaceful nor rejuvenating. I had a horrible headache though. This caused more concern.
I flipped on the TV to a blurry face and deep voice reading the news. The news today was my name and picture. Then I realized my headache would n't go away.
As quickly as my old bones could move me, I went to liquor cabinet. I had always worried that liquor would cause a craving for human interaction, but now I just needed it to get through.
After a long, deep pull from the bottle, I sat where I had spent most of life. I wish I could say my life flashed before my eyes, but I would n't have even been able to tell if my life was flashing before me because my view from this spot had been fixed for so long all my memories looked the same.
While I write this, I'm already fading. An old person today is quite the oddity indeed. Fading quickly now. From the colour of my apartment, slowly to black.
Black now. Slowly to grey.
Goodbye.
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[ OT ] What are some of the greatest responses you have come across and what is your favorite personal work ?
| [ A comment by Levitus01 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/30c1zz/wp_i_need_a_good_story_to_tell_my_nieces_write_me/cprfgl9 )
As for my own favorite work. I believe it is `` Sam Hall.''
--
It was a cold November day when they finally got around to killing us. The sleet came down steadily all morning. They marched us down the street through town. Everyone was lined up on the sidewalk in attendance. I guess they wanted everyone to see what happens to saboteurs. Twenty two of us they're killing. The local baker is the oldest, eighty three and Daniel's only sixteen. Shit, I told his sister I'd take care of him. I told her nothing would happen to the boy. Well, what's one more broken promise in this shitty world. But why does Sam have to be by my side? She's my oldest friend in the world. She's all I have left. Even now she flashes me a smile. As if to tell me it will all be ok. No, it wo n't.
How many times did I stopped by her father's flower shop? How many hours did we spend in the coffee shop downtown? How many nights did we spend out under the stars making love? Not enough. So I look into her eyes now, making each second last a lifetime. She smiles again, and I can not help myself but to smile back. She starts to hum a song. One I taught her. `` Sam Hall'' I teased her with it growing up together. Samantha Hall's her name. I thought I was so witty back then. Now, I think the song is fitting.
The crowd is staring daggers at the soldiers. Everyone is well aware what will happen once we reach the bridge. They have brothers, sisters, sons, fathers among the condemned. It is only the machine guns on the APC's that are keeping the crowds in line. The soldiers know this. The march is silent, save for the disciplined cadence of the garrison and the shuffle of the prisoners. My boots have seen better days, and Lars' going barefoot. They took him from his bed three nights ago. Emily's making a stranger sound, courtesy of her crutches. She was crippled in a an ambush gone bad. The satchel charge went off too early and took her left foot with it. It's a shame, she used to be a ballet dancer, though it wo n't matter soon anyway.
We've reached the bridge. It's not a bad bridge, if that's your thing. I've crossed it plenty of times. Only now am I paying close attention to it, to the rusting bolts and the chipping paint peeling away from the spots of aging iron. It's seen better days. Odd how it is, how knowing your live will soon be extinguished and the knowledge makes everything seem so much clearer, as if the fog of life's been lifted and you've finally been allowed to see the world as it truly is.
So, will they hang us or shoot us? I'm guessing on the former. Some nice scarecrows waving in the breeze to send a clear and grisly message. `` This is what happens to people who try be a hero.'' My heart sinks when I start seeing them tie our legs together. They are tying us by twos. I know what is going to happen. Sam looks at me, I try to look calm. But I am sure she can tell. She's known me for eighteen years. Never have I won at poker with her. She can tell when I'm lying. They tie Sam and me together, back to back. Our legs are bound as well. They are going to throw us into the river alive, to drown. Then comes both my most fervent prayer and my greatest nightmare.
They shoot Timothy Cooper in the head, and leave Alec alive, shoving them both over the side and into the freezing water. Tim's body and Alec do n't surface. Only the rippling water of the river marks their grave. They are n't even bothering to put both out of their misery. Stinking misers are n't going to waste two bullets when one can do the job. So they continue down the line. Daniel gets the bullet, a small mercy, and Nathan gets to drown. He rained curses on them as they threw him over the side. Emily screams as she falls towards the icy water. So on down the line.
Oh, God. If there is any justice in this world, let Sam get the bullet, let her die easy. Let me die painfully, that's all I want. Her, not me. *Her*, not me. Please. I beg you.
I hear the sound of boots approaching. I hear the sound of a hammer being cocked back.
Please.
I hear the bang of the gunshot. I hear it!
Her blood soaks into my shoulder, her head slumping back to rest against me as if she was just asleep. Her blood is white hot against my skin, and joy burns within my breast like fire.
*Thank you. *
Tears of happiness drip down my cheeks as I smile.
`` Thank you.'' It is a whisper.
`` Thank you.'' Louder.
`` Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.'' Her blood stains my shirt a brilliant crimson.
`` Thank you! Thank you!'' Unashamed tears carve channels through the ash on my face.
They tip Sam's body and me over the railing like some macabre human sacrifice, I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, `` Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!'' I keep screaming as the wind rushes past my ears, Sam's blood blinding my eyes. The water is cold, terribly cold. But I do not care. I'm too happy to care. The world grows colder, and dimmer, the shadows drawing nearer. The last of the air escapes me as I shout joy, allowing the freezing water to fill my lungs. Darker. Darker still as all light fades away and surrenders to darkness. But then, a spark, fragile and beautiful and pure. Her.
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[ IP ] Rainfall
| ( Please excuse formatting as I'm writing on my mobile )
[ Rainfall ]
The water dripped from the cuff of his shirt. It ran steadily across the sodden fabric. Small explosions of droplets sparked in the light as they bounced off of silver cufflinks.
It had been a night of wonder. The ballroom bathed in warm orange light. Beautiful gowns and dresses, cuts from vintage to modern, hair long and cascading, tight and bound. Jewels lacing the dedicated skin of attendees. Black suits with bowties to match. Polished shoes almost as reflective as the silver jewelery.
A large dance floor cut out of a beige marble interlaced by white veins, sweeping across the floor. The building breathed with energy. It was alive. Large stone pillars separated the private booths either side of the ballroom, each lavishly spread with a decorum of red velvet benches and a circular bronze table.
Those that had need of rest after hundreds of steps found their way here. Some, on the other hand, had not swayed with the motion of bodies. A long faced man with a hooked nose, sunken eyes and thinning dark hair, sat in the booth half heartedly watching the dance of others.
In his right hand, he lazily held a glass of whisky. His wrist loose, the crystal glass groves of the diamond lace pattern gently pressing against his skin. Under the palm of his left hand, lay a black leather bound book. His fingers extended over the cover, obscuring the title. His gaze shifted as he turned his head in the direction of someone approaching.
The silk of her modern cut dress swept over her legs as she methodically placed one foot in front of the other, as if about to suddenly change course to join the dancing. As she entered the booth to sit, her gloved hand reached down rearranging her dress not to crumple its a stark contrast of colour, her white silk glove again the deep blood red of her dress.
She sat across from the hooked nose man, her gloved hands laying one on top of the other on the bronze table. She regarded him for a long moment. He returned her gaze. She hadid n't high cheekbones and a chin that almost came to a point. Her arched eyebrows almost giving her a quizzical look.
The hooked nose man nodded to the waiter in classic white shirt and black waistcoat as he placed a tall, elegant glass of wine in front of her, matching the colour of her dress. He raised his own gesturing towards her. A toast. She lifted the glass from underneath the bowl, the bright shine of her silver hair reflected in its Polish.
`` To your health'' the hooked nose man stated.
`` To old friends'' she replied. Her expression calm, the word shooting poison. The meaning was clear. They raised their glasses, eyes never leaving the other. The table let out a a gentle hum as both placed their glasses back down.
Outside of the booth, the small orchestra, only so people in total, continued to play the magic of long dead composers. The crowd moved in unison, pairs stepping in time. The soft footfall of rubber soled shoes and sharp click of heels drowned out by the strings.
`` Now Casandra. Let us not spoil the night with more somber conversation.'' His tine even as he placed his elbow on the table his palm open toward the ceiling. Her mouth drew into a straight line, dark red lips pursed together.
`` Fine'' she retorted in a low voice. `` Then what shall we speak of?''
The man rolled his eyes and turned to the dancing figures. `` I believe, that neither your or I have danced tonight.'' He mused, drawing his attention back towards her. She was sitting with her back straight away from the plush material of the seat. `` It would be a shame to waste the opportunity, now we have someone we are well acquainted with to dance with, do n't you think?''
He shot her a smile, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. He could almost see the shudder pass through her. Her bare shoulders moving just slightly. Her eyes narrowed as he smiled at her.
`` Let us dance then and not waste the moments that we have left'' she said, returning the gesture with a smirk of her own. Both parties stood. The gentlemans fingers curling around the top of the book as her removed it from the table and placed it into a pocket inside of his jacket. She watched the sauce where book once was, now stood to her full height.
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[ WP ] Time travel is invented and becomes used for everything . A team of scientists go back in time to learn about human origins and evolution , only what they discover is far , far more interesting .
| They squat upon the ground, telephoto lens pointed at the mouth of the cave.
There is no radio back to home base. There is no contact, no Prime Directive, no precedent. They are at the FOB to end all FOBs.
And she is in the cave. The Mother. The Missing Link.
Lucy.
She entered it hours ago. The sun was high now. As time passed the smell would permeate the air around them. Something would find them.
*Should we move closer? * one asked.
*No. * Another replied. The other three sat steady.
*What's happening? Why is she going in there? *
*We do n't know. *
It was quiet again. The lens hummed like an insect as it zoomed in and out. The scientists relaxed into the dirt. It was red and clung to their skin, painted them bloody.
*Todash, * one said. It was followed by the scratch of pen on paper. *Todash ne haru. *
*What? * The one who had spoken first hissed across the calm. *What are you saying? *
*I do n't know. They have a language - it's rudimentary, but it's there. *
*She's coming out! She coming out! *
They huddled along to top like boys watching a girl strip at a swimming hole, nervous and excited from their nerves. She was slight but walked assuredly.
*She's going to die. * One of them says.
*She's already dead. * Came the reply. The camera was quiet and the shutter click-clicked in the heat.
*What if we die here? *
*Sound of thunder, is all. *
They watched her leave. Her skin was clean, her eyes bright and clear.
*We should go into the cave-*
*Not while she's there! *
*I was going to say tonight. It should be empty. *
They looked at the others.
*Shall we vote? *
There are nods, then:
*Yes. *
*Yes. *
*Yes. *
*Yes. *
There is no need to count.
*I also vote'yes'. Let the log show the tally was unanimous. *
They gathered their few things. The night could not come soon enough.
When the sun dipped low and the moon started to wax they returned to the ridge.
They entered the valley. The earth was more compact near the entrance.
It was very dark. The air was dry and a bit cooler then outside. A light illuminated the tunnel. There was paintings - horses and rhinos and people and fish and the skyline of -
They stopped.
*That look like New Amsterdam. *
They looked at it. At the stark image in brown and red of the towers of glass and steel.
*How is there a painting of that? *
*I do n't know. *
As they travel deeper the images get stranger. The typical forms are interspersed with the Hanging Gardens and the TransPacific rail line. The Ishtar Gates are bright blue in the darkness. On the floor are litters of leaves. Here and there are pots of paint and sticks with the end chewed. Some of the art is more technically detailed. The air is almost cold now.
One them gets a nosebleed from the dryness. They move quickly to prevent contamination. After that is fixed the scientist can only breathe thorough their mouth.
*Onward. * They say.
*Onward and upward. * Comes the reply.
They do not go up.
The tunnel ( for it is a tunnel, winding and twisting its way into the ground ) does not change shape nor size. They turn around as a unit. The start ( or the end ) can not be seen.
Eventually the paintings lessen. There is the rise and fall of people and cities. There is the invention of fantastic things - language and culture and though. One looks like the joust pod. There are five figures standing around it. They are haloed in red and yellow, the pod an odd off white with dark windows and lines of blue wafting off. It is the last painting.
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[ WP ] You are the Anti-Chris , commonly mistaken for the Anti-Christ .
| I'm just a normal guy.
Really, I swear, I'm just a perfectly normal person, doing his thing in a perfectly normal fashion like everyone else.
For instance, yesterday I began my day like everyone else, hating my alarm clock. Not an evil kind of hate, mind you. No plans to exterminate the world's alarm clock population. No, I just felt that good old, affable, six o'clock in the morning kind of hate. Harmless stuff.
I groaned, turned over, and slammed the alarm. So far so good. It was at this point that I heard the furious knocking at my door. One could argue that this was a little strange, but remember that I had nothing to do with this. I have no control over other's knocking habits.
I positively moaned and dragged myself out of bed. After slipping my slippers on, I shambled to my door. See? I too struggle with sleep deprivation. See how similar we are?
`` Just a minute,'' I called. That was apparently unsatisfactory, because immediately afterwards the door exploded. I'd like to pause to remind you that none of this was my fault.
An armored shape emerged from the dust and rubble, coughing violently. I waited, rather more patiently than was perhaps warranted. The man, a knight I suppose, finally recovered. He cleared his throat a couple of times for good measure, and then started roaring at me.
`` Your fate has come foul demon! I-.''
I gave him my usual response. `` I think you've made a mistake, I'm the anti-''
`` SHUT IT.'' Clearly, the man knew the usual dialogue. `` I've come for the sake of humanity and I will not be-''
I held up a hand. `` Just a sec. What's your name?''
`` What? Chris.''
I blinked. `` That's really convenient.''
`` Well Christopher actually-''
I shrugged. `` Still works.''
My eyes began to glow with an otherworldly light. I reached towards his face, both of us shining brighter and brighter. `` Come to me, my twin.''
He just barely managed to scream as he was sucked into my palm and annihilated.
And then I continued my morning. I really must stress again, that everything was completely unavoidable. I'm sure that you now understand my struggle. Normality comes to some naturally, but for others it must be fought for.
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Subsets and Splits