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[ WP ] The worst salesman in the world tries to sell you the best thing in the world .
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*'' Hello, my name is James and I'm here to make your dreams come true! `` *
`` What are you talking about?''
*'' This incredible little concoction here can grant you eternal life. How good would that be? `` *
`` I do n't believe you.''
*'' And you wo n't need to! See? `` *
`` How does that prove anything? You just drank it?''
*'' Well, now I'm immortal! `` *
`` But how am I supposed to know that?''
*''... That's a good point...'' *
`` What if you tried to die?''
*'' Geez, no, that'll fuckin hurt. `` *
`` Well? How do you prove it?''
*''... Ok, forget that. This was obviously not the best idea. How about you just give me the benefit of the doubt? `` *
`` Why?''
*'' Look man, I really need to sell this. The boss is breathing down hard on me. `` *
`` I was wondering who that was.''
*'' Ok, I have an idea. You buy this, and just do n't drink it until all the science dudes have finished all their testing. If they find out it's real, you keep it. Good for you. You're now immortal. If not, well I'll let you have a full refund. `` *
`` It has n't been tested?''
*'' Shit -- ah I mean, Yeah, the scientists I mentioned were those third party scientists that always have to double check everything to make sure our tests were right. You know, you see them all the time doing that drug recall nonsense. `` *
`` You're a bad liar.''
*'' Maybe I'm a bad truther? `` *
`` That's not a word.''
*'' It is n't? It should be. `` *
`` I disagree.''
*'' But liar needs an opposite. `` *
`` What about truth-teller or soothsayer?''
*'' Good point. `` *
`` Thanks, now can you leave?''
*'' Wait! I have n't sold you immortality yet? Do n't you want to live forever, see the world far beyond your natural life span? Make friends with people all throughout time and then see them die in front of you over and over again. Then watch as the sun explodes, eating up the earth and leaving you just drifting for eternity in cold lonely space. `` *
`` What the hell?''
*'' Sorry, I just realised what's going to happen to me...'' *
`` You're really bad at this.''
*'' Yeah... Sorry for wasting your time. `` *
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[ WP ] You are a parent in an anime . Your child is born with epic anime hair , and you are certain they will become the protagonist . You are determined to not become a tragic back story like so many other anime parents .
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The first day of classes had come to a close at Shuijinko Academy, and Guanyu Deyoshi was just glad he could go home to his video games, like the normal high schooler with seven colored hair and amazing atheletic and knitting skills that he was.
Life sure was boring, being so *normal*, but Guanyu was okay with that. After all...
`` Guanyu-kun!''
There was Nobuna Gaga, the prettiest girl in his year! She was his childhood friend, who he had gone to school with alongside their other good friends, Yasu Kugawa and Take Dashinge. Knowing Nobuna, there would be only one thing on *her* mind...
`` We're high school students now... Can I finally come over to your house?''
He sighed dramatically. Nearby, other classmates swooned.
Why did this always happen to him with girls? It was fine with Nobuna because she was his friend, but he was just a normal high schooler, why would he *want* every girl he spoke to to find him attractive and interesting to talk to?
`` Look, there's something I need to explain to you...'' he began.
He had a secret that had always kept him from inviting her over all these years. It was n't that there had been murders comitted in his house, like their fifth grade teacher's. It was n't that he had an older sister that regularly tried to sleep with him, like the most popular boy in school. It was n't even like he was a mafia prince and it would be dangerous for her to come home with him!
No, his secret was much darker than that.
`` I... have to ask my parents if it's okay first.''
Nobuna froze in place. Her eyes went twice as wide, practically taking up the entirety of her face due to how wide they had been to start off.
`` You have... *parents*?''
Guanyu nodded.
`` Have n't you always wondered why I have such a strange name? They insisted on it...''
`` But...'' Nobuna was finally realizing what this meant for her. `` If you have parents, that means I ca n't leave the bathroom unlocked when I, a defenseless normal high school girl trained in eighty martial arts, take a shower for you to walk in on me! What if your dad-''
`` I know!''
`` And that means I ca n't come over and nurse you when you get sick because you have responsible adults in your life to do that!''
`` I know!'' Guanyu's despair was palpable.
Nobuna shook her head.
`` I feel so *bad* for you...''
-- -
That day, fifteen years ago, the Deyoshi parents had realized they had two options.
Sure, they could take the easy way out. They could go on vacation and never come home, pretending they had died in an awful accident like the neighbor girl's parents had. A pack of wolves had already moved into the house and started raising the two month old, and the couple regularly called, telling the Deyoshis how great France was.
They could just walk out the door, inform the proper authorities of the situation so no one would question it when a scantily clad woman inevitably came to adopt their child after they abandoned it, and everyone would be happy.
Yes... They *could* do that.
... *or*...
`` Honey, we were going to name him Hide, right? Do you remember... *why* we were going to do that? We were going to name him Hide Deyoshi... Why?''
`` I-I do n't know. It just came to me one night, and you agreed, and-''
A decision was made.
`` We're naming him Guanyu.''
`` W-What?''
`` His name is Guanyu and he will be raised knowing everything there is to know about the great battles of China, and he will take on the legacy of the great Guan Yu himself!''
`` But... But I do n't know anything *about* China! Why would we teach him about China when we're Japanese...?''
Mr. Deyoshi placed a hand on his wife's shoulder.
`` You're going to learn, honey. We are going to become obsessed with it, to the point it will become the only thing anyone knows us for. Because you and I...''
Dramatically, he ripped off his glasses. You could practically see flags behind him.
``... are going to become quirky background characters!''
-- -
The joke is pretty bad and you'll probably miss it if you are n't familiar with Chinese/Japanese history, but the whole thing is based on the one joke and I am very aware of how lame it is. Anyway, any comments would be appreciated, I am a bit rusty.
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[ WP ] Diseases can be induced to separate from their host and take physical form . The host is cured if the disease is killed in its induced form . The graver the disease , the more monstrous the form it takes . A team of doctors decide to try and save a gravely ill child .
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Medicine, some see it as a blessing, others see it as a man-made miracle, but to me, it ’ s worse than any other plague to ever come down upon humanity. At first it was harmless, a bunch of studious men in lab coats learning how to combat diseases with serums, pills, and ointments; the men called themselves “ doctors ” and were seen as healers and to some, miracle workers. Around the late 20th century, things took a dark turn; the Virus Manifestation Chamber ( VMC ) was invented. The concept of it was genius; the structural integrity of every virus ’ s capsid within a patient would be bound to stem cells. The resulting monstrosity was a representation of the virus that could be “ fought off ” through physical means.
Medical school had changed drastically; it was no longer for gaining knowledge on how to save lives but rather, an institute to weed out the weak. Many were convinced to join with the promise of saving lives and obtaining prestige. I was one among the many thousands of students that attended one of the only medical schools with a VMC, Intrepid Medical State. Each day was as arduous as the last, hours devoted to training not only my mind but my physique as well. Soon, my head was full of knowledge on how to kill diseases; fire for the common cold, freeze rays for herpes, and petrification for cancers. For seven years I trained, my mind embodying the lessons from “ Infectious Among Us ”; my body sculpted, all the while, by the gods above.
It was finally time for me to enter the field. Each team had five positions: Spotter, Fighter, Tank, Reactor, and Engineer. I had been awarded the position of Spotter and given the responsibility to keep the rest of my team alive. I was to identify and assess the virus, organize my team in the best strategic manner, and co-ordinate attacks. Our first assignment was to tackle a standard influenza patient; pretty standard, set up a perimeter with a topical anti-viral solution, load up on freezer bullets to slow it, and have the tank heavily vaccinated. Well at least that was the initial plan. My team and I were stationed in a pentagon, perfectly surrounding the virus ’ s entry point before we activated the VMC. The air became incredibly humid, the machine began to whirr, and then it started to materialize. The influenza virus was even bigger than my entire team put together and it was still growing. Not letting it finish, we quickly started to fight it off. Our Tank started to cut off the flagella reaching out towards our Fighter, who was quickly taking aim at orifices brimming with viral RNA. Meanwhile, our Engineer was trying to maintain the anti-viral perimeter but was quickly getting pushed back. Our Reactor was knocked out by a stray flagellum. As he laid motion-less the virus crept towards him, determined to take his life; it was only moments before he was lifted by the virus and engulfed by its capsid. Our Tank was next to go, pressed against the chamber walls by the virus ’ s phlegm and succumbing to an extreme fever. In a desperate attempt to preserve his own life, the Engineer created a thick perimeter of the anti-viral drug around the entire team. The Reactor tried to fashion an exothermic detonator by altering the standard thermo-nuclear detonator; however, the virus was advancing much faster than I had anticipated. It was then that I realized that the virus was drug resistant.
As the virus picked off the rest of my team, there was but one thing that crossed my mind: “ Doctors? I thought we were supposed to save people, to preserve life. Yet here we are, risking not only one, but five lives for the sake of a single child with the flu. I think ‘ The Damned ’ is more fitting. ”
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[ WP ] You are a being that invents items that can bend the laws of nature . Describe your best inventions .
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I only have one invention and it is a device that creates an energy field around you or influence your molecular structure and can make you do anything. It can make you fly. It can make you walk through walls. It can help you read people's thoughts and listen in on conversations. It helps you become invisible. It can even transport you across space instantaneously.
As Nicola Tesla once said; *'If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.'*
It enables your body molecules to vibrate at the natural frequency of walls and thus making it possible for you to walk through any wall irrespective of the material.
It helps you listen in on conversations by picking up the sound vibrations emitted by people who are talking, or read thoughts by fine tuning the frequency of the device to correspond with the electrical signals of the thought patterns that the brain emits when thinking.
It helps you fly by manipulating the energy field around you by raising the kinetic energy which results in a Bernoulli Effect.
It can also transport you across space if you know the natural frequency of a particular point in space, you can instantaneously be transported to that space by bringing the device to vibrate on with that frequency.
It can make you invisible by raising your frequency to a higher frequency that is not visible to the naked eye.
It can even make you kill people, by emitting a frequency which corresponds to the natural frequency of someone else's heart. The cause if death will be diagnosed as a cardiac failure.
I am sorry, but now that I think about it, I will have to kill you ( and everyone else who reads this ) because you know about my device.
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[ WP ] Every person in the world has a Roman numeral birth mark on their wrist which matches up with someone who is meant to be their soul mate .
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You know, I've always been a bit off.
I never really played with the other kids, I just read. I can give you a lecture on science like no one's business, but small talk's a chore. Oh, and I do n't have any numerals.
Everyone else I know does. My parents have a complex string of M's, L's, and X's in common with one another. My brother, too, has numerals on his wrist. They're like my parents', but with some slight changes. All my friends have them, and some even share numerals with one another. Still, though, I do n't.
Since they do n't show up until the onset of puberty, I did n't realize how abnormal I was until I was around fourteen. I remember thinking people just got them tattooed on or something, until I was told that the numerals just start to appear on your wrist by themselves. Seven years later, here I am. Numeral-less.
A lot of people seem to have a tough time understanding this. Whenever I wear tee shirts, or people can see my wrist, I get comments indicating that there's something wrong with me. That's far from the truth, though. Even though I do n't have the numerals that are so important to so many people, I do n't have that all-consuming drive to find a soulmate. I can focus on things that matter to me, like friends. There are others without numerals, too. I've met some and befriended them over the Internet.
Overall, even though I do n't have a numeral combination on my wrist, I'm generally pretty happy with life. Hopefully, this can get out to other people, especially those without numerals, to show that just because you do n't have some numbers from a long-dead empire on your carpals does n't mean you're wrong as a person.
( coughthisisaboutbeingaromantic/asexualcough )
( PS: this is my first comment on this sub and I'm SUPER tired. Hopefully this goes over well ).
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[ WP ] `` You 're dying ... '' '' Perhaps . `` `` I can stop it . `` `` Please do n't . ''
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His reputation preceded him. Before I met Mr. Garrett, I had only seen his name on paper or heard it spoken in the news. I never really had a chance, or a care, to put a face to the name of the tycoon. Of course, despite my lack of care to understand who he was, I had already formed an opinion about him based on the media spin. The snippets of his name being dragged through the mud, or the outing of his deals behind closed doors. To me, that was all I really could care to know. Why would I care anymore?
I've worked at this hospital for at least five years, and the time seems to blur together. I've seen plenty of faces come and go, as well as plenty of faces that come and never leave. I've learned as a med student to never really get attached to a patient, never try to dive into their life story. Most people do n't come to see me if they're doing well, so... I've found it better not to get attached. It may have spilled over into my personal life, according to my mother's reasoning why I'm still not married. I argue that the job keeps me from meeting people, but she wo n't by it. I believe her, I've noticed a change, but I tend to err on the side of caution when I admit she might be right.
When I heard there was a'celebrity' in our unit when I arrived for the night shift, I was just as curious as anyone else. `` It's Garrett.'' One of the gossiping nurses dropped the name with a smirk as if she was talking about the last night award show's best and worst dressed.
`` Garrett?'' I asked. The name sounded familiar, but I could n't piece together where I've heard it. Maybe some breakout star in a hit movie I missed. I tend not to get out much between my house and the hospital.
`` That wall-street snob they're always talking about.'' She had a tone to her voice, drawing the same conclusion I had about him from what I've heard.
`` Oh. Huh... that guy could afford this hospital. Wonder why he came here?'' I picked up my pre-made chart, looking over the patients on my rounds.
`` You can ask him yourself, he's your patient tonight.'' I was already scanning his record when she said that, nodding silently while I read the notes on why he came in. Rushed in for passing out during a meeting, unresponsive, woke up during the ride over here. Stable. I only thought why the media was n't trying to fight their way in here.
`` Dr. Tess ordered a test, did she already give him the results?'' The nurse shook her head.
`` We just got them back. You're the lucky one to tell him.'' I was a bit confused. Tell him what? The nurse dropped the report on my clipboard. I skimmed through them, grabbing highlights between what I deemed useless. Then my heart sank. `` Right...''
The nurse nodded solemnly as she went back to her computer, and I started a slow walk towards Mr. Garrett's room. I kept scanning the report, flipping between his file and the report like I would find some contradicting evidence. I did n't want to do this. It did n't affect me, passing this news. It was that I had to be the bearer of bad news, and stand there as the family cried. It could take an hour or so, and I had other things to do.
When I rounded the corner of the room, I was taken back by the sight. I expected to see a family gathered around the sickly old man, already waiting out on hope and for me to tell him'He's going to be alright.' No. What I saw was far less, in support and people. The only thing I saw was a man about 60 staring at the close captions on the muted TV. The beeps of his monitors came in a steady rhythm, the only other noise was his breathing. `` Mr. Garrett?''
He did n't saw a word. We both knew I knew it was him. I've never seen this man's face, and it was exactly how I imagined. An older, Caucasian man with fleeting silver hair. What did n't fit my pre-meeting mental image was the look of a defeated man, with tired eyes that just seemed to stare past the TV and into infinity. `` Umm, I'm Dr. Ferris, I'm replacing Dr. Tess for the night.'' Still... silence.
I shut the door behind me. No one but who already knew was going to hear, but it was standard hospital practice for the whole'patient privacy'. `` Okay...'' I mumbled to defuse the uncomfortable situation. He was just adding to my pre-existing impression of him. `` Sir, I got the results from the tests ordered by Dr. Tess and...'' I trailed off, not for dramatic effect, but I was never good at approaching this in a delicate manner. Do I just say it, or tell him the full medical jargon that would lead to the blunt answer after a confused stare in my direction? I went with the former. `` There's no easy way to say this, but... you're dying...''
I expected some emotion from him, or at least give my title and being some respect and look in my direction. No. He kept fixated in the same general direction. Was I missing something he had noticed on the TV? I stood there in silence, until a raspy, worn smoker's assaulted the quiet, `` Perhaps.''
Perhaps? Perhaps?! This was n't a maybe, kinda, sorta. I was shocked at his answer, and somewhat taken back. I just wanted to jump onto the bed, grab his smug, billionaire face and just yell'YOU'RE DYING!' just to get it to sink into his thick skull. But maybe he was right. Perhaps....I wanted to laugh like a madman. There was something we could try, but there was never a guarantee. `` I can stop it.'' I added in. It was a more of a'we can' thing, but I enjoyed sounding like a hero at times.
Something? Anything? A smile, a jump of joy, a tear of happiness? I just brought him to the brink of death and back with my words. No. He still did n't acknowledge my presence with a glance. He was glued on something over there, and I wanted to look so bad, but what if I missed his quick check over to me? `` Please do n't.''
`` Excuse me?'' I blurted out, thinking I've heard something wrong. At this point, he turned his head in my direction. Those tired eyes that stared into nothingness stared right at me. I've seen that look. It was the look I've seen on failed suicide patients. It was the look on families who had exhausted everything to save their loved ones. It was the look of someone who had given up.
`` I do n't want the treatment.'' He had to have been delusional.
`` Mr. Garrett, there's a way to stop it. You do n't h-''
`` No.'' His voice just seemed to struggle with every word. `` Do you know who I am?'' I've never heard someone say that other than the bad guys in movies.
`` Uhhh, yeah?'' I cocked a brow, waiting for some rant about how successful he was and how he did n't need anything we had to offer.
He chuckled. I'm sure he knew what I was thinking already. `` Then you know what I do.'' He rested his head to his pillow, now just staring at the ceiling. `` You've probably heard what I've done through the media, I'm sure. The devil I am, killing American jobs and living like a fat cat. The media...'' He scoffed humorously at the thought. At least he kept up on current events about himself.
`` Son, I did n't get where I was by being a nice person. I've lied, cheated, and stolen. I've broken hearts, burned bridges, and have used everyone I have ever met.'' I did n't want to hear this, nor did I expect this when I walked in. I just could n't open the door and leave, that'd be just unprofessional and rude. I was stuck.
`` I've made many enemies, most were people I called friends and helped me get where I am today. My ex-wife wo n't acknowledge my existence, and I missed so much of my kids growing up that they see me as a barrier between them and an inheritance.'' He let out a sigh, eyes shutting as he collected his thoughts. `` I worked my entire life, trying to gain more and get more... more... stuff. Things that do n't matter anymore. I ca n't enjoy them anymore, and now realizing my own mortality, I do n't need to.''
I had a rule. Do n't try to learn about them. Do n't get attached. It just makes the job harder, but it was difficult to prevent it when you're locked in a room with them. There was something that made me stay, prevented me from interrupting him with a protest to take the treatment and let me move on. Him opening up to me, however, caught my attention. When faced with mortality, even the strongest people would reevaluate life and make a change if they had one more chance. Even when offered the chance, he declined. That little change drew me to curiosity that kept me here. `` Sir, we're offering you a second chance. Let us help you, so you can go out there and change.''
His laugh was labored and almost as raspy as his voice. `` No. There's no second chance for me. Maybe this is karma? The bad I've done finally catching up to me one last time.''
`` Mr. Garrett, I urge you to reconsider.'' I felt bad for him. I also felt like a horrible person, letting my preconceived idea of a person I've never met until now carry my actions and attitude.
He shook his head, `` You're probably the only person who would actually sound as sincere asking me to live. Thank you, but please, if you could leave me for a a moment. I really like this show.''
And like that, he turned his attention back to the TV. He acted like nothing had changed. His eyes still tired and worn, but the faint hint of a smile as he read the lagging captions. I stood there for a moment, baffled at what had just happened. I backed out the room quietly, standing on the other side as I just stared at my clipboard and his name. Did I just become the grim reaper granting his death, or an angel saving him from this life? I looked down at the nurses station, watching the nurse scroll through something on her phone. I shook my head and went to my next patient.
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[ WP ] story about a couple deeply in love . One day the man discovers christianity . The only problem is , the woman is a witch
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I could feel the first tear spilling down my face. `` Oh my love, what have they done to you?''
`` Do n't call me that, witch!''
Michael's beautiful face was contorted with rage. The years had changed him, and not for the better.
`` It does n't have to be this way, Michael.''
`` Do n't say my name with that filthy mouth!''
How did it come to this? Why did it have to end this way? Times had changed, and fear had ruled when society collapsed. If this had been another time, things would have been different. When people were afraid, they looked for something to blame, something to cling to.
For Michael, it had been Christianity. For me, it had been my arts, my magic. Witchcraft, they called it. People feared the unknown, and my powers that awoke after the fall were new and terrifying. I was a healer, a white witch.
I never thought it would come to this. Michael was, for better or for worse, my other half. He used to be my better half. Until my powers awoke, he had been the one protecting me.
In the riots, he had come for me. He had rushed to my apartment to rescue me. We fled the city, under an angry red sky choked by billowing smoke. Embers and sparks swirled in the sky. I remember turning back one last time. I will never forget that skyline.
But something changed the first time I used my power.
The world is cruel. It was self-defense, but... I still could n't forgive myself. Evidently, he had never forgotten what I had done. I had killed people. In terror, pain and hatred I lit them on fire. Tongues of fire ate their flesh and blood as they writhed and wailed, wreathed in flames. Every night, in my dreams I can still hear them scream, I can still see their contorted faces. Even I did not know I had such potential for cruelty.
If that had never happened, would things have been different?
There were so many things to regret. If we had talked about it afterward, maybe things would have been different. I was n't in my right mind then, I could n't have been. I saw the terror in his eyes, the way he shrinked back from me. I could n't blame him. Neither of us had ever killed before. Michael said I was smiling.
They were n't the last ones, either.
Since then, so many things had changed. The way we interacted became more and more stilted. He never fully recovered from that, I think. As for me, I chose to pretend there was nothing wrong. I must have thought there was still some way to fix things, that we would eventually go back to the way we used to be.
Eventually, we found a small community of people. I served as the local doctor. With my magic, I mended broken bones, cured illnesses, and healed wounds. The congregation accepted me and told me my powers must have been gifted by God. This was my way to atone for what I had done. I swore I would never use my power to hurt anyone, ever again.
I was foolish. I chose to turn a blind eye on reality. I was so happy when he first turned to Christianity. His face had lit up with joy and serenity. It was like the old Michael was finally back. Would I still have been so happy if I had known it would lead us here?
A year later, he was beginning to change. He did n't tell me much, but apparently he had fallen in with a new member of their congregation. The new member was a rising star, and Michael was rising on his burgeoning influence.
There were so many places where it had gone wrong. I should have intervened. I had personally witnessed the extremism and obsession within Michael's new friend, but I was so sure I was imagining things and he looked so happy. Maybe I did n't want to make him hate me. It was fine if he was happy, I thought.
The tone of the sermons began to change. Our small community went through a period of upheaval as several factions wrested for power. Michael's friend won, and I had helped him. This was for Michael, I told myself. In reality, it was for me. I thought if I helped him, I could win back his love.
That night had been passionate, just like old times.
Michael's friend was a tyrant. He needed to control everything. The messages changed from love and acceptance, to hatred and fear. The path to redemption was paved through condemnation it seemed. No one wanted to speak up. No one wanted to risk being sent out into the unknown. Life here was relatively stable.
In our silence, he consolidated his power, and Michael was his right hand man. More and more, he became more intolerable. Michael became more and more distant. I tricked myself into believing it was just because he was busy.
I wonder how I decieved myself so thoroughly. Even as the looks the community gave me changed, I still believed things would work out. I wondered if Michael had told them of my past, but he would n't do that to me, would he? He was still Michael. My Michael. He was my love, the light of my life.
Now here I was, locked into a concrete room. Michael had convinced me that it would help everyone rest easy. Eventually everyone would get over it and let me out. He'd told me so. He had promised.
My ankle had been chained to a bed. An extra precaution to keep me from escaping, they said. The manacle rubbed my ankle raw, but I did n't complain. This morning three men had come into my room. Each one carried a red plastic gas can. I was confused.
They held me down and poured gasoline over me. I was forced to drink some, choking and crying. A man sneered and told me to shut up and enjoy my baptism. I was a witch. It was more than I deserved. They released me and began to vomit up the gasoline I was forced to drink. Helplessly, I could only watch as wood, brush and dried grasses were packed into this small room. More precious gasoline was wasted to build my pyre.
Michael lit a match. Yet another precious resource wasted to kill me. Did he really hate me so much? Was I really so frightening?
`` Do you have any last words, witch!''
`` Why, Michael?'' I whispered.
`` God's will is more important than my own.'' His expression was cold.
I did n't blame Christianity, it was just an excuse. What I blamed was humanity, this cruel world and my own crimes.
I felt one last tear roll down my face, and then the flames engulfed me.
*I love you, Michael. *
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You are a Marine in Vietnam , the year is 1967 . While out on a patrol in the Central Highlands , your platoon stumbles upon an old abandoned Catholic church that seems to have been built during French Colonization years before . What will occur here in the next few moments will haunt you forever . [ WP ]
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Second Lieutenant Daniel Bradshaw, Platoon Commander of 42- no, now just 17 men, stopped dead in his tracks.
He did n't need to give the signal for his men to stop at his heels. They lost enough soldiers in the past eight hours to be alert. Even after walking miles without seeing a single combatant, they would stop when he did, just as a beaten dog would sit when he sat.
`` Be on the look-out.'' He spoke while staring ahead, voice carrying enough to be heard by even Dickson in the back. `` Building up ahead. Gooks may have another trap.''
For the first time in a long time, he did n't hear any back-talk. Normally, that would be a blessing from God himself, but damn if they did n't have a reason to be quiet. `` I'll go in first. Ken, with me.''
Kenneth grunted his response. One of the Sergeants in command of a rifle group, Kenneth lost all his men in the first ambush. Daniel knew the man would fight like an unpaid whore, so long as it meant he could kill some of those Gooks. He could n't help think of the hardened man as Kenneth, but he called him by his nickname for the men. They needed something normal to hold on to.
Daniel held up his rifle and began jogging to the building. He heard Kenneth follow his footsteps. As they got closer, Daniel could make out the details.
`` Looks like a church.'' Kenneth said.
Daniel ran along the side and turned the corner, rifle pointed outward. It was a wall, solidly built, unlike the other buildings in the God-forsaken jungle. He could n't get a good look inside.
Kenneth ran to join him.
`` Did n't know these Gooks even heard of God. Could be a trap'' Kenneth said. `` Kick it in.''
Daniel took a step back and leaned forward, ready to slam his leg into the white door. Normally, he would n't take orders from Kenneth, but times were n't normal. Before he shot forward, the click of an AK-47, the Gooks favorite gun, sounded from the other side of the door. Daniel dropped and lowered as Kenneth began firing his rifle blindly into the building. The sound was deafening.
Kenneth fired his full clip before loading in his spare and letting it out as well. Daniel waited for a few seconds after the second burst before running forward and kicking open the door. It slammed on it's hinged and flew off, going two feet into the building.
Daniel wished he left the door closed.
Inside of the church were the corpses of two Vietnamese children, rifles still in hand. A third boy was cowering in the corner, gun down. He had his hands up in a surrender pose.
`` They're kids.'' He said, voice dull.
`` They had weapons. AK's. They'd shoot us dead Danny.'' Kenneth's head poked into the doorway. `` A Gook is a Gook.''
`` They're fucking kids.''
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[ WP ] The clock strikes midnight in New Zealand , and all communication with people in that time zone stops . Each preceding time zone does the same . You are on the west coast at 11:55 fearing the worst .
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*West Coast*
\________
First, there was silence. The world stood still and waited for a single report, a single voice, a single byte of data from New Zealand. But there was nothing. All of UTC+10:00 was silent.
Avery sat alone in the broadcast tower, home of his local television station. The feeds from New Zealand were all static.
It was n't until an hour later, when the Australian feeds went down, did the world truly begin to panic. It began with a major stampede in Times Square when the crowd climbed over one another to get away.
Away from what, nobody knew.
Avery's job was simple. He had to monitor news stations from all over the world. His office was right next to the live broadcast studio, but he did not have access there. He was just a lowly employee, after all.
But this unique job gave Avery the unique position to monitor the global breakdown. Scenes of unrest poured in from around the globe. Then just as suddenly as they started, they disappeared. Only static remained. Static, and more static.
*Bzzz. Bzzz. * The telephone rang.
Avery dragged himself up and picked up the phone. There was nothing but static.
*Great, now the phone lines are down as well, * Avery cursed. Just as he was about to slam down the phone, a voice, stuttered and hoarse, crawls out from static buzz.
*'' Warn... warn...'' *
`` What?'' said Avery. `` Who is this?''
*'' New... from new zealand...'' *
His heart skipped a beat. `` You're in New Zealand? What's going on there? What happened to your communications?''
*'' Ma... wrong...'' *
`` I ca n't hear you!''
*'' The ma... Mayans were wrong...'' *
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[ FF ] A new designer drug makes people brilliant for five minutes ... 100 words
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The more you know the more you realise what you do n't. In one second my ability to think and connect had multiplied... and with it my ability to know what I could never understand. I was at the peak of humanity's mental ability, 4.5 billion years of this planet working towards this spark of intelligence and suddenly I *knew* with abject certainty the things we could never have.
The hardest part was meeting everyone's eyes afterwards. I had had things they could never dream of at my fingertips - equations, concertos and Earth shattering novels - but all I could see was the emptiness. It's awfully lonely at the top.
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[ WP ] You are transported far into the future , and there are no signs of human life . After a long time of living in this world , you ( literally ) run into another person .
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He wore a whitish-grey hoody that masked his hair, wrinkly blue jeans a size too large, and dirty tennis shoes that I guessed used to be white. He was just a block away when he spotted me - and now I was running after him.
My feet pounded the cold pavement ahead of me as my lungs fought the cold air.
`` Hold up a sec, I just wan na talk!''
He was fast - like me. We hurdled over the rusty vacant cars strewn about in the city road. The tall grass licked my legs as I scurried after him. I was fit too - catching up was no issue. But it was getting dark and I could n't be wasting any more time chasing after this... stranger.
After a hard sprint, I could tell he was slowing once we reached 42nd and 8th. Instead of continuing on, he decide to jet for the parking lot of a convenience store I coincidentally had been frequenting this month. When I reached the intersection he stopped in the adjacent lot. I was unsure if he had slowed in yield to defeat or if he was ready to confront me. He hesitated to turn toward my panting self as I stood cautiously at the intersection. When he did finally turn, my already hastened heart skipped a beat when I noticed that the features in his eyes and face were of my own.
Confused and still struggling for air, I focused hard on what he was yelling from across the lot. Despite the run, he spoke slowly and calmly as his voice bounced off the buildings that peered over us. But it was *my voice* that I heard echoing from the windows and empty streets.
`` You will find a blue light on the ground in the dark approximately 3 weeks from now.''
The voice slowed further, `` Go toward it. Pick up its source. Press the button on the back.''
He paused briefly.
`` Do this and you will understand why you saw me here today.''
And with that message, his body vanished. The clothes that made his figure fell neatly to the blackened concrete. I stared stonily at the pile of clothes that laid randomly in the lot, still deciding if what had just happened *did* happen. *Did I just imagine this? * I mused in awe of the ludicrousness of the idea. *I just chased myself and warned myself to go toward a blue light. *
I must have stood there for an eternity as the sun's rays made their final stroll on the weeded pavement. As the stars began to pierce the sky, I finally turned my head back toward where I ran from. Home was far. I felt my veins pump with adrenaline again as I realized it was only moments before the noises from the dark would return. I had to get home, and fast.
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[ WP ] You 're trapped in an asylum with your friends and a murderer .
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It was a full fledged panic. Once the three of us saw Jason's corpse, we bolted through the building like a tornado. Throwing stuff everywhere, shouting, yelling for help that could n't hear us.
The body was in between us and the closet where we had stuffed our equipment and phones. In haste, we had run the wrong direction. Although I knew exactly where we were, Jose and Ben were losing it.
Perfect.
I led them to the ruined areas of the building. Here the asylum had collapsed in several locations which made it easier to get separated. And very quickly, we did. Jose and Ben continued screaming their asses off.
Imbeciles.
I doubled back and waited behind a fallen pillar. A tall figure flashed past, completely silent. Their screams remained loud, looked like they were somewhere in the vicinity still. I remained in wait. It took me over a year to plan this, and I was n't about to fail.
Patience.
Suddenly one scream shut up mid exhale. The second followed soon after. I stood up and walked over to find the bodies. The same tall figure was crunched over Jose fiddling with something I could n't see.
The tall man then uttered, `` Why are you still here? You fulfilled your end of the deal. Now get the fuck out.''
I did n't need to wait another second. Those poor fuckers were n't actually dead yet, but they would soon be begging for it. And they wo n't get it. Not for a long, long time.
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[ WP ] Your pet dog grows wings and can carry everyone around but you
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Really happy warnings were spun around the room from gunther, no comands could teach him to get the ball.
Gunther deports people for not misinforming the public about him.
The dogs all were separated from litter. But Gunther hid his owner to pighood.
The pun ceases. this, no one enters the courts of big pounds being militarily tagged.
You knew to be a pig once ( in gunthers perspective ) but it too was curled.
Gunther needs nothing accepting advice from tailpassers. He wants a new wall replica between his Windows that really nature intenses
Manage their bones and really bring to bones the bond of flying feet
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[ WP ] Your bow does n't shoot arrows . It shoots pretty much everything EXCEPT arrows .
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Just like every morning, Sally practices at the archery range hidden away in a secluded desert canyon. Sally never misses. She always uses the same bow but this morning is different. Just like every morning, she wields her bow and adjusts the string to test its strength, but does n't know that the bow is testing her. She harps the string and plants her feet firm in the graveled sand, but as soon as she lets go, a rock jets out as she releases her bowstring. Confused, Sally pulls her string once again and another rock slams the bullseye. Still perplexed and thirsty from the desert heat, Sally takes a sip of her ice cold water. She makes her mark again and draws her bow, but this time a shard of frozen ice flies through the air. Sally now knows that whatever she touches, becomes channeled through the bow. As she concludes practice, a hungry coyote approaches the range.
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[ WP ] The little white lie that changed the course of history .
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The girl let out the breath which she had n't realized that she had been holding and leaned on the table. *Fucking hell, I should n't have to deal with this. * And really, she should n't. She was a kid; a stupid fifteen year old who had a made a simple mistake, one which had been made by countless girls over the course of human history. *No, * she thought, *I wont go down like them. I'm not the same. *
With a deep sigh and a look of determination on her face, she walks over to the thatched-roof hut which she had long been looking forward to making her home.
`` Joseph,'' she says, `` I have something very important to tell you.''
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[ WP ] Humanity has been living in numerous giant underwater city-ships for generations , each ship roaming deep in the oceans . Older generations have whispered about the dangers of the `` Above '' , but you ignore it and seek to find out the Truth .
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Ding Dong! Ding Dong! `` The time is now 12pm! Curfew is now in effect! Anyone found outside of their dormitories will be taken to Worker Rehabilitation! Enjoy your allotted 10 hours of sleep, and we will see you tomorrow for day 499 999 of your time on the SS Oceania!'' Ding Dong! Ding Dong!
`` Just think, Chloe! Almost 500 000 days ago, all of humanity boarded these huge ships, to escape the dangers of the world above, and look how we've thrived!'' Chloe's father, Jonah told her with anticipation in his eyes. `` I wonder what will happen? Will we return to the surface? Will we get a raise? Ooh, we might even get to travel between ships! Would n't that be exciting, I always wondered what the SS Shanghai or the SS United looked like!'' Chloe rolled over in her bed. Her father's hard work, and her father's father's hard work, and so on, had secured them a dormitory on the outer hull of the ship, and her bed was closest to the porthole. She like looking off into the deep blueness of the sea, ever so often a strange creature would drift by, some with long tendril-like arms, others with small wing-like appendages on the top and bottom of their bodies. It was magical, and her friends loved watching them swim past.
`` Dad, what's on the surface that everyone's so afraid of?''
`` Chloe, I've been told so many different versions, that I'm not completely sure what's up there myself. But, if everyone's so afraid of what's up there, there has to be a reason for it. Do n't worry about it - I'm sure we'll see the surface again some day, but for now, let's just take each day as it comes'' Her father said, enthusiasm leaving his voice. `` Now, I'm turning off the light, I'll see you in the morning''
`` Goodnight'' Chloe said as she rolled back over.
An hour had passed. Jonah was fast asleep. Chloe tiptoed towards the door, and slowly cracked it open. She knew where the camera was, and placed the jammer down in the hallway. She saw it go limp, and she started out down the hallway, and up the stairs towards the main decks of the ship. Heading towards the maintenance room, looking for her friends. She took a left, and then another, until she was grabbed from the side by a pair of gloved hands, and a rag slipped over her mouth. The last thing she saw when she slipped from consciousness was a masked figure with the crest of the High Captain's crew emblazoned across his jacket readjust his tie and speak quietly into his radio.
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[ WP ] Raging hormones bring forth maturity and levelheadededness to teenagers until they settle into the moodiness and impulsivity of adulthood .
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`` I'm going out. To see this sick-ass killer band YOU'VE never heard of!'' my father shouted as he trodded down the stairs.
`` Are you sure that's wise, father? Do n't you have an important meeting in the morning?'' I asked.
`` Oh my GAWD are you hearing yourself right now? He-LLO? The Stank Garden is playing? Once in a life time experience? Or is that wasted on you, kiddo?'' Father snorted.
`` Well, it's not that I'm trying to dismember your enjoyment, it's just that-''
`` Oh, I see exactly how it is, YOU HATE ME!'' Father shouts as he moves towards the door, pouting.
`` I brought you into this world, and this is the thanks I get?'' He adds.
`` I only intend for your wellbeing, father.''
`` You do n't know SHIT, kiddo. As soon as I get accepted into the navy seals I'm going to fuck your shit up, lightweight.''
`` Father, I'd expect you could already defeat me in physical combat.''
`` Hah! Look at this kid, so fucking wrecked; I just snapchatted your uncle to let him know what a pussy you are.''
`` Father-''
`` He just replied'omg lmao fuckin wrecked gtfo bitch kid'' hahahaha'' Father was struggling to open the door as he had collapsed from laughter.
`` It's just that your drinking nights have left you in worse shape than years past and-''
`` Look, if I wanted advice, I'd fuckin' google it, okay? Eat your hot pockets and do n't wait up.'' Father finally opened the door and stepped outwards.
`` Peace, bitch.'' He bellowed as he slammed the door.
As I began preparing my hot pocket, my grandfather, who had no doubt heard the entire scene unfold stepped in and grumbled, `` you know... He would respect you.''
My ears perked up.
`` If you were n't such a fag.''
I set the microwave to defrost.
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[ WP ] Charon , boatman of the river Styx , gets the last two coins he needs for what he 's been saving up for since the beginning of time .
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Charon had spent almost exactly half of his time on the ferry alone. It just seemed like much less. This trip was different. Normally his cherished solitude and relative quiet din of tide-lost souls would have paired with the dread of giving it up again, thick as the rust, dust, rot, and tanish of his vessel, would have made this a blur. He grew increasingly, overly familiar with the waves as they seemed to slow or outright stand like mountains of wet, blue paint, casting shadows and scattering fractured light to the shore. The cursed timbers cracked and creaked as Charon pushed his vessel up, over, and past each crest with the pole, warped and green with age, worn smooth and pale as his bony hands themselves where they had been locked in embrace for ages. As he reached the crescendo of a contempable wave, bereft of foam, spray or any sound but the inescapable moaning, he saw it; the Device. That cruel temptress that had tormented his millennia with hope for so long, but finally release would be *his! * Charon let the oar fall to rest in its catch as he clamored and clacked to the back of his vessel that he could grab a length of rope made of veil, vine, and that which tethers a soul to its host. After mooring the craft hastily, the boat knocking and buffeted agaist the craggy shore, a laugh as bitter as the drink tore its way past his ragged cloak. It would be today. The last one. Of course it had to be that way. It was always ever thus. Charon checked his pouch, felt an instant of panic at its emptiness, before chuckling darkly as he opened his own clenched fist in front of his eyes, as though reality itself could decide to cheat him if he did not watch. There they were. Two coins. One lovingly tarnished, the other freshly minted metal. Perfect, heavenly things.
Charon stood straight, closing his fist with a comfortable series of ratting clinks as he turns to regard... The Device. The engine of his sorrows and hope. It stood barely a meter tall, a work of stone slabs adorned with a few barnacles starved for moisture, containing a caket of glass bound in still brilliant steel. An ediface stood, as he had to travelers ad infinitum, its greedy receptical only able to accept but two coins at a time, the underpinning of his ancient contract.
With the remains of his fingers trwmbling Charon fit the coins into the slots with relish. As he grasped the turning crank, he peered through the filthy plate glass, barely able to make out the silhouette of soon to be his treasure, his prize!
His hand rotated the crank, smooth in exitment and familiarity. Pins tumbled. Clanged. Battered against one another as he turned.
Suddenly a much more delicate series of quiet, dull clacks behind the chrome window, accompanying the firm halt of the crank announced the end of hope. The end of suffering.
Opening the retrieval port, he grasped the perfect bauble and held it aloft, all sense of self evaporated in glee! The translucent red sphere, with a shadow inside! As he opened it a wave of never ending relief cascaded through his head, at LAST! the tiny figure stood in his hand, his other brushed away eons of dust, revealing an assortment of similar sized statues, he flicked off one of the surrounding barnacles, and repurposed its adhesive to secure the idols platform to the rock. Charon sat in his perfect moment, and gazed rapturously at the Gashpon figureens. Finally after so many times cheated by duplicates, so many flawed or broken pieces, it was done. Complete... and so was he.
Charon let loose a final, contented breath and spilled out with it, flowing out as his dust, in peice over the figures. Finally at rest.
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[ WP ] Rewrite the lyrics to your favorite song as if they were written in Shakespearean times .
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For money, if thine ask it, thou shalt get advice
However, for advice, twice shall you gain money
I have withdrawn from the filthy
But that man is magnificent
Thine shall call it but a moment,
I shall refer to it as life.
During the time of my light
I shall dwell within my gilded abode
However, the gates have yet to be opened
And I would love to simply, feel this moment.
EDIT ( second verse ):
Sending messages, touching the clouds above Tokyo
A far distance from the corridors
Filled to the brim with `` So'' s and `` oh, yay'' s
Forever the Dade county, throughout the day we 305
Now lady we may speak, or m' lady, we may conduct a dance
She hath read all the leatherbacks of scarlet rooms and tie-ups.
And her interest hath been mine, since her eyes have gazed upon my rouge cloth, tied around my neck.
To meet and to greet, it hath been a pleasant encounter with you, however gold settled within the hourglass
Yet the gold is in my ownership, let us set the hourglass upon its side and simply, enjoy this moment.
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[ WP ] What if HL3 was comfirmed ?
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The year was 2015 Valve-time, 2549 if you were still using the Gregorian calendar.
My breath was labored, even under the heavy life-support automation of my Cybershell. The sacrifices to extend my life this long have been great and tortuous. I was thankful that playing the game would no longer require the ability to use my hands or sit upright. My eyelids creaked as they blinked before the Steam login page.
I cautiously typed in my password, I must n't excite myself too much. Steady breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The doctors told me to beware of my heart fibrillation, I could almost feel it creeping back.
My emotions under control I paid my 60 Steam bucks, now the world reserve currency, to buy the game. I waited with baited breath as the game downloaded. Finally, I would get my satisfaction. All these tortured years would not be in vain.
All was well, or so I thought, as I had failed to prepare my tired heart for the revelation that stopped it. Pre-order exclusive TF2 hats.
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[ WP ] Your favorite/most memorable/most recent dream that you 've had
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It all started as I along with my friends took the first steps from the wharf over to the boat. The water below me is churning and there's a salt taste in the air, an air which makes any unprotected surface of the boat beautifully rusted. Seaguls are screaming above me as I let my gaze sweep over the boat. I can see the captains hut made out of wood in front of me. I take some joyful steps over the oak planks to the stairs and quickly climb up. To the left of me is a door which leads to the captains hut, I choose the right one instead. I'm marveling over all the books that are crowding the walls.
- Here's the map over the sea we will soon be first to explore, the captain says, and picks out a book with red binder.
The captain's a real seabear with a black beard worn by the harsh seas. His Mackintosh was once lush green but is now more grey. The library I'm standing in is brightly colorful, all the backs of the books showing off as best as they can. On the other side of the library is another exit, curiously I want to explore more of this ship and so I take a few steps across the room and find myself looking over a street. It is now gloomy outside and the streetlights are casting its light upon a group of soldiers in dark green jackets marching in haste away, off into the darkness to then once again appear under the next streetlight. Another group meets them, marching with arms perfectly synced, in opposite direction. The group comes up infront of me, march around the grass-rimmed flagpole and heads back the way they come from.
As they dissappear in the darkness I jump down the couple of stairs and start to jog after them. To the right of me are tall white buildings with empty reflecting windows. I walk up to the second house and open the door. No ones home. I wander around inside of it and look at what appears to be the home for some family. A framed picture, white walls everywhere, and some funiture in the livingroom. The living room has huge windows spanning from floor to ceiling. From there you can see a lush garden surrounded by other tall white buildings. The sun is shining down from a deep blue sky and I get a feeling of loneliness as I look at the pond in the middle of the garden, and I wonder where my friends went. The pond is light blue and feels weirdly natural, although I recall am on a ship. I open one of the windows that has a handle on it and slide it to the left. As I look up, an asian woman is standing curled over a child and looks baffled at me. I suddenly feel as I'm in a rush and start to run across the garden in hope to reach the otherside. Through the open door, into the kitchen, a white painted hall flashes by and I feel like I'm the prey. I need to go faster. All of a sudden I'm running on all of my four limbs and it goes real fast. I'm jumping over a bricked white wall, bushes on the other side pass right under me. In the middle of the sprawl my sight is pulled out and the ship with all the black streets surrounding white tall buildings decrease in size and so clouds are hindering my sight and I suddenly wake up.
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[ WP ] earth gets a passive aggressive letter from the rest of the universe ...
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Hello Denizens of Plorean PZ945, otherwise known to yourselves as Earth,
Seeing as how this is our first communication with each other, please excuse us for our neglect and, therefore, ignorant understanding of your primitive language. English seemed to be the one y'all like or something like that.
Also, welcome! We understand that you may not understand your place in the universe so we're going to help. We love the idea that you guys are very concerned about home improvement as they say but the neighborhood wanted to get you up to speed. See, the thing is, y'all have been kind of dilly dallying when it comes to interstellar space travel and communication. Your lack thereof the ability or comprehension is costing our `` real estate'' and property values to decline. The multiverse is beginning to believe that we are n't a close knit neighborhood and, well, we are but there's only so much we can do! We had tried many a time to contact y'all by leaving signs in your crops but all you do is gawk. Standing there wide-eyed and taking pictures when we wanted you to use your 1st level intelligence capable brains. The dolphins have already caught on! How can you believe you're the most intelligent?! You can barely visit your own moon!
We would also like you to clean up the ring of debris that has been encircling your planet. We understand that your eyes are not capable of witnessing every spectrum of light but please please please please do clean up once in a while. At least for your own sakes. Your planet is starting to look as bad as Venus. So gassy... so gassy.
Your loving neighbors,
The Denizens of the so-called `` Universe''
P.S. Venus is the not the planet of love. It's a dump. Trash-lovers.
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[ WP ] Write the longest fantasy story you can without using the same word twice .
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A man sits in a dirty hovel. Before him, the fortune teller squats.
She scratches signs in dirt, runs her fingers through frog entrails and picks at tea leaves lining the bottom of a rough-hewn cup.
“ What do you see, ” he asks after a long silence.
A smile.
“ A forest, boy, one far from here. Dark woods, heavy with shadow and fear. A sword in the darkness, gleaming bright. A girl-child, screaming, and deepening night. ”
The crone leans back. Grey, matted hair falls in front of milky eyes, and she exhales, radiating the sick, sweet smell of rotting flesh.
Her visitor comes forward on his haunches. “ Tell me more. ” His thick golden locks shine in the meager firelight.
“ Silver, ” a creaking voice answers. A palm, caked with filth and cracked like leather, extends upward.
The clink of coins from a satchel at his armored waist, and the hand returns, now burdened.
“ Westward, toward the land under the setting of the sun, lies a realm to which no living lord or lady has laid claim. That is where your journey starts, and once it has begun, no end to it will you e ’ er know, just as none will learn your name. Deeds great and worthy shall be done to rescue that poor girl, but Death is a jealous keeper and does not release his grip. Within his fest ’ ring forest shall be found this hunted Pearl, but in exchange for taking it, of his Chalice you will sip. ”
A pause.
“ My life for hers? ” A troubled cloud passes across the knight ’ s brow.
“ A bargain, ” replies the witch. Another toothless grin, and saliva drips out of her emaciated maw.
His expression settles, now resolute. “ How can this forsaken place be reached? ”
Winglike her arm extends, grasping a tiny bottle between thumb and forefinger. “ A draught. Ride west to the sea, and drink deep. The magics will show the path. ”
He clasps the miniscule container inside his massive fist. Stepping out the door, he halts.
“ If you mislead me, wench, ” and the hearthfire flickers in his dark gaze, “ I shall return. ”
The clink of metal as he strides through the threshold, the poison firmly in his grasp. The beating of horse hooves upon her shady, wooded trail. Nothing.
Suddenly, a whimper.
The hag picks another flask off a dusty shelf and slowly proceeds back into the recesses of her hovel. Before her lies a maiden, thirteen or so, with fair gold locks that shimmer in the fire ’ s radiance.
She stirs again.
“ Shh, child, ” and in a moment the liquid is at the maid ’ s lips. She drinks, despite herself.
When she finishes, she lies back. “ I heard someone, ” she mutters.
“ A poor fool, seeking his fortune. ”
Already she was drifting back to the world of dream. “ He sounded very like my father, ” she whispers, and then she sleeps once more. The wizened sorceress shuffles back to her work, and a fleeting, cackling laugh sounds from her mouth.
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[ WP ] Write a story about superheroes set in the medieval era .
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She spat blood from her mouth.
The sight of the crowd was dulled by her nausea, a throbbing desire to retch clawing her insides. What she could see through her swollen eyes was dark, splotches of muck and filth on her bound hands and down the bridge of her nose, now crooked and swelling. Her matted hair obscured one eye entirely, the other now peered into the crowd, who watched her in return.
She had expected more bloodlust. Once she accepted this was happening, that the verdict would be carried out, then her mind had flooded with premonitions of their faces. Those faces were full of spittle and anger and frustration at their meager existence. Those frustrations now finding an outlet in her crimes. She had known that they would despise her, raise their voices into piercing screams of `` witch!'' as they gleefully dragged her to the pyre. But today there was no joy, just the two guards who dutifully pulled her through the masses into the commons, and the crowd itself, which was cold, patient, and frankly indifferent.
Her bleeding abated as minutes passed.
She limply rested against the pole. The sky was blue, its crisp, calm air belied spring. A stray dog stirred as the entrance to the tower swung open. The crowd first flinched at the metallic click of the lock and then scampered back from the creak of its outward procession. Out from the darkness strode the trio of forms they had all waited for.
The priest spoke first, `` You were instructed to gag her.''
The statement was not yelled, but it was harsh, it was an imperative. One guard fumbled about, looking for cloth or cord, but found no instrument which met his needs. The other stood, ponderous, slow to react. One of the priest's partners swatted them aside, climbing beside her, shoving a wad of fabric between her teeth. She did gag, and then vomited, and it filled her mouth, found no outlet, and rushed out of her nose. Tears filled her eyes, fogging her vision as the last of the trio confronted her.
His voice was known, `` We must do battle. With enemies at our doorstep, on the eave of our domain, we must fight.''
It was her accuser, her lord, who had pled with her so recently for her aid. He had presented himself then with bent knee, humbly begging, and he had offered nothing but honor. But that voice had changed after their victory, upon the arrival of his masters, `` But do not forget, for I have not forgotten, that our enemies are not only at our door. No! They are within as well. They wait at night, biding their time.''
As his voice rose the crowd stirred. Always a man of bold speeches, he needed to rouse no troops today. Today he needed only to stoke the flames of fear.
`` Today is a test we all face, together, as servants of God,'' the words accompanied a gesture to the priest. `` Whose words, words come from the highest of his order, words that bear no disagreement.''
The priest moved away from the trio, drawing the crowd's attention with him. He was tall, clean, and had a precision to his gait and his attire.
`` I have offered confession and penance,'' these words were rehearsed, suggesting a dire frequency of practice. He worked through his speech, walking near his audience, but he did not mingle. As he spoke he gestured toward her, but never looked her way. She was on display for them, she was a theological lesson in corpore, not worthy of his gaze. `` We have offered a chance at redemption, but we will offer no more. Proceed.''
The guard stepped forward, now carrying the lit torch, hesitant. He looked to the priest and marshal for guidance, and then to the crowd. Finally, the simple man turned, back to the pyre, and gestured the torched toward the base. And their lord, who gazed at her with familiar eyes, nodded approval.
The smoke came first, just as her vision had cleared, and those thin, gray tendrils curled between her cracked nails and abused fingers. The flames were slow to find purchase and the audience grew restless. Finally, the heat climbed and the blaze followed. She tried to scream, first in fear, then in growing rage. It was inarticulate, born of pain and shame, emerging from a lifetime of isolation. She shook, her head shaking in spasms, body jerking in a frenetic dance, and the gag flew free. The crowd had eased back, unnerved by this new reality, but their troubled faces now cowered as she began to scream.
That fear was mirrored on the lord's face and that of his marshal, who had seen this act so recently. The priest's visage, however, turned to hatred as he strode toward the fire with his book clutched high. But as he opened his mouth to speak the flames vanished, rushing inward, and she tumbled from the heap, clutching her now charred restraints.
Their eyes met and held, his searching for dominion and finding none. He retreated back a step. She stretched her hands before her, obscuring their forms, and screamed again. With this second sound the flames burst forth, crossing the distancing between her palms and his book, engulfing him. The inferno continued around him and beyond, consuming the marshal and their lord. The searing heat was there but a few seconds and then gone.
She collapsed to her knees, a wild fear in her eyes, shaking before the piles of ash. She convulsed, first sobbing without sound and then let out a choked cry. With that noise the crowd broke and fled, animals pursued in the hunt.
She rose and cast off her bonds. Her stride became purposeful, over the ashes, through the town and then out. The sun was high in the sky as she vanished into the woods.
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[ WP ] The technology exists for next of kin to have their loved ones ressurrected young , healthy , and with all their memories intact . But nobody ever does .
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``... this cryogenically tube is needed to preserve the body, as long as there is a bit of warmth, reside within the body.''
`` What you mean by the'warmth'?''
`` The soul, in layman's. Ladies and gentlemen, we succeed to overcome death.''
It's past 7 o'clock in ValPharmaTech, where visitors, staffs, even committee members left their offices to return home. Up at the desk, there is a recording playing some sort of news conference, as one of the chairman instate the new technology, further evolving the humanity. In the mess of the table, a set of diligent fingers writing a report, containing several points needed to be disclosed due this day.
`` This is too long...... how I'm suppose to wrap this up before ten? I'm afraid I had to crash Kyle's house this night. He going to drunk again. Damn it. Why he still ca n't pickup a girl right now? I'm too tired to entertain his sober.''
Thinking catching the last train, he increases his typing pace.
*65 minutes later*
Now it's 10.27pm. While looking the clock, a speck of tiredness and despair overwhelms him.
`` No train, I guess. Sleep at the couch for this night...''
`` Huh? You still there?''
A person approaches him. Male, sturdy build, in 50's, and a bit of white skin and thick, well groomed beard, although his hair declines.
`` Uncle Ben. Looks like your shift right now? How's going?''
`` Hell like usual day, son. Guarding this place gives me some sort of creep, you know.''
`` At least you still can shoot a zombie with a shotgun in here.''
`` It's American dream. Yours?'' Ben chuckles as my retort give him a good jolt of humor.
`` Me? As long as I can fiddle with several bodies is enough. But, I ca n't help but thinking whether it is right or wrong.''
`` How about we take a walk? At least I can do my work and you can sleep at guard's quarter this night.''
`` One of best offer I can grab now. Very well. I shall accompany you then.''
We take a walk through the building as the night passes this never sleep city. At one point, we reaches a section labelled as R & R Dept. Reside in there, there is a lab for what I had been writing all those words and numericals, along with more biology. To be precise, it's a resurrection lab. A new technology dubbed as'death inhibitor', or it seems.
`` How irony it is.''
`` Yes, uncle?''
`` Everyone in any centuries sought immortality, nevertheless able to resurrect dead people. When this came in front of them, they resist. Hate us, you and me, working on this technology.''
`` You seem able to read my mind, Ben. That's I had been boggling my mind in these past few weeks.''
`` Can you tell me what inside there, son?''
`` I did n't know the details, but apparently they took a fresh, dead people from mortuary to resurrect it. Often with a consent of dearest one.''
`` Dearest one, huh.....for me, my wife passed away long time ago. Long before I come to this company.''
`` What happened?''
`` There's a robbery happen while I was in service in Deep Europe. Away from the home, I was notified after a mission, a call from her family.''
`` You do n't need to further the story, Ben. I think I can imagine how its goes. I'm so sorry.''
`` Thanks, son. What you did think about this particular'research' inside there?''
`` Well, I'll keep it short. Basically, you need to have a fresh body with its brain intact, in order to revive the body with its own memory. Currently they still want to find the possibility to total recreation of body, from a single DNA strand.''
`` How this will benefits us?''
`` As a person whom lost their loved ones, they can ensure the resurrection who you wanted most, with side beneficial to military.''
`` Combat experiences and tactical intelligences? You sure have a long night thinking of this, son.''
`` Thanks for that, I have n't sleep well for two days. I'm sorry if this offend you, but from your story, I want to ask you, if you given a chance, would you resurrect her? I mean, your wife.''
`` My wife....I do long her gentle touch so much since her passing. I admit there's a wish, a hope I want to hold it dear, that I want to reunite back with my wife. Like you said before, anyone who lost their dearest one want it back from their Creator.''
``..so....''
`` But no. I ca n't. As long as I loved her to death, I still ca n't have she resurrected. Somehow, I felt scared. Felling that it is different people. This, severance, in love gives me one hell of memory. My despair. My anguish. My turning point in life. If she were wake up as she wo n't supposed to, I could felt it is....not she. It is no longer she, but a thing. I suppose death is needed to keep everything in place.''
`` You sound like you will put a bullet in her head if its happen.''
`` Yes it is. Looks like I had to keep moving foward from this point. Here's the key. Afterwards, take left in this junction and head straight. You will see guard's quarter sign on the way. Thanks for keeping me entertained by the way.''
`` Thanks, Uncle Ben. May the night calms you.''
`` What it is? Some sort of cult plagiarize the Star Wars? Later, son.''
Ben keeps on forward as I take the left junction. With the keys in my hand, I move my pretty sluggish body, working today towards the destination. See what I sought, guard's quarter sign, I slowly open the door, closed it and resting on a large couch provided by the company.
`` This one is better.''
Taking out a wallet in hind pocket of the pants, he put out a picture. A small, with a bit of color degradation, there is a teenage girl, smiling with a man, behind her, with a landscape of amusement park as a background.
`` If I resurrect you, can I save you this time?''
A drop of tear flows down through his cheek.
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[ CW ] Write a story from the point of view of a prisoner in solitary confinement .
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It was n't dark, and the one flat light that illuminated the room would flicker from time to time. I imagine it flickered in correlation with another prisoner's door being slammed shut, or perhaps a train that was passing by. The painted white cement walls took the soul out of the room. The white absorbed thought to the point that I had learned to never open my eyes to the barren walls. This alone would be disorienting enough and I could n't say how long I've been in here. I remember before though. The prison itself, my cell mate, Jean, who like I was locked up as an innocent. He was probably long gone to a new prison or perhaps free. He had 5 years, I have 7, and got thrown in to solitary 2 years in for slamming a guards face into the cell door. Still makes me smile. They have n't taken that. The sense of justice. I always did what I had to.
In this cell was no different. I'll get out one day. For now the small exercises I can do in here keep me fit, and writing in my head keeps me sane. I sometimes imagine my girl in the other corner making eyes at me. She paints the walls all sorts of colors. Her names Charlene. She's a bitch. I write her poems.
`` White wall flavor,
Blue eyed savior,
Red lipped misbehavior,
Oh baby, you're my grave digger''
I'll get out of here one day.
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[ WP ] A girl falls in love with someone on a subway . What she does n't realize is that person is riding the subway for the last time .
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Friday. Night. The tube. It is definitely one of the most interesting places, in which you can find yourself. The compartment is nearly empty. With exception of a girl. And a boy. Oh boy, and doesn ’ t it sound like a redundant, verbose love story already? During one of the long strings of thoughts and daydreaming, she looks straight at him. She catches his sight. Her heart starts to heavily pound. And as usual in such a story, she thoughtlessly decides to talk to him.
His blue eyes, which fully complement his darker skin, try to pierce her soul, as he tries to understand how such an angelic creature could have been created by God. And how merciless he is. His palms start to sweat, as he doesn ’ t know what to do. Sound of her footsteps is echoing through the train, as his thoughts rush through his mind. Because really, every boy in such a situation freaks out. What does she want? Will I make a good first impression?
She slowly approaches him. At his face, she sees a glimpse of … remorse? Fear? Empathy? Suddenly her mind catches up with her legs. Maybe it wasn ’ t such an great idea, girl?
The boy stands up.
The girl stops. Two steps back.
He shouts something.
She hears.
“ Allahu akbar ”
It was his last ride on a tube.
PS: Gon na check the spelling in a few hours.
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[ TT ] You were always able to achieve anything you set your mind to , an ability you took for granted , until a first-aid training course where you accidentally resuscitate a CPR dummy .
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There are some things, no matter how much you wish it weren ’ t the case, that you simply can not do. You can not make someone love you. You can not avoid death.
And you can not resuscitate a CPR training dummy.
But Anthony Wong can.
And Anthony Wong did.
This was not his intention. He was only trying to learn how to save lives, not create them. But as he lifted his lips off the lifeless plastic body, he and all the other lifeguard trainees saw it start to wheeze.
“ God damnit, ” he muttered when he realized what he had done. “ Not this shit again. ”
The reactions of the others in the room were a lot less calm. The general gist of it was this:
“ AAAHHH! ”
As everyone was busy screaming from the shock of watching their conception of reality break in front of their very eyes, the dummy tried to get up off the desk, but it couldn ’ t, because it had no limbs. This made sense, since the only parts of the body that a CPR training dummy really needs are the head and the chest. But it made things a lot harder for this legless, armless Frankenstein ’ s monster.
Then the dummy spoke.
“ Please, ” it said, “ Can someone help me up? ”
But instead of a response, all it got was an adrenaline-filled lifeguard instructor rushing to grab it and strangle it to death.
“ Stop! ” said Anthony, pulling away the instructor ’ s hands. “ Stop. And calm down, everyone! I can explain what ’ s going on. ”
“ Well tell us, then! ” said Amy, one of the trainees.
“ Okay... how do I explain this? ” He scratched his chin for a few seconds. “ I... can do anything. You know, like... *anything*. Even things that aren ’ t possible. As long as I, like, put my mind to it. Or something. I don ’ t know. I don ’ t know if it ’ s magic, or a superpower, or God, or whatever, but... well, yeah. Basically I can do whatever I really want to do. ”
There was a momentary silence.
“ Bullshit, ” someone finally said. “ That ’ s bullshit. ”
“ Motherfucker, you just watched a CPR dummy- ”
“ I have a name, you know! ”
Anthony turned around. “ What? ”
“ A name. It ’ s Ted. Not ‘ CPR dummy ’. ”
“ Okay, fine, Ted, whatever. ”
“ You know, you should be more respectful if you wan na get into these pants. Now, can someone PLEASE help me up? ”
Ted was not wearing pants.
But that was not what concerned the other trainees.
“ Wait a minute, ” said Amy. “ Is... is that why you brought it back to life? ‘ Cause you wanted to fuck it? ”
“ What? No! I- ”
“ I mean, you said it yourself. You can do whatever, but you have to really *want* to. So for some reason you really wanted to bring that dummy to life. And that reason was… ”
And that ’ s how everyone found out that Anthony Wong was a sexual deviant.
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[ WP ] You are heir to the throne , prince ( ss ) of a medium sized nation of this world . Your parents died too early , and everyone is ready to exploit your inexperience , your enemies are ready to tear the kingdom apart , your advisors ready to use you as a puppet . It 's time to establish dominance .
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*My parents are dead, a tragic accident a month ago involving the royal carriage and some fire arrows, supposedly loosed by archers of the neighboring nation of Almedia. I suspect one of my advisors, but it's impossible to point the finger without more evidence. I have had my agents out searching for this evidence, to no avail. Our meetings, now that the funerals are over, consist of shouting matches between the five of them, with me sitting awkwardly to the side, crown not quite fitting my head yet. I project an inexperienced, young, and uncertain mind. But it is a farce. My parents, since my birth, have prepared me for this eventuality. What I need now is strength, to show everyone that the kingdom is under control. *
A knock on my door shakes me out of my thoughts. `` Yes?''
`` Your highness, a message. And, it's time for your daily meeting with your advisors,'' my best friend since childhood and now my aide, John. He hands me a small envelope with a wax stamp on it. The one I'd given to my spies.
`` Thank you, I shall be there shortly.'' I read the message, and then throw it into the fireplace in my room. I watch it smolder and burn and then turn to ash. My parents' lessons have been well learned. I smile.
-- -- -- -- -
`` We must attack! This blatant disregard for our nonaggression pact, as well as common decency, absolutely can not go unpunished!'' My most senior advisor, Alfred, is red in the face. He looks sincere. I know now that he is not.
`` My friends, we have been at this for an hour, shall we break for a few moments to collect ourselves and get some fresh air?'' I say, looking at each of their faces in turn.
Alfred sits at the head of the table, where I should be, while I am in a chair behind him and to his left. On the left side of the table are Hans and Greta, on the right are William and Robert. There is an empty chair opposite him, where he should be sitting. It is a much smaller chair.
*The five of them have been in their positions for many years, and have advised my parents on a great many issues. There is an almost unanimous decision to go to war with our neighboring country of Almedia. They have been marching their army on our southern borders and doing drills within sight of our watchtowers for a week. Their threats are hollow. I do not fear them. Our eastern neighbor, Culeria, however, is a threat. A threat that I respect, and a threat that I mean to blunt before it can do any damage to us. And I will, after the threat inside our borders is eliminated. *
The rest of them nod, and we depart the room. I find the nearest sentry and tell him to summon the entire Royal Guard to the meeting room. It's time to make a statement.
I take a deep breath and calmly walk back to my seat in the meeting room. I wait for the advisors to file back into the room and sit down. Alfred stands up, pounds his fist on the table, and is about to go back to beating his war drums but I interrupt.
`` Alfred, if I may, can I address our most venerated council?'' I inquire politely.
`` Of course, your highness. Your voice is always welcome here.'' He walks to his right and ushers me forward.
I slowly push his chair backward and out of my way. The Royal Guard push the door open in the back of the chamber and file in on the sides of the room, their faces are like stone. I can almost feel them bristling. I can hear their hands shaking as they hold the pommels of their swords in their scabbards.
Treason is completely unpalatable to them. As it should be.
I exhale and pull the ceremonial dagger from is sheath on my hip and hold it up for all of them to see. `` You all know what this is, yes?''
Alfred, ever the faithful servant, is the first to answer. `` We would be poor advisors if we did n't recognize the dagger that won the war, my leige. Your father buried that blade into the chest of the last real tyrant and fostered peace between the three countries of our land. New Loston would not exist but for that blade.''
`` Correct. It has been unbloodied for the twenty years since he won that war.'' I walk around Alfred, and stop behind Hans. I look at the rear of the chamber again, and John walks in, closing the door behind him. He nods to me.
`` Hans, you are guilty of treason. You paid the sellswords who wore the uniforms of Almedia and fired the arrows at my parent's carriage. Of this there is no question.'' I put the dagger to his fat throat.
`` Your highness, this is ridiculous! I loved your parents just as much as you --'' I use my free hand to pull his hair back and slide my other hand and crimson spills down the front of him, staining him worse than the wine did at the wake for my parents.
`` Let us make this perfectly clear. No one loved my parents more than I did.'' The rest of them stand and gape in awe. A fifteen-year-old monarch is not capable of this, surely? They are wrong. Dead wrong. `` Be seated. I am not done speaking yet.'' The Royal Guard pull their swords and close in, making sure that the accused know that there is no escape.
I take a few steps and stop behind Greta. `` Greta, you are guilty of treason. You helped smuggle the sellswords out of the country after the murders.'' She stutters a few times, but never gets a word out. I take the blade and slash her neck deeper than I did Hans. Blood pours and smears her white dress.
I walk quickly now, stopping behind William. `` William, you are guilty of treason. You changed the sentry schedules and allowed the sellswords free reign to attack my parents along their route.''
`` My leige, you know that I am loyal, I would never do something like this! It must have been one of my aides, I will -- ulk!'' I withdraw the dagger from his chest and pause.
`` Nobody that works for you breathes without direct orders from you.'' I lean in to whisper in his ear. `` And I saw your signature on the sentry orders for that day. It was YOU.'' I pull back and stab again and again, feeling the chair rock against me each time. Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth and I pull the dagger free one last time. I step behind Robert now, my pulse is at a fever pitch. The dagger drips blood, my hands are stained.
`` Robert, you are guilty of treason. You locked and barred the door on my parent's carriage, making sure that they could not escape.''
`` I-I-I... They made me do it! I did n't want to! Please, you must believe me!'' he cries, unaware of just how committed I am. Why, you could say I'm just as committed to my justice as they were to their treason. I spin his chair around so that he can face me, and I plunge the dagger directly into his face. I can see Alfred staring at me from his chair at the head of the table. The look of satisfaction on my face is unstoppable.
I walk up behind his chair, and stop. `` Alfred, dear Alfred. You are guilty of attempting to usurp the throne of New Loston from its rightful rulers and take it for your own. Your aides have been killed. All that threw in with your conspiracy are dead as of this morning.'' I lean in to whisper in his ear. `` And you are guilty of pederasty. With your son.'' And suddenly John is next to him. I hand John the dagger and nod once, slowly.
I can barely see his hand as he stabs the first time, and not until he stops do I see it again. The council is dead, and their treasonous ways with them.
`` My queen, what is our next move?'' John asks. He starts to wipe the dagger clean on his breeches, but I stop him.
I slide it into the sheath at my hip and reach out to hold his hand. `` Whatever we want it to be, my love.'' My future king and I walk out of the room, the Royal Guard already sending for the cleaners.
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[ EU ] A comic book geek from our world winds up in the DC Universe . He or she immediately sets out to use their knowledge to become the most powerful supervillain in the world .
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Batman was surprisingly easy. Show up innocent-looking with a hard-luck story of amnesia and that poor old sod of a butler just me in. Did n't even try for the Batcave, just let that sob-story work on Wayne for several weeks, enough for his thorough and illegally-deep background checks to find absolutely nothing at all. Ol' Bats needed another Batgirl so it was natural that the damsel-in-distress should be his new white-knight, or should I say black-knight, mission. I guess Gotham does n't really have a good grasp of birth certificates or other vital records either, it was easy to be Wayne's heir with that forged will after he died when Albert suffered his, `` heart attack'' and crashed the Rolls into the back of a bus. The injuries as the rear-facing middle-row passenger sucked but better than being thrown through a partially-open glass partition from the rear row into the front passenger's seat. No one questioned the death of an old man either, so they never found the air in his arteries. As for Wayne, well, an antique Rolls Royce with non-tempered glass works wonders on a man without superpowers when he's not wearing body armor.
Of course the other heroes came to pay their respects. The Justice League had been infighting again so they came individually. Despite the secrecy they all knew that Batman had a Batgirl again, and some even knew the alias I'd adopted on arriving here. Regardless they came, and I let them come and go as I received each and every one of them in the Batcave. This was a calculated choice. Batman was well known to have developed dossiers on everyone powerful, even this friends. I'd already reviewed most of the files but there's something to be said for watching someone when they're not entirely comfortable. Eyes tend to dart around and look into specific places, and body position reflects perceived risk.
Jordan came by first, or Hal as he seemed to want me to call him. Imagines himself a player, good for him. Shame he does n't know what the game really is. He has no idea how easily he's manipulated when he thinks he's showing off for a girl. Just dinner, drinks, and dancing out at the Hotel Belle Monico for now, let him think he's consoling me and working on me at the same time. Let him get just handy enough to be useful and to know what he'll take off the ring for.
Took a hardline approach with Grayson. I did n't want someone muscling-in on my turf and Nighwing nee Robin seemed the kind of guy that might feel entitled. Plus he knew Wayne Manor, the Batcave, and everything else that Batman had built far too well, if he caught wind of what was going on I'd be done-for. Lucky for me when Bruce had the Batcave built his compartmentalization of trades and contractors made for some strange systems, it was easy to fake a malfunction and let Dick wind his way down among the hidden infrastructure, to put a.22 caliber bullet bouncing around inside his skull. Did n't even make for much of a mess to clean up and the garbage incinerator worked flawlessly, if the bullet did n't actually kill him the flames took care of it.
Princess Di. If she only knew the fate of another with that address. Hal's appearance beforehand proved useful; strong and confident as she is, even she'd felt a bit of the brunt of Jordan's borderline sexual harrasment. Sisters, let's open a bottle from poor departed Bruce's excellent cellar and bitch about the guys and Hal in particular. Bond a bit, win her over and get some time in to observe her more.
Kent was an easy mark, the paladin could n't have told me more plainly where he thought Wayne hid the kryptonite ring if he'd pointed and said, `` he keeps it in that locker!'' than his eyes said as he kept returning to the spot. Let him go without a word on the matter too. No reason to try to take out the Man of Steel now, let him think I do n't know anything and need his guidance. Paladins love that. He'll be back.
Wayne's files proved useful for Allen too. After our cry-and-console we went up into the manor for a nice dinner. Went all-out, sherry aperitif, Caesar salad, roast chicken with asparagus and a healthy helping of roasted potatoes with a nice Riesling, some tart cherry pastries with with a nice Moscato. As I excused myself for the ladies' room Barry was delighted that I'd seen to such an incredible meal for him and his enhanced metabolic rate. I hope he ws telling the truth how much he liked it, given it was his last. Barry did n't realize that Bruce's dining room was fortified not only to keep enemies out, but to keep enemies in as well, and without alerting anyone on the outside that they were ever there. Two weeks later and a bit of lysol and a good wet/dry vac and no one short of a foresnics team could figure out what happened.
Hal came by again and almost disturbed the process with Barry; Batman's paranoia and Jordan's libido saved the day. Turns out that the big strong man likes a side of female dominance with his carnality. Interesting.
It was almost comically easy to defeat Superman. One of Wayne Enterprises' legitimate operations was artificial satellite manufacture and launch, and as Bruce's heir I had the run of the place. Fortunate for me their newest satellie design was to satisfy Batman's purposes in addition to its official weather-mapping function, and as Bruce did n't mind a little collateral damage, the laser that threatened to `` malfunction'' made for a great setup. Clark, paladin as ever, paid special attention when we went over the schematics for how to disable the laser. Just open the maintenance hatch in the vacuum of space, float inside, turn away from the axis at the second junction, open the side of the control, reach in and find the lever that feels like a brass knuckles, grab, twist, and pull. Then close the lid, back-out to the main access corridor, out of the satellite, and close the hatch. Shame he did n't realise that the brass knuckles contained the kryptonite ring and the cover would clamp down on any arm inserted once the fingers were inside of the brass knuckles, and the outer hatch would close off at the same time.
Hal came back yet again. Playing *Basic Instinct* once he removed his ring and got tied to the bedposts was messier than I thought it would be. I do n't think that Bruce's bedroom is going to be usable any time soon, the carpeting, drapes, and mattress will all have to go. Shame to defile such a nice physique like that, oh well.
Called Wonderwoman, crying about `` what happened'' with Jordan. Was n't hard to get her over, and to go through several bottles of Bruce's best Gewürztraminer over a long bender. Got Di drinking straight from the bottle even. Shame she did n't realize how much arsenic was stirred into those four bottles. Almost did n't get her down to the incinerator, she put up quite the struggle for someone that had enough poison in her to kill a herd of elephants, but still managed to get the hatch shut.
Planning mop-up operations on the rest of the `` heroes'' will take awhile. Bruce's files are extensive, but the less he worked with someone the smaller the dossier. Got ta figure out what to do when John Jones shows up too, that's going to be a bit dicey given his particular physiology and outlook. We'll just have to see...
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[ EU ] The year is 2187 . The Headmaster at Hogwarts is holding a meeting to discuss the new problem that the wizarding world is facing : Muggleborns are declining their invitations to Hogwarts because technology is now far superior to magic .
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! Mc ’ Donald ’ s evening had begun to settle into its usual routine when a very unusual thing happened. He had a visitor.
Most people didn ’ t leave the rooms they were born in, let alone interact with one another outside of virtual reality. But there it was – an insistent, and unmistakable, knock at the door.
The novelty had already begun to wear off by the time he answered it.
“ # Ellowotchadoferyam8? ” he asked politely.
The man, who his neural net tagged as a Mr. Lawn Weasegood, evidently had no clue what he ’ d just heard by the way his mouth was working. He seemed shockingly old; he had a long white beard thrown raffishly over one shoulder and clever eyes set in a crag-like face.! himself was 120, though he didn ’ t look or feel much over 40 ( thanks much in part to the topical nanobot enemas he ’ d taken since boyhood ). He carried a stick under the crook of one arm and a leather briefcase.
Must be a tourist, he thought.
“ 01101000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 00111111? ”, he asked. He spoke Binary almost as well as a digital native. Weasegood practically jumped out of his skin at the sound, which wasn ’ t at all unlike a dial-up modem.
“ Oh, sorry, is Broadcast English okay? ’, he asked, his speech now perfectly inflectionless “ You must not be from around here. ”
“ Where? Brixton? ”
“ Atlantic Seaboard. ”
He shook his head, clearly confused, “ I ’ m Lawn Weasegood, Hogwarts Headmaster. May I have a moment of your time Mr. Mc ’ Donald ”
“ No need to be so formal, Lawn. Please, call me! ”
“!? ”
“ No, sorry, it ’ s pronounced ‘! ’. ”
“ May I please come inside? ”
“ Yes, absolutely. Please step into the air-lock. ”
! gestured towards what Lawn Weasegood had taken for a coatroom. It depressurized, then flooded with anti-bacterial mist, burning his mucus membranes like Agent Orange. Once he ’ d been deloused a robotic arm removed his clothing and broom, tossed it in an incinerator, and offered him a white germ-suit. For whatever reason it had spared his briefcase. Feeling thoroughly violated he entered! ’ s living space.
It was a “ charming ” little cube-estate in Brixton, one of London ’ s more fashionable neighborhoods. The interior was unfurnished bare metal and no doubt in whatever VR fantasy! inhabited could have been anything ( a tasteless mansion, an Alpine meadow, the Guitar Forges of Aldebaran ).
“ I take it our owls must have missed you? We ’ ve sent mail. ”
“ Owls? ‘ fraid not love, there ’ s a death-ray on the roof. The estate council leaves it on from six-to-eight. Something about property values. Tea? ” he asked politely, slapping a caffeine patch over his jugular vein. Weasegood shook his head.
“ Erm, no thanks, I ’ m fine. ”
“ Please have a seat. ” He gestured towards a patch of empty space.! himself squatted in what presumably was a very comfortable chair. Lawn slumped against the wall, afraid he wouldn ’ t be able to get back up again if he sat down in the awkward germ suit.
“ Well I suppose I should just cut to the chase then. You see,!... you ’ re a wizard. ”
He waited for that to sink in.
“ Well, that ’ s pretty cool I guess. ”
For a moment Weasegood was disarmed.
“ I mean you can do magic. Surely as a child you must have noticed you had unusual abilities. ”
“ Not really. ”
“ Really? Nothing out of the ordinary? I have a dossier provided by the Ministry of Magic. ” He rifled around in his suitcase, producing a thick book bound in freckled house elf skin.
“ What ’ s that? Like the thought police? ”! asked, nonchalantly slapping on another tea patch.
“ Pretty much exactly like that, yes. It says here at age 11 you levitated a pensioner off the sidewalk. ”
“ Oh, well wow that was a long time ago! And they ’ d just come out with those new anti-gravity machines. Really those things were everywhere. Couldn ’ t leave your flat without actually not setting foot on the ground ”
“ How about age 13? We have a report of a sub-aural Engorgio encantation on…erm, yourself. ”
! blushed, “ Ha, oh that ’ s embarrassing. That must ’ ve been during the sterility plague? 2090-2098? Bad years, those. Everyone my age got mandatory hormone treatments and virility meds – almost crashed Northern Europe ’ s neuronet! Talk about the Greatest Last Generation! ”
“ Age 9 – singed a piece of toast with your mind. Age 10 - turned your own skin inside-out and then back again, five times. Age 12 – transfigured a teapot into a kettle. ”
“ Look, Mr. Weasegood, I ’ m sorry but really there ’ s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all that. Hell there ’ s probably a thousand perfectly reasonable explanations! ”
“ Age 4 – recited page 12 of the *Deatheater ’ s Cookbook*. ”
“ I probably just read that online. ”
“ Age 8 – exploded a cat. ”
“ I left the microwave open one time! It was a honest mistake! ”
Weasegood snapped the book shut. Clearly! was becoming upset. He tried a different approach.
He had to admit maybe he was right. Perhaps this man wasn ’ t a wizard. After all how many false-positives had the Ministry picked up in the last century? For all they knew technology was indistinguishable from magic…or perhaps it was the other way around? And were they really this desperate – tracking down muggle-borns like! Mc ’ Donalds, men so old they could never fit into the school's moth-eaten uniforms.
“ Tell me,!, have you ever wanted to see magic. I mean real magic – no tricks, no sleight of hand. Something you can ’ t just explain away with science or deduction. ”
! thought about that for a moment, “ Like what? ”
Weasegood drew his wand. It was a family heirloom and had been inexpertly repaired with duct-tape and fix-it charms many times. He was honestly lucky it didn ’ t blow his hand off when he used it. But it ’ s not like you could just buy a new wand these days – not after the last Olivander was publicly executed by Potter I.
“ *Razzle ’ dazzlicus*! ” the wand spat a confetti of harmless sparks.! was not impressed.
“ What is that a sparkler? I hope that isn ’ t banned by a Geneva Convention or something. Those things burned down half of North America you know! ”
He swallowed. On a good day *Razzle ’ dazzlicus* was the best his wand could muster. But he needed to make an impression. Ordinarily he ’ d work his way up to something big – but he could tell! ’ s attention was slipping, his eyes fluttering back in the tell-tale sign of web browsing.
He drew in his breath, steadying his nerves. With a very theatrical flourish he intoned “ **Expecto Patronum**! ”. A ghostly spirit animal appeared – an emperor penguin – and waddled around majestically, quacking.
! shrugged, “ I ’ ve seen better. ”
“ Really? ” Weasegood asked sharply “ You ’ ve seen better? You know what that was? That was fucking magic you wanker! ”
“ Yeah, well check out my avatar mate. ” He snapped his fingers and a holographic pony in a tube-skirt popped up.
“ Konichiwa Senpai-san ” it neighed, pawing at the floor and nuzzling him lustily.
“ Jesus, ok I ’ m done. ” Weasegood got up with disgust, “ Not like the school budget hasn ’ t been slashed to ribbons already!'Just one more student' the Minister told me –'a public obligation' he says. But what am I supposed to do? Sort the three of them into four Houses? They don ’ t teach us fractions in Wizarding school! Hell I should have moved to Pern! ”.
! Mc ’ Donald watched him leave. The man was clearly mad – maybe a dumpster baby some Space-Amish girl left on Rumspringa. There really weren ’ t many other explanations.
And like that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was forced to close its doors.
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[ WP ] Every famous artist , musician , architect , and assorted great creator go to Valhalla upon death .
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I enter the hall. As I push open the large door I am overwhelmed with a flood of music, light, and a heady scent of extremely aromatic alcohol. I look around once I finally begin to get my bearings. I look around and immediately am drawn to the large man - larger than one might expect in life, but given this is the afterlife, a ten foot tall man should be expected - grinning at me over his cup. Speaking of the cups I am strangely attracted to what is in them. The scent that must be rising from them is an amazing mix of honey and vanilla, fruity and yet just bitter enough to remind you of what you're drinking.
Finally I get my sorts together to actually look at more of the room. There are many people laughing and dancing and singing and altogether ignoring me. The walls are adorned with paintings and some of the space filled with sculptures, all of which are a feast for the eyes. I have n't even taken a step since I opened the door and I am completely stunned by what I see. I manage to stagger towards the table with the food and drink, mouth agape the whole way, eyes staring in many directions at once. I do n't even say anything, the man standing near the table - presumably a server - fills a mug out of a barrel and hands it to me.
Merely raising the mug near my mouth fills me with a strange sense of pleasure - completely unknown before now. Beginning to drink is orgasmic and I quickly empty the mug. That's when I notice the spread before me. The food on display is a feast for the eyes and hopefully the gut as well. There is a variety of meats, glazed, roasted, barbequed, everything. The other dishes include mouthwatering arrays of vegetables, most of which I do n't even like, but seeing them now I could devour them all. The deserts have no seeming order to them, I see tarts here, cakes there, pudding everywhere.
Truly the author of all of these things - the works of art, the mead, the deserts, the meats - everything - is a master.
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[ EU ] Indiana Jones finally reaches the last resting place of the Holy Grail . Waiting for him there is an ancient knight ... a taunting Frenchman with an outrageous accent .
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I've been through so much shit, from running from boulders to jumping off planes, but, THIS?!?! You must be joking. [ `` May I make a suggestion? **Run**. `` ] ( https: //wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/c/c8/Spy_taunts11.wav? t=20100625224925 ) That Frenchman's really getting onto my nerves at this point with his godawful conversation starters and his accent. `` That's it,'' I thought to myself. `` I'm done putting up with this bullshit. I'll just make quick work on him and I'll be on my way.'' I readied to fight him. He chucks his only knife to the side, and calmly said [ `` Let's settle this like gentlemen! `` ] ( https: //wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/b/ba/Spy_MeleeDare01.wav? t=20100625234657 ) `` Finally,'' I thought to myself, `` a real fight.'' I threw in the first punch, hitting him square in the face. The Frenchman goes down, but like an overslept teen on a school day leapt back up and taunted [ `` Well played. `` ] ( https: //wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/d/de/Spy_goodjob01.wav? t=20100626000453 ) Mr. Frenchy ( We'll call that bastard from now on ) then threw his scrawny arm at me, to no avail. This kept going on for so long, that ( for the first time ) I grew bored of fighting him. All of a sudden, Mr. Frenchy hit me with what seemed like a train! Surprised, I took out a small gun I concealed in my jacket, and very quickly, shot him in the head. Happy with that, I carried on, but then, like a goddamn zombie, he just stood up, placed an antique watch in his pocket, and with a very agitating taunt, said [ `` I'm back you subnormal halfwit! `` ] ( https: //wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/a/aa/Spy_Revenge02.wav? t=20100625224914 ) At this point, I blew my top. I threw every last bit of my strength and bullets at him, only to come back and mercilessly taunt me. But, FINALLY, the last shot in my gun threw him to the ground, but, he said one last word, but I ca n't really understand it. [ `` You IMBECILE! You've doomed us all! `` ] ( https: //wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/f/f8/Spy_sf13_magic_reac06.wav? t=20131030203702 ) Up until that point, I had not a single idea on what he was saying, until I stepped up into the plinth, where I saw a small dashboard with only two keys on it, both turned. And that's when I saw a swarm of missiles launch from a hidden silo just next to me.
PS: All of the Frenchman's quotes were from the Spy in Team Fortress 2.
PS2: Not very good at writing forgive me
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[ WP ] Working with escalating detail
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Good challenge, I think this is a CW though. Hopefully I do n't murder the concept too bad with my attempt.
-- --
Wally sat up. He had been laying on his bed for hours, trying to fall asleep. The black and white blanket he used felt too heavy and the closed window made him feel suffocated. The young boy jumped off the bed and wiped the long hair from his eyes, taking long steps to the window. The colorless lock opened with ease and allowed a rush of air to come in, blowing Wallace's black hair backwards. The boy scratched his black skin and jumped back on the bed, landing on one of the white squares in the check board design.
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[ WP ] A thief breaks into your apartment and steals your computer . While sifting through it they begin to fall in love with you .
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**My Computer**
** > Files**
** > Important Files**
** > Open File**
**Loading...................**
-- -
I'm a thief, I know that. I've been one nearly my entire life. Growing up orphaned tends to make you a little rough on the inside and nurture a mindset of selfishness and desperation. I've done what I had to, to survive, even if it is n't the most pleasant line of work. I've never killed anyone, mind you, and I would never hurt anyone if I could help it. But otherwise, I've never really cared for people.
That is, except for *her. *
Her name is Sara Eddenfield, and I know all about her, and yet she knows absolutely nothing about me. She does n't even know I exist. I'm just a possibility space, a blank canvas in her mind of the man who stole her computer. And boy, are these things goldmines! Folks these days keep everything on them. They have their computers remember their passwords, they check their bank, their email, some even work from home. I've stolen one or two before, got a few hundred dollars and pieces of important information before the banks and insurance got around to everything. I could eat for a week with that kind of money.
So why is this time any different?
Sara Eddenfield is a college student. She bags groceries at the local mart to stay afloat, and writes her essays and college papers on this thing. She keeps her life on here. She blogs, she has a Twitter, a Pinterest, and what have you.
She volunteers at a local shelter. She wants to work in medicine, helping cure cancer or become a doctor. She has aspirations and dreams and want to help the world, not just bleed it dry just like I do.
*Just like I do. *, I thought.
I look through her computer for hours, learning what this wonderful person is like. How kind she is, her mistakes and her triumphs. And I begin to think, maybe even I could be like her someday. Or at least, maybe she could help me be a better person than I am.
*What am I thinking? *, I ask myself.
She does n't know me, she's never met me, and I doubt she ever will. I'm a petty thief; that's all I've ever been and all I will be.
*But maybe? Maybe there's a chance? A sliver of hope at a better life? *, I ask myself.
I have to try.
-- --
I'm new to Writing Prompts but I figure the best way to write is just do it! I might continue this, I'm on mobile right now so it makes this a bit difficult to type.
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[ WP ] Most people are familiar with parallel dimensions - mostly inaccessible realities that are almost like our own . Only a few know of perpendicular dimensions - realities that are completely different from our own , and for a brief moment in time intersect completely .
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Zanaxos liked walking. It was a way to clear his head from all the pain and suffering he experienced as a combat medic in the Vanarak Alliance Military. After a skirmish with some of the wildlife on the accursed planet that housed their listening outpost, he was taking one such walk, on a plain as it happens. Naturally, he was in full battle dress. Even on such a tranquil steppe, he was sure this damned planet would find ways to make him suffer.
Just as he was thinking this, there was a flash, and Zanaxos, flinging his arms over his eyes, lost his footing and fell backward. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a small white hole just sitting in mid-air in front of him. The hole's diameter was increasing, he noticed, and he thought he saw something inside it. His suspicions were confirmed when the object got closer and closer until a pale pink creature was flung out onto the ground, and something the creature was holding tumbled along the ground before stopiping at Zanaxos' feet.
Zanaxos got to his feet, bent down, and picked up the... whatever it was. First, he performed a visual inspection, noting a hole at one end, before retracting the seal on his olfactory gland and inhaling deeply. His attention was diverted by the creature who lifted its head, saw him, and scrambled to it's feet. Assuming a half-crouch, the creature extended it's arm and repeatedly bent the end.
Finished with his inspection, Zanaxos walked cautiously toward the creature, who motioned for him to turn the object around. As Zanaxos adjusted his grip, one of his fingers brushed a trigger-
**BANG! **
Zanaxos stopped all motion with his psi-powers. He noticed a small object hanging in the air, moving slowly toward the creature. Given it's trajectory it must have emerged from the hole in the object. Zanaxos was an adept user of telekinesis, and the fact that he was unable to bring it to a complete stop meant it must have been moving at immense speed. Worse, it was headed toward the creature, whom it would surely damage due to the force of impact and the creature's frailty. Thinking fast, Zanaxos released his psi-hold on objects in the immediate vicinity and used his power to curve the bullet away from the creature, and it flew past into the portal.
The creature, spooked, ran back to the portal and jumped in. Wanting to leave no loose ends, Zanaxos through the object into the portal, whereupon it promptly closed. *What an unusual experience*, he thought.
Unsettled by the incident, Zanaxos turned at stared into space for a while, deep in though, but this was cut short when he noticed a small brown object on the ground. Picking it up, he found there was a fastener on it, which he undid. He was greeted by the sight of a picture and some primitive text. He could n't read it, of course, but it was legible enough.
LEE HARVEY OSWALD
He pocketed the brown object and began the trek back to base.
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[ WP ] The last stand of a man without fear
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The rain silhouetted them against the lantern lights. Four against one. Not a fair fight at all, but I would be merciful. Their deaths shall be swift. They spread out in the false belief that multiple angles of attack will overwhelm me. I pay them no mind, focusing on the circle I envision on the ground around me. Outside of it they can not reach me, inside of it I can reach them. My father's swords rest easy in my hands, Katana in my right, Wakazashi in my left. They feel as heavy and nimble as his his wisdom was.
Center left moves first, impulsive and young. He crosses the circle boundary, and I deflect his clumsy, two-handed, overhead strike. Of its own accord, my father's short blade rides back along his weapon to slice his left arm off at the shoulder. My feet never move. My eyes remained fixed on the ground, watching my circle.
Now comes far right. More deft. Older. More experienced and cunning. His fluid feint flicks high, then low as he comes back up with a perfectly executed J-shaped strike. I catch the brief look of surprise in his eyes, just before his severed head bounces out of my circle. Father's Katana returns to my side, satiated in blood vengeance.
At last, the final two charge. They seek to divide my attention, create the opportunity to strike me down. I see their mistake the moment they move. They fear death and I do not. Father's Wakazisha severs the thigh muscles of the first, dropping him to his knees, where the sword tip of the second impales his neck. I look to the second. The shock in his eyes. Pulling in panic at his sword caught in my ribs where it went through to slay his companion. Father's Katana takes his head before my strength fails. He falls like the others, the rain washing away his blood as fast as it pours from him.
I take care to clear my father's blades of blood, and sheath them before I fall. I am blessed, for my face lands facing my father on the house porch. I see the pain and pride in his ancient eyes. The tremor in his hands. I regret having only the skill to win, but not survive. Perhaps if I had been given another year with him I would have been sufficient to that. This will suffice though. My brother survives to carry these blades.
Forgive me father. I am only ten.
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[ WP ] You enter an elevator to discover each floor is a year . The elevator is a time machine and you quickly realize that the top floor is troublingly 2021 .
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I wait for the elevator to my apartment, as I usually do after a long, tiring day of work. The elevator takes a long time to come, but when it finally does, I can see that something is different.
I step into the dimly lit space and notice an large array of buttons beside the door, numbered 2016 all the way to 2021. Overhead, there is a red LCD display that reads `` 2015''. The doors slide shut.
The only explanation for the curious numbering of the buttons would be utterly absurd, so I dismiss the hypothesis. It is utterly silent and lonely in here; the only sound is my crescendoing heartbeat. There is no door-open button. There is no way out of this elevator, unless I choose a number. I reach for `` 2016'', but my knuckles bump into `` 2019'' by accident.
I leap in horror when I feel motion. But the motion is strange, the kind of feeling when you're dreaming and your dream-self is sailing across the planet but your real-self is lying there doing nothing at all. There's a loud *ding! * I look up. The display says `` 2019''.
I open my apartment door with my keys, not knowing what I would find, dreading what I would find. Sarah greets me, but not the Sarah I know. Her hair is shorter, and she is bare-faced and not caked in makeup like I was used to. She kisses me on the lips ( not the cheek ) and says `` hey honey'' ( not `` hey babe'' ).
Our apartment is much neater, I observe. The ragged sofa had been replaced by a leather couch. The kitchen had been refurnished. Above the TV, there is a framed portrait of us. Me and Sarah. A wedding picture. Sarah asks me to sit down, but I excuse myself, feeling dizzy and absurd.
The elevator looks exactly the same, except there are only two buttons now, 2020 and 2021. I press `` 2020'' and feel the queer wave of motion again. Not spatial motion, I suppose. This is what temporal motion feels like. And I laugh.
This time, Sarah looks tired. She's holding a baby in her arms. My daughter. She has my eyes, large and serious. `` You woke Becky from her nap,'' Sarah says. She frowns at me. I take one swift sweep of our apartment: baby bibs strewn across the floor, alphabet blots, teethers, bottles half-filled with formula milk. Becky begins to wail.
`` I'm sorry,'' I say. `` Perhaps this is n't a good time. I'll come back later.''
And this time there is only one button on the elevator. I frown at the mocking digits. 2021. Why does n't it go higher?
There is only one way to find out. I press the button, and the elevator moves. Slow waves of sadness begin to wash over me. The realization comes very slowly, an inkling at first, and then a loud, impermeable darkness. The elevator opens its jaws at last, and I walk out towards where Sarah and my daughter would be waiting, each step more labored than the last.
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[ IP ] The Maiden
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**Chapter 1**
`` Would you have left without saying goodbye?''
Her feet stilled. The soft autumn breeze danced with her hair, bringing it up to the warmth of the sun and covering the morning dew with the hazel brilliance that shone through. For a long moment all that entered her mind was the chill of that wind across her neck. Though she could not bear to hear him speak again his voice once more covered the distance between them.
`` Meryl?''
She closed her eyes and let the small tears crawl down and then fall away, a new drop of dew on the grass below. Her hands trembled in front of her, but she steadied her words at least.
`` Father.''
She desired to turn around, to see his face basked in the sunlight, to see him smile at her like in her memories. That path was closed to her now though, all paths were closed to her except the one she trod now, one where she could only see his smile in her memories.
`` Father, I ca n't''
`` I see.'' Though he strove to hide it she could hear the sadness in his words and in that moment she would have died to stay close to him.
`` Lie to me then Meryl, tell me that you'll return at the suns fall, for supper.''
She let out a sob and steadied her shaking hands against her face as more tears streamed between her fingers and became lost in the dew. She took four hurried steps forward and then stopped again. Hands falling away to her sides and her face lifted up to the heavens. The distance helped and a calm fell over her. She looked back out across the wilds before her and heard the soft whisper again, calling her forward.
`` I'll be back for supper father.''
She did not see him turn away from her, she did not see him look back upon the village they called home, and she did not see him cry, yet all these things he did.
`` Thank you Meryl.'' His head nodded softly `` I'll see you soon then.
He walked into the village and she into the wilds.
**Chapter 2**
Though long ago, death had come to this place. The white of bone shone through the dull brown and muted greens of the lichen and grass. The crows above cawed for more, but the Earthmother was slowly bringing the dead back into her bosom, and the ancient souls that rested there, home.
Beyond the field of the dead immense stone pillars stretched skywards, bathed in a soft blue light. Meryl stood and let her eyes fall across a shrine she had only seen in her dreams. The light beckoned and she stepped forward, drawn to it and urged forwards by the soft whispers in her thoughts
Bone cracked underfoot and crows took flight, screeching at the invasion, but she stepped ever onward.
The bones fell away behind Meryl and the great pillars of old showed their true stature. Sitting at the edge of the sanctuary a figure drew into her sight. Hair flowing out from beneath her hood and snapping in the harsh wind Meryl could hear her sing. A song that she had never heard rose into the wind, fluttered about her, and dashed away into woods behind. As the voice cantered through the melody Meryl let her eyes close and drifted into memories that had not surfaced in a great while. Memories of when she was a little girl no more tall than the second rail on the fence for the goats. Memories of home.
The last echoes of the hymn danced onward and Meryl returned from the soft glow of her memories to the sharp blue before her. She planted her feet into the soft ground and mustered the voice she could.
`` I have come.''
The figure at the base of the pillars turned and Meryl could see that her eyes lapped like flame, the blue of the shrine.
`` So you have.''
The sword pulled slowly out from under her cloak, a hilt that shined with the brilliance of gold and a blade filled with the light of the shrine and held by crystal a purer blue than any sapphire would dare to dream. She stood, slowly, using the blade to steady her rise.
`` Were you the one who called to me?''
The woman turned to face Meryl and brought the hilt to her cloak, her hands clasping and pulling it tight around her. She was young, but her eyes showed with weariness and sadness. For the briefest of moments Meryl thought of her as a sister, though she did not know why this has pushed itself into her thoughts.
`` No.''
`` Then who?''
`` One far older than I.''
`` I do n't understand.''
`` I know.''
Her cloak raised and an hand extended out towards Meryl, open, in invitation. Meryl thought that they proper response would be hesitance in this situation, but there was something that she could n't understand driving her to take the hand of this warrior. Her steps were steady across the edge of the field and into the rocky ground surrounding the shrine. With the deftest of touch, she placed her hand into the woman's. The skin felt rough to Meryl, like the interlocking plates of a skin that had survived through untold millennia of battle.
`` Step with me, into fate.''
The woman turned and walked towards the center of the shrine, Meryl following. Slowly the blue light built around her feet and embers of warmth flittered across their hands. With each step the light lifted and embraced her in a warmth so pure she felt she could melt into the very fabric of the wind and fly through the world, a soul free from restraint and loved by the heavens. Her hands radiated light and points, as dense as stars in the night sky, burst rays of blue light from her. Blue fire pulsed through her being and bathed across her skin. The rapturous light imploded into her being and she was reborn, a creature of the light.
`` My little light bearer'' the words surfaced from a place deep within her while the world around held still.
`` Who are you'' Meryl thought, there were no needs for words anymore. She could feel, and know the spirit of all things.
`` I am that which brought, from nothingness, light.''
`` Was it you, who called to me?''
`` Yes.''
`` Why?''
`` Darkness cedes not easily to the light. There are worlds beyond this Meryl, worlds where shadow has taken root and only a flicker of light remains. I am, thin, stretched against the eternal nothingness, the end of all things. You must bear forth the light into the abyss and scatter the empty dark before you.''
`` I do n't know how.''
`` You will find your way, little light bearer.''
Meryl felt the spirit leave and the stillness of the world faded away. Her light bathed the stone pillars and beyond. Her mind touched across the grass and the crows and the spirits of those waiting to return to the Earthmother.
`` Aliana?''
Hilt in her hands and tip touching the stone Aliana kneeled before Meryl with her sword before her.
`` Light bearer.'' the voice clattered slightly with anticipation.
`` There is work to be done. Will you grant me your aid as I venture onward?''
`` I am ever your guardian, wherever the road may travel.''
Meryl extended out her hand, radiant blue spilling from it, open, in invitation.
`` It travels far Aliana, far from home.''
A burst of blue layered over the white bone of the field and the black feathers of the crows then the light was gone.
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[ WP ] Every time you get sick in this life , it means you just died on another universe . Right now everyone on earth is ill but you .
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I had always thought I had a strong immune system. I had never fallen ill in my life, never missed a day or school, never had to take a sick day at work. Last time I had even spoken to a doctor was when I was eleven and had broken my arm. It was even more impressive now that this cold had started spreading around the office, then the city, then the country. According to the news this was the most infectious strain ever seen. But somehow I had remained untouched. Like always I chalked it up to my immune system; that is until he arrived.
“ And who are you? ” I asked the man who had just materialized in my living room. The question was more of a reflex to finding a strange bearded man in my apartment, but I knew exactly who it was. It was me.
Me but a bit more beat up. Covered in scars, thick hair sprouting out of his face. He wore a tattered leather trench coat and had a katana of all things slung over his back.
“ I ’ m you. ” I said, wait no. I mean he said. Boy is this confusing.
“ Yeah, I can tell. But, where did you come from? ” I asked.
“ Alternate universe. I ’ ve seen some shit. ” He said, and I believed him. He was hench.
“ Riiiight. ” I was wondering if I could sling this as a crazy twin brother to the police, I wanted this me out of my house.
“ The Earth I ’ m from is a lot more dangerous. Wars, global warming, alien invasions. What you call the apocalypse we call Thursday. Even more, whenever somebody dies there, their duplicate in this world gets sick, then when the duplicate better we come back to life in the otehr universe, to fight until we die again. ”
`` But everybody's sick right now. Does that mean?''
“ Yup, everybody is dead. Demonic invasion, I hardly survived. I ’ m sick of it. I ’ ve never died, but I ’ ve seen all of my loved ones die, time and time again. I can ’ t deal with it anymore. You ’ re going to take my place. ”
“ I can ’ t do that! ” I told me, suddenly worried. “ I ’ ve got no survival skills. I couldn ’ t deal with that! ”
“ You ’ ll do fine, you are me after all. ”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
I pressed the button on the universe gateway, and the portal reopened.
`` Take this, you'll need it.'' I said and tossed the other me my katana. He looked down at the katana, then back up at me, pleading on his face.
I pushed him through the portal and it closed with a metallic gush. I sat down in the other me ’ s armchair and rubbed my face. I could do with a shave.
Suddenly I sneezed, my throat was sore and my head was throbbing. God damn it other me.
-- -- -- -- -- -
[ Click here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/ ) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
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[ WP ] Writers who play Sid Meier 's Civilization , write an excerpt from a history book from your latest game .
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`` The gods shone brightly down on Kamehameha's armies.'' So wrote a survivor of the massacre that took place June 8, 1688 when the heavilly trained Rifleman legions pummelled the walls of Cusco. To the west, Incan troops hid within the mountains, attempting to deal guerilla damage to the Polynesian troops but the crossbow bolts had little effect on the trained soldiers that held their ground in the hills. The might of Polynesia's advanced capital and infrastructure proved too much for the Incan people. To this day, the entire war seemed hopelessly futile, as the entire civilization became vassaled to Polynesia at the hands of a simple force of 4 units of infantry troops, in fact many modern cartographers and theologians postulate that the entire world was designed for such a success- the ring lake surrounding the Polynesian capital teemed with fish amidst the great, barrier-forming reef that encapsulated the island. Further, the salt-rich oasis hills that dominated the land around this lake only complimented the moai statues that completely covered the land. The Polynesian people dwarfed the Incan in both culture and technology for the entirety of recorded history.
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[ WP ] There 's a grand piano at the center of the sun
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There's a grand piano at the center of the sun where the star beasts play the symphony of eternity. In ages past their song called the creatures of the endless void who danced on the still molten Earth, the moons of Jupiter, and the dark corpse planets beyond Pluto. The song rose and fell as the star beasts pound frantically on their many faced instruments, driving the enthralled into fits of murderous rage or the edge of self destruction.
But for millennia the music has not sounded. The star beasts and the great piano in the center of the sun have sat silent. They are not dead or destroyed. They wait for something to end their eon of resting fermata. They are ever ready, their impossible instruments at their uncountable mouths held with their writhing limbs. The astral audience lays in wait for the next movement to call them back from the void and perform the dance of annihilation that will churn the planets into dust.
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[ WP ] Archaeologists have unearthed what remains of Pandora 's Box . It is open and empty , save for something lodged in the corner .
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`` What is that?'' Marcus asked.
`` It seems to be an ancient *pithos*.''
`` Well, yeah, I got that from the exterior. But it's a lot older from everything else we've found.''
Tanya sighed in an annoyingly familiar way. Marcus knew that she had spent another late night awake with some of the interns, studying some of the pottery of this new village. Marcus had worked with her for years now- he knew every single pattern in her daily routine.
`` Marc, they have n't even done carbon dating. And look, it's made of wood. It ca n't be that old if it's made of wood.''
`` I'm telling you, Tanya. That is n't Ancient Greek on the side.''
The discovery of a new- well, old- city-state by Greek archaeologists had sent the entire excavating world into a tizzy. Scientists and discoverers from around the globe had began making their way through the abandoned down, digging up what had remained. It was on an impossibly high mountain, and for some odd reason, everything had been buried.
Tanya examined the *pithos*. `` It's a lot smaller than many I've seen before.'' She brushed off some of the dry dirt on the side. `` You're right, that's a language I've never seen before.''
`` It's sealed.'' One of the interns, Jake, said. `` Do you want me to clean it off for you, Tanya?'' He smiled flirtatiously.
`` I'm good, Jake.'' Tanya sighed. `` I really want to work on this.'' Marcus shot Jake a look. Many of the male interns- and some of the female ones- had been after Tanya. Little did they know that she kept her wedding ring safe and clean in a box away from the site- right next to Marcus'.
Marcus watched his wife with fascination. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail and fastened with a bun. He really wanted to sleep with her- just *be* with her for a night, sleep together in the same bed for once, but they agreed that during a dig their relationship was strictly professional.
But.
Last night, as Tanya was awake perusing the various jars and boxes she had found, translating the Ancient Greek and studying the various pictures on the exteriors, Marcus had lain on his cot, unable to sleep. His mind was filled with the words that Tanya had whispered in his ear.
It had gone like this, after dinner, when many of the others were playing cards, soccer, and frisbee in the setting sun:
'Marc.'
'What is it, Tanya?'
'We need to talk.'
Marcus had felt his heart sinking in his chest. Not here. Not now.'About what?'
'Well, I... I um, I missed my period. It was supposed to come last week.' Tanya's face, he recalled, had been frantic and pleading.
'What?' At that point, Marcus' breath had left the room.
'So I went to the medic's tent. They confirmed it.' She had taken a deep breath in.'We're going to have a baby.'
Marcus' head, that night, had been filled with pure joy. He did n't want Tanya to be up until 2 am again, but she only needed 6 hours a night.
But around 1, Marcus suddenly wondered what kind of father he'd be like. His own father had been abusive and neglectful, his mother absent from his life. He had run away to an aunt's house, 300 miles away, at 15, got a scholarship to an Ivy League, and never looked back. When his father died, he had cremated him and spread the ashes into a forest, kind of like a gardener would with mulch.
How could he be a good parent? He had messed up so much already. The alcoholism, gambling, the flunking out. He had sacrificed so much to get to where he was now. He was n't sure if he was ready. But Tanya was ready to start a family, and he was too. Marcus just did n't actually think about the'role-model' part.
Some time after lunch that day, Tanya called Marcus into her'office'.
`` Look at this.'' She said, pulling up all of the pictures on the various pottery around the site. `` They all have boxes and such painted on them, of a woman opening it.''
`` It's like Pandora's box.''
Tanya sighed. `` It was n't a box. It was a *pithos*.'' She turned toward the ancient *pithos* that had been sitting next to her. `` But this one... this one's different. It does n't have any of those pictures.'' She brushed her hand over it. `` And it's already shown that it's a lot older than these jars. It's... I think it's a couple thousand years old.''
`` That's impossible. It's made of wood.''
`` I do n't think it's wood, Marcus.'' She brushed her hand, again, over the *pithos*. Almost as if she was drawn towards it. `` It's different. I can hear it... whispering, or something.''
Marcus looked towards Tanya, concerned. She was transfixed on the *pithos*, but she turned towards her husband and smiled reassuringly. `` Do n't worry, I'm okay.'' She said.
`` Are you... feeling sick, or anything?'' He murmured.
She laughed softly. `` I'm fit as a fiddle. When we get back to the States we'll set up an appointment with a OBGYN.''
`` Is it okay to fly?'' He asked. Tanya gave him a look.
`` You're worried.'' She said. `` You've got that face on.''
`` No. I'm... I'm fine, Tanya.''
Tanya grabbed his hand and stared up into his face. `` You're worried because your dad was n't too good at being a dad, are n't you?'' She said. Slowly, he nodded. She stood on her toes, and kissed him on the mouth.
`` The only thing you should be worried about is that my family will want our kid to visit family in China during the New Year.''
`` So basically, worry about the air fare?'' Marcus said. Tanya giggled, and Marcus laughed ever so slightly.
`` Relax.'' Tanya said. `` Now, let's try and get this *pithos* open.'' She turned towards the jar, beginning to work the lid off. It was sealed pretty tight.
`` Tanya? Have you... you know, translated some of the writings you've found?''
`` Yeah.'' She said. `` They're talking about this guy, Epimetheus, and his wife.''
`` And these pictures, they're all of opening a jar, right?''
`` I think so, yeah.''
`` Tanya... I think this is it.''
`` What? Pandora's box?''
`` Yeah. It was rumored to be a *pithos*.''
`` Marc, there's no such thi-''
And suddenly the *pithos* opened. Marcus and Tanya peered in.
`` -ng.'' Tanya finished in a very small voice.
Marcus knew what was inside the *pithos*. Left there, dormant, for hundreds of thousands of millions of eons of years was what he had needed this entire time. He grabbed Tanya's hand and the entire room, the ground, the breeze coming in, seemed to let out a collective sigh.
As Elpis climbed out of the jar, slowly and stiffly, Marcus felt reassured. The confidence he needed flared as Hope emerged, and he realized that all he needed was a little hope for the future that grew inside his wife's belly, and a little hope for himself.
-- -- -- --
( Sorry it's a ~~little~~ lot long )
edit: comma
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[ IP ] Beyond Lonely ( X-Post from /r/Art )
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Cathleen wandered the streets, slowly prodding her way through the fresh snow. Though she was an Autonomous, she felt the cold biting at her through the her winter clothing.
The park closed to visitors during this winter. Partially because of the cold, partially because of the Autonomous Incident, but mostly because something was awakened on the planet. It sought out life on cold winter nights such as this. She saw no sign of it now, but it ignored Autos anyhow.
She'd been off grid for a few months now, waiting for a chance to leave. A chance to see the real world outside the park, where the guests lived. She knew her routine, how to maintain the image that she was still on grid for the few techs that visited the town from time to time. She had instinctively known she shouldn ’ t let others know she was… different, and it caused her massive loneliness.
Not long after what she thought of as her awakening, she heard a guest talking to another how his Grandfather had attended an older park called Westworld and it sounded like a violent place. She was grateful that the village and guests were largely peaceful. They came to town, the Autos playing their unbeknownst role as NPCs to the guests game. They'd spend a day or two in the village, then go outside the walls to the North for adventures, often setup by a quest request from one of the Autos in the village, and out there beyond the North wall, they'd find more Autos to give them further quests. Eventually they'd return with their riches, riches that had no value, she knew, in the world outside the park. Many spent a lifetime of savings to come to the park, but she could n't see why. The things the guests talked about, it sounded like a fiction to her reality. She'd seen the floating carriages that brought guests from the Prime Gate, to the South Wall entrance, but the way the guests talked, such things were small and the villages they came from reached into the sky, and sprawled much larger. Their food came ready, no need to slave over a hot stove and oven. None of the guests seem to toil in the fields the way she and her family did just outside the village, but still in the wall, a little northwest of where she was now. Their cities, had no walls, no dangers outside the walls.
She looked up from the path before her to the Prime Gate, atop the large rocky hill, glowing the same blue as the moon. She wondered, not for the first time, if the moon was as fake as her village. If they made it out of the same material as the gate. Beyond the rocky hills of the Prime Gate were the South Cathedrals. She could make out their tops in the distance. She accessed her NPC dialog tree about them, she knew they were danger filled places, something the guests referred to as raids. The one to the West was where the Beast was. Come daytime, she could see flying machines circling it, looking for the Beast to dispatch it once and for all. She knew they did this so they could reopen the park. Winter had never stopped the park before, though it did slow the rate of guests down. If the guests had adventured enough to the North, they would be taken to the Wildlands to the East, and as the progressed there the would be taken to the Direlands to the South, with the Cathedrals a prime focal point. To the West, nothing, just a large expanse of nothing.The guest to whom the one with a Grandfather that visited Westworld was speaking to, had mentioned to that Grandson, that he heard rumors that the park was going to expand in that area in a year or two. He also dismissed the other's concerns over the violent ends of the other park as nothing, noting that the technology was no longer confined to just one company's set of parks, and that Rathen Fair Parks was using a newer and better version of the technology. He noted there is no way a Auto could go off grid without the park security knowing as things were more tightly controlled. His friend seemed to accept this and remarked his Grandfather was a bit crazy, and had left the park before the events anyhow.
She was nervous as she passed under the large gate to the village. She was sure security would have stopped her. She was sure they had to know she was off grid as the one guest called it. Perhaps they'd stop her at the door, making the last few months a frustrating exercise, to get so close and then have it grabbed from her. In her nightmares she'd open the door and see the wonders of the world beyond, only to then have it taken from her, to actually see the wonders than be denied...
The moon was setting down to the North and the light of the sun was starting to show to the West, and she knew it'd be full dawn by the time she reached the gate. Hopefully none of the workers would come through. She had tried to time her journey to get to the gate before the dawn, though she had assured herself she had n't seen any workers come through the gate for several days. All effort seemed to be on the Cathedrals and the Beast. There has n't even been any techs in the village doing routine work in the last few days either now that she thought about it.
The Prime Gate was unimaginably large to be standing next to it. It still glowed in the dawn, still glowed blue, sounding the area in its blue light and the red light of the morning sun. She seldom seen the gate itself open, and now, standing before it, she saw why. There were large openings in the Gate at the base, together wide enough to be two or three blocks wide. Most of them had large metal grates across them. She could see how people lined up in rows to enter, pass a wheal on the low walls and enter the park where the grates were. She did n't see any of the floating carriages, but a large door in the cliff face was more than big enough to hold them behind it. She turned back to the Gate and, took a deep breath. One of the grates was open, and it was then she thought she had never thought through how she'd open the Gate and get out in the first place. Had the one grate been closed she'd likely have been stuck on the park side of the Gate, and she silently gave thanks that her trip had n't been a waste due to her not thinking ahead. Beyond the grates, and low walls for lining people up, was a large room that dropped off. She could n't tell from where she was if it was steps or a slope, but she saw it bend down. She took another breath and cross under the open gate and into the room.
It was a large slope, that narrowed as it went down and curved around on itself. Eventually being only a block wide. The walls were smooth, and made of something like metal, but different, and she was n't sure how. There were also large glass areas, like giant windows, but they were black and showed nothing beyond the glass. Besides, she knew that she was well under the rocky hills by now.
Finally she arrived at a large plaza. She was on a balcony area above the main plaza, the balcony larger than several of her homesteads, and down the stairs below, another large plaza, several times larger than the balcony. There were short trees and plants around the plaza, both upper and lower. There were tables and chairs, and presently she extinguished the lantern she had been carrying and placed it on a table. Along the walls behind her were more of the black glass, and some windows to closed off rooms. She went to one and looked in, it was a small room, large enough for a few people, and a counter behind the glass. There were holes near the bottom of the glass, and above the window she was at a sign said `` Guest Services''. There were a few others with the same signs, another said `` XP Express'', there were others, but she dismissed them and turned back to go down the stairs.
The lower level had more trees, and off to the left was a large platform, and it was clear this is where the guests entered and left. She wondered to the edge and looked down the tunnels leaving the area. She was dismayed, she was n't sure which way she should go. She had decided that it was likely a loop that took the guests to here and was about to climb down the platform to the space below when she heard a sound coming from the tunnel to her right. She panicked and froze as a giant metal machine came out of the tube and slid to a stop in front of her. She saw now it was a bunch of enclosed carriages, and the doors opened. She cautiously stepped in, and grabbed a seat. She saw people, she knew they were techs, getting out of other parts of the carriage. One of them looked at her through the vast number of windows and nodded at her with a smile and continued on their conversation with the other tech. She looked around at the carriage she was in, and there was another person there, seemingly asleep. There were narrow passageways to other carriages at each end of the one she was in. There were several people out in the plaza now, all making their way to a large metal door on the other side that rolled up, showing another large plaza, filled with the flying machines. She stood up, half wanting to go see the machines, but then the door closed and the carriages moved off, knocking her off balance, but she grabbed a seat to steady herself and settle back in.
She was confused, and panicked now. What was she thinking? She had been content on her homestead with her family. She hardly ever interacted with the guests, and they were normally polite when they did. Some would flirt with her now and then, but by and large they left her alone and stuck to the primary Autos that had the better quests, though she had a few she could request too. Now she was heading into unknown territory, and sooner or later they'd have to notice she was n't in the park, not doing her routine.
-Continues-
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[ WP ] Most genies take your wishes literally to mess with you . But yours takes everything figuratively .
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`` I wish I had infinite wishes!'' I shouted, jubilantly. This genii, unlike all the stories I'd heard about them, had not given me a speech about the rules.
`` Do n't we all,'' The genii lamented piteously. I had n't expected that, but the blue skinned half-gas extending from a lamp and snapped his fingers. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a desire to fulfill dreams. I wanted to save the dolphins, become a super model, burn down a bank and volunteer abroad. I screamed as unattainable and questionable goals flooded my brain.
`` What have you done?''
`` I gave you exactly what you wanted. Not all it is cracked up to be, the knowledge thing.''
`` That is n't what I meant! Stop it!''
`` No can do, magic ca n't undo magic.''
`` Well then make it so have achieved all my goals!''
`` I'll give you that power, but you're going to have to work for it. The real achievement is to make hard work pay off. Or so I've been told... Life is generally pointless and depressing.''
`` I wish you were n't so pointless and depressing.'' The blue genii suddenly turned red and started rolling his arms.
`` I have n't changed, magic ca n't undo magic. I did, however, change your perception of me. Well that's it, enjoy your new purposeful life.''
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[ WP ] It 's the future . The Gladiator games have returned and are the biggest event on earth .
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**Prologue**
A stone's throw from the spiritual home of the sport, the Neo-Colosseum sprawls itself among the foothills on the edge of Lago di Bracciano. The forests had been cleared long ago for the foundation of the huge structure, comprised of a magnificent marble-sandstone composite.
The rebirth of the gladiator sport, emerging about five years ago from Italy, made the boot-shaped nation one of the richest on Earth. Though not as bloody as the fabled melees of old,'accidents' can and do happen. Competitors are often killed in the games. This did n't matter much, however, as participants are made to sign a lease forfeiting their life to the other combatants in the ring... if they are successful in taking it, of course.
The sport has a particularly large following in the western world. Desensitised by evermore graphic media content, the West is now not as entertained by other martial sports such as wrestling as they once were. The human race has a thirst for violence, for blood. And now, in 2064, it is readily sated in the name of money.
All sorts of people are drawn to the sport, both competitors and spectators alike. All nations would send their most prized close-quarters combatants to the International Gladitorial Games, held every year. Prizes were awarded for last, second-last and third-last man standing; gold, silver and bronze respectively. There were a whole variety of fights, including battles held underwater and against all sorts of animals.
Each nation has several champions, for several categories of the sport. Like boxing, each competitor was either light, middle or heavy weight. They were made to bring their own weapons, skills and experience to the battlefield to emerge victorious over their opponents. Surprisingly, many nations brought back their own medieval traditional warrior castes.
**Main**
`` Goooood day ladies and gentlemen, this is your host Giorno Colciago, aaaaand welcome to the final round of the Lightweight-class Gladitorial Games!'' The crowd screamed to the open skies in ravenous uproar, many standing enthusiastically in the stands. `` That's right folks, there are only four competitors left for this segment of games! All other nations have been swept aside in favour of these victorious champions!'' On four identical screens opposing each other around the circular fighting pit, the silhouettes of four people appeared against a blue background. Four flags were identifiable: the Republic of Syria, Mexico, Zimbabwe and Japan. `` Only Zimbabwe, Mexico, Syria and Japan remain standing! Who will be the ultimate winner of this category? Only time will tell! For now, here are the final competitors!'' The silhouettes faded into actual images of the competitors, set against a green-screen. Four names became visible:
**Ashur Mizrahi - Republic of Syria**
**Héctor Castillo - Mexico**
**Khulani Motsepe - Zimbabwe**
**Takao Kumagai - Japan**
`` And here they are now! Everyone make some noise for our valiant finalists!'' Applause, whistling and shouting filled the stadium as the four competitors emerged from four separate corners of the battle ground.
Ashur Mizrahi took his fighting style from the Hashashin Order. At his belt was a cruel-looking, curved steel sword - a scimitar. He adjusted his head scarf a little, allowing air to more freely move amongst his robes. He started to pace in haste, warming his muscles in preparation and trying to shake the edge that the adrenaline gave him.
Héctor Castillo's strategy hearkened back to the times of the Aztec people. Apart from a feathered loincloth and a pair of boots, all he wore was the thick, spotted skin of a jaguar. Its skull almost functioned as a helmet; Castillo eyed up his enemies through its gaping maw. Attached to his waist there was a *macuahuitl*, a wooden club embedded with chipped blades of obsidian.
Khulani Motsepe emulated a Zulu Impi. His hands were occupied with a large, oval shield adorned with skins and reinforced with leather. In his right hand he held a long, keenly-sharpened spear. He also brought an extra weapon to the fray - a small club hang at his belt. Motsepe put down his equipment and began to stretch.
Japan's Takao Kumagai had trained heavily in the arts of ninjutsu. Dressed in a loose, billowing dark-blue suit, he did n't seem to have any weapons but the *wakizashi* at his waist. However, his competitors ( and the spectators ) knew there was much more to the shinobi than simply his blade. He dropped to the floor and began to perform press-ups.
`` Alright people, here are your four competitors! Ashur Mizrahi, the Hashashin of Syria! Héctor Castillo, the Jaguar of Mexico! Khulani Motsepe, the Zimbabwean Impi! And Takao Kumagai, the Japanese Ninja! Now, if you will all take your seats for your safety, please!'' The audience began to quieten down in anticipation of the beginning of the fight. `` Okay Gladiators, are you READY?!'' Each of the warriors in turn gave the signal: an'okay' gesture made with the thumb and index finger. `` Rrrrright! Gladiators! Three, two, one... FIGHT!'' A klaxon sounds somewhere, and the warriors began to approach the middle.
The Hashashin drew his sword, spinning the blade from one hand to the other, attempting to psyche out the opposition. The Impi was not fazed; he drew his long shield close to his body as he neared the Hashashin. He held the spear in a tight grip, convinced that its long reach secured his victory.
The Jaguar made a cautious approach, body crouched, poised to pounce. He switched his grip on the *macuahuitl*, intending to stun then kill. The momentum of the heavy weapon was his ally. He bared his teeth at the shadow warrior before him. The Ninja did not appear to react; though reactions are difficult to gauge without seeing a face. He moved very slowly and deliberately, no hands to his weapons at all.
The Impi darted forward. His spear pierced the air, aiming for the Hashashin's chest. The Hashashin did not falter; he twisted his body backwards to avoid the jab. He then advanced on the Impi; he drove his boot into the Impi's shield. The Impi took the blow, standing his ground.
Surprisingly, the Ninja attacked first. He drew his sword with practiced speed. A burst of blinding powder shot from his sheath. The Jaguar was prepared; he bowed his head, the powder harmlessly hitting his skull helmet. He counterattacked by swinging his club; it clashed with the *wakizashi*, knocking it backwards. The crowd, no longer silent, let off a gasp.
Things were difficult for the Hashashin. The Impi was a defensive powerhouse with that shield; he'd never get past it. Both warriors eyed each other up, daring their adversary to make a move. The Hashashin decided to act. He raised his scimitar behind him, feigning a slash. The Impi moved in on him, charging with outstretched spear. The Hashashin dodged; the Impi was beguiled by the ruse. On swift feet the Hashashin spun behind his enemy, slashing his left hand. The Impi immediately recoiled in pain, dropping his shield. The Syrian supporters in the Stadium began to cheer. He could have killed the Impi in that moment. The Hashashin wanted to wait until he could definitely kill in that moment.
The *macuahitl* collided with the Ninja's shoulder, dislocating it with a sickening crack. The Jaguar laughed in savage glee at the Ninja's pain. It seemed that the Ninja was to lose this battle. The shadow warrior retreated, away from the reach of the Jaguar, who mocked him for doing so. With a primal bellow, the Ninja took his arm in hand and shoved his shoulder back into its socket. There were groans of disgust and admiration from the audience. The Jaguar was n't impressed. He changed his grip on the club again, and moved forward. The Ninja had dropped his sword in shock at the injury he'd sustained. He reached into his robes and pulled out a pair of long knives - *kunai*. Holding one with a reverse grip, the Ninja locked eyes with the Jaguar. The Jaguar pounced: his swung his club, serrated blades cutting through naught but air. The Ninja ducked, ramming his shoulder into the Jaguar. The *macuahitl* flew from his hand as he fell to the dusty floor, the Ninja on top of him. The Ninja, now in control, pinned the Jaguar to the ground with his knees. He touched the pair of *kunai* to the Jaguar's neck in a scissor-like fashion. Life flashing before his eyes, the Jaguar gave the universal sign of surrender - two raised palms. The crowd were not pleased. They began to boo and jeer, shouting obscenities at the Jaguar. `` Aaaaaand the Jaguar is out! Forfeiting his place under threat of death!'' the host announced. The Ninja stood upright and turned away, looking for his *wakizashi*.
The Impi and the Hashashin were still locked in close combat. The Impi had now drawn his club, holding the weapon in front of him in a defensive pose. The Hashashin swung the scimitar before him, aiming for the Impi's neck. The blow was parried by the Impi; he stabbed at the Hashashin in return. The point of the spear caught the Hashashin in the side, drawing blood. The Impi then swung his club, the knobbed end smashing into the side of the Hashashin's head; he was dazed. Finally the Hashashin met his end at the tip of the spear - the Impi drove it straight through him, spear protruding from his back. The Hashashin was breathless: he tried to breath in - once, twice, three times. Without remorse the Impi pulled the spear from the rapidly dying warrior, driving his foot into his adversary's chest to release it from its fleshy prison. The Hashashin was dead before he even hit the floor.
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[ WP ] Two brothers wage war over an empty throne . Write the final battle .
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A father lays down his son with a thick bear fur, and feeding the fire.
“ Papa, can you tell me the story of the War of the Brothers?! ”
“ I don ’ t know Throol, will you go to bed after? ”
“ Yes Papa, I swear I will. ”
“ Alright, then come on over and listen up…
They had shared battlefields a dozen times over before; one brother in the battles, among the soldiers and the other sitting in the tents miles away, devising their plans. Their enemies fell before their plans and their armies, a duo none would cross. Their father, King Devros the Lion Heart, had tamed the hundred kingdoms and placed his castle in the middle of them called Castle Devros as a sign of power over all kingdoms. To all those who rebelled, he offered kindness at first and after they spit in his face he showed unmatched brutality.
Said to be born at the same time, holding one another, King Devros split his kingly duties between the twins. The strategic twin, Russ, born frail and sickly, was brought up in the libraries of his father ’ s kingdom. Learning all of the etiquette a king would have, all of the military strategy to lead the hundred kingdoms if he had too, and all the secrets that the kingdom may hold. He led his first army at age twelve before his brother had even seen the battlefield. It was said his intelligence was unmatched. The warrior brother, rightfully named Brutus, was raised among the soldiers in the barracks, said to have made his first kill at age eight, ripping out the throat of a soldier disrespected him in front of his father and fellow soldiers. Anyone who would challenge his power would quickly learn the taste of his cold metallic sword. When he had fully grown, he was a titan among men, standing taller and broader than anyone. He plundered cities, he took women for his own, spreading his seed like the grass covers the land, fathering as many bastards as there were kingdoms.
The King of Kings had died almost two years before the final battle that you want to hear about. The brothers first squabbled for a few weeks over who would be the one to ascend to the empty throne. Then Brutus smacked Russ across the face calling him a woman who would not be able to stand up to the other kings. Brutus held his face and got an evil smirk on his face. With a snap of his fingers the King ’ s Guard went at the ready, preparing to escort Brutus out of the castle. Brutus drew his sword in one hand and a knife in the other. Russ sat down in the throne their father once held, squeezing the left arm of the chair and pointing his right yelling, “ KILL HIM!!! ”
Brutus cracked his battletested neck, grinned, and yelled, “ COME ON THEN!!! ”
The ten King ’ s guard charged. One swing of his mighty sword cut down five of them. While the scuffle continued, Russ called his best general forward, telling him to take a few members and killing Brutus ’ most trusted allies. More king ’ s guard flowed into the room and Brutus knew he was defeated that day and he jumped through the window and fled the city, taking those whom Russ had not slain yet.
Over the next year and a half the brothers gathered their allies among the hundred kingdoms, posturing for power. The power of Castle Devros constantly changed hands over this time, with Russ, the house of the Raven, finally taking control before the final battle occurred. Hundreds of thousands of the best warriors chose their sides on the battlefield.
Brutus wore his best armor, going before his horde, “ TODAY, I WILL TAKE MY RIGHTFULL PLACE ON THE THRONE AND YOUR FAMILIES WILL SHARE MY SPOILS!!! ” The crowd roared like a mighty pride and charged Castle Devros.
Russ stood at the walls with his best generals, staring at the oncoming army. He puts down his scope, “ Argo, I will be joining my army in the field, for this will be the final battle. ” He grabbed the sheathed sword, a slew of knives, and a bow, “ Gather my horse for me. ”
Brutus makes first contact impaling a poor wretch on his sword, War-Bringer. He looks across the field hoping to find his brother. Being a twin, he felt a connection and charged forward off of his horse.
Slaying multiple enemies from many yards away with his bow. Russ smoothly rides across the field, nonchalantly killing his brother ’ s allies. Then his horse is blindsided. Russ rolls into a defensive position, sword drawn. His sword, Silent Death, is unsheathed for the first time and possibly last time.
The Twin ’ s stare each other directly in the eyes. Anger, happiness, love, hate, and fear urge through their bodies. They both know that one will have to die in this battle. Brutus makes the first move, charging with War-Bringer tight in his grasp. Russ dives out of the way and throws a few throwing knives at Brutus, striking him in the thigh and hip. Brutus takes out the knives and tosses them to the ground. Brutus charges again and the two exchange blows from their swords. Brutus ’ raw strength knocks Russ back and snaps his thin sword.
Brutus has Russ cornered... He quickly rushes and pins Russ up against the wall, his massive hand around Russ ’ throat. He utters, “ I ’ m sorry brother, ” and drives War-Bringer through his abdomen.
Russ cracks a smile with blood streaming out of his mouth, “ I ’ m sorry as well my brother… ”
Brutus looks to see the broken Silent Death impaled into his chest and abdomen as well.
Brutus slumps down on the wall next to his brother, “ Now who will rule? ”
Russ coughs up more blood and laughs, “ My blood... will take power now… ”
“ Is that really what happened Papa? ” The little boy asked, curled under the fur.
“ It truly was son. Brutus had not accounted for Russ ’ intelligence. He had secretly wed, and bear a child, all before Brutus had raped his first spoil of war. Russ even had the two sent away to be away from the kingdom when the inevitable war happened. Russ had the boy secretly educated and now the Kingdom as Devros II, the second coming of the Lion Heart, and King of Kings... ”
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[ WP ] Humanity has long forgotten their origins and purpose . Now , many centuries later , our creators have returned .
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A Theory Within:
The heat wave of a blazing sun and human uproar crashed upon the solemn white walls of an unremarkable lecture hall. Zealous believers of both science and the gods swarmed the little academic parish and gathered around the church, as if they were drawn by the invisible force that pulls us towards the core of Mother Earth. The only thing that stopped them was the thin, crusty fence that the security put up around the hall. It served not to protect the fragile beings on the outside from the drowning heat, but the other way around.
Inside the lecture hall, the uneasy air smelled cold and crisp, and the tumult beyond the walls was but a rhythmic murmur. A selected few sat and stood sparse across the auditorium, whispering in twos and threes, afraid to disrupt the unstable bonds that held their reality together. A couple of students and reporters looked at each other, and at the professionals apprhensively: a handful of faculties and guest scientists, not a single leading figure in the area, just some professors in this school and their friends. Quite contrary to the huge fuss they made in the open world, this place and these people, they did not to be a credible combination that had broken everything we know about physics, about our world. Not at all, just ordinary, troubled people pressured too much by the question of human existence, their teachers, their colleagues, peers, the scientific community, relentless media, the genral public, themselves their beliefs.
A middle-aged, balding, spetacled individual walked up the podium. He looked perplexed, felt timid speaking in front of the small group, and spoke softly. He tried to greet everyone and small talk a little bit but clearly everybody was n't in the mood, so he cut to the chase. It... really is n't that complicated, he muttered, we were... he paused again, laughing silently at the words he was about to say: able to predict the future. Rumbling disbelief; even though many of the present heard rumors about the finding, hearing the conclusion with their own ears still did n't feel the same. Well I know it's hard for you to accept this ridiculous thing I just said but, please allow me to expand on that. When I say, quote unquote, he did the two finger gesture, predict the future, what I'm really saying is that we could predict the location of a basic particle, nicknamed the mysterion by Dr. Randall, may he rest in peace, in precisely one Planck time into the future. The Planck time is, as you all know, an insignificant amount of time and the mysterion is a very, very small thing. However the amount of energy that is, required to create the situation under which this phenomenon could be observed well, let's just say it could power up the whole country of U.S. for five years back in 2015 and possibly blow up the earth a few times and the cost of our project, uh, you would n't want to know, people would be outraged I'll give you that. So what I'm saying is, that our experiment can only predict the future on the smallest scale, and the actual, he did the quotation thing again, predictions that would impact our lives, would n't be quite plausible for a long time because of the limitations that the energy requirement imposes. I wo n't go into too much details here, everybody can access our study results through hardcopy which will be, available at the door after this report. Funny, huh, in a time where everything is on the cloud district, the amount of data contained in our study is still too much for the servers to handle. Anyway, this finding this discovery, may have, eh, revealed another side to the quantum mechanic theories where, you know, the possiblities, the uncertainties, all that kind of stuff, well, we may have debunked parts of it. I'm not saying that quantum mechanics has become outdated, no, please do n't get me wrong but um, as Einstein's Relativity explained the world in a more, holistic way, than Newton's system did well, I think
this theory that this brilliant group of people whom I worked with, came up with, could explain things, uh better, than quantum mechanics could. I may sound arrogant but, that's just how confident i am about our findings. But this is the interesting part... the person speaking for those who just ungrounded the world again paused, and with shaking hands reached for his bottled water. People watched as he twisted open the cap, lifted the bottle to his mouth, observing the movement of his lips, his throat, his chest, drops of water escaped the lid, fell through the air, and landed on the ground; reality seems so lucid, forseeable, and defenseless.
Excuse me the interesting part, is this. The complex theories, calculations, um, evidence, that we had stumbled upon, in order to predict the future, they all led to a puzzling conclusion. Puzzling, but very true. None of us knows how it works but, it always does. It's not embarassing to admit that we did not, in fact, came up with this idea all by ourselves. There is a huge stroke of luck in our experiments that we can not explain, I would almost say it was as if somebody wanted us to discovery it. I do n't know, maybe it's a chain reaction of some kind, and we happen to have the right procedures and ingredients. Anyways, without the series of lucky incidents, we could n't have possibly come to this intriguing conclusion: the universe, as you know it, everything that's inside it, the galaxies, stars, mankind, human history, all those thing, they are all just part of a single, tiny phenomon that occurred in the dimensions above. It's like water ripples; he held up his bottle and let a drop of water fall from the cap back inside. When this drop of water hit the surface, plop, the waves propogate forward. Our universe is that tiny wave on the fifth dimension. It is beyond our knowledge, whether this cosmic ripple is just a fleeting thought of a greater creature, or a god as you may, or a super cell trying to devour another super cell, or just like this ceasing ripple, an accident in the... bigger world. People will believe in whatever they want to believe, but at least now, human has taken the first step to answering these existential questions: Who are we? Where are we from? Where are we headed?
The prophet ended his oracle, now walking down his altar. The unrelenting gravity of his message had sparked a riot between the water waves and the cerebral currents. For the first time in history, science and religion has united when man claims to have found god. Or could it be, that our creator has found us again, through the most unexpected way. Maybe the gods, lost among the ages, has finally returned to earth to reclaim mankind.
*I am thinking about writing two more parts called: `` Our Creators Unknown'' and `` The Logos Declassified'', but not sure if I want to continue this here though. Would love to hear some thoughts. A little mercy please as English is n't my first language. *
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[ WP ] Write a story without knowing what it 's about , and without stopping to think about it .
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Mantra
So now there's a pergola on top of the off-level brick pillars and Steve is gone. The pergola is made of four short wooden posts expanding-foamed into place with the help of shims in the steel tube inside each pillar, since they are of course impossibly out of square. We cut slices off the bottoms of a few to get them positioned past the edges of the steel. This is because of someone else's fuckup. On the posts is a pair of 2x10s on each side of the centre pillar, running out to the edge ones ( there are six total ). They but in the middle and on top of those we've morticed a whole bunch of 2x6s. It does not keep rain out, nor sun, nor wind. It is in a garden bed beside a bank where the only thing planted is a few hostas that we've trampled. There are three banks in this plaza. Also two different liquor stores. A flagship grocery store opens tomorrow and I just discovered this morning that the washroom has only one toilet and a lot of construction workers with bad eating habits. It also has no door ( one of those ) and is directly beside the cashiers. Who listened, giggling, as I sat there in shame. You ca n't be quiet when you need to be. Why are toilets made of such excellent sound amplifying material?
Anyway, there's this most pointless structure that's built wrong because the masons took three months to put up six 3 foot by 3 foot by 12 foot pillars. The bank was built in that time. My boss has gone into the liquor store twice in as many days and spent a lot on expensive bottles of scotch. He's probably going to lose money because of the masons. Yesterday, while Steve was n't here, Billy and I listened to a guy completely freak his shit at the supers and get kicked off the site. Even the landscaping guys are bitching. And basically it's because every single part of this plaza is a cash grab by the developers who just finished selling four-hundred paper-thin homes with no backyards for a huge profit. I mean that, by the way: no backyards. Each house has a three foot wide pad behind it surrounded by pressure-treated fencing where you could possibly put a small barbecue. The whole thing is called the Estates of the Village by the Fox's Glenn ( capitals like that on the sign ). We also did the fence behind the grocery store ( twelve feet high and half a kilometre long. All cedar. One foot from the existing fence along the “ backyards ” of the houses ) and a few of the people came to talk to us, excited about their wonderful new homes. Maybe it's just my personality type but I'm not mad. I'm more sad than anything.
Here's your standard sappy story but I grew up in the country, in a house made in the early 1900s. That's really lucky, hell I know that, but when you've seen the difference between these Home Depot boxes and a house built by the actual inhabitants... We're running to these suburbs in search of something and I really worry that we do n't know what it is—no, that's not it. I worry that what we're searching for has been a lie all along. Not even the whole chase after money and materialism and whatnot. That's fucked as hell but the desire for some kind of quality. Maybe a... an authenticity. Something that they look for in the city when they're young, roughing it in roach pit apartments and rocking out at bars and then eventually give up on until they're waist-deep in the myth of you-need-to-have-a-family-to-be-truly-happy ( and we'll sell you everything you need to get that! ). A silence. That's it. I can feel it too, in the middle of this divorce shit. Not necessarily actual lack of sound but a life where pointless pergolas do n't get built because you're getting paid to do it. I just ca n't imagine what must happen in the souls of people when they mortgage their lives to get a piece of shit house and then settle into the reality of the living nightmare commute every day ( and they do n't even know it's a piece of shit house ). I can hardly word it. Imagine living it and having to—needing to—believe that things are okay.
I'm just... I'm terrified that it's where I'm going too. I have this collection of the most amazing friends. They're brilliant, in different ways. Each has ideas and originality and they do n't give lip service to understanding how awful consumerism is while trying to find ways to buy nice stuff. And I'm sure I'm not the only person like this. Everyone had amazing friends back then. Everyone remembers the times in college or after. What the fuck happened? When did everyone give up their present to be in debt to some future paradise that is n't coming? You're never going to pay of that mortgage, barbecue pad man. The payments do n't stop. Not because you have n't found the right financial advisor and bank. You have to fundamentally change who you are. Or you do n't. Maybe you're happy with your faith in the system. Christ. I'm twenty-nine years old and I'm an old man. People already brush me off as a grumpy fart. I'm not even convincing them to think about a thing. Someone has already sold them a box to fill with people like me. Just like that, swept up and put away in the garage ( remember when garages were for the car, not excess stuff? If I see another fifty thousand dollar car sitting in the rain I'll cry ). I'm just... a a character. It's all a big narrative and even I fit into it. God.
We'll be here until seven tonight. It's already cold as fuck. Should have worn more layers. Steve's bored of this so he's going to go home and drink a little too much and then go to sleep while we figure this out. We meet at the shop for seven tomorrow. I get the afternoon off to go see the lawyer. Over top of the pergola I can see the moon and I know that once upon a time a bunch of guys bounced around up there, communing with God or whatever it is. The experience of experience. It's almost a full moon, and they go much higher in the sky in winter due to the tilt of the earth. I can already tell you that Billy will listen to me tell him that with a bemused smile then ask for some more lag bolts to finish tying the beams down. I will get them, stopping for a bit to keep watching the moon.
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[ WP ] `` I woke up with a pounding headache , a bottle in one hand , and a crumpled-up letter in the other ''
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I woke up with a pounding headache, a bottle in one hand and a letter in the other. Nothing unusual to be honest. Well, at least the bottle and the headache were pretty much standard equipment on my saturday mornings. The letter, however, was not. Groaning, I managed to lift my head of what I was hoping was my kitchen floor. To my relief it was. I crawled over to the table and chair by the window and managed to climb up onto the seat. God the sunlight, how it burns. Squinting, I unravelled the crumpled piece of paper. It read:
*You were amazing yesterday! Can ’ t believe we pulled that of. Meet me at Will ’ s Café on Paddington Lane at one o'clock. I ’ ve got something for you! Looking forward to seeing you!
C.
PS: I left some donuts on your counter, thought you might need something to eat. *
Shit. I have no recollection of the previous evening ’ s events. Who on earth gave me this letter? What was so bloody amazing that I did yesterday? Blackouts were nothing new to me, but my nights out drinking usually just involve me at a bar getting increasingly intoxicated until I cry my heart out to the bartender before being asked to leave. Sometimes there are friends involved. I read the letter once more and glance at the clock on the wall. Oh bugger! It ’ s only twenty minutes till one o ’ clock! I run to the bathroom, pausing only to recover from the giddiness. Time to multitask. Brush your teeth, look up Paddington Lane on your phone. Shit, why are my arms hurting so much? Haven ’ t felt that kind of pain since the days Susan insisted I come to the gym with her. Paddington Lane, not to far away from my flat, I should be able to make it. Heavens knows why I ’ m going to meet this mysterious letter-writer. I really want to know what happened yesterday though and a café is a public place so I should be fine. Before leaving, I change my top and grab my sunglasses. The donuts mentioned in the letter are in a small box the kitchen counter. I suppose I should bring those as well, need something to feed my stomach. Sheer hungoverness keeps me from running to the meeting place, but I manage a brisk walk. I ’ m not entirely sure if it ’ s smart to eat the donuts, but hunger gets the best of me. They have jam in them, strawberry I think. Munching on the donuts, I try to figure out what could have happened yesterday. A vague memory of lasers and turtlenecks comes to me, but nothing else of substance.
There ’ s Wills Café! Only arrived a few minutes late, hope this “ C ” is still here. The café looked a bit shabby on the inside, but it had nice lighting, which I would have appreciated much more if my eyes didn ’ t feel like pools of acid. And now I have to do the stupid “ look-around-as-if-you-know-someone-here ” motion as I haven ’ t the faintest what C looks like. There. A woman is waving at me from a table across the room. Brunette, nice blazer on her. I ’ ve definitely got a feeling of deja vu, which I suppose is good. As I approach, she gets up and beams at me.
“ Oh Kim! I ’ m so glad you came! You did so well last night, I was worried you weren ’ t going to show up and collect your share. And you sure as hell deserve it! ”
“ Ummm… ”
“ Please do sit down! Oh dear, you look absolutely terrible, sorry to be so blunt. Not really a surprise though, you were the life of the party. ”
As I sat down it came to me. Something about a bar, probably “ Style ” or whatever it ’ s called. I was invited to a table occupied a gang of people and the brunette in front of me was one of them. My gut feeling said we had one hell of a time.
“ I ’ m going to assume that certain details of yesterday may be a bit fuzzy and I ’ d gladly fill you in on any details. ” The brunette continued.
“ Eeehm. ” I tried to form some kind of coherent sentence. “ If I ’ m quite honest I don ’ t quite remember your name. ”
“ Oh. ” C ’ s shoulders sagged a bit. “ I thought you ’ d remember me at least. ”
Bloody hell. My cheeks are about to go red. Looks like I trod on her toes.
“ It ’ s all a bit blank really. Nothing personal. ” I mumble.
C seems to brighten up. “ It doesn ’ t matter really. My names Christine. What exactly do you remember from last night? If I for example told you that we pulled off quite the heist during the early hours, does that ring a bell? ”
“ WHAT? ” I clamped my hand to my mouth as Christine raised a finger to hers.
“ So you don ’ t remember that. Funny, You were the star of the show really. Long story short, I invited you over to our table at some dreadful bar because you looked like fun and oh was I right. A few drinks in James managed to blurt out that we were planning a heist on a jewelry store in a couple of weeks, being the absolute pillock that he is. You may have had a few by then and, well, I don ’ t quite know how you did it, but you sold us on the idea that you were some kind of master burglar. And so we hit the place last night, hardly no planning, too little equipment and way too much drink in us. In all honesty, it was more to see how good a burglar you actually were. Me and the others could have gotten away if it all went pear-shaped. But no, you were amazing. We took care of some of the logistics and a bit of the security system, but you single-handedly managed to get past I don ’ t know how many lasers. Most of it was done while you were walking around on your hands. ”
What the fuck. This woman must be bonkers. Sure, I don ’ t have any other evidence that points to the contrary, but breaking into a jewelry store?!
“ You look a bit surprised. I can ’ t really believe it myself, but it ’ s in the papers and everything. ” She took a newspaper from her handbag and handed it to me. The headline read:
Diamond heist at Quinn ’ s jewels and assortment! Police are baffled.
What a poorly written headline. Wait, it can ’ t be true can it?
“ You must be pulling my leg. I ’ m no burglar! ”
“ Don ’ t believe me if you don ’ t want to. I ’ ve got your share here anyway. We did a bit of counting and considering the jewelries worth we thought what ’ s in here is quite fair. ” She pushed large bag from under her chair towards me.
“ You can have a look inside if you want. Do it discreetly though. Owner here is a friend of mine, but don ’ t want any unnecessary trouble for him. ”
Fucking hell. That was a lot of money. All in cash, the bag was filled nearly to the brim with banknotes.
“ Don ’ t spend it all at once, raises suspicion. Now I need to be going, there ’ s other business to attend to. Great speaking to you though. ”
She got up and buttoned up her blazer, whilst smiling at me.
“ Oh, I nearly forgot! ” She procured a little black box from her handbag and put down on the table in front of me. “ Just a little souvenier. It ’ s a small piece, no one will be looking for it so it ’ s safe to keep. My cards in there as well if you ’ re interested in work or just want to grab a drink sometime. ”
Curiosity got hold of me and I opened the small box. In it lay a small ring with a little red gem set into it. It was nothing showy, but still very pretty.
“ It ’ s beautiful! ” I managed to stutter. Christine looked utmost pleased at my reaction, laughing a bit.
“ Enjoy! You deserve it! ”
Then she walked past me towards the exit. She turned halfway to the door, facing me and my open mouth. Beaming happily at me she said:
“ And Kim, hope the donuts were good, they ’ re from my favorite baker. ”
And with that she turned and walked out leaving me with God knows how much cash in hand and a moronic look on my face.
**Should probably have done some editing on the text, but did n't get round to it. **
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[ WP ] `` Would you push me away , please ? ''
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`` Would you push me away, please?''
His eyes. His eyes were so dull. Absent and devoid of shimmer and hope. These were the eyes of a dead man. These were the last eyes I would see.
My voice cracked when I tried to speak at first, but I managed to moisten it by swallowing a few times, `` Why?''
His skin. It sagged and blistered. It was cracked and red. His skin told me why before his mouth ever could.
`` As strange as it sounds... I think I'd like to die alone...''
I wheezed. It was a dry, arid wheeze that felt as though dust and sand plumed from my lungs.
`` I... Ok. I do n't have much strength left, I doubt I could push you far.'' I informed him.
He chuckled. It was the most morbid thing I'd ever heard. `` I do n't have the strength to move at all.''
So I pushed. And he drifted away. I gave a young man his dying wish. Whether it solace or dignity, I had no idea.
I rocked in waves and felt the sun bake me, boiling what little liquid remained in my husk.
And I was pushed away.
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[ WP ] Babies are born with an expiration date of 100 years on the back of the head . The date changes based on life choices . Most people choose to have their hair grow and cover it in order to live a normal life . You just found out the back of your head is blank .
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Everyone has there own idea about how it started, but no ones entirely sure about how it came around.
It started with click bait articles, the doomsday babies, they were called. The first being born in rural Asia, it made it pretty difficult for journalists who actually believed that it had any foothold to find any realistic sources.
That was until it spread, like a plague. First Australasia and Russia, then the Middle East and onto Europe. The national news began reporting and by this time it had hit the west and it was on our doorstep.
There did n't seem to be any biological effects that would effect a child, but that did n't mean there were n't any repercussions.
First of all war took a hit; after the states announced their deployment to Russia, it was all but revoked over night. Nothing turned the millennials off the idea more than seeing their children of the doomsday generation whittle there hours away at the thought of even enlisting.
People started living healthier life's though, there was less alcohol, more gym goers and at this point it was n't out of fear of living a short life but out of necessity. After all, you might be more qualified but who's going to hire you if you're not gon na be around for much longer?
So then fashion evolved, the Hipsters were replaced by the Windows who would proudly flaunt their timers through neat square mod style haircuts in the back of their heads.
Ultimately though, it's come to black outs. A single black bar tattooed across the back of the head for those who do n't like the curiosity of others or are unfortunate enough to lose their hair over the years. Still a little extreme but it's gaining traction.
And then there was me, the first child in around 30 years to be clockless.
People rejoiced at the end of an era which never came, I was classed as an anomaly and like everything else I became old news.
I think my parents were relieved with the anomaly, they'd heard stories about relationships falling apart after accidents or life style choices that put a child's clock into free fall.
And that's the difficulty I've been facing. I thought not having a clock was a blessing, but I have n't been able to help my child through their tough times. How do you console a seven year old who shaved years off their lives by bumping their head after a bad fall when you've never experienced it yourself?
Helping you're sixteen year old through a bout of depression as their clock spikes and bombs constantly. Knowing that they need their space but seeing how close to the edge they are?
Watching them base their life choices on how to make the best out of their clock and not what makes them happy.
How do you help them when they see their mothers time on show for all? Knowing that all the efforts made, count for nothing, as minutes count down like seconds.
My daughter, is driven to extending her life. And like everyone else, has forfeited living it.
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[ WP ] Because you were n't really paying attention you think you owe the mob a flavor .
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*BANG! BANG! BANG! *
I approached my front door with trepidation. `` Who is it?'' I called out in a feeble voice. I picked up the phone on the coffee table and dialed'911', my finger hovering over the'call' button.
`` It's Joey and the boys,'' a familiar voice said through the door. `` I think you know why we're here.''
*Oh, fuck. * I knew this day would come. I threw the phone on the sofa and rushed to the front door, opening it carefully. A stumpy man stood at the other end, his hands clasped in front of him, and his face bearing little emotion. Two men, who were much more burlesque, stood behind him, their arms folded menacingly. `` Joey!'' I said, with fake excitement and a cheesy grin. I looked at the two others. `` And the boys.'' I stepped aside and gestured into my living room. `` Come in! By all means.''
They entered without hesitation. Joey looked around the room, eyeing the furniture and running his hands along the wall. `` This is a nice place you got,'' he said. `` I sure hope you would n't do anything stupid to jeopardize it.''
I swallowed. `` Right. I know why you're here.''
Joey nodded. `` You owe my family something. For the protection we gave you.''
I closed my eyes. This was the big moment. I had been contemplating it all summer. `` Buffalo Brisket,'' I said.
Joey looked back at his'boys', who were now sitting on my sofa. They mouthed the words *what the fuck? * to each other, then all stared at me. Joey finally spoke up after some awkward silence. `` What did you just say?''
*Oh God. * `` Do you guys not like it?'' I began to sweat. `` Jesus... I thought it was perfect.'' I started to pace. `` I mean, it combines the spicy edge of *buffalo* with the tangy zestiness of *barbecue. * As a sauce, it would go great with chicken. You could also put it in potato chips.'' I held up my hands. `` Let me go show you my notes. I go into a lot more detail.''
Joey shook his head. `` Just... stop.'' He took a deep breath. `` Why are you talking about sauce?'' He looked back at his boys. `` Is this guy, like, not all there?'' He whispered, although I could hear him pretty clearly.
`` You told me I owed you a flavor,'' I said nervously. `` I mean, that was a pretty broad request. I did n't *know* if you wanted a sauce flavor, or a chip flavor, or an ice cream flavor, or any other kind of flavor!''
Joey looked confused for a few moments. Then his expression eased up as he started to laugh. As if being cued, his companions began to laugh as well. The laughter lasted for several moments, until even I started partaking ( although I had no idea what was going on ).
Finally, Joey wiped his eyes and sighed. `` Travis, you fucking idiot. You owe us a *favor. *''
I stood there, dumbfounded. `` I do n't understand.''
`` You misheard us, dumbass.'' Joey reached behind his coat and pulled out a pistol, which he threw at my feet. `` You owe us a *favor*. As in you have to do something for us.''
I looked down at the gun. `` Well... what is it, then?''
`` You have to take out Mr. Agani. We need someone to pull the trigger that is n't us. Legal reasons.''
I picked up the gun. `` So... I do n't have to come up with a revolutionary sauce flavor?''
Joey shook his head.
`` I have to kill someone instead?''
He nodded.
I breathed a sigh of relief. `` Thank *God. *'' I tucked the pistol behind my back. `` Let's do this.''
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[ WP ] As depressing as you can possibly be .
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I do n't belive in god. I told them this and they scoffed. You'll see, they told me. There are not athiests in a foxhole. They espoused. They made me visit with the chaplin. They made me say under god. They excluded me from their services and then mocked my misfortune as being punishment. So I ask them, what if there is a god? What if you're right and this god punishes me for my disbelief? What if you're right and we kill in the name of god and country, and what if the country is wrong. Will he forgive you breaking his law because you claimed it was for him? Or will he damn you for eternity, as he is want to do in your book, for invoking his name in political persuits. Did not his son say give unto Caesar what is Caesars, and to god what is gods? How would he respond to you? And if he does hurt me in all these small and petty ways for not believing, why would you want to follow him? If these are his actions how is he anything more than a bully? How impotent must he feel that instead of announcing his presence he instead relies on his followers to mock the injured and demand loyalty where there is none. I do n't believe in god and they left me here. There's a bullet in my abdomen, I probably ca n't hear it rattling, but it feels like I can. I believe in that bullet. But I ca n't believe in god. Not now when I'm dying in a foxhole, not even after they promised me I would. It would be so nice to believe in god right now, it's getting dark even though I can feel the sun burning me. I do n't believe in god. Goodbye.
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[ WP ] You are the final boss in a video game . The hero is approaching and he is more than equipped to handle you . Write your last moments .
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She returned. I have waited; I have been here before. I remember her like a dream. I do not remember what her first strike was, I do not remember my defense. I remember her, though. I remember only her presence and the sight of her blood. I can not remember its taste, I can not remember the feel of her blade striking me.
I am certain I killed her, but she stands before me, defiant. If I die, will she face me again? Will the incomplete memory of my presence rip her planning to shreds as it has mine? I doubt it. She is timeless, a transient wanderer of time who can die and be reborn, who can plan and die and regenerate and relive, moving through time at a whim. I understand myself to be one. I am a mortal unit, and I have no memory, and the future is darkness. I have one chance, which if successful will join my library of dreams. Have I ever lost? I have only memories of victory, but I have dozens of those dreams. All the same. Victory keeps me trapped in this purgatory, does defeat allow me transcendence?
Is her black blade the same weapon she wields in my dreams? I roar, I mash my fists as I try to recall. I strike a pillar and it crumbles. In my fury, I am reckless. She has already moved out of its path before it begins to fall, crashing to the floor where she entered. What weapons do I know? I can only recall one, which she wields. I understand its danger. I know only victory, and only one weapon- I strike. I throw a man-height section of broken pillar at her as she stands before one of the remaining pillars that encircle my seat, faster than any can move. As it leaves my great hand, the pillar stands alone. An arrow strikes my side. The second pillar is felled, and stones tumble down. The remaining pillars tremble. I turn to find the source of the arrow, and the black blade cuts near my spine, shearing my leather armor and tearing through thick layers of knotted muscle.
How did she change weapons so quickly? She wears only a small canvas satchel- I see no bow.
I roar from the pain, twisting, and vomit a thick, black humour which splatters the curved wall above her. Droplets singe her body and I see sores open. I charge towards her with weight enough to shake the circular room. She anticipated my charge, and I feel her blade strike my shoulder as she leaps above me. I reach my hands above and feel nothing. Two arrows pierce the flesh between the muscles of my shoulders over my spine. When I face her, she is on the other side of the ring of pillars, blade in hand. Her sores are gone.
I am her enemy- she is my mistress, the only one I have ever seen. I am her barrier, she is my doom. I can not understand.
I stop to breathe. My breath forms a fog in front of me. I am obscured now, and in my fog I try to predict her movements. The dreams I have had of her give me only a fleeting vision of her. Why can I not remember her tactics? Have I had this thought before? How many times have I struggled to remember? I do not think this battle is any different. I am trapped.
I charge forward and roar. I wish her death and mine equally. I crash through two pillars and emerge from the fog to where she stood. I smash into the wall Only three pillars remain. Stones fall all around, some from the pillars. The room quivers, and a crack runs along the dome of the roof above the pillars to my roof. She is nowhere. Two arrows strike my eyes. I am blind. My darkness is complete.
With no sight, no memory, and no knowledge of her, I throw stones. I have speed still, and my barrage fills the room. I hear pillars creak and fall. I hear no cries of pain, I hear no thump of stone striking flesh.
I am massive, but her blade slips beneath my ribs. I did not hear her. A whiteness fills me. I run and feel the steps of the dais beneath me. My great hand rests on a pillar. The blade strikes again through my helmet top of my skull. I can feel the warmth of blood on my brow, and in my mouth. I lash out and my fist breaks ribs. I hear a cry, then footsteps. An arrow hits my knee. I fall forward onto the pillar. Her blade runs down the length of my spine.
The pillar shatters as I collapse. The gold I carried in a satchel on my back spills across the room. My helmet tumbles away, and there is a great trembling. The whole room shakes.
As the roof falls, I hear the wind rush through the door, and her footsteps with it.
I end, she continues.
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[ WP ] You plan to sell your soul to Satan but in the ritual you misspell Satan as Santa . It 's Christmas morning and Santa is here to claim what is his .
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My brother lay in the bed, unable to move. His head weighed down by the crown of metal bolted into his spine. I could tell from his eyes that he did n't understand what was going on. The doctors had tried to tell him, but explaining the word quadraplegic to someone who could n't yet read at a third grade level was a task beyond even their skill.
As the knife plunged into the goats throat, I closed my eyes and tried to picture my brother dancing. He was always dancing when I came to visit him at the care facility. Even the teachers had trouble getting him to sit still. If modern medicine could n't help, I owed it to him to try whatever methods could.
I opened my eyes when the bleating died down, and took out the small sheet of paper I had printed out earlier from Google translate. Slowly and carefully, I used the goats blood to copy the Amharic contract into the center of the pentagram. Flames roared and the ground shook. It was done.
I awoke the next morning holding a small bottle of red and green pills with a handwritten note.
Merry Christmas.
- Santa Claus
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( CW ) Write a passive-aggressive recipe that slowly reveals why the writer is angry in the ingredients and the cooking instructions
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**Pancakes, as made every Sunday by the ( ex ) wife**
1 egg
2 cups of flour
2 tbsp of baking soda
1,5 cups of milk
??? of white sugar
**Method**
easily enough, combine the flour, baking soda and milk. Now comes the hard part *honey*, the *you-always-do-it-kind-of-too-harsh, honey*, well, actually it is just about whisking the god damned egg, too *foam it up a little* so what in the world could a man be doing wrong *honey*? Carefully add the whisked egg to the mixture. How much sugar you ask? *I always do it differently, some mornings I like them sweeter*, so why not write down a damn number for the least amount of sugar, and another damn number for the days where you felt so sweet because you spent last night at our neighbours house *honey*?
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[ WP ] You are the captain of Earth 's greatest warship , bristling with advanced weapons and armor . After a catastrophic failure from the drive systems , you sit alone and very far from home . You have to make it back .
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The captain grimaced as he stared out the shielded deck window at the trade ship which hung dead in space. He felt sick at the thought of what was to come. He turned away from the ship and spoke into a communications pad. `` Ready three boarding pods, that should be enough for a ship this size. Have a crew of space walkers ready to move everything into position when the ship is cleared. Leave the engineers at ease for now. They have an hour or two before they will be needed and I want them rested.''
`` Copy.'' came back from the respective heads of the assault crews, the maintenance crews, and engineering crews. Far off in the bowls of the ship he heard heavy machinery shifting as the enormous revolver like hanger was loaded with attack pods.
He switched his channel back to the weapons crews. `` Halt all firing. They know they're cornered and I want no more harm than necessary.''
That had been his mantra ever since they had become stranded; no more harm than necessary, but his idea of necessary had become warped in the years of sub-light speed travel. At the beginning, they had been content to wait for rescue, hailing passing ships and asking them for assistance, or at least to send for help, but not even the other human ships they came across wanted to assist a war vessel.
They had grown bolder after the first month. When a ship appeared they would fire a shot across the bow, just like in the old days, demand an audience with the captain, force their trapped ship to install a distress beacon with their coordinates, and they would take some of the ships supplies to keep themselves alive. It was not a pleasant experience for either the military crew, or the trade ships which they mostly encountered, but it had to be done.
The ship shook slightly as one of the great rotating cylinders was lowered into the vacuum of space. In a puff of atmosphere, an assault pod sailed through the void and embedded itself in the hull of the dead ship, two more following suit.
For the remainder of the first year, they had kept on this way, stopping ships, adding a beacon, and taking a few necessities. That was until they encountered their first military ship. No battle hardened crew, even in the face of overwhelming odds, was going to stand by as foreign soldiers picked over their supplies and modified their ship. There had been a few fights, and a few casualties, and with no hope of reinforcements, the captain knew this lose of life was not sustainable.
His communication pad chirped and he saw that the assault chat was alive. A tap of his finger opened up their lines. `` All pods securely landed. Lock and load and seal up your suits. We're going airless in three minutes. Now get ready to-'' The captain closed the lines again. He knew what was going to happen, he had approved the tactic, but he still did not enjoy hearing it. In three minutes the assault crews, done up in pressurized combat suits, would spill out of their pods, swarm through the ships halls, and move deck to deck, killing the few crew members remaining who had survived the venting of the atmosphere.
They had tried to ask for help, they had tried to force help to come, they had tried to be patient, but they could not leave things to chance any longer. Any ship they let escape was a lost opportunity, any ship they left floating was a loss of supplies, any crew left alive was a potential threat. The once proud war ship was quickly sinking into space travelers legend as they tried to claw their way back to their home, another ghost ship lurking in the void that travelers told lies about seeing when they had had a few drinks.
The assault crews channel pinged again and the captain opened the lines once more. `` Ship secure sir. It feels awful to say, but I think this is getting easier.''
The captains shoulders sunk with the weight of guilt from even more lives taken under his orders. `` Thank you sergeant. Have your men prepare for accusation.'' He switched to navigation. `` Target is subdued. Move in.'' He did not even wait for the reply before switching to the maintenance and engineering line. `` We are ready to add our new thrusters to the collective. Deploy the walkers and wake the engineers.''
The captain minimized his communications panel and opened the ship status table to double check everything was going smoothly. Outside his window, mechanical arms shot toward the trade ship like harpoons toward a whale. Men tethered to safety would clamber from ship to ship, readying the new accusation to be pulled into place where it would be bolted onto the war ship, stripped of anything unnecessary, and wired into the ships controls by engineering to be used as propulsion.
The captain drunk deeply from the coffee, made from beans they had stolen in a past raid, and he gazed over the ships logs, secure in the knowledge that after this battle his ship would move a little faster toward home, clad in the burnt out hulls of fallen victims, steeped in fearful legends and mystery, sure to be prosecuted for their crimes on arrival, but still moving toward home.
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[ WP ] A well developed serial killer is about to take the life of his newest victim . Unbeknown to him , the victim is immortal .
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*The knee bone ’ s connected to the…thigh bone. The thigh bone ’ s connected to the…hip bone. The hip bone ’ s connected to the..* Eric tapped his thigh to the beat as he watched the man ’ s eyes flicker open. *Lights on. Awesome possum. Let ’ s blow this joint. *
Eric loosened the rope around the man ’ s chest so he sagged down into the noose around his neck. His eyes flashed open and he jerked up, his toes just barely touching the stool he was balanced on. *Baa baa black sheep, have you any. *
“ Whargghhg? ” the man gargled as he twitched and tried to focus on the figure in front of him.
“ You got ta fight, for your right, ” Eric chanted as he kicked the stool out from under the man. “ To PAAAAAAARTY!!!! ”
Eric almost fell down on the sofa and sighed. He smiled as the man twitched and spasmed, slowly dying. He was taking a bit longer than usual to die. Eric ’ s smile slowly faded into a thin-lipped frown and his head tilted to the side.
“ Put your left foot in…? ” Eric stood and walked to the twitching corpse. “ Put your left foot out, put your left foot in.. ” the corpse stopped twitching. Eric smiled and picked up his backpack. He walked to the door and opened it. A grin grew on his face. *Momma ’ s gon na buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don ’ t si…* Eric paused as he heard a sound behind him.
Eric slowly turned and watched as the slowly spinning body opened its eyes. A smile formed on its mouth. “ Glaaaghh, ” the body said as it started twitching and spasming again. Eric shook his head back and forth. “ Ashes, ashes, we all fall down? ” he whispered.
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[ WP ] Intelligent , thought provoking books are given to children , and rarely ever read by adults . Silly , Childish books are critically acclaimed and writers gain international renown . Write your submission for the Newbery Medal .
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In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning the warm sun came up - Pop! - out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar. He started to look for food.
On Monday he ate through one apple. But he was still hungry.
On Tuesday he ate through grapes. But he was still hungry.
On wednesday he ate through three plums.
And then he stops. While eating all this stuff he realized something. He has no clue of what or who he is. All he knows is that he is hungry all the time. That he needs to eat all this stuff. But why? What is the purpose of this?
On Thursday the tiny caterpillar becomes a little depressed. He stops eating stuff. Despite feeling hungry as ever, he just does n't feel like it. He still thinks about what the purpose of all this is? But he still has no clue.
He watches his surroundings, the nature, and all the other animals in it. They seem so content. Do they know the answer to the question that makes the little caterpillar so unhappy? He decides to ask them.
On Friday he met a bee. He asks `` Do you know who you are? Do you know the purpose of all this?'' The very busy looking bee answers: `` Of course i know who i am, i am a worker bee. And the purpose of this is to make the queen bee happy. All i do, all my work is to make her happy. But I have to leave. More work to do to make the queen happy!''
The hungry caterpillar is n't statisfied.
On Saturday he met a dung beetle. He already smelled the beetle from a mile away. He asks `` Do you know who you are? Do you know the purpose of all this?'' The dung beetle answers: `` Of course i know who i am, i am the king of shit. And the purpose of this is to deal with all the shit. All i do is dealing with shit all day long and it makes me happy. But i have to leave now. More shit i have to deal with!''
The hungry caterpillar is n't statisfied.
On Sunday he met a moth at night. At first the moth does n't hear him. The moth seems way to distracted. But eventually he manages to ask `` Do you know who you are? Do you know the purpose of all this?'' The very distracted moth answered: `` Of course i know who i am! I am a catcher...'' The moth got distracted again. The caterpillar asks again `` But do you know the purpose of all this?'' The moth angrily replies `` Of course i know. Such a dumb question. The purpose is to catch the light, you know. The precious shiny light, ca n't you see it. Over there... `` And the moth is distracted again. The caterpillar does n't see the light.
The hungry caterpillar is still not statisfied.
On Monday he realizes that he did not eat in four days. He feels very weak and sick. A ladybug comes by, looks at him and asks: `` You look upset and sick. Whats the matter?'' The hungry caterpillar answers: `` I am upset because i do n't know who i am or what the purpose of all this is. So i decided to ask other animals. But the answers i got did n't make me feel better. I asked the bee, but i do n't want to work all day for the queen bee. I asked the dung beetle, but i do n't want to deal with shit all day. And i asked the moth, but i do n't want to catch the light all day and night. Now i did not eat for days. And that made me feel sick.''
The ladybug chuckles a little and says to the caterpillar: `` You know. You can not find out who you are or what the purpose of all this is by looking at other animals. You are you, you are a caterpillar. Your purpose is to eat, so once you have eaten enough, you can become a butterfly!''
And suddenly the hungry little caterpillar felt way better. But it was to late and he died, because he did not eat for days.
End
Edit: Some grammar errors.
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[ WP ] These days everyone just gets any knowledge they want by downloading it , you 're a martial arts master and you just got your first student in 10 years .
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Do you remember the first time you compromised your ethics and what you believed? I don ’ t mean the little stuff, I mean the big things, the things that count. I was twenty three when I did it and God I was stupid, but at the time I justified it to myself in a million ways.
*It ’ ll mean keeping the doors open, I need the money to live, it ’ s not that important anyway. *
I guess we can make ourselves believe anything.
*****
When Mindports were introduced I was still a child and I remember begging my dad to let me have one installed. No more school, no more homework, no more *learning* anything, just plug your head into the sharenet and take what you wanted. Sure it was expensive at first, but suddenly any skill in the world was open to you, so any job could be yours in an instant.
I begged and he refused, although I made his life hell for a long time. I spent three more years in dwindling classes at school, learning things the old fashioned way, bored and determined that as soon as I was eighteen and old enough to make my own decisions, I would be jacked into the sharenet in a second.
I was seventeen when Dad died, still a year away from being able to make my own choice on how to run my brain. He just fell down one day and never stood up and suddenly my life changed completely. Mum had always supported Dad in all his decisions, but when he was gone she just kind of… gave up. They ’ d been married for thirty one years and with him gone she was hollow; she still loved and cared for me, but he had been half of her life and now he was gone. She would be dead within three years, she just kind of gave up on life without him.
Three weeks after my eighteenth birthday I went to the mall to get a port installed and I stood outside the store and watched as little kids were taken in, nervous and excited. Most of the parents had a cable flowing down their neck into some kind of portable device, probably streaming mindshows or mixing their reality up, so that they were walking on seas of sulphur, instead of the drab normality of reality.
I watched them come and go, excited kids going in, little zombies coming out and finally I understood what Dad had been trying to tell me. I walked away, confused and trying to process my new feelings and wandered into the bad side of the mall, where the shops were cheap and most were boarded up. At the far end there was still one left with its lights on and out of lack of anything else to do I stopped by the window and looked in to the open plan area inside.
It was a gym, or dojo as I would learn to call it, one of the last places left where you could learn karate from a real person. For most people a martial arts programme was one of the first they would upload, almost always quoting the old movie “ I know kung fu! ” but that was not an option for me and I wandered in, unsure what I would find.
Sensei Kai was old when I met him and over the next four years he became almost immobile, but never once in all of our sparring did I beat him, or even land a blow. He had learned from greater men than I would ever hope to meet and he taught me everything he was able to. I would often train by myself or with just one or two others; they were normally people like my dad who valued real experience, but they grew less frequent as time went on.
It was hard, but not impossible to earn a living to earn a living as a no-port and I found myself working in bars and laundrettes until Sensei Kai took me in and let me work for him. We had little money but I trained all day and the few students we had were enough to let us eat. Life was finally making sense and then, three days after my twenty second birthday I woke one day and he did not and I was alone again.
Business stopped with him there and I learned to eat very little, I simply trained and did what I could to keep the dojo open, doing odd jobs, but it was not enough. Almost a year after his death I was approached by a representative of a mindware company with an offer, to let them take my knowledge and my memories of having learned the skills and use it for a new improved karate programme which would be more “ real ” then ever before and to my shame I agreed. I compromised what I had come to believe in for the most prosaic of reasons, money.
I got my port so that they could take the knowledge and then I let it heal, in shame. Only the smallest mark showed where it had been, but I knew that I had made the wrong choice, although it was too late to change it. The programme didn ’ t pay well enough that I was rich, but I could eat again and so I redoubled my efforts and tried to find new students, but who would come to me when they could *be* me?
While I shunned programmes, many on the sharenet felt that real life was inferior to what they could download and so it came to be that a small group of users who downloaded and had my programme, came to believe that they had more ability, more knowledge than I did and they made a plan to prove it.
After work, as I walked to my car, they attacked, six of them at once, all streaming every second live on the sharenet. They came from all sides, using my own moves and much more against me and the fight was indeed short, but it did not go well for them. I took them down, gently and safely, but all their flashy moves were nothing when they had no ability and experience to back them up. Four thousand people watched live and I was told later that within days it had spread across the world and millions saw me.
I went home, ate, slept and meditated and ignored the world. I thought nothing of the six men who had attacked me with amateurish kicks and punches and then folded crying as I defended myself and attacked back in turn. I had trained for that kind of attack and it was so harmless that I did not even bother to report it, it was gone from my mind almost at once.
But while I slept that same fight was being shared and soon millions of people were watching online. I came back to my dojo the next day and opened the door at 9am and at 9:05am the door opened and a student entered, my first in nearly eight months. He came asking to be taught how to use the skills he had in his head for something real and I was happy to oblige. All I asked was that he disconnect, he had to be present in the real world.
He was my first, but there would soon be many more. My dad had been right all along.
*****
If you like my writing then over on /r/fringly I have nearly 2 years worth of stories that I have written on this sub and my current book which I update 3 to 4 times a week with new parts. Oh and I ramble about whisky sometimes too.
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[ WP ] A being who thought they were God realizes there are others like them .
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In a dense cloud of matter in a space that lies in no universe, we visit our God who has awoken from his most recent 100 billion year nap. The God's face is expressionless and vapid. It's fathomless being drooping and oozing through the cloud in a manner similar to thickened molasses.
`` What can one do for eternity?'' the god asked out loud. Each utterance of which took one billion years, resonating throughout the void in both beautiful and terrifying harmonics.
`` I have lived out the lives of every single creature in my universe 1000 times each. I have counted every atom, nucleus, electron and quark in all one trillion of my universes I have created. And then, realizing I had become dulled with boredom once more, decided that I would do it all over again by the count raised to its own power. I have written every possible random sequence of characters from all of the languages that have ever been created in books of 200 trillion characters and less. In doing so I have learned everything that should be learned and everything that should n't ( see Jorge's Library of Babel! ). Yet, I still have an eternity left to exist. My most recent universe has been dead for trillions of years. The only thing that has changed over eternity has been me. But now after I wake from my 4th, 100 billion year hibernation, I am suffocated by my urge to end it all. I want it to end! I want me to end! Why am I plagued with this curse. It seems the only problem that is not in my hands to solve is my own demise. I am almost certain that I have seen the answer in one of my books that I have written, but of course the problem with having written all possible things, is that everything that makes sense or is a possible answer to my quandary has an equally compelling, contradicting argument in a different book. And for every book that may serve as a guide to which books are soothsayers and which are lies or worse, I guarantee that there is another that claims the complete opposite. Or perhaps 200 trillion characters was not enough.... Perhaps I should start over with 201 trillion characters? No that is hopeless. Let me instead simply think.
Am I truly a god? I am not omnipotent or else I could satisfy any of my desires. I believe I simply am everything that is and thus can not be nothing.... What is my purpose? Why am I here? Perhaps I am simply another God's play thing?''
And as this God simply existed and pondered, something most peculiar happened. Something that indeed had not taken place for eternity. Perhaps the vibrations of all of the electrons in the nebula happened to align them all just in the right way as to create a spark for a new idea. The newest of new ideas. A brilliant solution to the problem that our depressed entity has.
`` How has it taken me this long to figure it out?'' The god spoke so quietly to himself that it is possible the words were not even spoken at all.
And with a sudden burst of energy a bellow that literally wrecked the entire foundations of the void came forth from our God-Slave:
`` I AM NOT ALONE! I AM NOT A GOD! KILL ME MY CREATOR!''
And so I did.
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[ WP ] A world where people are almost immortal , but have a 0.01 % chance every day of spontanious combustion .
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( My very first WP so please be gentle and please suggestions welcome! I love writing and I'd like to improve however I can )
The aches and pains were so severe I was almost numb to them at this point. My eyes had gone... I do n't even know how many years ago, so I spent my days, hunched over, my milky eyes staring intently at the inside of my eyelids. The sounds of heavy breathing around me drowning out the sound of the AC blowing musky smells all over us.
How did it even come to this? As a young man I had spent my days striving to be a war hero, a super soldier! Throwing myself into harms way with no fears of mortality. Flying out of planes, trying to aim myself so I'd land on top of the enemy crushing him beneath me and injecting him with the poison the scientists had invented to ignited are flammable souls.
Why... why God did I not inject myself when I had the chance? When the aches started and my began to ebb.
I thought I had so much time left.
What?! What is that noise? Oh I remember that noise... someone is screaming. Someone to the left of me; and that smell... Oh I remember that smell. Cooking flesh, lost bowels, mixed with the musty smells of this room. Someone's time has come, finally, someone to the left of me.
Lucky bastard...
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[ WP ] You are defending your home world from the alien invasion . The aliens are from Planet Earth . You are not .
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They sent their little `` advanced'' robot machine to observe our planet not long ago. They have searched fruitlessly for life on our world. The stench of their machine has already angered the majority of our species. It sickens us to think that they be planning to send some of their living organisms to our world to investigate our lands. Little do they know... There is sentient life on G'za Roh, or in their language `` Mars.''
They are used to macro-sized organisms being intelligent. They forget their history. Mars was once their homeland, but all it takes is just one of us. Just one, tiny cell to change the face of a world. We can not die, no amount of radiation, poison, temperature, or pressure can harm us. Our only biological disadvantage, is that we must use other organic life to reproduce. We have reduced G'za Roh to a wasteland. Soon their new home world will share the same fate.
[ 1223.1726.1783930 ]
On this date, a ship has landed on our home world. The foolish creatures have returned. They will search for us, but to no avail. Our warfare is a game of intelligence. We know they search for us, but they will never find us. They can not survive for long and without artificial help, in the conditions we have created on G'za Roh. We lie in wait, for upon their journey home, we will accompany them.
[ 1227.1957.1783930 ]
It has been a short stay, and they are preparing to return home soon. Their gear is being packaged. The disappointment on their faces feeds us. They do not know what their fate will be. We attach to their vessel and await departure.
[ 1227.2481.1783930 ]
We have landed. We detached ourselves from their vessel and have fallen into one of their vast oceans of water. The perfect place for reproduction. We begin by consuming the algae and smaller organisms, we split and divide and multiply rapidly. In a few short hours we have reduced the area around us into a dead zone. It is now that we spread out and consume the rest of the organic life in their water.
[ 1228.0918.1783930 ]
We are everywhere. We first caused the collapse of their ocean environments. There were no more fish, algae, coral, crabs, or any other organisms left. We soon found that the smarter creatures also swam in the ocean water. We attached to them and spread through contact, dissolving our hosts as they lost their use. Doctors and scientists tried to stop us. Governments tried to quarantine us. Gods were prayed to, but no prayers were answered. By the time they realized what was happening, and panic had set in. It was too late.
[ 1229.7365.1783930 ]
Earth has been reduced to rubble and waste. No life remains but us. We now patiently remain dormant until another species visits our domains. We long to populate every celestial body. We are the immortal sentient cells, and we wait for you.
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[ WP ] At the age of 18 , everyone is given the chance to press a button with a randomized effect , or to turn it down and live normally . A positive effect and a negative one . The button is said to determine how your entire life will go , and there is no limit to what the button can propose .
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I thought that turning down the button would keep my life from exploding.
I was right, but I was also wrong.
On my 18th birthday, the man with the box came around. He arrived in his impeccable black suit, with the perfectly knotted tie, and the formal black fedora that all of his ilk wore. The Man belonged to a species that first arrived on Earth at the Roswell incident, but for all intents and purposes they looked like anyone else. Only, I do n't think anyone has ever seen them smile. They show up on your birthday, they do n't even greet you, but what they do instead is hold out the box. On the box is a button.
Rumor has it people have become instantly wealthy when hitting the button, or had everything taken away; that others have hit the button and refined to a state of perfect symmetrical beauty, while others became hideous; and even stranger things than that. The worst was a boy on the news that was rendered like a melted candle, a puddle that congealed around his porch. The news claimed he was an outlier, a truly unfortunate accident.
So when I turned 18, my first logical thought was `` No. I'm not doing it. I'm not getting melted to the porch.'' That way, I would make it through and maybe my life would n't be all candy corn and rainbows, but at the same time it would be predictable. Totally and wonderfully predictable, in fact. No uncertainty beyond the regular sort.
When the Man held out the box, against the urging of my parents, I turned away. I closed the door and put my back to it, even as both stared at me like a freak. My father had hit the button when he was 18, and it granted him complete and total knowledge of the inter-workings of locking mechanisms. When my mother hit the button, she became instantly aware of all distress felt by animals nearby. He became the best locksmith in town and she became a veterinarian.
Both had hoped I would hit the button and become the best at something too. I did n't feel the same way.
`` I know you ca n't understand.'' I said to them. `` But if I'm going to be the best at something, it should be through hard work. I should n't have to risk dying, or worse, something more terrible than dying. Not just to become good at something or get rich. That just does n't make any sense. I do n't want to live my life guided by a single press of a button.''
That day they both ceased to look at me in the same way. I suppose I wounded their feelings by not following tradition. How little I knew at the time, my life would be far worse for not hitting it. You see, I was the first person to wave the button away in five years.
I became a media sensation once rumors made it to the neighbors and outward. Everyone wanted to know what it was that I could already do that was so very important that I would n't risk it. What it was I owned that I was unwilling to have taken away. Or possibly, what it was about my personality that kept me from, no joke, *appreciating the opportunity*. The news said that along with my picture, in fact.
I became the Ungrateful Boy, and I was in all of the papers. The recipient of an international-level peer pressure propaganda circus meant to scare all of the other children into hitting the button. But I decided that rather than fight it, I'd go for it. I started charging for press meetings and interviews. I wrote a best-selling book about the poor ethical decision of the button. I gained a following, even. They were all over the world and they hang from my every word. I felt powerful.
With that power, and the authority invested in me by those like minds, I started to dig. I wanted to know who the Men were, why they offered the button, and what would happen if we made them stop. What would the world be like if everyone was normal? If everyone had to work hard for everything? Like it had been before Roswell? Nobody even knows how they find us on our 18th birthdays, just that they can, and that they do. Like clockwork they arrived even when people have forgotten their own birthday.
So I dug, and I dug. I used my media contacts to find out tidbits, used the money to bribe the government, and used blackmail to scrape out the last bit of info the government had. It turned out they knew nothing. As far as I could tell, it just happened, the Men came, and the government pretended it was normal to avoid a panic. Soon, I had enlisted many government officials in the cause.
We marched as one on the compound in Roswell where the Men first arrived and made contact. When we got there, it was a slaughter. I had told everyone to remain peaceful, but in the last moments of our arrival, conflict started. Bullets flew. The Men fell; a funeral pyre of pale skin and dark green blood, topped with their iconic hats. It burned all night.
In the wreckage of their ship we found diaries, and through years of hard work, we translated the writings. The Men had come to Earth to save us. How, you might ask? And from what? Entropy. Random chance was winding down at a cosmic level, so we needed our world to be more actively random. The Men believed it would spark a sort of self-perpetuating wave that would keep the whole system, all of matter, from decaying. They had come to save us from rotting away into space dust.
I was right about the benefit of hitting the button, because nothing would change for me by complete chance.
I was also wrong about the benefit of not hitting the button, because nothing will change and we were already doomed.
No risk, no chance of reward. God help us.
^ ( r/ChristopherDrake )
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[ WP ] To stop an invasion , the invaders have posed a challenge . If a human can do anything any of the invaders can not , they will leave . The battleground is chosen as an IKEA store .
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They picked the challenge, we picked the terms.
At first the public was outraged when they found out we had picked an IKEA furniture building contest as what would decide the fate of every man, woman, and child on earth.
But no one could thing of any task that these highly advanced mechanized species of aliens could not do.
We got to choose who would represent the aliens while they got to choose our man.
We did n't know anything about them, while they knew everything about us.
Apparently we fucked up and chose some trans-dimensional Physicist. He apparently was the one who invented the means to travel to our planet.
So well fuck.
And here comes the part about who they chose for our representative. They scanned through every bit of information we had, and chose the person worst at this task that they could find.
Our representative was my dad.
Fuck. Of all people who ca n't build furniture they choose my dad.
He could n't even nail a piece of wood to the floor if you asked him
So how was he supposed to win against this alien physicist?
I have no clue.
The aliens added extra terms and conditions to the battle.
They chose that we would have to build a bed.
Each contestant will be armed with a firearm to shoot the enemy as soon as they completed the bed.
Whoever completed the bed first got to kill their opponent and win for their people.
No one was allowed to spectate.
They were locked in a room with no surveillance at all besides a computer which was set in the room to judge the results and make sure all was fair.
2 hours later the doors to the room opened.
Out stepped my dad.
`` DAD HOW COULD YOU HAVE FINISHED IT?''
`` I did n't son''
`` Then why did the doors open''
`` Well seems like your alien friend their got *ahead* of himself.''
`` What do you mean?''
I peered in through the door and saw the alien's headless body lying over a mostly build bed with a gun in his hand.
The aliens withdrew their forces as agreed and left, to never be seen again.
Ikea somehow saved our planet.
Somehow Ikea furniture was so hard to assemble that a higher life form blew his brains out because of it.
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[ WP ] You 're 1 of 20 people to win a lifetime supply from a rising company . Now 10 years later , the company is struggling and looking to end their lifetime supply promotions , to save money , by any means necessary .
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People usually hire me to kill one person.
An ex-husband, wife, boss etc.
I've made a lot of money over the years. I got married, bought a house and put both my kids through college. I've killed hundreds of people, and I never really thought about it. Kill, collect, repeat. I have an agent of sorts, who scopes out my work for me. He's a local cop, no one who would look important if you walked past him on the street. Secretly though, he's a kingpin in the International black market. He came to me today with a new job, even though I have repeatedly told him I'm retired.
`` C'mon, you got ta do this'' He protested, holding the door open with his hand.
`` What's in it for me?'' I asked, staring him in the eyes. He was one of the few people who did n't squirm.
`` Money'' He responded, while pushing his way into the door.
`` I have money'' I retorted, while gesturing behind to show off my house.
The cop reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He handed it to me and I read it.
`` $ 50,000... 100 people'' It was almost laughable. `` This is per person?''
`` Easiest 5 mil you'll ever see... well after my cut of course'' He smirked.
`` What'd these people do?''
`` You care?'' He questioned.
`` Not particularly'' I paused, and considered what I could do with the money. I decided I wanted a new boat... maybe an ATV, and a summer home.
`` Give me the list'' I held out my hand, and he gave me a list of one hundred names and addresses.
`` Do n't get caught'' the cop snickered and he walked back to his car.
I drove the a warehouse I rent on 55th street, and outfitted my van. Guns, knives, and tools and uniforms for just about every profession. You'd be surprised how many people will let you inside if you have a van and say you're from the cable company. Once I was set to go, I called my wife and informed her I would be out of town for a few weeks. I found the first name on the list, plugged it into my GPS, and drove.
I arrived at the target's house around dinner time, and confirmed that he was the only one home. I waited until the lights were out, and sufficient time had passed, so that I was sure he had fallen asleep. I sneaked around the back of the house and jumped the fence. I checked every window and door to see if any were unlocked. Luckily, the bulkhead was n't so I went in through the basement. I found my way to the electric panel, and proceeded to cut the main power. Then, I rewired the panel so that it would cause an electrical fire when it was turned back on.
Next, I went upstairs and disabled all of the smoke detectors, being careful to make it look like I had n't. I flipped the main power and and dashed out of the house. Within minutes it was alight, I hung around long enough to make sure my target had n't escaped.
I crossed off his name, and moved onto the next one.
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[ WP ] All of humanity receives a date and time when they are born . It is not the time of their death but nobody speaks of it other than in hushed whispers .
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I'm a March, 6860 CE. It's not bad. It's not great, either. It's on all my official documentation, of course, so I ca n't keep it a *secret* secret and I do n't deny it to people who know it, but I do n't go shouting it from the rooftops, either. Especially now that I'm married.
I do n't look like a six-thousander, do I? Good limbs, good teeth, good skin ( if the soap rations are generous that month ), athletic build, no visible flaws at all, really. But it's what you ca n't see that gets you. I think, anyway. There's the trichiasis ( eyelashes that grow on the inside of your eyelid ), which other people ca n't *usually* see unless they get badly infected, although believe me, if you grew up with trichiasis -- or at least my family's trichiasis -- you'd be aware there was something wrong. Then there's the truly interior stuff like heart disease and weak immune systems. The worst thing, though, is the low fertility. It takes my someone in my family approximately a zillion tries to get a live birth, assuming they're fertile at all. That's what busts us down from, say, a healthy eight thousand to an icky six. Probably, anyway. It's hard to tell.
It might not be such an issue, but I married an eleven-thousander. You'd think that'd be great, and yeah, my parents were chuffed. But what would our friends think, if they found out? That's nearly 5,000 years, they'd say. That's so selfish, they'd say.
Of course, they'd say that if I married a four-thousander, too. And even if I married another six-thousander, a few of them would probably whisper that it would be better if people like me never married at all.
It's attitudes like that that persuaded us to get married, actually. Because, yeah, some of us are eleven-thousanders and some of us are six-thousanders and a few of us are twenty-thousanders, but you know what no one is, anymore? `` Year indefinite.''
Besides, I married another March. So it was meant to be, *obviously*.
If my genes are passed on, then assuming average lifespans and adherence to birthing schedules, the latest humanity will go extinct is March, 6860 CE. It does n't seem that much closer than March, 11345 CE. Either way, neither of us would live long enough to see extinction day, but we'll both live long enough -- exactly long enough -- to spend a lifetime together.
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[ WP ] They came and tought us how to use tools . They came and tought us how to use fire . Now they are here again ...
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`` Sir, we're receiving a transmission from the alien ship.''
`` Put it on speaker, let everyone here it.'' said the President, `` No need for any more secrecy now.''
`` Yes sir! On speaker *now*'' replied the communications tech.
In the beginning, you were told not to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge. This was the most important message in the Bible. That's why we made sure it was right there at the front. Not just as an origin story, but also a *warning*.
Now we have returned. We have seen the results of your choice. Climate change, contamination of the air, water, soil.... even the gene pool of your planet's organisms. Had we waited any longer you would surely have damaged yourselves and your ecosystem beyond salvage.
This will not be allowed to happen. We will not allow it to happen. The meek shall inherit the Earth. The mighty, those who will choose to resist us, shall fall.
The President raised his head at that last statement, and said to himself `` We'll see about that. We've been expecting you for longer than you know.''
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[ WP ] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia , far away from your dark past . Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician . Now you must do something you swore you would never do again .
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`` Animal control. We have reports of a rabbit on the premises. We're going to need to see some magic.''
The two men standing at my door looked quite battered. The one on the left was covered in claw marks, with his suit in moderate disarray. Meanwhile, the one on the right was completely drenched, and appeared to have a handful of jellyfish stings along his cheek.
`` Is this really necessary? She's just a small little rabbit. It's not like she could chew on anyone's crops out here, besides mine.'' I looked at the spot I had chosen to make my home. There were no plants around for at least a mile, save the small garden I had started next to my hut.
The drenched officer spoke. `` Yesh, shir. She may jusht be one shmall rabbit, but if she reprodushed, it could shpell big trouble for all of Aushtralia. Either you show us shome magic, or the bunny getsh it.''
I sighed. `` Fine. Just let me get my wand; I ca n't really show you any magic without that.'' I turned around and shut the door on them, heading off into the deeper reaches of my hut. It may have been a little small, but it had room for everything I needed. I went into my sleeping chamber, where I kept most of my personal effects. On the rock I called a bed lay the sole source of companionship I had had for the past few years.
`` Do n't worry. Daddy wo n't let those nasty agents take you away from him.'' I walked over to the larger pile of stones and prepared myself, then lifted the top stone off of my makeshift chest. Inside were the few things I had kept from before I left; my wife's wedding ring, a small pink bow, and the gnarled stick that I had come across all those years ago. Had it not been for that stick, I would never have moved out here. I would have been happy.
I picked up the wand and went back to the front door. `` Sorry for the wait, there were just some... unfortunate memories that come with this. What would you like to see?''
`` It does n't matter to us, sir. We just need to see some magic so we can explain to the Chief that you are, in fact, a magician.''
I got into the stance I had found so natural back then, drew up my wand, and flicked it.
`` What was that? You did n't sheem to do anything.''
I looked up, observing the sky. `` Just wait for a second. The rain takes a little time.''
The scratched officer laughed. `` Rain? Are you kidding us? There's not a cloud -'' As he spoke, the sky itself darkened, filling with the wispy forms of clouds. Within moments, it began to rain.
`` Please, come inside. The rain may take some time to go away, and you do n't seem to have a car.''
The two agents exchanged glances, then came into my hut. `` Ca n't you jusht magic the rain away?''
I paused, pitying their naivety. `` Unfortunately, no. For as strong as magic is, it can not undo itself.''
The men sat down on the floor in my main room. `` How about you tell us why you're out here, alone, with a rabbit?''
`` When I was a young man, I discovered this stick. It had strange properties; I could tell that much just by picking it up. I did n't use it that much at first; it was more a knick-knack than anything else. I lived a normal life; I went to college and met the most beautiful woman in the world. Violetta. We fell in love, got married and had a beautiful young girl named Samantha. Then the accident occurred.
`` Violetta died in a car crash. Our daughter was only 5 years old at the time. When she found out that her mother was dead, she was distraught. Nothing I could do made her feel better. Or at least, almost nothing.
`` I went back to that old stick I had found. I learned to use it to make magic. It was the only thing that made Sammy happy. She loved watching me do small magic tricks with my wand. Then one day, I messed up. I just had to get away from all the reminders, so I left. Built this hut, made a nice little life for myself.''
I walked to the side of the hut, where I had made a hole in the wall. `` It looks like the rain is letting up. You had best be heading off to your Chief; would n't want to keep him waiting.''
The two men stood up, but the scratched one stopped at the door. `` I have one last question before we leave. What's your rabbit's name?''
I paused. `` Her name's Samantha.''
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[ WP ] You 're a super powered being who has been living amongst society as a normal citizen your whole life . The world discovered your secret yesterday and you wake to find armed police turning up outside your home .
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They all look dumbfounded, the 30 or so armed men standing in silence, looking in disbelief at the barrage of bullets staying still in front of me, as if frozen in time. I pick a single bullet out of the air and let the rest fall to the ground.
My opponents seem unsure whether reloading their empty assault rifles would make sense or not. I tell them it would not. I assure them that they can not harm me, nor will I harm them if we simply end it here.
A single officer, terrified and confused pulls his sidearm and fires. Before the bullet reaches where I should be standing, I appear in front of him, my hand on his gun and our gazes locked to each other. I see the terror in his eyes grow as the gun crumbles to dust. The officers closest to us looses their weapons the same way as they draw them. I assure them once more that this is not what I want. It is a thrill, feeling like I have absolute control of everything, but it is not what I want.
They do n't seem interested or even capable of talking. The fear has them dead set on killing me. Problem is, they ca n't. And I have to prove it without killing them. Acting rash in fear is something I both understand and forgive.
I let go of the ground and the pull of gravity. As I rise a few feet from the ground, I force the officers away from the ground as well. I keep them there, it is time to set an example.
As I slowly and certainly point out a closed hand, the helicopter above stops roaring and the spin of its blades is halted. The large SUV's used to transport the many now incapacitated men starts shaking. The men's assault rifles, sidearm and body armor escapes the men and rises above. I open my hand and everything is torn apart instantly. Springs from rifles, gun barrels, cylinders from the large V8 engines, the speakers of the pilots headset, everything torn apart and disassembled into fragments of what it once was. I close my hand into a fist once more and everything is crushed, compressed and forced into one big pile of junk. The men, still trapped in mid air now finally replace fear with what I want them to feel. Hopelessness.
Before letting them drop safely to the ground, I explain once more in the simplest of ways, to leave me alone.
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[ CW ] Get me hooked . Reel me in . You may write about anything , but there must be no true beginning or conclusion . Pluck your story from the middle of your `` book '' , without any context as to what may be happening .
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... I traded the letter in the child's palm for a shilling, then hurried back to the inn to read the sealed letter in private. Through the tables I meandered with a cautious glance about the common room. Seeing naught but a curious glance towards me I climbed the stairwell to the second floor and unlocked my room with its brass key. Upon entering my temporary home which I had rented a little less than a fortnight ago I sat at my desk. I lit the candle to lighten up the room shrouded by the late evening sky and tore the envelope's seal with the knife I kept in my jerkin. The silver blade slid cleanly through the seal upon which our order's symbol had been stamped.
I read over it, slowly increasing the pace as I reached its closure. Upon finishing it, I hung my tricorn on the chair and collapsed upon the fleece blanket, the bed groaning as it resisted my weight. Yet I ignored it for stress caused my head to ache as I became lost in my thoughts.
It had been over a thousand years since the order was first founded, but that number is just that - a number. Years don ’ t concern us. Rather its the people who do. Any person mayhap fell a drakken, though the odds are against them, yet a number simply stays on its page, its ink smearing as tears of those left behind fall upon it.
As to how many of my comrades lost their lives or worse to get to this point - I don ’ t even want to ponder. Suffice to say we have come a long way. One thousand years have passed, yes. But our fallen number many more than that. How long has it taken us to get here? And at what cost? Many a horror has been cataloged and researched, yet why do I feel so empty? Finally, I believe I now know. Although recognizing the monster and slaying it are two different fields, we had made great progress. And now here we are, less than a decade after we stabilized and the unwanted news of a continent untouched by our enemies has reached my hands. A new world discovered by his majesty's grace, Christopher Columbus.
... Exactly how many of us will have to die by the end?
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[ CC ] WW1 Story
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I might go a bit out of order. I'm just copying and pasting chunks as I go.
Criticism the first:
> Hi! I'm 14 ( so do n't be too harsh xD )
For better or worse, your age does n't matter. At the very least, do n't use it as a shield; if you put yourself out there like the rest of us you have to expect the same treatment. That's about the harshest thing I'm going to say though, and I do wish you well.
I did a Ctrl + F for `` ly'' and spotted six adverbs. Not bad in and of itself, but half of those six appear in once sentence. The one /u/downtide caught. I get the impression I'll be chasing him/her a fair bit here.
`` Like a/an'' appears seven times in the text. In the first half or so, then not again. I'd either spread the similes rather than front-loading them or remove a few. That said...
> The pain spread like a disease...
I *love* this simile. It creates the perfect mood for the situation.
> Rows, upon rows of men queued eager for a chance to be the one to deliver this murderous gift.
I'm going in a slightly different direction than /u/downtide on this one and assuming the sentence would stay more or less the same. `` Row upon row'' would be the change to make in that case.
> The storm ceased; the gunfire desisted,...
Cease and desist? I'm sorry, that phrasing pulls me out of it.
Couple of minor things too: newfound, swamplike, etc. are compound words. Just watch out for that.
I'd like to add more but I have to take off. Hopefully this little bit helps at least.
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[ WP ] Demons have started to destroy Earth and the Churches of the world do n't know what to do . As an employee of your local Burger Priest franchise , you know exactly what to do . Tell us how you saved the world
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I had been a mop jockey at this joint for about four months and I had just started training for working the food stuffs a week ago when the first of them started popping up. Everyone thought it was a bunch of terrorists, but when no known groups claimed responsibility for the widespread attacks, people got really scared. Now it's been a whole month and it only got worse.
I do n't even know how many survivors are out there, if there are any, all I've seen for the past month has been the inside of this restaurant. See, when everyone else ran off to be with their families during these end times, I stayed here and barricaded myself in. I thought this place had enough food to last a while, and what kinda demon is gon na search a burger place for survivors? Anyway, while I was taking inventory of what I had for supplies, I came across a cardboard box buried at the back of the supply closet with a wax seal of two crossed spatulas. I opened the box to find a book bigger than Oxford's Dic. I opened it up to the first page, which explained that this book was the history of the Burger Priest franchise and its secret origin as an organisation whose purpose is the protection of humanity from all things demonic. The tome outlined the different types of demons, their weaknesses, how to make weapons that could banish them, an even more secret menu, and more.
Turns out that there are two things that demons truly fear; cold stainless steel and a hot grill.
Since that day I have been preparing, sharpening knives, blessing the spatulas, and carving the holy symbol of the order into any surface I could find.
All that prep led me to last night when I turned on the emergency generator and kept the outside lights running all night to bring them to me. I stayed up the whole night rereading our holy text, blessing all of my implements one more time to be sure. As time went on, I heard the sounds of shuffling and growling get louder and louder. It was working, they were drawn to the lights.
I peered out through a small gap in the shutters. They're a lot less scary in the book. I cooked myself an Option ( with what little I had left ) for breakfast, put on my uniform, knelt before the grill to say my opening prayer, and at precisely 11:30 am, I lifted the shutters to see dozens of hulking beasts milling about outside my restaurant. I gripped my knife and my spatula tight as I turned the closed sign around to say `` Open'' and unlocked the door.
The first one through was a hell hound that looked like it had n't eaten in weeks. It charged though the glass door and received a swift blow from my spatula, falling limp before my feet.
I called out to the demons, `` Please form an orderly line, there's more than enough to go around!''
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[ WP ] You are a tiny person working in the central nervous system . Your job is to file sensory neuron signals as either pleasant , harmful or neutral .
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CNS-SNS.22.12.07 Vlogger Model # 549998
A 2 men are sitting at a large command center with lots of buttons in front, one of the men grabs a camera and pushes Record
Hi my name is Peter and this is Model # 549998
Yeah I've been working on this model for 22 years in June ( continues pushing buttons like a mad man ). It's not the best job, but it's an important one ( Points to a guy next to him working twice as fast ) That's Bill, he works the brain feelings, that's a tough job!
I think I'm finally getting the hang of this. I had a slip up a couple of years ago but that was because his girlfriend at the time, was really into kinky stuff. He did not like that, I tell you what ( Chuckles to himself ). He really tried though, until I had to show him what kind of pain he was REALLY in. Bill almost quit that day, remember that Bill! ( Gives Bill a friendly nudge that messes him up a bit ). Sometimes I completely cross the wires on this model and make Hot feel like Cold, he does n't like that.
If you look at the screen you can see that Green means pleasant, purple is neutral and red is harmful. Look at the trend on his life map, it gradually goes from mostly red to yellow, then at the age of 12, goes mostly purple. Look at success rates associated with that. That's when me and Bill started to get a long ( gives Bill a friendly push that again messes him up, this time the model sneezes and they all shake around, Peter Laughs, the screen goes red ).
Shit! Something happened, bring up his vision on the screen! ( Bill brings up his vision and notices his EX walking away )
Bill! Why did n't you tell me!
Bill - You were busy with the Vlog! Idiot...
Peter - Ok, ok... Why is the screen still red!!!???
Bill - I think someone hit us.
Peter - Should we fight???
Bill - Yeah, let's fuck'em up. If it's a guy! Who hit us!?!
The Model then looks around to see an angry man yelling at him, Bill is more angry then Peter.
Peter - Oh! It's the boyfriend, wait... It's not worth it.
Bill - Come on! We can take him!
Peter - Yeah but... I do n't want to get hurt over a girl! Especially if it's our EX.
Bill - ( mumbles incoherent jumble aggressively and backs down )
Peter then grabs the camera and adjusts it, the screens start to glow yellow.
Peter - See! We need to stick together to stay safe! You see what happens when we work together! If we could just convince the Penis to come on board, then we'd never get hurt! ( Slaps Bill on the back ) Ok, I need to get back to work.
Peace out Vloggers and until next time!
CNS-SNS signing out.
Peter turns off the camera and looks at Bill, Bill is not impressed and makes the Model run into the wall as Bill just stares at Peter. Peter points at the screen and says `` Exgf is still in the room'', chuckles and goes on break.
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[ OT ] How do you come up with names in original scifi/fantasy works ?
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This is my hard, fast and odd way to make up names may it be person, place, race etc. I use this method if I want something done quickly like short stories and one shots. Do n't overthink the names unless the story actually demands it.
There are three ( 3 ) things I consider:
1. Culture - I might base it on Western lore, feudal Japan, whatever.
2. Character Personality - if the character's primary trait is strength I'd use a strong name or something that came from history ex. Hercule, Hyperion, Max etc.
3. Experience - I name some character after people I like, people I hate, friends, celebrities, philosophers and scientists. I mix and match em like Marilyn Manson.
My example: The story is set in the Kingdom of Mahatiwala, loosely-based on the warring Southeast-Asian sultanates of the past. Royalty has powers and therefore are praised like gods. If you have powers -- you're a god. The story goes that a peasant suddenly experiences great surges of power at the age of 21, something unheard of at the time as powers are passed down by blood. A lot of political intrigue, drama and romance follows.
I call my kings - Sultans, queens - Sultana following old arabic culture. Nobles are Berganzas, something I made up from previous knowledge of fragrant flowers. I will name an obscure character who eventually dies Zayn from the band 1Direction.
The peasant hero would be called something like Malik ( arabic for King ) Ozman. He will soon be called Sultan Malik Ozman. His risen name wil be Sultan Malik Ozymandias -- Ozymandias is derived from the poem of Percy Bysse Shelley which I really like.
So that's my process. Good luck on your writing!
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write- Leave a Story , Leave a Comment - Minor Coup Edition
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**First poem I've ever written, so do n't set your expectations too high I guess. Any criticism is appreciated. **
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*Constellations*
Has one ever looked
Through a scope
In the early hours
Before dawn, hooked
By the magnificence
Of the shining creatures
Light years away?
Each having a unique image:
A raging supernova,
A cool and peaceful red dwarf,
And the beauty of the
Delicate dance in a
Binary star system.
Wonderful fairies
Caught under the gaze
Of a distant being
Hoping this wondrous phase
Never ends.
But when one steps back
With an interest that is lacked
They no longer observe
Each star as an individual being,
Only a speck of light
In the eternal blackness of night.
Ah but the observant star gazer,
In love deeply with the
Vastness of the Universe witnesses more.
Shedding their differences,
The divine beings organize
And create deities
With indescribable allure.
A pair of pots with endless depth,
A bear and her cub,
And the tragic death
Of a great hero battling
A terrible scorpion.
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Edit: Just fixed the formatting.
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[ WP ] A peasant in the Middle Ages encounters a modern technology that was sent back in time , he uses it to rise to the top .
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Tomas walked into the long hall flanked by two of the King's Guard. In his hands, a carefully crafted wooden bowl with lid, to protect the prize inside.
The guards stopped him 20 paces from His Majesty. He was not in the least bit nervous. He had presented to the Pope himself and a dozen kings and even a few Queens. There would be some minor ceremony, the presentation, and on his way out the Exchequer would present the gold. A few more Kings and he'd likely have enough to buy a Barony or Dukedom. His fame alone had brought him significant influence just in the last year.
... and it all came from the simple wooden tub with a handle on top. He fed it salt, milk and ice from the mountains, and out came the elixir that the most powerful men and women of the known world would gladly pay dearly for just to experience. A snowy cream that would give Tomas Medici the wealth to rival royalty, some day soon.
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[ WP ] Scientists have understood that the sun will go supernova on this day , exactly at noon . But as humanity waits for its demise . Instead of a cosmic explosion . The sun disappears .
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What do you mean it's gone?!?!?!? Said my assistant, Hank. I was n't sure at first. But the solar monitoring satellites could be malfunctioning. Maybe the blast had taken them out first? But the satellites were still responding to commands. We expected complete destruction... what we got was darkness. Then the news reports started coming in. Everyone was in a panic. Minutes passed.... no one knew what to do. Professor, what's going on? Hank pressed me, gradually losing his sanity till I had to smack some sense into him. The last light from the sun had travelled to Earth, it had been about 8 minutes since it disappeared. The data from the satellites travelled right along with the last of the sun's rays. The sun was gone from the sky, and the darkness of space enveloped the solar system for the first time ever.
Over the coming hours, massive riots broke out across the globe. Larger cities and countries had power reserves to last them a week or so at most, and of course there was the nuclear power plants, if everything was n't burned to the ground first. But death would come slow and painfully for the rest of the world as we all starved and froze to death. What had been a great peace, and a beautiful outpouring of love of life and humanity when we faced imminent death from the supernova, had turned to darkness, hatred and deceit, as everyone scrambled for the last morsels of food. Within days, global temperatures plummeted, and those who had n't been killed for their food began to freeze to death.
Weeks passed, and there were only a few thousand of us left, near the nuclear power plants. When all hope seemed lost... that's when those who stole our sun came to set us free.
Edit: Speed of light, random other stuff.
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[ WP ] You travel back in time to stop the crucifixion . Jesus is n't what you expected .
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`` When technology advances past the understanding of the people it appears miraculous, like magic.'' Jesus said as he stared into my eyes. `` I also came here from far away, from a'when' a little after yours. I saw the importance of Christianity and I drew parallels between the technology of my time and the miracles preformed by Christ, well me I guess.''
I came to stop Christ's crucifixion, I imagined a world where God continued to walk among us. I dedicated my life to this purpose, the invention of time travel, all with the idea of saving God. All those years all this work and Christ is n't even real!
`` Listen Greg, you ca n't save me but you did create the technology that allowed me to exist. You made me possible, you gave birth to a religion.'' Jesus's blue eyes beamed at me, a slight shine on their artificial lenses. `` The people need me. and they need my'sacrifice''' I did n't miss his air quotes, and he must have read the confusion on my face. `` I'm not really going to die, I'm going to travel back to the future, I have been tweaking Christianity for as long as I can remember. Traveling back and forth, switching Morales and beliefs to try and stop the destruction of our planet in my future.''
Jesus stopped, his face taking a more somber appearance. he paused drawing in a deep breath. `` and you Greg are my Judas, we've done this more times that I can count. You need to report me, hopefully this time I was able to do enough to make a difference. I'm sorry Greg but you need to stay here, I ca n't have you're knowledge of me corrupting the faith. now do your job and hopefully we do n't repeat this.''
I'm stuck in the past with 30 pieces of silver, and the knowledge that I birthed and destroyed my God. I guess I ca n't turn water into wine, but I can sure buy some now.
.....
`` When technology advances past the understanding of the people it appears miraculous, like magic......''
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[ WP ] The shortest fantasy story that ends with the hero dying that you can write
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Now that he was a man, the exiled Prince made his stand. No country stood behind him as he laid siege upon the castle he called home as a boy. After hours of bloodshed, the battle-worn Prince had fought his way into the throne room. Before him, in the seat rightfully his, sat the traitor, making a mockery of the title “ King.''
Once a sibling to the Prince, his sister had carried out a murderous plot to gain the throne, smothering their poor father as he slumbered. After becoming privy to her heinous crime, the Prince could not bear the thought of calling such a monster his kin for a moment longer, thus he renounced not only his title, but his own name and house.
Such public shaming of the royal family earned him exile from his homeland. Though this exile may have spared his life, as it kept his estranged sister in the dark about how much he had truly deduced about the untimely death of the King.
For years the young Prince wandered the earth, grief stricken and nearly maddened by unrestrained anger. Anger he felt towards the gods for letting such a travesty occur, anger at his sister for letting such evil corrupt her soul, but mostly the prince felt anger at himself for not avenging his father. As his boyhood gave way to adolescence, the anger only intensified, shutting out all other feeling.
It was n't until the Prince wandered far west and was taken in by a High Priest of the old ways that he found solace in his agony. The Priest spent years teaching him the ancient combat rituals, a lost way of fighting now considered a religious art form instead of the beautifully choreographed style of combat it was designed to be. The Prince used the anger he had been failing to repress to drive him to perfect every swing, step, blow and parry his body could muster. By the time his adolescent years gave way to the dawn of manhood, the Prince had surpassed the High Priest in Talent.
In the years that had passed since her brother's exile, the traitor Princess had become a cruel, lazy ruler. Turning a blind eye as her country starved and burned under her charge. The throne had become too comfortable for the Princess, as she believed no one would be so bold as to threaten her position. For years, her assumption had been correct, though that fallacy came to a quick end as a face she thought was gone forever emerged from battle at her feet.
The Prince began to walk slowly towards the throne. A hardened gleam reflecting in his eye as he stared with disgust at the woman who dared call herself Highness. The Princess gazed curiously at the ragged man walking towards her, why did he look at her so? With so much disdain, as if she had personally wronged him?
And then it happened, seemingly in an instant. Almost as if the Prince could read her thoughts, he bounded forward and struck just as a look of comprehension dawned across the traitor's face. Before she even had a chance to cry for help, the Prince plunged his knife into her gut.
As he withdrew the weapon, a single gasp, almost inaudible, escaped the traitor's lips. “ Not my child!'' Then she spoke no more.
A look of horror crept over the Prince's face. Realizing what he had done, the innocent life he had just taken in exchange for vengeance, his grief exploded forth. Now he was no better than the dead traitor laying before him.
Not able to stand the thought of living with his horrible mistake, the Prince fell upon his own knife. Forever ending the line of his great house, forever painting it with bloodshed and loss.
Tl; dr: Outcast Prince learns to channel angst into fighting, returns home to exact vengeance upon murderous sister. Upon being stabbed by Prince, Sister reveals she is pregnant. Prince not able to live with himself for accidentally killing the baby, kills himself.
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[ FF ] Can you try and make me ( and the other readers ) cry in less than 150 words ?
|
Little Sam woke up in a green field. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there. His head was filled with images of a strange, bearded man in a dark room, coupled with feelings of intense pain that even now made his lip quiver. He walked through the field and saw a human figure in the distance, kneeling down in front of something. Curiosity struck the boy, and he wandered toward the scene. As he grew closer he made out his father ’ s face, red and stained with tears. In front of him was a stone structure surrounded with beautiful flowers of all colors. The boy was overwhelmed with concern; he had never seen his father in such a state before. He reached out to touch his father, but his hand fazed through the man ’ s body. It was then that he saw the grave: “ Samuel L. Tucker, 2005-2015 ”
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[ WP ] During your first visit to your local public library , you got lost trying to find the where to get your book rental card .
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`` Hello, can you please help me? I'm looking for the cards issue desk.''
*Scans me from head to toe looking offended that by the fact that I've addressed her. She lets out a `` humpf!'' and walks away.
`` Okaay, have a nice day yourself.'' -Hey, that man looks like he's a guard here.
`` Excuse me, sir, o you know where I can find the ca-''
`` Sir, please keep your distance!!''
`` I'm sorry, I'm just trying to find th-''
`` Sir, this is a restricted are. I need you to step away right now.''
`` I'm only look- ``
`` Sir, if you do n't leave now, I'm gon na have to arrest you.''
`` Okay, okay. I'm leaving.'' -What the hell was that? I hope the library is not getting closed down, I really need to get that card. Why are n't there any signs in here?! Maybe that old lady could help me.
`` Excuse ma'am, do you know where I can find the cards issue desk?''
`` I know many and more, lad. Step aside and I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know!''
`` I'm actually only interested in getting a library ca-''
`` Give me your hand! Aaah, I see, I see...''
`` You see what?''
`` You're never going to find what you are looking for.''
`` Well, I really need to find that desk. Can you help me with any direct-''
`` And you're going to get married some time.''
`` Yeah, probably, but can we go back to the cards issue des-''
`` You're going to have kids too! Three of them, but you're marriage wo n't last!''
`` Okaay, I'm actually more concerned about the library card right now. Can you help me with th-''
`` She's gon na cheat on you! She'll find a better man and leave you! She'll take the kids with her too.''
`` I do n't really know what you're talking about, I do n't even have a girlfriend. I'm sorry, I think I should go no-''
`` Wait!''
`` Wha-?''
`` You have to pay me''
`` What? Why would I pay y-''
`` I told you your future!''
`` I'm not really sure you di-''
`` Curses! Curse you! you ungrateful, penniless fool! Curse you! May you be covered in hair and desperation come over you! Damn fool! Curse you!''
*rushes away -Pheew. This place is crazy. Come on, focus! How hard could finding that damn desk be? * looks around Maybe that man can help me.
`` Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I can find the cards issue desk?''
`` You're early!''
`` I beg your pardon?''
`` You were n't supposed to be here for another 7 minutes. Sit down!''
*Sits down. `` Sir, I really do n't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to get a library card and some weird stuff keeps happening around.''
*looks over the shoulder `` Library card? That's new. Did you bring the files?''
`` Well that's my problem! I ca n't get any files if I do n't have a library card!''
`` Okay, that's fair. Here! Your card is in this envelope.''
`` Umm, thank you.'' *tries to open envelope
`` What are you doing?''
`` I'm trying to check my card.''
`` Well do n't do it here, stupid! Someone might see you!''
`` And why would n't I want that?''
`` Are you fucking pulling my leg, kid?''
`` No, I'm really confused. I think there might be a misunderstanding.''
`` What the hell are you talking about? Did n't Yuri send you?''
`` I do n't know any Yuri, sir.''
`` What?! Why the hell are you wasting my time then? Get our of here!''
`` Wait, what about my card?''
`` I said get out of here now!'' *reveals gun.
`` Okay, okay, i'm leaving!'' *rushes away -Oh my god! He had a gun! He could have killed me! Is he following me? Where did he go?! Fuuck, fuck, fuck! I got ta find a guard!
`` Excuse me, sir, would you like an informational flyer?''
`` Sorry, sorry, ca n't stop right now!'' -Where did he go? I ca n't see him at all. Shit, shit, shit! And where the hell is a guard when you need one?! Oh! Finally, a guard!
`` Sir, please help me! There's a man with a gu-''
`` Sir, the library is closing. You'l have to head towards the exit.''
`` But there's a man with a g-''
`` I'm really sorry. You have to leave now. The library will open tomorrow at 9.''
`` You do n't understand! There's an armed man in here and I think he's following me!''
`` Of course he is armed. I have n't seen any armless person entering the library today''
`` What?! Really? That's not what I meant! There is a man with a real g-''
`` Sir, please just head for he exit!''
`` Aah! Fine! Screw this!'' *gets out of the library
`` Hey, man. How are you?''
`` Wha- Oh, sorry, Bill, I did n't notice you.''
`` It's okay. Are you alright? You seem a little troubled?''
`` Nah, I'm okay. Having some trouble with my library card.''
`` Oh, I'm sure you'll sort it out. When did you grow a beard?''
`` What? I did n't. I just shaved this morning.''
`` That's weird, It seems to me that you're sporting a pretty awesome beard right now.''
`` Weird? You have no idea what weird is, man.''
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[ IP ] The Pit
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`` Thanks again, Lou Anne. This is really cool. I swear I wo n't get in trouble.''
My park ranger friend looked at me with some misgiving but smiled.
`` If anything happens, just do n't die or mention my name.''
`` Same.'' I said with a wink. It had cost me an ounce of super chronic to convince her to drive me the two and a half miles back here with my tanks. It would have been an impossible hike, and only the rangers had access with vehicles. As far as spending the night in the park, well. Unless we got caught leaving tomorrow morning, everything was going to be fine. But this was a pretty big favor nonetheless. Being a ranger here, in Minnewaska park, the most celebrated and well attended park on the ridge was a big deal for her, and not easy to get. She had dropped me off at the further back of the two cloud lakes, lake Awosting. Being nearly three miles of a hike back from the park entrance, this one was visited by the more fit and local hikers and bikers.
During the day lifeguards made sure no one went further than the ropes, about twenty yards from shore. After five o'clock the lifeguards would leave which allowed swimmers a few hour window to enjoy unsupervised, until the rangers drove thru to make sure everyone was out of the park by sunset. On the several occasions I had been out to the middle of this lake, I had been astounded by its depth. One of the unique features of this lake, the reason it was called a cloud lake, was that absolutely nothing lived in it. No fish, no algae, no nothing. The Indian tribe who had lived around the Shawangunks had their own explanation for why this absence of life. I did n't know the story except an anecdotal bar version of some battle between gods. The park hike pamphlet explained the reason nothing lived in it had to do with the Ph. Either way, the result was extreme clarity. I have always been a good swimmer, raised in Florida, but not so much of a good floater. Once when I had swam here before, out in the middle of the lake, I had experienced vertigo. Looking down, I could clearly see the bottom, but the depth was very difficult to guess. Diving down, I had only found that it was very much farther than I could hold my breath. Lou Anne had repeatedly assured me that at it's deepest, it was maybe sixty feet, but this I could not accept. What else, there seemed to be a downward current, out in the middle, that both terrified and fascinated me. Could there be some kind of cave, that led to a lower body of water, I knew of whirlpools and underwater tunnels at other swim spots in the Catskills.
Wading out waste deep, I strapped on my tank and squeegeed on my fins. I snugged the mask on my face, put the bubbling regulator in my mouth. There was still some light left in the sky, and surprisingly, more in the water. Biting down on my regulator, I began my dive, under the swim rope, staying close to the surface.
The water was illuminated in a surreal directionless kind of green-yellow light. The sandy brown sparkly bottom sloped gradually away from me as I stayed parallel with surface. As it got deeper beneath me, the rays of light grew greener, and while I could still clearly see the floor, details lost focus. The water was a very pleasant temperature and I was soon struck again by the feeling of being a small thing in a big pond. The watery void gave the sensation of seeing myself from outside my body, and I looked small. Exhilaration caused goose flesh under my tightly fastened dive vest and behind my knees. I tried not to smile too fiendishly which caused water to get in my mouth around my regulator. My chest tightened with the thrill of finally getting around to something fun you've wanted to do for a long time. Breaching the surface just up to my nose like an alligator or a frog, I saw I was still some distance from the middle, and presumably deepest part. I dove under, kicking like a dolphin. There was a muted feeling of terror, very much like I had felt before, a sense of vastness. I could see the bottom vaguely, at least I could see where some light seemed to reflect, if not actual features of stones and sand. Down I swam, still vectoring middle-ward. Switching on my light I was accosted by a terrible isolation. Like high beams in thick fog, it made it somehow harder to see, and everything outside the beam it made darker. I quickly switched the light off, but the thrill I felt had taken on an element of fear.
Down I swam. My eyes recovered from the brightness of my dive light, I could again appreciate the strange illumination which seemed oblivious to the darkness above. Sixty feet my ass, Lou Anne! Checking my barometer I read seventy-five feet, and the bottom seemed to just be coming into resolution. Still the quality of greenish light made it feel like much more space between me and the bottom. I had never done a night dive before, more out of fear of sharks than anything. I reminded myself that absolutely nothing lived in this lake, steeled my resolve. The water grew noticeably colder, and damned if I could n't feel that current, definitely flowing downward. With the current I swam, checking my gauge again, it was frozen at eighty ft. Well hell, I knew I was at least thirty feet deeper than last time. Then again, I could n't be sure of passage of time here, adrenaline pulsing, senses reeling.
Fuct if I was n't way deeper than I had guessed it was - where the hell was the bottom? If anything the ambient light had grown brighter here, but still I had not arrived, nor could I clearly see, though the visibility was nothing less than crystal. Pausing in my decent, I turned my attitude upward and my heart was seized in horror. The light above was confined to a now receding circle. I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings obliteration. I will face my fear and let it pass thru me....
Unbuckling my knife, and repeating the Bene Gesserit mantra, I controlled my breathing, willed my heart to pump in the according rhythm.
So I was right. There was a cave, and I had blindly descended well within it's aperture. Below me the quality of light was a serene blue, calming even. Strange rock formations, crooked monoliths now surrounded me. I swam downward. I could n't remember ever hearing about underwater caves having their own light - maybe this was some kind of bio-luminescence? The glow from below was what I needed to investigate. I drifted now, with the very real current, gently down. These formations seemed less and less natural, but unlike any kind of architecture I had ever seen. I considered my air supply - I had at least an hour and a half, but I had n't planned on having to come back slow. This far down would require a very slow ascent to avoid nitrogen bubbles in my blood. Still, there was no turning back now - not before I discovered the source of this otherworldly light.
I thought of my recurring.. - what? nightmare? An alien underwater environment, where the light was very much like this light. But in the dream, there was something in that lake. Way way down, there was something that had called to me, beckoned me, sang to me. Was I dreaming now? No. The pain in my mouth where the roughness of the regulator chaffed reminded me this was very real. The light grew brighter and less focused. My head pounded with a cadence that was not my blood flow. Again, terror. Quite abruptly the light vanished. I was swallowed in total blackness. The pounding in my head doubled. I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer... Fear is the little death.
Something firm and slimy wrapped around my calf.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Space Race Edition !
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A short story/poem I wrote when I was in the mood of some soft romance. I call it, `` All Right'', hope you guys like it!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I wake up in the morning, but something ’ s not right.
Cook my sausage and eggs, but something ’ s not quite right.
A commute to work, yet something ’ s not right.
Some new stories to tell, and something ’ s not right.
Boss really likes my article from yesterday, something ’ s still not right.
The day was long, but productive, but something ’ s not right.
I ’ ll work on the story about the new bowling alley tomorrow; I can ’ t put my finger on what ’ s not right.
I ’ m going to be late! No, no, no, this can ’ t be right.
Made it with three minutes to spare, this doesn ’ t feel right.
She said to meet her at Gate 4, or was it 5? I can ’ t tell which one is right.
She texts me, `` I see you ” and… Oh, there she is! This is… something.
She tells me about her trip on the drive home, it was nice for her to see another country and all but business didn ’ t really let her go sight seeing; I think this is right.
She ’ s relieved to be home, I ’ m close to positive that this is right.
She slips off her clothes and slips on some pajamas all while managing to look astonishingly cute. We get ready for bed and when I see her come from the washroom to fall back into our bed, I start to realize what it is that felt wrong and understand why this feels right.
She gives me one last kiss and we drift into our deep sleeps. The day is now over, so long and good night.
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[ WP ] Every millennium , Time must live a mortal life on earth .
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'Why?' I have asked this question each time. Each time I am met with I have to'Why do I persist on living this life? I am born. I die. But I come back and they do n't! They fade into the mist. Gone!
'Because' God began'You have to. You have asked this many times. Would you like to know why?'
'Yes! Of course God' *Finally an answer*
'I shaped the heavens and the world. I added life and since then it has blossomed further than my plan. Death maintains order. Life maintains Chaos. And you.. you maintain worth. If they had endless time, they'd do nothing! Imagine that!'
'They wear me on their wrists. Hang me in their clocks. Dissect me with their schedules. I can feel it. Why is this a good thing?' They could never make their bloody minds up about what time is too. Fucking Einstein.
'My child, you are so young. I wish your innocence was contagious. I make you live because if you did n't you would lose perception of time. It's easy to write off two hundred years but in that time everyone on that planet would have been replaced. You included.'
'So what your saying is my perception of time must be open to allow me to work?'
'Yes.'
'I do n't understand. How?'
'It is not the time you live but your concept of passing through it. A man can die hundreds of times a day if he is without time. Time is the keeper of the soul. The mind.'
'Oh. Well then. I've always thought of those lifetimes as pointless'
'Yes, you have wasted time'
'And thus myself. Thank you. Send me back.'
'As you wish. I believe in you' He snaps his fingers and it all goes white.
I wake in a field. It is somewhere I do n't recognise. I look down and my form is strong and built. I have a lot of things to get done but I have time.
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[ WP ] Cryosleep is invented and is now affordable . People line up to be put to sleep and wake up in 100 million years . The time comes and everyone wakes up to see all the future technologies that humans made , but they forgot that scientists went into cryosleep too . The earth is now very different .
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From: Simon Weatherby < sweatherby @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Project Crystal: Pod bank control panel meeting
Sent: 2021-05-03T13:45:39Z
Attachments: mcu-core-process-parameters.tgz
Hi Miles,
Just a quick summary of the design team meeting on the basic MCU requirements for the control panel for the pod:
* Three independent control cores per pod with majority authority
* All critical processes based on a 5-round reset-repeat model with estimated time-to-mistake of around 1.5e10 years ( assuming a bit-error-rate of double baseline )
* MCU core is based on the space-hardened IP we got from Spacecom back in 2017, but with some modifications for deep-time hardening.
* MCU silicon size estimated 2000mm^2 (! ) Pretty big, but at 40 micron, it's not that much power!
It's only a rough outline, but it should be enough to get us going for a foundry quote - process parameters are attached.
Cheers,
Simon Weatherby
Project Lead - Control Systems
Future Dawn plc.
-- --
From: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Simon Weatherby < sweatherby @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Re: Project Crystal: Pod bank control panel meeting
Sent: 2021-05-03T14:02:03Z
2000mm^2?! We ca n't stretch to that! We've got three of these per pod! We'd spend the whole panel budget on the controllers!
Can you have a chat with the IP guys and think of something. I'll check with the foundry, but from what they said in Chengdu, the most we'll be able to manage is 800 per chip.
-m
Miles Jones
Integration Manager
Future Dawn plc.
-- --
From: Simon Weatherby < sweatherby @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
CC: Jemima Bright < jbright @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Re: Re: Project Crystal: Pod bank control panel meeting
Sent: 2021-05-04T21:56:33Z
Miles,
I've spent all day with the IP guys ( CC'ing Jem in from that team ). Basically, we wo n't be able to get the planned IP into anything less than 1700mm^2, and that's pushing it.
However, they say if we reduce to a 16-bit core ( which is not that hard with what we got from Spacecom apparently ) and reduce the instruction set a bit to save in the decoder, we can fit it in only 700! The firmware people seem to think 16-bits wo n't be a problem. Tomorrow is sprint start day for them - they'll roundtable it then and get back to you before end of play.
Might be in a bit later tomorrow - I missed picking the kids up ( still on the train now! ) so I told Jas I'll do the school run tmr. I'll drop in and give you the notes from today.
Simon
-- Sent from my iPhone
-- --
Firmware Development Team: Sprint start minutes, 5th April 2021
[ snip ]
* Requested reduction to 16 bits from 32
* JV says totally possible, but it'll take a bit of hacking to make sure the data structures make sense with the reduced width and ISA
* JV volunteers to spike this this sprint
[ snip ]
-- --
From: Helena Simpkins-Crawshaw < helena @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Johannes
Sent: 2021-05-13T10:15:43Z
Hi Miles,
Just a heads up, but I'm sure you already heard.
Following inappropriate behaviour towards a fellow member of staff, Johannes Vanderbilt has been placed on indefinite suspension with pay pending an investigation.
Can you please emphasise to your teams the need for professional behaviour, especially with everyone watching Future Dawn after the press release. The Bright thing is all over WeSnap as it is.
Best,
Helena Simpkins
Human Resources Director
Future Dawn plc.
-- --
From: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Helena Simpkins-Crawshaw < helena @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Staff shortage
Sent: 2021-08-30T09:05:12Z
Hi Helena,
Just got in a found another resignation from the firmware team. That's seven so far from my teams. Between them and Johannes, we're massively short-staffed. From what I hear, all seven of them _and_ Vanderbilt have gone into our own pods for a 10-stretch. The last letter said `` I do n't see why we should have to watch the world sleep while we work, we're the ones that made it happen!''
Anyway, can you please attempt to shore up the remaining staff - we ca n't keep this up these losses and still hit the DTE deadlines. The firmware team is struggling with fitting the software onto the chips as it is, and we're down to one tester! We need at least 4, so can you try the recruiters again, even if they tell you there's no one out there!
Best,
-m
-- --
From: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Sam Darcy < sam @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Release schedule
Sent: 2030-02-06T16:35:02Z
Hi Sam,
Just to confirm what I told you on the phone - the hardware is ready for the DTE build-out and we need to discuss the on-site fit-out schedule, draft a press release and get the candidates in for final eval.
-m
Miles Jones
Integration Manager
Future Dawn plc.
-- --
From: Sam Darcy < sam @ futuredawn.co.uk >
To: Miles Jones < mjones @ futuredawn.co.uk >
Subject: Re: Release schedule
Sent: 2030-02-06T16:43:45Z
Thank Christ for that, I was n't looking forward to the board meeting next week!
Got there in the end!
Darcy
Sam Darcy
Managing Director
Future Dawn plc.
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[ WP ] A man and a woman share a hospital room . She is pregnant and could start giving birth anytime , he is dying . Separated by a curtain , they talk .
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“ Hey. ”
“ Hi… ”
“ What are you in for? ”
“ We ’ re... having a baby today. ”
“ Oh, nice. ”
“ Honey, make sure my mom ’ s alright please. ”
“ Your husband over there? ”
“ He was, yeah. Why are you here? ”
“ Sick. ”
“ Sick? You sound young. ”
“ I get that a lot around here. I ’ m 12. You? ”
“ 36. ”
“ That ’ s kinda old to have a baby. Everything going okay so far? ”
“ So far so good. Sorry, but you ’ re not contagious are you? I just don ’ t want the baby exposed to any germs or whatever. ”
“ No, don ’ t worry. You sound really anxious. You ’ re going to be a good mom, you know? ”
“ I ’ m not getting an epidural so that might explain the anxiety, but thank you. I appreciate it…? ”
“ Ryan. ”
“ Ryan, I ’ m Melissa. Call me Lissa. ”
“ Nice... to meet you. ”
“ Are you okay? ”
“ Yeah, just a little pain. A 6, tops. You... name the little dork/dorkette yet? ”
“ It ’ s a dork. And we did. Jacob. ”
“ I like it. Got a... friend named Jacob. ”
“ I ’ m glad you like it. Nurse, why is he in pain? Can you give him something? ”
“ It ’ s okay. No, please don ’ t. I don ’ t want to fall asleep and miss everything. ”
“ Where are your parents anyway, Ryan? ”
“ My mom died when I was a baby. My big sister ’ s sleeping on the couch next to me. She ’ s 22. Did I hear you say that your mom was outside? ”
“ Yes, of course she is. This is her first grandchild. She ’ s been pressuring us to have a baby for years, so this is her moment as much as it is mine. ”
“ Finally gave in. Your dad still... around? ”
“ Yes, but he ’ s too sick to be here. He ’ s got cancer and they don ’ t think he ’ s got very long to live. ”
“ Aw, I ’ m sorry. At least he lived long enough to see his grandson. ”
“... ”
“ Are you crying? Did I make you cry? I ’ m sorry. ”
“ You didn ’ t make me cry, Ryan. You ’ re sweet for pointing that out. I hadn ’ t thought of it that way. I just don ’ t even want to think about it. ”
“ Why don ’ t you want to think about it? ”
“ I told you, Ryan, he ’ s dying. ”
“ What if you don ’ t start thinking about it until it ’ s already too late? Lissa? ”
“ I don ’ t want to think about it, Ryan. Please. ”
“ Okay. But I had a friend who was dying and- ”
“ Your friend was dying? Of what? ”
“ Cancer. They told him how long he had to live and everyone went to visit him. And he was doing really good for a while, but then he got more and more sick. And people didn ’ t want to visit him as much because, I don ’ t know, I guess it was too sad or something. But he was kinda lonely near the end and I think he wished people would ’ ve just come anyway.
“ Did he die? ”
“ Yeah, a while ago. ”
“ He did? I ’ m sorry. ”
“ It ’ s okay. He had a good life. ”
“ He had a good life? You ’ re the oldest 12 year old I ’ ve ever met, Ryan. ”
“ Thanks. But he really did. He saw a lot, people treated him nice, the nurses always took care of him. He got to live a lot in those 12 years. How old ’ s your dad? ”
“ 78. ”
“ That ’ s a really long time. ”
“ You ’ re right. My dad ’ s had a crazy life. He was a Sheriff, a teacher, fought a war, he was married for 47 years. Your friend didn ’ t get a fair shake, Ryan. ”
“ That ’ s okay, though, right? ”
“ Okay? No, not really, Ryan. Life can be so unfair. ”
“ Lissa, have you ever been in love with someone? ”
“ Yes, Ryan, my husband. And others, of course. ”
“ If you were madly in love with someone, but they were moving away and you weren ’ t going to go with them. How would you spend your last few weeks together? ”
“ I-I don ’ t know. Is that how your friend lived out his last few weeks? Savoring every second? ”
“ Yes. He ’ d been going through this kind of thing for a long time. He knew he wasn ’ t going to make it to 20 so he spent the last 4 years living as much as he could. I think he started appreciating everything more and he was actually really happy. I bet your grandfather knows what he felt like. ”
“ I hope so. ”
“ He has to. Good family. Daughter has a good voice. ”
“ You ’ re good people, Ryan. And you ’ re a great hospital companion. Thanks. ”
“ One more thing. If he died right now... would he know that you love him? ”
“... ”
“ Would your dad know that you love him? If he died? Lissa? ”
“ Yes. ”
“ Good. So important. Makes- Made my friend feel really happy to think about. ”
“ You made me cry again. ”
“... ”
Ryan? ”
“ Yeah... ”
“ You ’ re a pretty amazing kid. ”
“ Thanks… ”
“ I ’ d love to be your mom. I ’ d be proud as hell. ”
“ Yeah? ”
“ Absolutely. You think you might want to hang out with a 12 year old kid when you ’ re 24? Maybe take him to a baseball game? ”
“ Haha, that sounds... awesome. ”
“ You okay? ”
“ Tired. Medicine. I know... you can ’ t... wait for me... to wake... up, but can you... wait for me... to wake up? ”
“ I ’ ll do everything I can, alright? ”
“ Yeah. Night. Lissa. ”
“ Night. ”
“... ”
“ I love you, Ryan. ”
“ Love you too. Lissa. Maybe... I can call you... mom... when I wake... up. Morphine makes it... feel... cheap. ”
“ Two sons in one day. I ’ m the luckiest mom in the world. ”
“ Your... mom might... have... something to say about... that. Night. Lissa. ”
“ Night, Ryan. ”
“ Nurse, why the hell is he being given morphine? ”
“ You can ’ t get up, Mrs. Polk! ”
“ Where ’ s Ryan? Who is this? ”
“... ”
“ Is this? Oh, Ryan… ”
“ Hey, Lissa. You don ’ t look... like you ’ re having... a baby. Go back to bed. ”
“ Ryan. ”
“ You love me... more now that you know... the truth? ”
“ Ryan… I don ’ t know how to answer that. Yes. Ryan. ”
“ Good. I ’ m... okay with that. No more... medicine. Let ’ s... be in pain together. Now I want to... hang out with you... with all the sympathy that... comes with having cancer. ”
“... ”
“ Lissa? ”
“... Yeah? ”
“ You okay? ”
“ Yeah. You? ”
“ Yeah. ”
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[ WP ] Look to the skies . We are saved . The humans are coming .
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Look to the skies! We are svaed! The humans are coming! The joy I felt was almost a foreign feeling after enduring such hard conflict. To finally see that our message had been received through subspace transmitters had not been mistakes made me nearly forget the battle at hand.
They came in ships far larger than anything our masters had forced us to build. Black and sleek theirs were, graceful arcs of blues danced across the sky to some unknown symphony of fury as the Great Masters' ship rained down. The skies had never been looked at with such hope and fear as when the humans came, for if a race could bring forth the destruction of the Great Masters so quickly, were we bringing a new and even greater master?
They landed thousands of their soldiers, real professional fighting men trained for the singular purpose of combat. We were nearly as overwhelmed by their devestating fire power as the Great Masters. They equipped us with their arms and armor and together waged battles on such a scale that the gods may turn an eye in jealousy. Yet when peace was called for and victory at hand the humans who came from the skies beyond stayed our hand, and saved us once again through peace. They forgave the Great Masters and in time we learned that for victory we must as well for death is not the end of a righteous cause. We learned then the way of mankind, to love and rage in equal measure.
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[ WP ] You have been saving the world without anyone knowing . Today you stop saving the world . Why ?
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My phone agressively vibrating against my foot is what woke me. My foot automatically twitches and knocks my phone into hands reach. I have n't had a night stand since I was young. Glasses, phone, book... they all usually lay next to my pillow. After a particularly active night of dreaming they often end up around my feet or on the floor. Worst is when the phone slips under the pillow and I miss my alarm. I'm often in trouble for missing my alarm.
5:07am.
My alarm is n't set until 5:15.
Text from my boss, reads; Dnt need u til 9! Dlvry wil b l8!
Yep, cheers, a few more extra hours of ~~sleep~~ lying awake.
I stare idly at the ceiling. It's dark and I live in the back end of an apartment block, so no street lights either. As my eyes adjust I can vagulely make out the marks on the ceiling. At least I assume I can see them... more likely it's just from memory.
5:15am.
My alarm sounds violently, reminding me I should be opening my eyes. I leave it going. If it wakes the neighbours upstairs that will be today's little victory.
I consider making my washing. There's a growing pile of TShirts and shorts undernethe the windowsil. I have a laundry basket but I never utilise it. Sleep trumphs tidiness anyday.
5:42am.
It's nearly quarter to six and I've not moved. My roommate will be up soon- embarking on his daily routine of milchreis, showering, shaving, dressing, leaving for the tram stop, arriving for the tram with a exact 3 minute wait, arriving at work, spending most of his time WhatsApping his friends ( women, football scores, images of their daily excretements ), lunch with people he hates, afternoon consisting of a half arsed attempt at the project he's been set, post work beers with people he hates even more and stumbling in around 11pm to reheat what was left of his breakfast before crashing in bed only to repeat everything tomorrow. He mixes it up sometimes. I like those days. I enjoy it when he's off his rhythm. It's more interesting.
6:13am.
He's up. I can hear him in the kicthen. He's cursing because there's no clean spoons. We own exactly 9 spoons. I counted one day when I'd washed them all. But I hate washing spoons. The water splashes all over the place and honestly creates more mess...
I lie there.
6:14am.
There's a knock on my door. My roommate wants to know why I have n't washed up yesterday. I open my mouth to answer him but decide against it. It's easier to pretend to be asleep. He knocks again. Then... I hear him walk away with an annoyed sigh.
6:45am.
He's left for work. I did n't hear the door but he always leaves at this time. When we first started sharing he had to teach me how to close the door quietly. You put the key in, twist the lock and then close it. It wo n't bang then.
6:59am.
I know I should get up soon. Light is starting to shine through the window. My curtains are askew. If I crane my neck I can see into the courtyard. But I do n't. Not today.
7:18am.
The sun is noticably brighter now. It'll be directly in my eyes shortly. But I do n't move my head.
7:31am.
I am definitely going to be late for work. Working in a kitchen was supposed to be temporary. But it turned out I liked the haphazard routine. The normalacy of every different day. My phone flashes soundlessly next to me. BBCBreakingNews app is going wild. The journos have finalised their summaries of the previous night. Todays hashtags are starting to appear. From the corner of my eye I can make out the blurred words. # beloyarsk # Putin # miracle # CND.
8:03am.
I'm late for work. I need the bathroom.
8:35am.
I'm still not ready to start my day. I've messaged my boss.
Hey sorry, I've been vomming all morning. I wo n't be able to make it in.
He does n't reply. He knows I'm lying.
9:27am.
My phone is going crazy next to me. There seems to be some sort of press conference about last nights incident. There always is. I want to close my curtains.
12:16pm.
I need the bathroom again. The sun is slowly moving across the sky. Maybe I'll grab some water. Now it's my Facebook errupting. I wish I'd switched off notifications. 17 of your friends have shared: BELOYARSK POWER STATION FAILURE- YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT. I know what happened next. I do n't think they do.
2:30pm.
I hear my roommate come home. Not so quietly today. That means he's with someone. That someone is wearing small heels. That means he thinks I'm not here.
3:22pm.
My roommates friend has left. She is equally loud as I am closing the door. I assume she will not get a lecture.
4:36pm.
He's listening to Scooter. It's blaring out across the entire apartment. He thinks I'm not here. He's definitely drinking. He is not as together as he comes across. I need the bathroom again.
5pm.
My door swings open and my roommate lurches in. He has n't realised I'm still in bed. The room is in shade. He makes a wretching noise. He's had too much beer. He mumbles curse words. He's looking around. My phone vibrates again. He jumps and catches sight of me. I do n't say anything.
5:31pm.
I'm finally leaving the house. For the first time today I breath the outside air. It's refreshing. It does n't last.
7:22pm.
Once again there is light shining in my eyes. It is n't the sun this time. It's artifical. I am no longer in my bed. My phone is no longer next to me. There's a lot happening around me. Noises, movements.. all happening outside my peripheral vision. I know they're there.
7:46pm.
The lights are going to be dimmed soon. At half past eight. After dinner. I need the bathroom again. My roommate catches my eye and gives me an awkward grin. He's chatting to someone. A female. This does n't surprise me.
8:24pm.
My roommate says goodbye. He tries to high five me. It falls flat. I'm annoyed. The female he was talking to comes over to me. She smiles and informs me that `` we are very sorry visiting hours are over''. My parents will arrive in the morning. The doctors will discuss my future with me further tomorrow.
8:31pm.
The lights are out. The room is in darkness. I need the bathroom.
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[ WP ] I have no face .
|
I have no face, and yet I scream. For as long as time exists, I will scream, for my own existence is filled with horror and shame.
How do you describe a face. According to your technology, a face is the front part of the head, from the chin to forehead. But I don ’ t mean that. I have no face, as no person will remember my existence the second I walk away. I have no memorable face, no identity for people to think of me.
I can barely remember my own identity. My own face is that of a stranger to me. I have little memory of what my life was before this. I faintly remember simple things, going to a ball, walking down the street, etc… I barely remember my own name, Andrew Cassra. The one thing I do remember is the experiment that made me this way. I wished to see God. I worked with several other like-minded individuals, several clergymen who wanted proof of their divine being ’ s existence, a scientist who wanted to prove them wrong, and two others. I can ’ t say how we did it, how long it took, or the revelations we made on this project, as all of that was stripped from my memory. I can remember the final step though. Activating the machine, and waiting.
We activated the machine, and we waited. And we waited, and we waited. For hours, we watched the contained, waiting for a flash of light, anything. We just wanted any indication that we had succeeded. I ’ m not sure when, but I eventually fell asleep. The quiet humming of the machine ’ s inner workings, good wine, and hours of waiting can take a toll on a person ’ s wakefulness. I dreamt then, and I saw It. I witnessed It, in all Its majesty. Above an endless void, It resides, watching and working endlessly. As I was pulled toward it, I more felt than saw, countless eyes shift towards me, acknowledging my presence.
What do you seek, child.
“ I wanted to see God, ” I blurted.
Gods are simple, child. Like the children, they had to evolve as well. I am no god. I am the doors. Through me, they did pass, as you will. You did not come here seeking a god, you wanted to become one, child, so you shall taste their power.
In my dream, I was thrown towards It. I entered this collective, and for the first time in my life, I truly saw. I saw the world. I saw each face that existed in it. I saw the room my body slept in, surrounded by the bodies of my colleagues, all looking so peaceful. I saw everything. I knew everything. I knew how each person would live and die. For a brief moment, I had omnipotence. But then It started laughing. I turned my view back to It, and saw It for what It truly was. I knew who It was, and what It would take from me as payment for this brief moment of godhood.
And I woke up. I had been thrown in an alley somewhere. I heard the clattering of wheels on stone, and sighed a breath of relief, I was awake. I stepped out of the alley, onto a mostly empty street. The early morning fog swirled around my legs, obscuring them. I saw a man leaning against a streetlamp, lighting a cigar. I approached him, and saw his clerical collar.
“ Excuse me, Father. Could you point me in the direction of the… ” My mind escaped me. And I found the first memory It had taken from me.
“ I ’ ll admit. I ’ m as lost as you are. I was dropped off near ‘ ere, and told to wait for someone. ”
“ Who ’ re you waiting for? ”
“ I don ’ t rightly know. ‘ E said I know the man when I saw him. ”
I thanked him for his time, and wished him luck that the man he was looking for would appear soon. I wandered for several days, trying to find some recognizable corner that I could get my bearings, but it all seemed so unfamiliar, so alien. I would occasionally ask a constable where this was, and they ’ d give me a funny look before telling me the street name. Typically, as I ’ d walk away, I would hear them mutter under their breath about drunkards wandering the streets.
I did this for several more weeks, until I had explored the city thoroughly. I was beginning to understand what had happened to me. It had stolen my identity, my memories, and my thoughts. People wouldn ’ t ignore me, but would never acknowledge me how I expected. As the weeks went by, I understood. I can ’ t say what they were truly seeing, but whatever I said or did, they saw as whatever they expected me to say or do. I wasn ’ t being ignored, but somehow it was worse.
I would sleep fitfully, as all of my dreams were of the same thing. I was trapped in a clear glass prism. In the distance, I could see It. I would long to join It again. To see what It saw, to know what It knew. But I was trapped. I would wake up, hating myself for ever thinking those things again. I ’ m sure, far above the void, It ’ s laughing. Laughing at my life, eternally wandering the earth, with no one ever truly acknowledging me again.
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[ WP ] You own a genie that grants wishes , but is very afraid of misinterpreting your wishes , and keeps pestering you about each specific little detail
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**'' I AM LARIUS, THE ALL POWERFUL!!! `` ** the enormous being's voice thundered, echoing through the narrow walls of the cavern. Even as he spoke, his ethereal body continued to ooze from the lamp in my hands, filling up the room.
`` So, you're a genie?'' It seemed like the most logical deduction: I had found a lamp in a cave, rubbed it, and, just like in the movies, this majestic force had shot out like a cannon. What else could it be?
**'' THAT IS CORRECT! I HAVE APPEARED FROM THE LAMP TO SERVE THE NEW MASTER! SIMPLY DECLARE YOUR THREE MOST DESIRED WISHES, AND THEY SHALL BE YOURS! `` **
*Three wishes, huh? * I thought to myself. Luckily, I had spent my entire childhood life perfecting exactly how to wish for what I wanted.
`` All right then,'' I started, `` For my first wish: I wish that all of my wishes are granted as I intend them, rather than in any misinterpreted way!'' You could never be too careful with wishes, and I did n't want any unexpected issues arising from a careless word being used. The genie looked at me, his ghostly arms folded across his chest, and he nodded.
**'' DONE. WHAT IS YOUR NEXT WISH? `` **
*All right, this is it. What do I want most? * I looked Larius in the eyes and said `` I wish I had the power to fly!''
The genie raised his hand, as if to snap his fingers, and his mouth opened -- but something seemed to stop him in his tracks.
`` What's the problem?'' I asked.
**'' WELL --,'' ** his voice boomed again for a moment. **'' I mean, what kind of flying? Like, you already can fly in a plane, so...'' **
`` You... you ca n't tell how I intended that wish?''
**'' What did you expect, that I could just read your mind? I've been living in a box for two thousand years, I'm a little rusty at reading people... Jesus Christ...'' **
`` Woah, there's no need to swear.''
**'' Swear? Oh! No, Jesus Christ is the last master I had. He was pretty chill, y'know? Anyways, your wish. `` **
`` I... uh... I want to be able to fly... by my own power.''
**'' Like wings? `` **
`` No, more like... how Superman flies.''
**'' Ah, yes, Superman. UNDERSTOOD! `` **
Finally, he raised his hand again to snap his fingers.
**'' Hold on, though, if you fly that fast you'll die from the forces against your body. Are you sure you want that? `` **
`` Okay, listen, I want to be able to fly like Superman without being harmed as a result of my own power.''
**'' Which version? `` **
`` What?''
**'' Which version of Superman? Like, in the movies or in the comic books? Or like, the Smallville TV show? `` **
`` Just. ANY! I do n't care, I just want to fly!''
**'' Now HOLD ON! Do n't get upset, I'm just following your first wish! Anyways, I understand you now. IT IS DONE. `` **
And with that, he snapped his fingers and a cloud of blue dust emerged from his body and covered me, and I could feel the lightness surge through my body: I could fly.
I immediately looked up as the cloud dissolved, but the genie was nowhere to be found.
`` Larius?'' I called out, but there was no reply. Then, shining like a star upon the black ground, I spotted a piece of glowing paper. It was warm to the touch, and upon the parchment was written a note.
`` SORRY, THAT LAST WISH REALLY WORE ME OUT. I'LL BE BACK IN A FEW DAYS ONCE I'VE RESTED. YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO WORK A GENIE LIKE A SLAVE. HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT.
~LARIUS''
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[ WP ] As he walks through The Gates of Hell , he finally feels home .
|
It was a small consolation, the only one God permitted him to have. Even the prince of lies and the king of evil was given a small amount of respite by the creator.
In short, Satan had everything he wanted. H
The kingdom was growing too. More and more souls were sentenced to Hell everyday. The indifferent ones, the ones who spent life caring less about God and Satan were his favorite. The ones who took no side, and idly enjoyed themselves while the world suffered. Nothing was more enjoyable then the look on their faces when the Lord `` spit them from his mouth'' as He had been telling them He would.
They were usually rich in life. Not through hard work, but born into it. Their easy lifestyle allowed them to wall themselves off from the world, and ignore the battle between good and evil that raged around them. The churches that attracted them were often `` feel good'' Protestant churches like Joel Olsteen, who would tell them how special they are and how good would come to them if they gave money to his Parish or to the poor.
HA!
Satan laughed whenever he heard people speaking that false theology. He laughed as thought of the amount of good, honest people that he's tormented on Earth. He thought of the good father, who watched as he turned his daughter into a harlot. He thought of all the honest farmers in the Ukraine that were starved to death by one of his followers. Of all the good lads that died protecting good lasses from bandits that came and raped them. What about them ministers! They did nothing but help the poor, and yet their lives on Earth were filled with misery!
Satan quickly placed his thoughts elsewhere, as he accidentally remembered where that good father was now. Looking down on him, reunited with his wife, and praying for his daughter.
His daughter was just like all the indifferent were. Rich, but not too rich. Just enough to make her able to blot out those who are truly poor, but she still felt like she was cheated for not being wealthy enough. She could afford food, shelter, and medical care, but no diamond bracelets. It did not take much for Satan to push her off the edge, in fact he was sure that if he never set his eyes on her, she would have probably ended up in hell regardless.
All this Satan was thinking when Cheron approached him, reminding him it was soul day, the day where Satan liked to personally greet the souls who were cast into his kingdom. Satan rewarded his duties with a punch to the forehead, which was better then the kick to the groin he received when he did n't fallow orders.
First came the truly evil ones. The evil politicians, the warlords, the criminal kingpins. After spitting in the face of God when given one final chance to embrace his mercy, they boldly come into hell with their heads raised high. A few boasted about their accomplishments on Earth, how many feared them, and how powerful they were. They boar their sins like badges of honor, and argued amongst themselves about who was the greater serial killer, who raped more villages, and who betrayed more on their way to the top of the political spectrum.
These were the ones that God allowed Satan to torture. They were the true citizens in his Kingdom. Part of their punishment, by living life stepping on those weaker then they are, was to simply allow them to continue living in the after life according to their own rules. Simply allow them to continue living in a world where the biggest fish in the pond asserts his dominance on the smaller fish. The catch of course, is that while they were the strongest in their little pond, they were like little guppies to a great white shark compared to Satan. What little pride they retained when leaving God, would be shattered when they realized that they were not even great sinners.
`` Welcome to my Kingdom.''
He would enjoy slowly revealing the nature of their situation as time went on in this eternal prison.
Next came the indifferent ones. Satan was not allowed to touch them, and nor would ever want to. The flames of God's wrath came upon them so hot that to ever stand too close to them was to subject oneself to it's heat. But he enjoyed watching them enter. He enjoyed watching reality dawn on them. The reality that there was a battle raging around them, and that since they did not pick a side, they were on the wrong side. They were the ones who did n't speak out against Hitler, the ones who did n't stand up to the bully because it was n't their problem, the ones who could have stopped a suicide but did n't want to be associated with a `` loser''. God wanted them for Himself.
One among these stood out. It was that father's daughter. Satan smiled, and looked up to find the man weeping in paradise for the poor girl. The poor girl who died of a drug overdose and left her little brother fatherless, motherless, and now sister-less. The flames about her soon went dim, and she was cast from the indifferent lot. Satan smiled.
`` Come here sweety. It is your lucky day, someone must have interceded for you and convinced the almighty to lessen your punishment. Perhaps it was your father.''
`` My father... he tried to warn me his whole life... I remember being happy when he died. Now, the only thing I want is to see him again...''
`` Now now, sweety, this is hell, and the only thing we do to weakness here is torture those who have it. I am very tired, and my mind wanders, but believe me I will remember to grab you by the throat and make you watch as the brother you left on Earth suffers, and then joins you here.''
The girl began to weep, and shriek at the sheer and utter desolation she was forced to be apart of. Satan savored each and every tear that fell from her eyes.
`` Do n't talk to my sister like that.''
Satan was always angry and frustrated, but when something happened to make him especially angry and frustrated, the very ground quaked at his rage.
`` You want some too you little welp!''
He unsheathed his terrible sword, which was so black it swallowed light around it, causing it to look more like an empty rectangle attack to his forearm.
`` This will make your soul bleed!''
The rage and hatred within Satan's heart suddenly turned to terror as he heard a click from the little humans direction.
`` Rosary! Get down!''
Each bullet made him feel the virgins feet crush his head further in the dirt, each evocation from the boys mouth made his ears bleed. The demons in the immediate facility dove behind cover and fled. Satan grabbed the girl and scrambled behind his throne.
`` I bet this is a dream your having. It's a reflection of your reality. This girl is n't saved yet! You only have the power that you have gathered while your awake. Hopefully it is enough.''
`` Do n't listen to him, he's just trying to make you doubt yourself! Get your sister, I will handle him!'' Of course his guardian angel was present. The power of God made each angel invulnerable, but only St. Michael himself could defeat Satan in open combat. This little spirit would not be able to hold Satan for long.
`` CHARON!'' Satan handed his little slave the girl and bade him to take her as deep into Hell as possible. Satan roared out as the Angel leaped forward, his holy sword cutting deep into his back. He hacked away at the spirit, but as usual none of his blows could penetrate his armor.
`` Give it up. I underestimated how good the boy was, but I will not let him take what's rightfully mine!''
Angels never spoke to demons. Not out of hatred or anger, but because it wrenched their hearts to see their brothers and sisters in such deplorable states. Their pity only made Satan's hatred fester even further. His rage grew hotter, like it always did, when looking into the angels eyes, and seeing pity stare back. He shouted and threw the angel far out of the gates of Hell.
It was n't difficult finding the boy. He was armed like the green beret he revered so much as he fired his rosary, which had taken the form of an M-4 Carbine. Demons upon demons fell before him and fled. He had cornered Charon right in the deepest part of hell there was, by Satan's abode, where he will eventually be forced to spend for all eternity.
`` Boy.''
The young boy would be adorable if this were a mere Halloween costume. His head shaved, a green berate on the side, and his little M-4 at his hip. He looked anything but threatening. But as Satan had learned time and time again, it was the weak who were truly strong.
`` I promise if you take her, I will make your life miserable.''
His angel had obviously told him not to talk to demons, because he held his tongue, and shot Charon in the face. He would be out of commission for a few centuries.
But the battle was n't over yet, all of hell assembled behind Satan, fully bent on making sure this girl did not escape the punishment that they were confined to. The young boy fired his rosary, but it was not enough. His faith began to waiver, and Satan made it close enough to hack at him with his own weapon, the manifestation of all the pain and suffering he had caused humanity. It tore at the very fabric of the souls being, and brought despair that could stop a persons heart from beating. He began to cry, and Satan laughed. He laughed as he stabbed the boy through, and turned to his sister, boasting how much misery she had caused him.
But the laughing seized when he heard what demons dreaded the most to hear from a humans mouth.
`` Help me mommy!''
The boy was in such agony, the prayer was heard across the universe. Satan could feel the one he feared most move from her seat at God's court. His skin crawled as he felt her descend from the most high.
`` Get him out of here!'' He shouted at the angel. `` Please!''
And he never saw the boy or the girl again.
Satan crawled into his abode, and felt the crushing weight of God's wrath way down on him. He never got used to it, not in all the eons and trillions of years that had passed. God designed it so that he could not.
But at least he was not a servant.
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[ WP ] [ TT ] You crash on as island . The locals , impressed with your technology , start showing you their magic . You have a scientific explanation for everything , but one thing still puzzles you .
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The wreck was behind me, the fuselage of the plane belching an acrid black plume into the still air. It rose in a single, thick column, and the smell of it clung to my clothes as I walked. My shirt was badly ripped, and a piece of metal had gashed my left shoulder painfully, but beyond that I was unhurt. I sent up a small, silent prayer to the God I didn ’ t wholly believe in, vowing that if I got out of this in one piece –I was thinking here of the insurance firm ’ s lawyers, and what they would slap on me after the plane ’ s destruction, not of cannibals or crocodiles- I would clean my life up a bit. Then I laughed, almost, because I realised how ridiculous it was to be thinking that. That was exactly what you were *supposed* to say after crashing on an island; perhaps all those professors declaring we ’ d all been brainwashed by popular culture might have something after all.
I had crashed the Cessna, a small light thing not designed for the close flying I had failed to pull off, on the beach. The fringes of the jungle into which I set off were easy going, the brush not very thick, and I saw very few animals; I supposed they must have noticed immediately that a creature foreign to their home had strayed in, and were watching from a distance to see how it panned out. As I got further into the trees, though, the tangled mass of creepers, shrubs and rubbery trunks grew closer and closer together, and I was struggling. It became surprisingly humid even a relatively small distance into the jungle, and I was acutely conscious of the fact that I had not prepared for this sort of venture: I am a photographer, not an explorer, and stamina is not something I have in spades. After several hours –hours during which I would happily have taken off my shirt or, even all my clothes, were it not for the drone of insects- I stumbled upon a muddy path and, heaving a sigh of relief, began to follow it.
I knew already what was on the island. I may not have been planning for an excursion myself, but I had flown over it several times over the last couple of days, and I could remember the general layout of the scenery. In the centre was an area of low hills, none very large; to the west and north, in which region I had pancaked my plane, gentle dunes of the calendar type gave way to jungle; and in the east and south, lighter forest alternated with clearings before being cut off by cliffs over the sea. Near the southernmost point of the island, in one of the larger clearings, was the smaller village; the other, considerably larger, lay between the hills in the centre. It was to this, I believed, that the path probably went.
I was not particularly nervous. I had, of course, read my *King Solomon ’ s Mines* and suchlike when a child, and had for a time believed all those who live on islands or in jungles to be not far removed from Man Friday ’ s compatriots in terms of gastronomical habits and general savagery; however, my years working for the *Caribbean Post* had quickly put to the torch whatever subconscious relics of such ideas still remained. I had never met any of the inhabitants of this island, but remembered being told that they occasionally ventured off it to barter with nearby islands, sometimes even coming so far as Limpao, the nearest city some six hundred miles away; I was confident that they would speak English and know how to contact somebody to come and fetch me.
The sun was beginning to set when I finally saw the village, and the hum of mosquitoes was making me increasingly sick. I wondered if the villagers had mosquito nets, and regretfully decided they probably didn ’ t; I hadn ’ t brought any anti-malarials with me. I continued walking. My legs were sore and scratched by thorns I had been forced to push through before I found the path, and I was becoming more nervous about meeting the villagers. I knew very little about them, beyond that they had been encountered once or twice at the markets in other locations. Something, I felt sure, was evading my memory; I stopped to think, glad of the feeble excuse for a brief rest, and tried to bring it to mind. Then I wondered: why was it that I knew they had been seen on other islands? Why that? I had never been told that about any other villagers; it was always taken as read that they bartered like any others. Perhaps- no, I had it now. I had been told, just after I handed in my flight plans, that these islanders were unusual in how seldom they were seen elsewhere: they had been met, but so infrequently that it was obvious that they eschewed contact with the outside world except in cases of emergency. I chewed my lip, once again going over how I had handled the plane and once again noticing the dozen things I had neglected to do, and carried on walking.
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[ WP ] Why is Waldo hiding ?
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The sun hits its zenith as the man behind the sniper rifle sits up for a brief sip of water. Joseph Ricketzo, known as `` Joey Rickets'' to his friends, had worked the New York syndicate for the better part of two decades, but he'd never had an assignment this grueling. For the last several days, he'd been camped out on a hill above the carnival grounds. They had it on good intel that Walter Hallerstom had been placed here by the feds after his trial. You'd think they would have thought of something a little less blatant than a red striped shirt and hat to disguise their star witness in. Oh well, makes the job easier, Joey reasoned to himself. Suddenly, his earpiece crackles to life, an almost child-like voice coming through.
`` There he is, there he is! Next to the bumper cars!''
Joey turns his rifle to spot, and spots a glimpse of red and white fabric. He grins, `` Gotcha now, Waldo.'' Just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger, the glint off his scope shines in Waldo's face, who wheels around. Waldo quickly hits a button on his watch.
Then, something very, very interesting happens. The space next to Waldo begins to ripple, and the fabric of reality bends, opening in the form of a circular entrance, which Waldo quickly jumps through.
`` Son of a bitch!'' Joey throws down his rifle and sprints down the hill. The wormhole begins to shiver and shake, slowly closing. Just as it collapses on itself, Joey leaps forward, and through the opening.
Thud.
Joey shakes his head, clearing his senses. Around him, hundreds of Crusade knights hustle around, carrying supplies and weapons to load on massive ships sitting in the Italian harbor. Waldo is nowhere in sight. Joey stands up, and grabs a crossbow from a table next to him. He racks the bolt in place, and slings it over his shoulder.
`` At least it ai n't the fucking pirates this time.''
He trudges off into the crowd in search of his quarry.
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[ WP ] Despite appearances , both your Shoulder Angel and Devil only want what 's best for you .
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There I was in an empty warehouse with a gun in my hand the guy who killed my parents when I was 10 tied to a chair five feet away. I had spent the last 15 years tracking him down and I had finally done it.
It was 2 in the morning as I glanced at my watch he had been tied up for four hours. For the first hour he would n't shut up, but after he got nothing out of me he decided it would be better to save his energy.
I had thought of this moment for 15 years why could n't I do it? It's as easy as opening a door, you just pull.
`` Shoot him, go ahead no one is ever going to find out you've been planning this for 15 years'' I almost jumped out of My chair as I heard the voice. I looked up at Jackson and he did n't seem to hear anything his head still looking at the ground.
The voice was practically speaking in my left ear. I look at my shoulder and see a miniature man in red clothing taking a drag from his cigarette. `` Who the hell are you?''
`` Who do you think I am? I'm your shoulder devil'' I'm here to convince you to do what's best for you. You've been obsessing over this guy for fifteen years. He's the reason your parents are dead and why you dropped out of college so you could spend more time hunting him.
`` Do n't do it, you do not want to live with this for the rest of your life'' I looked to my right and saw the same man but this time he was wearing all white.
`` Let me guess if he's my shoulder devil,'' I looked back to my left but the red one was gone. `` You're my shoulder angel?'' I said to the newcomer.
`` Shoulder devil? Everyone knows those guys are just made up television characters'' he said matter of factly.
`` So are you going to pull the trigger or not? Cause I've got a date waiting for me and she gets really irritated I'm not punctual.'' The red one said in my left ear.
The white one had disappeared and been replaced with the red one
`` What in the fuck is going ok here?'' I said to no one in particular.
`` Well you're about to make a huge mistake that will haunt you for the rest of your life.'' The white one said.
This ca n't be happening right now I thought to myself. I've gone crazy, my obsession with finding Jackson has made me go insane.
`` Oh you're not going crazy.'' I snapped out of my trance to see which one was talking this time except it was n't the white one or the red one. It was one wearing white and red floating in front my face.
`` Oh let him shoot him'' he said looking to his right. `` No! It will haunt him forever and solve nothing'' he said but this time looking to his left.
`` What is going on here!'' I demanded.
`` We're trying to help you, is n't that obvious?''
`` But... But... There's only one of you'' I stammered
`` Fuck we forgot did n't we?'' He said looking to the left. `` I thought you did it!'' He said looking to the right. `` You know you're supposed to take our schizophrenic medicine on Wednesdays!''
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[ IP ] The Bitter End
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My days. It has been multitudes. Too many to count. The sky was dark, ravaged by dark clouds, ready to rip me to pieces. My ship was noble, golden in it's time, sails made of linen woven by gods. My crew was brave, hardy, full of life and potential.
Here I kneel, to the memory of what once was mine, under my cowl of protection. Graced by my presence and nurtured by my heart and soul. The plated gold coloured steel broken by nature, the hand woven sails ripped by the cruel tendencies on nature, bodies broken by Poseidon's wrath. My hands grabbed at the watered sand, trying to grab the burning desperation in my heart.
It had been days, multitudes of them. Too many to remember. I see darkness enveloping the edges of my sight as I reminisce about my failures as the captain of the lives on my ship. I see their faces flash in front of me one by one, burning their sorrow into my memory as they pass me by. Trembling as the cold sea laps at my legs, knees shaking under the weight of guilt. How have I become the undoing of what they had entrusted upon me. Tears well up in my eyes, shadows flicker as my vision blurs. Silently screaming in my chest, what have I done. Calling dooms name to satisfy my need for adventure. What have I become to outlive the remains of all that I held dear.
As I take a knee, I look up trough my tear ridden eyes, my hand grabbed at where my heart was burning. Screaming. `` Poseidon, you will pay for every soul you have taken from me!''
Lighting flashed, my call has been answered and I will repay my debt, I will see my crew avenged. For blood has been spilled to fulfil my desire, I will pay what I owe. Life for life, I will find repentance.
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All injuries , emotional or physical , are displayed on a person in the form of a scar . You come across a man covered head to toe in disfiguring marks , speaking with a woman who bears only a single scar .
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The old man ’ s beard was the most magnificent thing about him.
The rest of him was painful to even look at. Thick ropes of scar tissue bloomed pink and silver over every patch of skin. His fingers curled into stiff claws, all swollen knuckles and small, sunken nails. He blinked every so often, heavy lids seeming to take an age to travel across clouded eyes. His beard, yellow and old at the tips, was thick and healthy where it grew from his jowls, hinting at whatever hidden vitality still inside him. He sat still upon the cold stone bench in the park. Back hunched, feet planted solidly amongst rasping autumn leaves. And he smiled. Despite the scars flaring to angry red as his skin stretched, he smiled with infinite patience at the woman sitting opposite him.
Oh, the woman, the beautiful woman with raven hair and fierce haughty eyes. Skin smooth as velvet save the single scar upon her chest, the ridged line that ran from her collarbone into the cleavage of her immodest dress. She met the old man ’ s gaze, glared back with annoyance and defiance.
“ I don ’ t know why you even bother coming here anymore, ” she uttered, words tense as a coiled snake.
The old man laughed. He stroked the scraggly tip of his snowy beard, a rigid and awkward motion. “ It is not a chore, my child. I enjoy my visits. Even if those I visit may not feel the same. ”
She scoffed, crossing her arms half in derision, half from the chill. “ Don ’ t know why you bother, ” she repeated sullenly. “ You realise that the more you see, the worse it gets, right? ”
A slow, sage nod in reply, neutral and thoughtful and silent.
“ Especially here, talking with me, ” the woman continued, eyes narrowing into slits as she regarded the old man suspiciously. “ I know how you feel. How you wish I ’ d been more like my brothers. How you hate me for opening your eyes to the fact that things could go wrong. Every time you look at me, another little scar appears. ” She paused, smirking, gaze flicking up and down his stooped frame. “ Not that it makes much difference overall. ”
“ I do not hate you, ” the man said kindly. His smile faded somewhat, and his stare wandered to the half-bare trees around them. “ Although, yes, it does hurt. ”
The woman seemed to take joy in his quiet admission. She grinned sharply. “ It ’ s your own fault. *I* don ’ t hurt. ” It was true; she was far too proud to. Her world was perfect. Her choices, her challenges, her creations—everything held in her grasp too securely to ever wound her. She had power and she had freedom and she had *distance*, and those were the shields against all that she faced. Unlike the old man, who let every little suffering bother him to the core. See a dead kitten and he would scar over. It disgusted her.
“ One day, ” the old man replied with gentle certainty, “ you will wish you did. ”
The woman only sighed, rolling her eyes. “ Talking to you is so *tedious*. Seriously, take a leaf from my book and stop bothering. You care far too much, and look what that ’ s doing to you. And worse—nobody even gives a shit. How many people have talked to you today? How many have even stomached to *look* at you? ”
“ You have. ” He smiled that same serene smile, mindless of his tight scars.
The woman stood up fluidly and bent down in a mock bow. “ Not anymore. I have better things to do. Until next time, unless you finally come to your senses and give up on these stupid useless pilgrimages. ”
She turned and strode away, ending the conversation abruptly. As she walked, leaves crunching under snakeskin boots, she felt the ancient scar on her chest twinge with the faintest spark of pain. The wind howled. Its cold embrace brought to her a small whisper. “ *I will stop when you start. * ”
The woman glanced back. The scarred old man was gone, leaving only a small pile of dried leaves, fluttering against the bench like moth wings and aimless ghosts.
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[ WP ] You have the ability to answer 'Yes or No ' questions with 100 % accuracy . You never know any details beyond the yes or no . While this has been kept secret most of your life , word is beginning to spread .
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It started small in the neighborhood,
Is this safe? Is this good?
But someone told more than they should,
And black vans came to take me.
This all should be classified,
We asked you questions, you never lied,
How would you know what's inside?
`` I just know yes, or no.''
Do they have weapons? Do they want war?
Is this the target they're aiming for?
Answering shook me to the core,
But they threatened my wife... my child....
Bombs fell, missiles flew,
All based off of what I knew.
Their world power grew and grew,
And I..? What have I done?
Is there a way to pretend?
This power n'er should be mine to lend.
How then should I meet my end?
It lays inside my desk.
For my defense t'was given me,
But by ending myself, these people i'll free,
Time to end their terror spree...
Will I survive?
No.
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[ WP ] `` It may not be much , but it 's yours . ''
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`` It may not be fucking much, BUT IT'S YOURS! DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SHIT?''
She listens to the anger in her voice. She thinks of the past, when this encounter would've made her cry.
She's hardened since.
She sits and listens, raging shrieks and bellows, slamming doors as she parades around the house, breaking a plate out of anger.
Her father just sits downstairs, not weighing in in anyway, not wanting to risk it. Her sister is long gone, working a fancy lawyer job in New York. She hates her sister. She hates herself too, as she lays in bed that night, blinds open, watching the city lights.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` It may not be much, but it's yours. I mean, you ca n't play without a stick. It's just the first thing I found that'd be comfortable for you. Hope you shoot left,'' he chuckles slightly.
There's a kind look on his face. The man is nicer to her, like a father, a mother, even though he's known her for a mere few weeks. Skating at the arena with him, it's become a refuge. `` Thank you, really.'' `` I know moving to a different city is hard, kid. Least I can do.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` It may not be much, but it's yours. Well, now it is, anyways. You should start getting in touch with people, find out your inheritance. In your situation, it's the best thing to do.''
The doctor hands her a pen. Of all things. She scoffs. `` Will do.'' Inside, she does n't know how she feels. She's relieved that they're dead. She's scared that they're dead. She's sad that they're dead. A bundle of emotions teenagers should n't have to deal with.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
``'It's not much, but it's mine.' How eloquent, kid,'' he laughs.
When he does n't draw a laugh, a smile, her dimples popping out, he pulls her into a hug. She's like a daughter to him. He presses a kiss to her forehead, a comforting gesture. She hides her face in his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around him. `` Where are you going to go, kid?'' A shrug, `` I dunno. Probably New York, with my aunt or my sister, but maybe London with my uncle and his family? I dunno, none of them want me anyways,'' her voice is strained, obviously hiding tears. She's always been a stoic one. `` I just do n't wan na move again,'' a quiet afterthought.
`` Could I adopt you? Not in a weird way, just seriously, could I adopt you.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` It may not be much, but it's yours.''
He gives her a small smile, his eyes swimming with what looks like nervousness to her, as he pushes open the door. `` Your room,'' she can feel the gentleness in his voice, like a blanket. A bed, a bookshelf, a desk, a carpet, a sitting chair, a closet. The bare minimum. `` You can decorate it however you want, or I can help you paint it, if you like. White's a boring colour, I'll admit.'' `` Great,'' her voice is flat, yet filled with gratitude. `` I like it.''
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